#look my notes weren't labeled in chapters

[irrlicht-writes]

I feel like I've made a grave mistake

[simpee9000]

Not Just Friends - 2 -

Prologue : Chapter 1 : Not edited : 3.4k words : M.List

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

---

-suit colors -can shut my quirk completely off -isn't a piece of shit -password. -others cant turn my shit off either      -katsuki

The note Katsuki left was majority scribbles, clearly written the second he left. You found it right when you were leaving, the crumpled sticky note being placed next to your keys.

Getting the watch set up and made for him would be difficult. Mainly making sure others can't tamper with his quirk. Everything else would be easy. Two weeks tops. Simply needed to take the same material used for his gloves and gauntlets and use it for his watch. The password and personal quirk disabled features would also be easy, just using the same techniques that normal quirk handcuffs use.

When you got to your office you immediately got to work. Drawing up the design and adding in the small details you wanted to add. You went through your email as well, getting the details Izuku sent you about what he wants. Unluckily for him, you would have to order the stuff he needs, everything Katsuki needed was already in the building. His case was personally yours so you saved up any left over materials from his suit. The quirk removing feature would take more time to set up though.

---

"Hey!" someone shouted, tacking your name to the end.

You just entered Katsuki's hero agency for lunch, talking with the sweet old receptionist. Ignoring the shout, you thanked the lady for buzzing you up. Walking over to the elevators and pushing the button to go up.

"Don't ignore me!" The voice whined. You rolled your eyes stepping into the elevator and frantically clicking the button to close the doors.

The doors almost shut completely, a hand stopping it a second to late and getting crushed.

"Fuckin' christ!" You opened the door as quick as you could, trying to make sure they weren't injured. They were doubled over, holding their hand to their chest. "Are you okay?" You asked, grabbing their shoulder to lift them away, attempting to see the injury.

They started shaking and panic ran through you, before you could yell to the receptionist to call paramedics they started laughing. Standing up straight and smiling, placing their 'injured hand' on your shoulder to support their laughter.

"Oh go fuck yourself," you brushed them off. Pressing the elevator open again.

"I'm sorry it was too easy!" He smiled. Moving to stand next to you again.

You ignored him once again. Stepping into the elevator that he unfortunately joined. Looking at the door that previously crushed his hand. "You broke the door," you pointed out, crossing your arms.

"Holy shit, Bakugo is going to kill me," he paled.

"That's what you get for activating your quirk between metal, Kirishima," you commented.

"Ouch, last name?" he feigned pain, clutching a hand to his heart, "Come on, how was I supposed to know?"

You glanced at him briefly, "You nickname your quirk unbreakable, what did you expect?" You deadpanned.

"Not that!"

"Be serious, I know you're not that dumb," you said, stepping out of the elevator at Katsuki's floor. Beginning the path to his office.

"I just wanted to talk to you," he complained, "but you ignored me completely."

"I wonder why."

"Come on," he pleaded, "I said I was sorry."

"Don't care," you knocked on Katsuki's office.

"Please," he begged.

"No."

Just as Kirishima opened his mouth to beg more, Katsuki opened his door. "The fuck are you two bitching about?" Katsuki looked at you for an answer. Which you shrugged and made your way inside. Sitting in his desk chair and sorting through the food he ordered for you two.

Katsuki turned his head to Kirishima, wanting an answer. "She won't talk to me," he pointed at you like a child.

Katsuki turned to you, raising an eyebrow, "Really?"

Before he could start getting to you about acting like a child you pointed back at Kirishima, "He broke your elevator."

He glared at the red head.

"I was just trying to talk to her!"

"And you needed to break my elevator to do that?"

Kirishima paused his comeback, knowing anything he wanted to say would be flawed. You choked back a laugh, cause Katsuki to turn to you.

"Don't act like you're innocent," he pointed, "All ya had to do was to talk him and my door wouldn't be broken."

"Nah, he broke my shit," you shrugged.

"I said I was sorry!"

"Yet now you just broke his shit too," you backed.

"What else did he break?" Katsuki asked.

You pointed towards Kirishima, and his hero outfit, "He broke his shoulder guards, again. I've fixed them five times this month because of the stupid shit he is doing."

"Whatever, out," Katsuki motioned for Kirishima to leave. Which he did, with a pout on his face. Katsuki shut the door and walked over. "Why do you insist on stealing my chair everytime?"

"The other ones aren't comfortable," you answered, handing him his food and opening yours to start eating. "Oh!" You perked up, "I finished the design for your watch, just need everything ordered and I'll start on it."

He took a break from his food, looking up at you, "How long?"

"Shipment should get here in two days, they just had a huge order and have a ton of left overs, so I'm using the stuff they have extras of. Wanna see the design?" You smiled, pulling up a picture on your phone when he nodded.

He looked over the notes you wrote down, zooming in on the smaller details, "looks good."

"Good!" You smiled.

His office door opened, "I forgot, we're having a little get together at Denki's place Saturday," Kirishima smiled before shutting the door again.

"No."

"Come on Kats," you begged, trying to meet his eyes.

"Nuh uh," he took a bite of his food, looking up briefly and meeting your eyes.

"Please! We haven't hung out with them in forever!" You pointed out.

"We hung out last night."

"Yeah, with Z', not with your friends."

"No."

He glared at you until he felt your hand rest on the top of his, "Please?"

"Fuckin' fine," he brushed off your hand and continued eating.

---

"This is lot more then a little get together," Katsuki grumbled right after pushing the door open. Disregarding a knock all together and walking straight in, taking a pause in his step.

You took a glance over his shoulder, since he took up the majority of the small hallway that started off the apartment, seeing the solid twenty or more people that crowded Denki's and Sero's apartment. "It's fine, it's not like we are forced to stay long," you pushed his back lightly, getting him to walk in entirely.

"Kacchan! Surprised you came!" Denki smiled once he saw Katsuki leave the hallway, you stepping out from behind him. "Thanks for dragging him here," Denki came up to you, giving you a one armed hug since his other hand was holding a beer.

"What else am I good for," you joked, "Didn't you say this was a small get together?"

"I was just trying to increase the odds of #2 pro hero coming in," he shrugged, Katsuki shooting him a glare and you a look, saying he wished he never came. "Now make yourselves at home, I gotta make sure Mina doesn't eat all the jello shots."

You watched Denki skip to the kitchen, instantly yelling at a stuffed faced Mina. Looking around the room you saw Sero sitting in a chair with two open spots next to it, turning back to Katsuki, he already knew your look, "Go, I'll get you a drink."

Sero saw you heading his way and gave you a wave. He was sitting in a recliner and had a loveseat spaced next to it. You took the loveseat and leaned on the armrest close to him, kicking your feet unto the other half of the couch to prevent someone stealing Kats spot.

"How's work?" Sero asked once you gave him your attention.

"Good, busy as always. But I've been ahead of the game lately, I think I can start branching out more on my own soon," you smiled.

"Exciting," he smiled, " I see you got the grump outside for once," he nodded to Katsuki, who was being badgered by some of Denki's sidekicks/partners.

You laughed, "Yeah, you're not the first to tell me that tonight, but I'm not surpised. He went out with me last night to Z' as well."

"Did you drug him? I won't snitch."

"No, I think his mom yelled at him or something," you pretended to expose. Hiding the truth behind Katsuki's behavior, which was likely the civilian death he had to deal with recently. "But how's your work?"

"Meh, it's hero work," he drank from his cup, "Recently had to deal with a spider villain so it was weird. It was like fighting myself if I had eight legs and eyes."

The two of you continue to talk about work or recent things between friends. Briefly discussing Kirishima and Mina's budding relationship that's been going on for years. Just before Sero could question your own relationship, Katsuki came back.

"Fuckin' nerds wouldn't leave me alone," he grumbled picking up your legs and sitting on the couch with you, handing you a drink.

"You love the attention," you bumped him with your knee, "and careful, might summon them again."

Casual conversation formed once again, banter between you and Katsuki, and annoyance from him to Sero. On the heated topic of old heroes. With Sero caring less, and just wanting to rile him up.

You smiled along with their conversation, more focus on Katsuki. He's rested into the chair despite being annoyed at the conversation. Having a hand rested on your knee and the other rested on the armrest, holding a low carb beer. Which he took a sip of every once in a while before he had to tell Sero he was wrong again. You admired every move of his, from his sharp jaw, to defined cheekbones, and his bright red eyes. Only stopping when Sero called you out.

"Stop eye fucking in front of me," Sero gagged.

"The fuck?" Katsuki question, not ever aware of what you were doing, "We're not."

"You might not be," Sero smirked.

"Oh fuck you, Sero," you rolled your eyes. Ignoring the blush you felt heating your face.

"Don't push your feelings onto me," Sero teased.

"Oh my god," you groaned, " I give up." Sero crackled as he laughed at you. "Shouldn't you be talking about your dumbass celebrity crush in America?"

"Who's that?" Katsuki questioned, willing to change the topic of conversation again.

"He has a crush on an actor, Ryan Reynolds. The one that reenacts the old anti-hero Deadpool," you informed.

"It's normal in America! Every guy loves him, even the straightest!" Sero defends.

"You do know the murders that Deadpool committed right?" Katsuki questioned, wanting to get on the topic of heroes, a topic he knew everything about.

The debate between whether Deadpool committed crimes for good or not was easily started. Giving yourself another chance to look at Katsuki. Not wanting to be caught you looked at the hand rested on your knee. Reaching out your own hand to trace over his. Soft and smooth from his sweat but rough from the work day. He let his hand lose the soft grip on your knee, letting you hold his entire hand freely. You traced over the rough pads of his fingers that you knew would turn soft again in the morning. Rubbing your thumb over his knuckles and the veins that lined the top of his hand. Remembering how a few years ago he would freak out if you tried to do this exact thing. Only this year has he started to let you hold his hand for longer than five minutes.

Yet he still wasn't perfect. Eventually he pulled his hand from your grip and wiped his hands off on his pants. It seemed like he didn't want your touch on him, it stung. You knew that was unlikely, but the thought couldn't leave your mind. you folded up. Crossing your arms slowly and turning your attention back onto Sero. Which caused his eyes to flicker between you and Katsuki, clearly reading your face. Before he could ask anything, he gave him a slight shake of your head.

Eventually Kirishima dragged Katsuki away from the conversation, wanting him as a partner for cup flipping.

"How come you aren't flirting with girls, Sero?" you asked, used to him normally parading the party rooms for someone to flirt with.

"Denki called dibs on everyone here basically," Sero shrugged. He sat up from his slouched sitting, " Now, what the fuck was that?" Sero motioned from you to where Katsuki was now playing games with Kirishima.

Play dumb.

"Whatcha mean?" you took a sip of your drink.

"Don't play that shit with me, He pulled away from you completely," he pointed out.

"I know, he always does that," you pointed out, wanting to stress that this wasn't a big deal.

"Always? You're kidding"

"Nope," you took a sip, "He's actually improved."

"You're saying it used to be worse," His jaw basically dropped.

"It's Katsuki you're talking about right now," you deadplanned, "Speaking of which, we never talked about this. He doesn't know it bugs me and he doesn't need to."

"Yes he does," Sero stressed.

"No he doesn't," you hissed, " I don't want him knowing. It's fine."

"Come on-"

"Sero, stop."

Before he could push forward someone entered your peripheral, standing in front of Katsuki's spot. Turning your head towards him you gave a guarded smile.

"This seat takin?" he somewhat slurred.

"Yeah it-"

"Kidding! I know it's not. No one has sat here for a good 10 minutes from what I've seen," The guy plopped down on the couch, giving you barely enough time to kick your feet off the couch and scoot over the crowd the armrest into order to not touch the guy. You and Sero shared a look. "So, what's a girl like you doing here alone," The guy smiled, slapping a hand down on your thigh to gain your attention back from Sero.

"I'm not alone?" you peeled his hand from your thigh, dropping it back onto his lap, "I was actually just talk to my friend here abo-"

He put his hand back on your thigh, "I was asking why you had no boyfriend here, you're so pretty."

"I do have one-" you tried to cut in.

"I'll be your boyfriend, names Mason," he smiled weirdly.

Once again, you peeled his hand off your leg, "No thanks."

"Is it cause the name? I'm from America, I'm not lying about my name to sound cool," he hurried out, replacing his hand on your thigh.

"Trust me, I know you're not trying to sound cool," you spoke out disgust, "Now could you please not?" Sero and you shared another look, his asking if he should step in, but you shook your head. You could handle this just fine.

He pondered for a moment, "It's cause you don't know me right? Well, I'm from America. Here to learn about the Japanese heroes-"

"Dude," you cut him off, "I could give less of a fuck, please leave me alone."

"Don't play hard to get," he grabbed onto your leg harder.

Just before Sero jumped in-

"I leave for five fucking minutes," Katsuki spits out.

The guy looked over the back of the couch, "Sorry, did you plan to make a move? I swung first sorry dude, better luck next time."

"No, I fuckin' plan to swing first on the dude that's holding onto my fuckin' girlfriend."

You took the opportunity of the guy being distracted to get his hands off you, and to leave the couch.

"Hey, babe don't leave yet, the guys just being an ass, he'll leave soon," the creep called out to you.

Everyone's attention was on the guy now. Staring at him baffled that he called #2 pro hero an ass right in front of him and his girlfriend. You stepped closer to Sero, prepared for what was about to happen.

"That's it," Katsuki grabbed the hair on the back of the guys head and yanked him down. Couch flipping over with the guy. A quick stomp on the dude stomach had him rolling over in enough pain.

"My couch!" Denki yelped.

"Fuck your couch and fuck your party," Katsuki walked up to you, grabbed your hand and pulled you to leave.

"Gimme a second, I want to say bye," you tugged on his hold when he got to the hallway that lead to the front entrance.

He looked at you baffled, "You just got felt up, they could care less if you said bye right now."

"Kats, I'm fine. I would of handled it if you didn't."

"Fine, say bye," he waved you off, crossing his arms and guarding the exit.

You walked up to where Kirishima, Sero, and Denki were standing watching drunk Mina lecture the creep.

"Hey, I'm heading out," you spoke from behind them, getting their attention.

"That's fine girl, Imma kick his ass more for you," Mina slurred as she jumped to hug you, almost knocking you off your feet. She pulled back from the hug and held onto your shoulders, "You okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded, getting her out of your hold and pushing her into Kirishima, "Make sure she doesn't do something stupid."

"I will, I'll deal with the guy too. What he did was fucking gross," you flinched, it was rare to hear Kirishima curse.

"I bet you will," laughed off. Hugging Sero and thanking Denki for inviting you, all of them double checking if you were okay. It warmed your heart that they were heroes, it was truly the right career. So after confirming that you were fine, you walked back to Katsuki.

"Done?"

"Yep," you put your shoes back on and left the apartment together.

Once in his car, Katsuki turned to you. "You sure you're okay? I'll go put the guy in fucking jail."

You laughed, "I'm fine, Kirishima has it handled."

"You sure?"

"It's not the worst thing a guy has said to me," you shrugged, "Can we get some fast food?"

"The fuck else has a guy said to you?"

"Nothing important Kats, can we drop it? I'm fine."

He eyed you warily, trying to find the correct way to go about this. He sighed and gave in, "What fast food?"

"I don't know, I want a shake."

---

The two of you got the food and cozied on your couch, digging in once you had a random Netflix movie playing. With half of your attention on the movie, and half on the situation, you decided to bring it up. "Is it weird that what the guy did doesn't bug me much?"

Katsuki glance your way, "No? Everyone has different reactions to everything."

"The main thing that bugs me is that people can't tell we are dating, like ever," you said honestly. "Like the dude didn't buy I had a boyfriend in general."

He hummed in reply.

"Our own friends forget half the time, like I wish they knew we were together, and took my word for it," you sighed.

"I know how you feel," Katsuki looked down at his hands, that held his half eaten burger.

"Even you feel that way?" you grabbed a couple fries to eat.

He looked at you, "The other night with that Nana girl, just wished it was more obvious."

"We can't blame them though, it's not like we act like a traditional couple," you shrugged and took a sip of your shake.

"Sorry," shame filled his voice.

You turned to him with you're full attention, "Why are you sorry? You haven't done anything?

"That's the issue," he crossed his arms," I don't do anything, I fucking brush you off me," he dropped his arms again. resting them on his knees and putting his face in his hands.

"Hey," you reached for his shoulder. Stopping when he flinched away from you, "Sorry," you mumbled. Forgetting he hates being sneaked up on or touched when he isn't paying attention.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about, I don't do anything but pull away from you. And you're honestly telling me you're fucking happy in this relationship?" Katsuki looked at you. Getting up to pace when you just stared at him, confused by his outburst.

"Are you not?" you asked, watching him pace the room.

He paused, "Why wouldn't I be? You give me everything I need. I don't even fucking acknowledge your primary love language while you hit every goal of mine."

"Kats, what I said to the girls the other night is the truth, I'm okay with it. The things you need are just as important, and if that's to not touch, that's fine."

"Fucking bullshit-"

"Katsuki," you said his name sharply, "I mean it."

"I don't know how-"

"That doesn't matter, you're worried I'm unhappy and I'm telling you that I am happy. Because I am, now can we please not get into this right now? Tonight already hasn't gone well."

"Fuck, you're right, I'm sorry," he rubbed his hands over his face and went back to his spot of the couch. leaving his food half touched. He opened his arms, "You can lay on me if you want."

"Katsuki, I told you, no physical touch is-"

"That's not what I'm getting at, c'mere," he motioned towards himself. And who were you to refuse, quickly curling up into his side and watching a movie to wash the bad day off you're mind.

-Next Part-

In them m.list of this fic comment if you want to be added into a tag list <3

I'll no longer add people to the taglist if they haven't commented there. It's too much to keep up with all the new part. Hope you understand <3

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 7: It's Not A Date

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), sexism, swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: This chapter is just a little bit smaller than the others and it's a little bit of a filler, but I promise that it is preparing for the coming angst!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

“I can’t believe you let him around those children. What were you thinking?” Annie asks wielding a curling iron like a sword. "He's a terrible influence!"

It was t-minus one hour and thirty minutes before the party started and Annie was doing your hair and makeup for the mission. Butcher decided that Ben and you would infiltrate and see if you could find anything suspicious inside, while Butcher, Frenchie, and Mm watched the streets outside the building.

Your chair was turned away from the scuffed vanity in Hughie's bedroom at the apartment the team shared. Why he had that you weren't sure, but you figured it must be for Annie. Her makeup bag, hair spray, gel, cream, curler, flat iron, and other paraphernalia was littering the soft butter colored top. There were more things sitting there than you knew the names of.

Annie had always been better at things like that than you. She'd done your hair and makeup for every high school dance and date you went on, so you'd agreed to let her do your hair and makeup for the mission. Not to mention you trusted her not to make you look too over the top or absolutely ridiculous.

As soon as she had gotten you into Hughie's bedroom she had practically pounced on you, demanding to know everything about the past few days that you had spent living in the apartment with Ben. You'd foolishly told her that you'd had to babysit the Wilson's children last night and she was horrified that you let them anywhere near him.

Granted you also would have had the same reaction if someone had told you that they had let Soldier Boy around little children.

But he wasn't terrible to them. You think to yourself. He was actually kind of sweet. It was the first time that you'd ever associate that word with Ben, but you believed that it was true. You remember how he sat with Marty at the kitchen table and allowed her to make a friendship bracelet for him. A bracelet, that he hadn't thrown away, despite what he'd told you after she gave it to him. You'd found it on the sink in the bathroom this morning when you got up, given a place of honor in the ceramic jewelry dish you used for your bracelets.

After Ben had gone out on his "date" you'd cleaned up, made your last cup of noodle, and then went to bed hoping to forget exactly what Ben was doing. The problem was that you were disappointed and you had no idea why. You'd tossed and turned thinking about Ben and the time you'd spent together watching the kids, until finally falling into an unsatisfying slumber.

Ben had sauntered through the front door at 3 am smelling like perfume and sweat, his hair tousled and standing up like someone had ran their fingers through it, while you were drinking a calming herbal tea from your favorite mug at the kitchen table in a post-nightmare haze. You'd had them your whole life following the accident that took the lives of your parents and was thankful that one hadn't hit when Ben was home. You didn't want to explain to him why you had woken up screaming and gasping for air just as you’d done since you were twelve years old.

When you'd first moved in to the apartment and you'd had the nightmare, Mike had banged against your front door, shouting for you to answer. He'd thought that someone was trying to kill you in the middle of the night, but you'd explained to him that you had nightmares and that you were okay.

The next time it happened, Mike's mother had left a large basket of herbal tea and homemade muffins outside the door of your apartment. Even though the muffins were almost inedible, it was incredibly sweet. You might not have wanted to date Mike, but he and his mother were some of the sweetest people you'd ever met.

When he saw you up, Ben had made a comment about you waiting up for him and stated that he was ready to go again if that's what you wanted, but you'd only waved your hand and rolled your eyes while taking another sip from the mug. You weren’t in the mood, not when you could still feel the chill of sweat against your skin and hear the sound of metal on concrete from the dream. He had sat at the table across from you and asked why you were still awake, you'd lied and told him that you couldn't sleep. You knew that he knew you were lying, but he only shrugged and went to take a shower while you finished your tea and fled to your bedroom to avoid him coming out in a towel again.

"He wouldn't leave. What was I supposed to do? Make him walk the plank?" You respond as Annie inserts the warm curling iron into your hair.

"He's just so-" She tugs your hair back as she curls it.

"It wasn't as bad as you think.” You consider thinking about how he let Martha make him a friendship bracelet and how he had held Joshua and made Joshua laugh. "He was actually kind of nice to Marty and to Josh.”

"Nice? Are you crazy! The guy's got a nuclear reactor in his chest and an uncontrollable temper. Why do you think it would be okay for him to be around children?”

"He didn't get angry or lose control. And I can't believe you're chastising me about this, the other day you were all for Ben and me sleeping together!"

"That wouldn't involve children." She takes another piece of your hair, gently wrapping it around the curling iron.

"Yeah, but it would still be him close to another human being-"

“He seems to be perfectly in control when he has sex. Or else there would be a string of destroyed apartments all over manhattan.”

"I can't believe you." You huff.

"So?"

"So what?"

"Have you guys kissed again?" She asks.

"I shouldn't have told you that." You grumble under your breath. "And can you keep your voice down? Ben can hear you."

He was in his old bedroom getting ready for the mission. The bedroom was exactly next to Annie and Hughie's bedroom, and you were sure that he was listening to Annie and you talk.

Because he can't keep his big nose out of anything. You think. Or rather can't keep his perfectly structured nose out of other people's business.

"I'm sure he has better things to do than listen to the two of us talk." Annie responds, but she begins to blast the ABBA gold album from her Bluetooth speaker, filling the room with the sound of 'Our Last Summer' "Come on-"

"Come on what?" You open one of your eyes to glare at her. "I told you it wasn't going to happen again."

"Why not?"

"You know why not. Ben is- Ben. And I don't want to waste my time with someone who's not interested in having a relationship." You shut your eye again to avoid her gaze.

"It's not a waste of time if he looks like that-" She trails off, inserting the curling iron one more time.

"I will agree that Ben is good-looking, but that's all he is. He doesn't care about other people, he only cares about himself and what feels good." You say it, but for the first time since you'd met Ben you weren't sure if it was true. Not after he spent his entire day yesterday helping you with the kids and not after he had bought you that bookshelf.

He cared enough to get that for you. A little voice whispers. But why? You wonder again. Why would he care about something as little as a bookshelf?

"You're making that face again." Annie says. "Did something happen?"

"No. I mean- he-" You sigh to yourself. "He keeps confusing me."

"How?"

"Well the other day he bought me a bookshelf."

"What? Why?"

"Because he said that stack of books in my bedroom was annoying him." You roll your eyes behind your eyelids.

"Why was he in your bedroom?" Annie's smirk is audible and you feel your cheeks heat.

"Shut up. He needed some clothes and I had some from the last time Darren stayed with me-"

Annie audibly groans when you mention your brother's name. They didn't get along. She thought that he was manipulative and that he used you. But you didn't see it. He was your brother, your blood, the only family you had left beside your grandmother and Annie.

"Please tell me he's not coming by soon. If he does I will be busy doing anything else."

"I don't know why the two of you can't just get along-" You sigh.

"Because he's the worst." Annie states loudly, dropping the curling iron and bringing the mascara brush up to your eyes.

"Can we please not have this conversation again?"

"Fine. Close." Annie holds up the mascara brush to your eyes. "Did you at least join one of those online dating apps or try to go on a date?"

"It’s been 3 days since we last talked about this-“ You feel the gentle stroke of the brush against your eyelashes.

“So?”

“No I haven’t.”

"Y/n-"

"I know, I know. I mean Jake did try to ask me out the other day but-"

"He WHAT?" Annie squeals, awkwardness about your brother forgotten. "Next time lead with that! Did you go out with him? Did you guys talk all night long?" Annie is hoping from foot to foot now, practically dancing to the music still blasting from the speaker on the dresser.

"I said no." You open your eyes to look at your friend.

"WHAT! Why?" She looks like you kicked a puppy. "He's so perfect for you! He likes plants and he's funny and he's got a great sense of humor, plus he's gorgeous and he's interested in you-"

"First he wanted to do something today and I knew Butcher had plans for me. Second, I didn't know he was asking me out, Ben told me he was." You close your eyes again so Annie can continue to do your makeup.

"Wait, Ben was there when he asked you out?" 

"We went to IKEA to get a couch for the apartment and Jake showed up and asked me out." You explain.

"You took Ben to IKEA?"

"He'd never gone there before, can you believe that?" It made you smile as you remembered how surprised he had been when you went inside. You’d had fun with him, walking around, testing out the couches, it almost felt… normal. And you kind of got the impression that Ben had a good time too. It was kind of cute when he did everyday things, when you saw him in normal settings and he was just a little bit awkward because he still couldn't figure out how to act in another time period.

"Yes I can, he's a million years old. Let's circle back to you saying no to the PERFECT man."

"He's not a million." You defend Ben. "And Jake's not perfect." You frown to yourself, thinking about the fact that Jake wasn't a supe. It wasn't something that you had cared about before, but ever since Ben brought up the idea of you "snapping Jake in half" it scared you.

Because what if I did? What if I hurt him? You didn’t know how Ben had sex so often with people who weren't supes. Maybe he just doesn't care if he does. Or maybe he’s done it so much that he’s able to control himself.

"What do you mean? I thought you liked him?"

"I mean I do. He's kind and he understands me and he loves plants as much as I do, but-" You shrug, feeling Annie begin to apply eyeliner. "I don't want to make things complicated. I mean we work together, he’s my boss. What if it doesn’t work out? Then I’d have to quit and I like my job.”

“I mean that’s kind of hot-“

“Hot in what? A sexual harassment kind of way?”

“No. It’s not harassment if it’s two consenting adults.”

“I’m still not sure that it’s a good idea.” You mutter more to yourself. But this time your mind didn’t go to Jake and you having a relationship even though he was your boss, instead it goes right to Ben. You can't help but slip into the fantasy of dating Ben, of you and him trying something new-

You shake off the image. He doesn’t want a relationship, doesn’t think that’s important. The thought is almost like a mantra, trying to convince yourself to push past Ben’s charm and good looks, but this time it makes you consider something else. Maybe he doesn’t think it’s important now, but maybe he used to think it was before Countess.

You’d heard the stories, seen the newspaper articles and clips of film of Ben and her together, remembered what Hughie said that Ben had wanted a family with her that Ben had told her that he loved her. That meant at some point in Ben’s life he had loved someone else, cared for them, wanted to be more than just fuck buddies.

Maybe he's just afraid to fall again, because he's not sure someone else will be there to catch him. Maybe Ben doesn't want to admit that he cares for anyone else because he's afraid that they'll push him away or stab him in the back the way that Countess did. And maybe he hides it all underneath the macho attitude.

Ben is strong. He told me that he didn't need anyone else. You press your lips together in a tight line. But I think he does.

You hated that she’d hurt him. You hated that she’d pushed him away, told him she never loved him, and stabbed him in the back. You couldn’t imagine doing that to someone, telling them that you loved them, and manipulating them with the promise of love. It almost made you nauseous to consider it. It made you want to travel back in time to the moment she stabbed him in the back and shove a bouquet of sunflowers up where the sun don't shine.

You pause on the thought. You weren't a terribly violent person, but if someone ever hurt your friends your anger was legendary, practically divine. You'd never thought that you'd want to do something for Ben, but you were realizing more and more that Ben was becoming your friend. You weren't sure how you felt about that.

“Alright what if he wasn’t your boss.” Annie gently brushes eyeshadow over your eyelids. “Then would you go out with him?”

“But he is my boss.”

“Use your imagination.”

The song has ended and there’s an awkward pause between the end of it and the slow beginning of the next one.

“I mean yes?” You shrug. “I can see myself with him. He’s the kind of person I’d want to date. He cares about other people, he remembers what kind of coffee I like, he actually contributes to the conversation, he makes me laugh, he actually gets my jokes, he’s nice to sit with, he doesn’t get under my skin-“ As you list each of those things you couldn't stop your mind from comparing Jake to Ben. You didn't know when Ben became the level by which you judged other men, but it had happened sometime in the past few days and you didn't know what it meant.

But Ben did remember what kind of coffee I like and he does contribute to conversations, well, he contributes with a disgusting comment… The thought trails off when you remember the small conversations that you'd had with Ben that weren't sexual in nature, when the two of you watched the movie on the couch and talked briefly about your parents, when Ben asked you how your day was the other day back at the apartment, and when the two of you talked on the couch while the children slept between the two of you. In those moments you had seen another side of Ben, the side that he seemed to hide away from everyone else, but not from you, not all the time.

Plus Ben is kind of funny sometimes, disgusting but funny. Doesn’t understand my jokes. And yes he gets under my skin but sometimes it’s kind of exciting and nice to have that happen. With Jake sometimes he’s just too happy or too eager to agree with me.

"Hmm." Annie considers. "How did Ben react when Jake asked you out?”

You don’t answer immediately. “Normal.”

"You hesitated"

"No I didn’t."

"Yes you did! He reacted didn’t he?!” Annie pokes you with her finger

"No he didn’t.” You lie.

“He did! Holy shit he was jealous wasn’t he?”

"No he wasn’t.” You swat her hand away. "He was just opinioned."

He sure looked jealous. You think to yourself remembering the way he glared at Jake from the other side of the room. The memory of the way his eyes darkened when he told you exactly why he wasn't jealous and exactly what he would do to you to make you forget all about Jake sends an involuntary shiver down your spine.

"Yeah. Opinionated over why you shouldn't go out with Jake because Ben wants you all to himself." Annie crows.

"Shut-"

"But it doesn't matter. Because Ben's going to have a heart attack when he sees you wearing this." Annie steps back from you. "My work here is done. Try to make it to the mission without ripping each other's clothes off."

"We are not going to-"

Annie spins your chair back to the mirror and your next words dry up.

Your hair is perfectly curled back from your face, the lipstick is a dark shade of crimson that makes your lips look fuller and more plump, the eye make up is dark and dusky making the color of your eyes pop against the darkness in a mysterious alluring way that seems almost hypnotic, and your face is shaded and contoured so well that you look dangerous and sexy.

"I'll take the silence as a 'Thank you Annie! You're so beautiful and talented and you're the best friend I've ever had!'" She laughs, standing back behind you with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I mean all of that is true, but-" You stand up from the chair to get a better look. "You've really outdone yourself."

"Well thank you. Had to. It's your first date with Ben." She makes goo-goo eyes and you try to punch her in the shoulder, but she dodges it.

"Shut up. It's not." You look down at the dress that Butcher picked out for you to wear. "I love you, but I hate Butcher."

The dress was a red scrap of fabric that clung to your curves, but left very little to the imagination. It was completely backless with an exaggerated wrinkle that fell just over the top of your ass. The front was sinched at the back of your neck secured only by a small piece of fabric that you were afraid would break at any moment and fell open in a "v" that stopped just under the swell of your breasts. There was a large prominent slit that cut up the left side of the floor length gown that stopped just shy of the top of your thigh. Annie had cinched a black choker around your neck to match the black pair of stilettos you wore

Personally, you though that the stilettos were overkill, you had no idea how the hell you were going to run after the supe if you saw him, let alone fight him.

"You look so hot." Annie says pleased. "You really should wear that all the time babe. I'd take you out to dinner just to show you off."

"You're the worst." You groan.

"I love you too honey." She winks. "Now come on. Butcher and the others are waiting for us." She turns off the speaker and walks out the door of the bedroom, but you linger there, looking at yourself in the mirror one more time.

You'd never worn anything remotely like this before, but even you had to admit, you looked good.

“Come on Poppet. You can’t hide in there forever.” Butcher chuckles from the living room.

He’s having too much fun with this. You huff to yourself finally leaving the bedroom to make your grand entrance, grabbing the black bejeweled clutch as you do.

Butcher, Frenchie, Annie, and Hughie are waiting outside the door while Kimiko sits on the couch scribbling away.

Hughie's mouth drops open,  Butcher gives an approving shrug, and Frenchie lets out a breath.

"You look beautiful." Frenchie takes your hand and gives you an appreciative twirl.

"Shut up." Your cheeks redden.

Hughie is still looking speechless at you. "I told you." Annie states elbowing him with a proud smile.

“You look-“ Hughie stutters.

“Good enough to eat.” Ben finishes, appearing in the hallway to your right. His hand traces the curve of your hip, thumb ghosting over your bare back.

“Just because I’m dressed like a hooker, doesn’t mean my brain’s not working.”  You slap his hand away ignoring the warm feeling that remains where he touched you. You could feel your heart beat begin to pick up in your chest.

“Baby I love your brain-“ Ben smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “But I’ll be damned if I don’t love your body more.”

You felt your cheeks turn the same shade as your dress with his compliment before you can stop them. It was difficult to pretend that you didn't feel any attraction for him, not when he looked so good.

He had trimmed his beard and brushed back his dark hair, so you could see his emerald colored eyes gleaming. He was wearing a black suit with a white button up shirt, but chose not to wear a black tie, instead unbuttoning the top few buttons to give just a hint of his muscular chest beneath.

Why does he have to look so good all the damn time?

“Shut up.” You grumble turning back to Butcher. “So are you happy? I dressed up, my IQ dropped a billion points.”

“Ecstatic poppet.” Butcher grins taking a sip from the cup of tea in his hand. “Now remember anything happens, you detain the supe, no killing."

“He’s talking to you.” You elbow Ben.

Ben shrugs. “I won't apologize for doing my job."

You sigh again and walk towards where Kimiko is writing in one of her workbooks on the couch. 

"You look hot." She signs at you.

It had been difficult to learn the sign language she used, but you liked to think that you had a handle on it so you could understand simple conversations. When things got too confusing she would use her phone.

"I know. I was mad at Butcher at first for picking this dress, but I kind of like it." You sign back. "Don’t tell Butcher I said that."

She crosses her fingers over her heart. "Soldier Boy is looking at you."

"He’s always looking at me. I'm glad I can't read minds. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking."

Kimiko snorts, raising her hand to sign "I think the look on his face says it all."

You half turn and look at where Ben is again, he’s not talking to Butcher like you thought he was, he’s staring at you, pupils dilated, eyes darkening in a way that makes your heart feel like it's beating so hard it'll explode out of your ribcage.

No. No. Keep it together. Heart of a warrior.

"You two have fun!" Annie smirks widely, taking a picture of Ben and you like you're going to prom and you know she's going to send the photo to taunt you with it later.

“Shall we?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Ladies first.” Ben smirks.

 You roll your eyes at him as you walk to the front door of the apartment. “Don’t pretend to be a gentleman Gramps. We both know you just want to look at my ass.”

“I’ll never get tired of looking Doll, especially not when you’re wearing something like that.”

A/N: I know this chapter is a little bit of a filler, but I wanted to give Annie and the reader some time together, aka. Annie telling the reader to do the one thing that we ALL know she should do. 😂

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

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[tojiscrack]

sneak peak, 'liar, liar' chap.6 : junior year

liar, liar masterlist here:

he flinched when your voice rose once more:

"you're taking ap math?" you demanded, only just realising that he had one extra lesson than you, yuji and nobara. it was at the very top of the table, labelled 'period 0'.

"don't give him an opportunity to act more pompous than he already is," scoffed nobara, looking uninterested. you did not comment on how she still peeked over the sheet when she thought you weren't looking.

"wow," yuji began, looking pleasantly in awe at megumi's hefty schedule. he leaned back in his seat, careful not to pull himself too far back in the event that he might fall off. you secretly wished that he did, if only to stifle your current shock. "so you'll start the day earlier... won't you be exhausted when we get to football practice?"

that was a good question. since coach yaga had stubbornly given both megumi and yuji spots on the school's football team, it had since been announced that practice would take place every day after school unless otherwise mentioned. with megumi's mornings starting earlier than the rest of you, and his days finishing later, he was bound to be torn down with tiredness. although he acted like a robot all the time (eat, sleep, make a rude comment about you, repeat) he was still a human who needed rest. more school meant more social interaction. more social interaction meant a drained megumi. things would only go south from there.

he shrugged at the question.

"i'll be fine," he answered, unbothered.

you disagreed. "you'll die —"

"— revive me with your mermaid abilities then —"

you hoped you pinched him hard enough to bruise. 

"wait," you said, halting your attack on him with a slow frown. he took the opportunity to rip your hands off his ribs and shuffled away from you. you ignored him, sliding down to sit hip-to-hip with him. "if you do ap math in the morning, we can't walk to school together."

for the third time that day, megumi snatched back his timetable from you.

"good luck," he said. "you cross the road like you have nine lives."

"you basically just told her that you wouldn't care if she died," yuji intervened, quick to jump to your defence despite the many times you would argue with him too. 

"this is what happens when you hype him up," said nobara, pointing at him with enough aggression, any outsider would probably assume that he'd committed blasphemy — you liked to think he had. 

"i'm surrounded by idiots," you thought you heard him mutter. 

liar, liar masterlist here:

notes: guys, this is the chapter AFTER the (unreleased) chapter 5. thought i'd feed it to you 'cause i don't have a sneak peak prepared for chapter 5 itself, and this was sitting in my drafts, unattended. and cuz it's been over a month since the last update (and will take another month to actually complete and release a new chapter) i thought i'd give you guys SOMETHING rather than nothing :)

[bookwyrminspiration]

Transcript of The Trade, the Marella KOTLC short story (Including the author introduction)

Note: OG pictures taken by Kenna!, provided by @fintan-pyren. Some words are obscured and the transcript may contain errors. Neverless, I hope this is useful to anyone who may need/want it :)

Hello, wonderful Keeper readers! Some of you might already know that I love to sneak a little something extra into the paperback versions of my books whenever I can (since I don't think hardcover readers should get to be the only ones who sometimes find fun bonuses). For those who didn't know that: surprise! :)

I knew I wanted to include a story from Marella's POV this time. Not only is she on the cover (looking fierce and fabulous!) and a fan-favorite character, but she also had some key scenes in Stellarlune that we only got to "hear" about. The Keeper books are limited to Sophie's POV, so I can only include moments where Sophie is present--and since Sophie didn't go with Marella to her meetings with Fintan, we only learn what Marella tells Sophie later. But what if there was something Marella didn't share?

Over the next few pages, you can watch one of Marella's conversations with Fintan play out in real time and hear all Marella's thoughts and reactions to what's happening. I've called this story "The Trade"--and I've worked in lots of fun little extra details (some of which might even turn out to be important later...*wink*).

For those wondering, this story is based a [sic] scene in chapter 31 of Stellarlune--and if you haven't read Stellarlune yet: SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! Reading this first will probably be confusing and will also give away a few tidbits too early. You'll be much happier if you start by reading Stellarlune and then come back here for all the Marella fun once you're done!

Happy reading! [shannon's signature]

~

"Ugh, I hate this place," Marella muttered, shaking the freshly fallen snowflakes out of her gilded blond hair much harder than necessary and yanking her thick velvet cape tighter around her narrow shoulders.

She said the same thing every time she had to trudge through the knee-high snowdrifts and found herself staring at the icicle-crusted entrance to the now familiar cave.

Didn't matter how many times she'd gone there--or how important her visits were. She was never not going to dread making the long, slippery trek down to Fintan's frozen cell.

The cave looked like some sort of open-mouthed snow beast waiting to devour everything in its path--which was probably intentional, since the prison was designed to be as miserable as possible.

Especially for someone like her.

The goblin guards even gave her pitying stares as they moved aside to reveal the endless icy path that wound down and down--and down a whole lot more--to a place where the tiniest glimmer of heat had long since been swallowed up by the suffocating cold.

No amount of clothing could keep Marella warm in the heart of the prison She'd actually tried wearing so many layers that she'd looked like an overstuffed gulon--and she still couldn't stop shivering. And the whole "body temperature regulation" thing wasn't exactly possible when she had to use so much concentration to make sense of Fintan's ranting.

it wasn't fair.

Everyone else got to train their special abilities in fancy rooms at Foxfire, with Mentors who weren't creepy, unstable murderers.

But they weren't Pyrokinetics.

Marella was lucky the Council was letting her use her ability at all.

They could just as easily label her Talentless, kick her out of their snobby academy, and ban her from ever sparking another flame.

Or they could decide she was too dangerous and lock her away.

in fact, Marella wouldn't have been surprised at all if the Council was already building an icy cage just for her--but the thought still made her shiver and wish she could've manifested as...

Nope.

She stopped herself from finishing that sentence.

If life had taught her anything, it was that there's no point wanting things that were never going to happen.

Instead, she focused on the thin beams of sunlight streaking through a gap in the gloomy gray clouds. The light was far from warm, but if she really concentrated, she could feel a hint of lingering heat tangled among the brightness.

She called the warmth closer and soaked it in--let it pool under her skin, pounding with her pulse, swelling with every heartbeat. Growing hotter and hotter and hotter until...

Snap!

A flick of her fingers sent a small tangle of flames sparking to life above her left palm.

"Feel better?" Linh asked as Marella let out a long, slow sigh.

Marella nodded--though she definitely could've done without the whispered that were now hissing around her head.

The flames had a soft, crackly voice. And they always made the same plea.

Feed me.

Feed me.

Feed me.

Fire craved fuel--constantly wanting more, more, more--and it would've been so easy for Marella to let the fire swell bigger and bigger and bigger.

But that was the kind of thing that would lead to a lifetime of shivering in an underground ice cube, so she forced her gaze to shift to Linh, who stood in a small, snowless circle surrounded by a halo of hovering snowflakes---none daring to touch her long silver-tipped hair or shimmery purple cape.

Marella knew how hard Linh had fought to achieve that level of control, and how tentative Linh's hold over her ability still was. But the fact Linh could stand in a sea of frozen water and do nothing except keep the falling snow from settling on her flushed pink cheeks was very...

Annoying.

Then again, everyone annoyed Marella a little.

Her dad used to call her "fiery" long before he realized how accurate that description truly was.

But it wasn't Marella's fault!

People tended to be annoying.

Especially a Hydrokinetic who was currently looking all peaceful and pretty and perfect while making snowflakes flutter and spin in intricate patterns.

That didn't mean Marella wasn't also grateful that Linh was willing to tag along to her Pyrokinetic lessons. it was nice to see a friendly face after hours of Fintan's rambling. Plus, it seemed like a good idea to have someone with water powers around while she practiced setting things on fire.

They were even finding some pretty cool ways to work together. Fire and water might be opposites--but that didn't mean they couldn't be combined. Marella had actually figured out a way to ignite Linh's rain, and she couldn't wait to use that little trick on the Neverseen--assuming those black-cloaked losers ever showed up again.

For a fearsome, unstoppable rebellion, they sure spend a lot of time hiding.

"Are you going to start by asking him about the cache or do the lesson first?" Linh asked, reminding Marella why they were there.

Marella shrugged. "Depends on Fintan's mood."

Sometimes he was already babbling about some fancy new fire trick when she arrived, as if he'd started the lesson without bothering to wait for her. Other times she couldn't get anywhere with him until she'd let him go on and on and on about how foolish the Council was, or how badly he'd been wronged, or how much he missed the feel of a flickering flame--and she didn't necessarily blame him for the last one.

Part of her wanted to hold on to her fireball forever.

Make it her smoky little pet.

Instead, she curled her fingers into a fist and snuffed it out--but she didn't let all the heat dissipate. She called a single tingling glint deeper, letting it sear through her veins and settle into her heart.

She knew it was a risky move, even with all the defenses she wrapped around it. But she couldn't bear the cold emptiness of Fintan's prison without a least a tiny fleck of warmth tucked away.

A secret spark whispering, I'm here. You're not alone.

"Okay," she said, weaving a few strands of her hair together to clam her twitchy fingers. She'd picked up the nervous habit years ago--after her mom's accident--and the tiny braids were kind of her trademark now. "i guess I should stop stalling and head down to deal with Sir Creepysparks, huh?"

Linh smiled. "Probably. Unless you want to rehearse what you're going to say."

"Nah. I'm just going to offer him an ugly flower--that doesn't exactly need a big speech. Oh, but that reminds me..."

She reached into her cape pocket and pulled out the spiky dark blue Noxflare--which looked more like a dying weed than a super-rare flower--and held it up to the guards. "Mr. Forkle already checked this before I brought it here, to make sure it's safe for me to offer to Fintan. but I figured you'd want to check it too."

"We do," they agreed in unison as one of the biggest, deadliest-looking guards took the Noxflare from Marella and brought it over to the other goblins.

A lot of mumbling about potential kindling and fire hazards followed.

Eventually, the guards decided to quick-freeze the Noxflare into a block of ice in case there was any heat stored inside.

"Whoa," Marella said when the scary guard returned with the flower-filled ice cube--which had turned out as big as her head. "How heavy is that thing?"

The guard studied Marella's skinny arms. "I can carry it for you if you'd like."

"That's probably be smart." Marella was pretty sure she'd drop it, or her fingers would freeze off during the long walk--and using telekinesis would drain her mental energy. "But can you stay out of sight? I was planning to tell Fintan he can only see his weird flower thing if he gives me access to his memories, and that's kinda ruined if there's a giant goblin holding it right next to me.

Not that it made the plan any less pointless.

Fintan was obviously going to turn her down.

He's already made it super clear that the only trade he was interested in was for his freedom--which was never going to happen.

Marella doubted a dying flower frozen in ice was suddenly going to make him be like, You know what? Who needs out of this horrible prison when I can have that!

But she was out of other ideas.

And Sophie wanted her to try the Noxflare thing, so...

Whatever.

Marella didn't care about Sophie's current power trip the way Stina did.

As long as she didn't have to be the one coming up with all the plans--or almost dying all the time--Marella was fine following orders. Especially if she got to say I told you so when they turned out to be a huge waste of time.

"Sure you don't want me to come with you?" Linh asked as Marella pulled thick gloves onto her hands. "Fintan likes me."

Marella wasn't sure if "like" was the right word, since Fintan didn't seem to like anybody. But he'd definitely been impressed with Linh.

He'd demanded to speak with "the Hydrokinetic" after Marella mentioned she practiced her pyrokinesis with Linh, so Marella had convinced the goblin guards to let Linh down into the prison. And when Fintan asked for a demonstration of Linh's ability to ensure she wouldn't "hinder his training," Linh had stirred up all the ice shards on his floor and made them rain around him like he was trapped inside a snow globe--which actually made him applaud.

Apparently, most Hydrokinetics struggled to manipulate water in its solid form, and were limited to liquid water or water vapor.

But not Linh.

Of course.

Marella was pretty sure that Linh was more powerful than any of her other friends.

"Well, if you need me, you know where to find me," Linh said as Marella forced her feet to carry her into the cave. "I'll just be here, making another snow menagerie." She flicker her wrist and wove the hovering snowflakes into a soaring alenon.

"Ugh, at least make some ugly creatures this time," Marella called over her shoulder. "I want to see a row of snow ghouls when I get back here. Or a giant Princess Purryfins!"

Linh gasped. "Princess Purryfins is not ugly! I'm going to tell her you said that!"

Marella laughed. "I'm sure you will."

She would've teased Linh more about her ridiculous obsession with her pet murcat, but the frigid air from the prison hit Marella hard, and she had to lock her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

As least she didn't have to make the journey by herself this time.

Marella could hear the scary goblin guard keeping pace several steps behind her as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim blue light cast by a series of glowing spheres dangling from the ceiling. The downward slope grew steeper with each winding curve, and Marella was always tempted to try sliding down the icy floor instead of walking--but she'd probably end up crashing into one of the weird ice thrones outside Fintan's cell. And she knew better than anyone that injuries couldn't always be healed.

Plus, the trudge gave her a chance to add extra defenses to the heat she'd tucked away in her chest.

She often wondered if Fintan had hidden a few sparks of his own when he was arrested. After all, he had to know the Council would put him on ice for the rest of eternity. Wouldn't he try to preserve what little heat he could?

But Marella had stretched out her senses a zillion different ways and never felt the slightest tingle of warmth when she was around him. So either there was nothing to find or Fintan was that good.

She had a horrible feeling it was the latter, and he was waiting for just the right moment to reveal his grand plan--but that wasn't the kind of thing she should be thinking about before having to face him.

Still, she spent the next few turn trying to figure out what she'd do if she were right.

Her feet turned numb while she plotted, and her bones were officially aching by the time the path widened-- the only warning that they were getting close to Fintan's cell.

A few curves later, his cage came into view: a stark, icy bubble in the center of a circular cavern.

The round wall was reflective on the inside, so even though Marella could see Fintan pacing along the edge of his frozen barricade, he wouldn't be able to see her until she triggered the sensor by sitting in one of the freezing thrones positioned at the only point Fintan could peer through.

He looked extra tired that day--his sky blue eyes sunken by more shadows than usual, and he kept muttering under his breath about incompetence as he tucked his messy blond hair behind his pointy ears with a bit more force than necessary.

Marella glanced back at the scary guard, making sure he'd ducked into the shadows near the back of the cell before she made her big appearance. Then she took a deep breath and pressed her hand against her heart, reaching for her secret spark of warmth one last time before plopping into the closest ice throne.

"Awwwww, looks like you missed me," she said, tossing back her hair and flashing her brightest smile.

She liked to start her visits by showing Fintan she wasn't afraid of him--even if she totally was.

But Fintan didn't glance her way.

"I'm not in the mood for games," he warned as he continued his slow march around his cell.

"Neither am I" Marella assured him, deciding that was her cue to start with the cache. She sat up taller, trying to look extra confident as she added, "But I do have an awesome trade to offer you!"

Fintan sighed. "If this is about my cache, I already told you what I'm willing to accept. Unless you're here to grant me a day of freedom--"

"I'm definitely not. But! I found something you should like even better." She paused, hoping the extra bit of anticipation would somehow make her offer should more exiting when she told him. "Noxflares!"

Fintan scrunched his slender nose. "What are Noxflares, and why would I care about them?"

Marella tilted her head, trying to tell if he was faking.

She hadn't expected him to jump around or applaud or anything--but she had expected him to at least know what Noxflares were.

Then again, his mind had been shattered and pieced back together so many times, his memories had to be in shambles--and Ancient minds tended to be a total mess anyway, since they were crammed with thousands of years of information and the past and present blurred together.

"Would it help if I told you I stopped by your old estate on my way here?" she asked, "Your garden could use some gnomish help, by the way. All the plants have turned into a giant dying tangle. But I dug around and managed to find this scraggly vine with dark pointy flowers--and I hear that plant is special to you, so I picked a few and--"

"You picked my Noxflares?" Fintan snapped, rushing to the wall of his cell and pressing his palms against the ice. "You must let me see them!"

Marella's lips curled into a huge smirk. "I thought you didn't know what they were."

Fintan gritted his teeth so hard, it sounded like cracking ice.

"Hey, I'm not saying I won't share. Buuuuuuuuuuut it'll cost you--and I'm pretty sure you can already guess what I want." She paused for another beat before she added, "Just so we're clear: I'll show you one of your Noxflares if you open your cache and show me what's inside."

Fintan's jaw tightened even more and his hands curled into fists.

But he didn't say no.

He didn't say anything--which was definitely new.

Marella had already offered him a long list of trade suggestions that she, Linh, Maruca, and Stina had all come up with--some really cool ones! And Fintan had shot down each one down before she could even finish the offer.

She couldn't believe he looked so tempted by an ugly flower.

but as the silence dragged on, Marella started to wonder if she'd misread the situation.

maybe she'd pushed him too hard--taunted him too much--and now Fintan was letting her sit there in the cold, knowing the icy throne was turning her butt and legs numb.

She was trying to decide if she could make standing up look like a power move when Fintan told her, "Fine. You have a deal--but since you're only offering one Noxflare, I'll only show you one memory."

Marella barely stopped herself from blurting out, SERIOUSLY?

"Orrrrrrrrrrrrrr," she said instead, wanting to kick herself for not bringing more Noxflares with her. The whole thing had just seemed so silly--and the first few she'd picked had crumbled to dust. But the vine had lots more flowers, so she could fix the mistake super easily. "How about I go back, grab eight more Noxflares, and then you show me all nine memories?"

Fintan grinned. "Tempting. But one Noxflare is really all I need."

Need?

Marella wasn't a fan of that wording.

But before she could ask him what he needed it for, he added, "My offer expires in ten seconds," and started counting down.

By "six" she decided that one memory was better than nothing.

"Fine," she said, pulling the cache from her pocket and holding the marble-size orb up to the light. "But you go first. How do I open this thing?"

No way was she going to risk letting him back out--especially since he probably wasn't going to be happy when he saw his precious flower was stuck in the middle of a giant ice cube.

Fintan held out his hand. "Give me the cache, and I'll open it."

Marella laughed. "Hard pass."

"Ah, but you don't have a choice. I'm the only one who can access the memories. And I need to make physical contact with the cache in order to do so."

Marella squinted at the tiny gadget.

She didn't know much about caches--aside from the fact that only Councillors used them and that each colorful inner crystal held a single Forgotten Secret. But she did know that Dex had already tried everything he could think of to open the cache and failed--and he was one of the best Technopaths ever.

"Do I need to start counting down again?" Fintan asked. "I believe we'd gotten to five..."

Marella chewed her lip. "Uh, how do I know you're not going to destroy the cache or try to hold it for ransom or something?"

Fintan's smile was colder than his cell. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Yeah, I don't see that happening."

Fintan shrugged. "Then our deal is off."

Marella rolled her eyes. "Come on. Even if I wanted to, it's not like I can open your cell door and hand the cache to you."

She wasn't even sure if his cell had a door. The wall looked like one big solid piece of ice.

"You've proven to be very resourceful during our lessons," Fintan reminded her.

"Yeah, but--"

"It's your call," he interrupted. "If you want a memory, you'll have to trust me."

She snort-laughed--but before she could get another word out, he repeated, "You'll just have to trust me." And she could tell that was the only response he was going to give.

She turned to the scary guard, who had started pacing in the shadows. "Is there a way to pass Fintan a small item?"

"Ah, you have a hidden goblin escort--I knew you were resourceful!" Fintan clapped his hands. "And yes, there is a way to pass me my cache, otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it. Any guard can open the disgraceful tube they pass my horrid, frozen bits of food through. The cache should fit nicely."

The guard gripped his sword. "I cannot allow any unauthorized item to enter his cell."

Fintan clicked his tongue. "Clearly you're not considering the fact that I've already had plenty of chances to make this trade--and turned them all down. Do you think I would do that if the cache was even remotely useful to me?"

The goblin couldn't argue with that logic.

Neither could Marella.

And when Fintan went back to counting down, she told the guard, "The Black Swan knows I've been trying to make this trade--and they're working with the Council now. No one would let me do this if they thought the cache was dangerous."

Then again, they'd never discussed the possibility of handing the cache over to Fintan--but surely someone must've considered that during all their endless talking and obsessive overplanning...right?

Besides, if anything went wrong, she could always remind them that this was Sophie's idea.

"I don't like this," the scary guard growled. But Marella gave him her I-totally-know-what-I'm-doing glare until he set the frozen Noxflare down with a particularly dramatic thud, snatched the cache, and spent an eternity squinting at the tiny crystal, spinning it all different ways. "If anything happens, my priority will be subduing the prisoner--not protecting you. Are you certain you want to take that risk?"

Marella absolutely wasn't.

But...this might be their only shot at seeing one of Fintan's Forgotten Secrets.

Plus, she had her tiny little spark buddy she could call on if she needed. Surely she could use that to...

To what?

Take down a superpowerful, much more experienced Pyrokinetic with a history of murdering poeple?

But...did she really want to wimp out?

Sophie wouldn't.

And yeah, Sophie had, like, a permanent bed in the Healing Center. But Marella was pretty sure their whole group would vote "DO IT!"

There were also a dozen other armed goblins who would rush down as backup.

And Linh could attack Fintan with her cutesy snow animals.

It'd almost be worth it to watch Fintan get swallowed up by an ice wave shaped like Princess Purryfins.

"I can handle myself," she decided, using a tone that hopefully sounded intimidating.

Fintan's gleeful laughter echoed of the ice.

The scary guard muttered something about the arrogance of elves as he reached toward the top of Fintan's frozen cell and felt around for a specific spot. A faint clicking sound followed, and a tiny round door slid open--far out of Fintan's reach.

"I can neutralize you within seconds," the guard reminded him as he held the cache up to the opening. "By numerous means. Some far more painful than others."

"Yes, I'm well aware of the absurd lengths the Council has taken to keep me contained," Fintan assured him. "But I don't plan on giving you a reason to use any of them. Not today, at least."

The guard bared his supersharp pointy teeth, and Marella wanted to shout NEVER MIND, JUST KIDDING! But she let the guard shove the cache through the tiny opening--and then it was too late to change her mind.

All she could do was watch the glass orb make its slow descent, rolling around and around and around--down some sort of invisible path etched into the wall of the cell.

Her stomach backflipped with each rotation, and she felt more than a little vomit-y when the cache dropped low enough for Fintan to catch it. But he simply held it up and studied it.

Then he coughed on it.

And sneezed on it.

"Ewwwwwww," Marella groaned when he followed that up by drooling on it. "You know, there are better ways to give it your DNA."

"Yes, I'm aware." Fintan cleared his throat and launched a slimy blob of spit at the cache. "I also know your little Technopath friend is going to ask you how I accessed the memories, so feel free to give him a detailed list." He wiped the cache dry with his fingers and then ran it through his greasy hair before sneezing and coughing on it again. "Some of these methods are vital. Some are distractions. None can be re-created without me--but it'll be fun if he tries, don't you think?"

He laughed so hard, it brought tears to his eyes, and he smeared them across the cache before sneezing and spitting on it again--making Marella very glad she had gloves to keep her hands clean once he returned the cache.

Assuming she actually got it back...

She tried to make out what he was saying when he started mumbling a bunch of stuff into the crystal, but the words were all mushed together. He also tapped the cache in so many different places that she doubted even Sophie and Keefe with their fancy photographic memories would be able to re-create the patterns. And he looked so smug as he did it all that Marella decided to look as bored as possible--which was why she was barely paying attention when the cache flared to life, projecting a small hologram of Fintan standing alone in a wide, empty field.

"Huh," Marella mumbled. "Gotta admit, I was expecting something a little more exciting than a tiny glowing Fintan in the middle of nowhere doing...nothing."

"Then you should learn to be more observant." Fintan pointed to the swaying grass around the hologram's feet, and after a few seconds, Marella realized there was a vine of blooming Noxflares. "I figured I'd show you what Noxflares can do, since you're so generously bringing one back into my life."

Marella squinted at the tiny flowers, waiting for something to happen.

And waiting.

And waiting.

"So...they...blow in the wind?" she asked.

Fintan sighed. "No, they do this."

The hologram of Fintan waved his arms, and all the Noxflares erupted with searing white flames.

"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaah, still not seeing why this needed to be a super-hush-hush Forgotten Secret," Marella grumbled as the Fintan hologram flicked his wrist and added purple fire to the white.

Sure, the flames were pretty--but all flames were beautiful.

"Try thinking like a Pyrokinetic!" Fintan snapped. "Tell me, are there any other flowers that could remain intact under such an inferno?"

Marella couldn't think of any.

And the Noxflares still didn't burn when the Fintan hologram added yellow flames to the fiery mix.

but other than clearly being fire-resistant, Marella didn't see the Noxflares actually doing anything--and the hologram of Fintan must've been equally unimpressed.

He frowned at the flaming petals and dragged a hand down his face, mumbling "something's missing."

"Still not seeing the point of this," Marella noted. "I mean..."

Her voice trailed off as the tiny Fintan waved his arms again and blasted the Noxflares with pink flames--which made the flowers spray sparks in every direction.

The effect was breathtaking.

Kind of like the sky during the Celestial Festival.

But that still didn't necessarily scream, THIS MEMORY IS IMPORTANT.

"How come the grass isn't catching fire?" she asked, grasping for anything that might be significant. "Do the Noxflares protect it or something?"

"No, I was protecting it. A pyrokinetic should always be in control of their flames."

He sounded so smug Marella was tempted to remind him that he let five Pyrokinetics die when he tried to teach them how to call down Everblaze and they all lost control--but that would probably make him throw one of his tantrums and send her away.

She needed the cache back first--and to hopefully find something useful in this boring memory. But sadly, all Fintan's hologram did was stare blankly at the stars and mumble "something's missing" again before the image flashed away.

"That's it?" the scary guard demanded, beating Marella to the complaint.

"Yeah, so...you put on a little fire show all by yourself with some spark-shooting flowers," she added, trying to sum up what she'd seen. "You were clearly disappointed by that little show. And then you must've remembered you needed to..."

She waved her hands, cuing Fintan to fill in the blank with whatever was "missing."

But he just stood there, staring at the cache with the same glazed look he always got whenever he started rambling about the beauty of fire--and Marella wished Linh had come with her after all.

Linh could pelt him with snowballs or something to snap him out of it.

But then she realized...

"You never figured out what was missing--did you?"

Fintan blinked and met her gaze. "Noxflares are full of possibility. But they need to burn."

"That doesn't answer my question," Marella noted.

Fintan shrugged. "Context was not part of our bargain."

"yeah, because I figured when I saw the memory, it would be obvious why it's this big Forgotten Secret. How does you setting some flowers on fire and then realizing you did it wrong matter to anyone?"

"I did nothing wrong," Fintan assured her, with a particularly haughty smile--butt Marella wasn't buying it.

There was a tightness around his eyes that was way too familiar.

Her dad had that same tightness every time her mom was having one of her "bad days," and she knew exactly what it meant.

Disappointment.

Frustration.

A hint of helplessness.

So she marched over to the guard and grabbed the frozen Noxflare from the floor--too irritated to even notice how heavy the ice must've been as she hauled it back.

She plopped it in front of Fintan's cell. "Ta-da! One ugly flower, as promised--and I'm sure you're not surprised that I had to freeze it before i brought it down here."

"I'm not." Fintan dropped to his knees and gazed at the Noxflare like he was seeing a long-lost friend.

He pressed his hand against his cell, trying to get as close as he could. "Such power. Such...promise."

"Uh-huh," Marella agreed, letting his stare and stare, hoping it would help him let his guard down.

When his eyes turned a little teary, she went in for the kill.

"But there is something still missing, isn't there? That's why you saved this memory--to remind yourself to keep looking."

A whole lot of painful silence passed before Fintan slowly nodded.

Marella wanted to feel triumphant.

But all she'd done was prove the entire trade had been pointless.

There was no game-changing clue.

No dirty little secret about the past.

Certainly nothing to help them stop their enemies.

And she had a pretty strong hunch the other eight memories in the cache would be just as ridiculous.

"The answer is out there," Fintan murmured. "I can feel it. I just can't grasp it. Perhaps..."

"Perhaps?" Marella prompted when his eyes locked with hers.

Fintan stepped closer to the ice, keeping his voice low, like he didn't want the guard to hear him. "Perhaps a different Pyrokinetic is meant to find the truth. One who's already convinced the Council to trust her."

Marella laughed. "The Council doesn't trust me."

"The fact that you're here for a pyrokinesis lesson says otherwise--particularly since the lesson is with me." He started circling his cell again, mumbling under his breath and nodding. The only words Marella caught were "possible," "improvising," and "best option."

After three more times around the cell, he stopped in front of Marella again, leaning even closer to the icy wall as he whispered, "I believe it's time for me to offer a trade of my own."

"A trade," Marella repeated, not missing the way the scary guard gripped his sword.

Fintan glared at him. "This conversation is between me and my prodigy. She stands here of her own free will, shielded by who knows how many different kinds of protections--and she can leave anytime she pleases. Your presence is no longer needed."

"You still have her gadget," the guard argued.

"I suppose I do. but that can be easily remedied." Fintan set the cache on whatever invisible ledge it had slid down in the first place and gave it a good shove, sending it spinning up the path toward the top of the cell.

The guard had to scramble to catch it when it launched out of the ice bubble.

"See?" Fintan said, shifting his gaze back to Marella. "I can be trusted."

"Pretty sure the only thing I can trust is that you'll do what's best for you," Marella countered.

"As long as you get what you want, why would you care? After all, no matter what, I'm still stuck in here, aren't I?" He waved his arms around his little ice bubble, which suddenly looked way less secure than it had during her other visits. "Oh, relax--all I'm asking for is a little information."

Marella crossed her arms. "Right--and information has never gotten anyone hurt or killed."

"It's not that kind of secret. It's..." He frowned. "Honestly, I don't know what it is--and for someone my age, with my connections, that says something, doesn't it? I doubt any of the Vackers even know the full truth."

"Then how am I supposed to find it?" Marella demanded.

"As I said, you've proven to be quite resourceful. Particularly when you team up with your little friends." He scowled at the guard again before motioning her to step closer--until her ear was practically pressed up against the ice.

A voice in the back of her head kept screaming, WHY ARE YOU LISTENING TO HIM?

But...she was curious.

And there was nothing wrong with hearing his offer, was there?

Fintan's breath fogged the ice, obscuring his face as he whispered, "All I ask is that if you ever find out what's missing from the Noxflares, you share it with me."

"Why?" Marella glanced at the frozen flower, wishing she could see something more than just ugly shriveled petals.

"Because I want to know," Fintan said simply. "And because I can give you what you want in return."

"The rest of the memories in your cache," Marella clarified.

Fintan nodded. Then his lips curled into a smile. "And one other--something you've long wondered about, even though you probably don't admit it to yourself."

Marella raised one eyebrow, refusing to show any more interest than that.

Fintan cupped his hands around his mouth and pressed them to the ice before he whispered, "I know what happened to your mother."

Marella sucked in a breath.

"Yes," Fintan added. "I'm talking about her 'accident'--if we can really call it that. I know why she fell. And why her injuries were so incurable."

Marella stumbled back, collapsing into the nearest throne and hugging herself to stop her body from shaking with tremors that had nothing to do with the cold.

A tiny, terrified part of her had always thought the story she'd been told about her mom's fall hadn't totally made sense.

But everyone--everyone--was convinced it had been an accident.

Even her father.

And if it wasn't...

She leaned toward Fintan. "I don't need your games."

"Oh, this definitely isn't a game. But it's the only way you'll ever know the truth, and before you start overthinking everything, consider this: You have all the power here. Make the trade, don't make the trade--it's totally your call. You also don't have to make a decision right away. I'm trapped in this prison. I'll never find the answer on my own--and I'll never know if you find the answer unless you decide to tell me. So there's zero pressure. No one even knows we've had this conversation--and don't worry about the guard. See how frustrated he looks? That's because I made sure he only heard what I wanted him to hear. The rest is our little secret."

Our little secret.

Fintan was probably the last person she should have a secret with.

And yet...he had a point.

No one knew he'd made her this offer--and it wasn't like she'd come to any decision.

She didn't even have the information Fintan wanted anyway!

And with the way their investigations always seemed to go, she'd probably only find a whole lot more questions.

So there was really no point in telling anyone about this.

She could tell them whens he needed to.

If she needed to.

That wouldn't be wrong...would it?

It didn't feel wrong--or it wouldn't have if Fintan's smile wasn't so creepy.

"I'm not agreeing to anything," she said, wanting to make that very clear.

"You're not," Fintan assured her. "So how about we put this out of our minds and get started with our lesson? I'm sure your Hydrokinetic friend is wondering why you haven't come up to practice yet."

Linh was probably starting to worry.

She'd probably also built enough snow animals to make a frozen Sanctuary.

"Fine," Marella said, standing up and dusting ice off her cape. "What do you want me to work on today?"

"How about I teach you how to make those colored flames you saw in the memory," Fintan suggested. "You know, in case that ever comes in handy."

He winked, and the guard groaned and held out the cache to Marella. "Sound like I'm no longer needed."

"You aren't" Fintan agreed.

The guard growled--looking scarier than ever--and turned to march away. But he spun back after a few steps. "He's right that I don't know what he offered you. But I can tell you're tempted. And I hope you're smart enough to reject it. Never make a deal with someone who has nothing to lose."

"I'm not," Marella promised.

And she wasn't.

She hadn't made any decisions--except to keep this to herself. But that didn't mean anything.

She was just trying to avoid a ton of drama and arguing and having people give her advice she didn't need.

Plus, everyone has secrets.

Shoot--the great Sophie Foster had more secrets than anyone.

So it was fine.

Everything was fine.

Nothing had changed.

Time to focus on controlling her fire.

And yet, for the rest of the lesson, the tiny spark in her heart burned hotter and hotter and hotter. Whispering a new plea.

Trust me.

Trust me.

Trust me.

[ninjagobythenumbers]

Ninjago Character Search Engine

I made a tool where you can search Ninjago characters by name, type, allignment, species, gender, season, or a combination of all those factors. If you want to play around with it here's the link. I compiled all of the data myself so there's likely a few errors. I've already corrected where I had accidentally labeled Zane's dad as a serpentine. Please let me know if there's any problems!

How to use it

Basically, you just input the criteria you're interested in seeing. For instance, if you wanted to see all of the nindroids in Ninjago, you would do a search as follows.

An important thing you may notice here is I not only input "Nindroid", but I also input "New." I did this because my index has a new entry for each character each season. If you choose not you choose not to put "New," the output will include 21 Zanes, which is great but may not be what you're looking for.

Another thing to note is that if you're not searching by name, you need to make sure the name box is completely blank or you will get 0 results like in the following search where I left a space bar in the Name box.

If you are searching by Name, make sure the name exactly matches the entries or nothing will show up.

You can either view the entry in the index on the next sheet, or you can just find the person by inputting the proper criteria.

I also left some comments on the sheet with some useful tips! Feel free to ask any questions!

Criteria

I think it's important I explain how I created and employed my criteria as it can be pretty subjective.

Type

Type is one of my more subjective criteria. The options are Main, Supporting, Recurring, Guest, or Ensemble and I agonized over some of these placements. For instance, did Mr. F fulfill a supporting or Recurring role during season 9? Very difficult to say. Still, generally, these were my definitions. Main: Ninja (usually) or someone who significantly contributed to the plot and had a large percentage of screentime (it takes a lot for me to demote a ninja from main, but I had to in DR) ex: Lloyd in season 4

Supporting: A character that has a significant degree of screentime, their own personality/backstory, and helps another character push the plot along ex: Garmadon in season 4

Recurring: Pretty much any character that speaks in more than a few episodes ex: Chope and Kapau in season 4

Guest: A character with personality who speaks or otherwise makes a mark in only one episode that season ex: Morro in season 4

Ensemble: A character that's only in the background and/or has no personality of their own and/or is just sort of filling out an army ex: Acidicus in season 4

Allignment

Allignment is also a very tricky category. I had to make a choice about whether neutral or good would be the default for characters I don't know much about. I went with good as I feel like it fits the tone of the show. Thus, I assume for instance that Mara from Nya's class is a good person even though she's done nothing to demonstrate that.

Good: Default. Also, if you help save the world, I usually let it overshadow previous bad behaviour. ex: Arin in Dragons Rising (S1)

Neutral: You have to be pretty morally ambiguous to get this designation. I generally assigned it to influencers, anti-heros, somewhat redeemed villains, and members of morally unclear societies. ex: Agent Rodrick Allen in Dragons Rising (S1)

Evil: I generally assigned this to all antagonists, even if they weren't actively trying to destroy the world. ex: Rapton in Dragons Rising (S1)

Species

Here's a list of each species I included in my index.

Human Nindroid Demigod Skeleton Dragon Serpentine Beast Oni Ghost Djinn Hunter Construct Formling Munce Geckle Islander Merlopian Devonian Tide Unknown Miscellanous

Most of this criteria is pretty objective, so I'll only clarify the less obvious ones.

Beast: Any animal, monster, or creature. ex: Krag from the Ice Chapter

Construct: I applied this to any character created by another whether it be through magic or engineering. I excluded Nindroids because they're a large enough sub-category. ex: Bonzle from Dragons Rising or MiniPix Seven from Crystalized

Unknown: This just applies to the Forbidden Five as we don't know much about them but they don't appear human. ex: Nox in Dragons Rising

Miscellaneous: I only applied this in rare categories where not only was their species a bit unclear, but they appeared to be the only member of that species on screen. ex: Benthomaar from Seabound

Gender

Oh no, it appears I accidentally created a gender cascade. Anyway, I based character's genders primarily off of the gender of their VA , but I also took into consideration the pronouns other characters used to refer to them. I didn't do a thorough transcript search though, so let me know if I've made any errors. I designated some characters as unknown, usually because they neither spoke nor were spoken about.

Season

Season, like species, is also pretty objective but I'll clarify some of my choices. I only used titles for Day of the Departed and the Islandbecause they don't really fit into the numbered seasons. I used numbers rather than season names for the most part because they're more concise. I designated Dragons Rising seasons 1 and 2 as 16 and 17, primarily because that's how I view them, but also for this conciseness factor. I split season 17 into two seasons (17 and 17.5) because they're two unqiue arcs that different casts of characters, some of which have changed their allignments/types between part 1 and 2. I may do the same for 11 and 16 in the future.

New/Old

I put a new entry for each character so it was necessary for me to designate whether this was the first entry of the character or a repeat entry. Having multiple entries allows you to view how characters changed over seasons rather than only being able to see their initial criteria. It also allows you to see the full cast breakdown for each season.

That's pretty much it! Here's the link again. Please do play around with the search and let me know if you find anything cool. The link also includes all of my previous spreadsheets so peruse that at your leisure if you're interested. Thanks as always for reading this far and let me know if you have any feedback, made the exact same thing previously (looking at you @agenericplaceholdername ), or have requests for new spreadsheets or charts. I have a lot of options now that I've created this tool and I've very excited to use it!

[hybeboyenthusisast]

☆ thirteen ☆

prev / masterlist / next

wc: 1.1k

a/n: im weak for this kai

additional note: i accidentally published 2 chapters ahead, so while this chapter was originally labeled 'eleven', it is indeed thirteen. i reccomend going back to chapter ten (everything should be fixed!) so you can read what is actually chapters ten and eleven

You couldn't help but feel bad for Kai as he stepped inside your dorm, where your members were waiting eagerly to meet him.

Everything was totally normal at first, him texting you that he was there and you racing to the door to grab him. Grab him, indeed, as you excitedly wrapped your arms around his waist and tugged him towards you. Kai's familiar laughter, deeper in tone now that he had grown up, resonated in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him.

"You weren't nearly this excited to see me last time," Kai chuckled, squeezing you gently before pulling away from the hug.

You laughed, lightly smacking his arm and stepping to the side to let him walk inside. "I was nervous as shit for my debut, you ass."

"YN, be nice to our guest!" Yue scolded you from her seat on the couch. She wasn't sitting anymore, though; none of the girls were as they had all turned around and were peering over the couch. Four pairs of curious, excited eyes were trained on said guest, who waved nervously. Yue stood up, making her way around to properly greet Kai. "She didn't even bother telling us you were here, she just ran to the door. Hi, Kai, I'm Yue. It's great to meet you!"

Kai and Yue bowed to each other, followed by Kai bowing in greeting to Chae, Lizi, and Rae as well. "Hello! I'm excited to meet you all, yn talks about you all a lot. Thank you for welcoming me into your home!"

"Are you always this nice or are you a suck-up?" Rae quirked an eyebrow, resting her elbow on top of the couch cushion and her face in her hand.

"Rae what the fu-," Lizi chirped in surprise, cutting herself off when she remembered she was trying to make a good impression (and avoid Yue's wrath). "Ignore her, she's just like that, but she's really harmless. Hi, I'm Lizi! I'm so happy you're here, I can't wait to get to know you!"

Chae, who had by now pushed Rae onto the couch and was holding a pillow over her head, gave an innocent smile. "Chae, nice to meet you."

"I warned you, Kai," you say, shaking your head affectionately at the girls' behavior. Yue was grabbing Chae and Rae by their ears, scolding them just as a real mother would, while Lizi giggled at the show. "Come on, I'll give you the tour while Yue deals with the problem children."

Kai barked out a laugh, a grin on his face as he followed after you. "They're just as chaotic as Beomgyu and Yeonjun, especially when they fight."

The tour was pretty quick, considering it was a dormitory. Rae and Chae's room looked like a hurricane ran through it, while Yue's was nearly spotless. The bathroom was overflowing with various skin care and beauty products, something Kai noted looked like the entire contents of a make-up artist's bag.

Your shared room with Lizi was apparently the part Kai was looking forward to the most, something that made sense as soon as Kai made himself comfortable on your bed. "This does not feel like your bedroom at all, honestly," Kai confessed as he looked over the knick knacks lining your shelf.

You pushed Kai's feet towards the wall, making a space for you to sit on your bed that he had taken over. "Yes, well, not surprising it wouldn't look the same as my childhood bedroom, considering I'm an adult and I have a roommate. "

"There's still pieces of you in here, though," Kai mused, waving a plushie in your face. It was a penguin plushie that you kept on your bed, the same plushie that Kai had won for you at a carnival when you were 13. "I can't believe you still have this; even the glasses and scarf are still attached!"

You yanked the plushie out of his hands, pulling it into your chest and pouting at Kai. "Of course I still have it, you spent so long trying to win that game just to win me it when I couldn't do it. I still really appreciate that, by the way. I think that's one of my favorite memories with you."

Kai laughed, sitting up so he was siting shoulder-to-shoulder with you. "You were so sad, I wanted to see you smile again," Kai's tone was so soft, just as his gaze felt on your skin.

You smiled, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You've always been too sweet to me," you giggled as Kai's cheeks grew pink. Placing your favorite plushie back on the bed behind you, you grabbed Kai's hand and tugged him along as you stood up. "C'mon, sweet cheeks, Lizi made cupcakes."

"Sweet cheeks?" Kai questioned, squeezing your hand as he followed you out the room and back to the living room. You shrugged in response, throwing a wink his way as you both re-entered the chaos that was unfolding.

Chae was whining about something- you weren't sure what, as Rae had captured most of your attention as she scooted on the floor like a dog. Yue had her head in her hands, obviously having given up on wrangling the duo. Lizi stood in the doorway to the kitchen, munching on a cupcake and watching the scene in front of her.

"I would say they aren't normally like this, but that would be a lie. Unfortunately, they're much calmer on camera so nobody knows how much of a menace either of them can be," you shook your head, rolling your eyes. You looked over at Lizi, eyeing the chocolate cupcake in her hand. "Lizi, cupcakes?"

Lizi turned towards the two of you with a grin, her eyes darting down to your connected hands before flying back up to your face. "Yes! Please, enjoy some cupcakes! I made a batch for you to bring back to your dorm, Kai, so you can share with your members."

"If you're trying to make a good impression on them, trust me, it's gonna work. They're already so excited to meet yn, can't imagine how excited they'll be to meet the girl who gave them cupcakes," Kai grinned, taking the cupcake that you were offering to him once you made your way into the kitchen. Lizi cheered, happy to hear that her cupcakes will have the intended effect.

You and Kai stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, silently munching on your cupcakes. You flushed as you felt Kai's fingers fiddle with your own, your free hand on the side that he stood on. His skin was soft as he slid his fingers in between yours and held your hand.

The weirdest part, it really didn't feel weird at all.

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Why The Caged Bird Sings | Chapter 6

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction) Rating: Explicit Relationships Vinsmoke Sanji x F!Reader Characters: Vinsmoke Sanji, Patty, Red Leg Zeff, Original Characters, Strawhat crew. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, minor POV switching. Summary: One night, you were brought to the luxurious Baratie Restaurant Ship, renowned for its exceptional cuisine that your family had been intrigued to sample. A particular blond and comely waiter captured your attention with his charming smile and gentle eyes, but while your beauty and sophistication intrigued him, Sanji also observed the profound nervousness that caused your jaw and body muscles to tense whenever your fiancé made contact with your hand or your parents delivered a humiliating criticism towards you. One dinner at the Baratie soon turned into a recurring event, and then more. As your friendship with Sanji slowly evolved into something that burned from within, you strove to make your longstanding dream come true; freeing yourself from a constricting existence. ------------------------- As Sanji looked at you curiously, the gentle smile never leaving his face, you asked him, "Do you know why the caged bird sings?" He thought about it for a moment before answering, "Because it has a song to give?" You chuckled at his response and shook your head. "You're not entirely wrong, but no."

Divider by firefly-graphics

Feel free to read this on AO3 if it is more comfortable for you due to its length. I only ask to support me with a like and reblog if you enjoy my work. ☺️

Tagging: @nerium21

Author's note: Yep, you guessed it; another super long chapter. This one also includes some very detailed smut, which I had to split because otherwise the chapter would become gigantic. You can totally expect the continuation in the next update.

Being with Sanji was everything you could wish for, even though you had to make do with secret moments to steal kisses away from Zeff and the rest of the crew. However, when your deepest desires began to emerge, you discovered that Sanji was even more hesitant than you.

You went to bed with Sanji's taste lingering on your lips, his warmth making your entire body tremble and tingle, to the point that falling asleep felt like an impossible endeavor.

That kiss was the most remarkable and satisfying one you had ever shared with a man. It lasted so long that the muscles around your mouth began to ache, and even your jaw felt strained and exhausted. Neither of you could find the will to pull away. Whenever you tried to step back, your feet remained firmly planted. His lips were irresistible, and the way he held you—strong yet gentle—made your heart swell with emotion the entire time.

Ultimately, it was Sanji who managed to regain his composure. You needed to rest, and both of you understood that if you had continued, you might have crossed a forbidden line—one that you secretly desired but weren't ready to face with him at the time.

Your mind swirled with thoughts as you grappled with anxieties about the day ahead. How could you possibly conceal it from everyone, particularly Zeff, who always had his watchful eyes on you? You were lucky he didn’t catch you in the act; otherwise, you might have dealt with the repercussions, ears pulled in reprimand.

In reality, Sanji appeared just as excited as you were. The last peck he gave you before you left the kitchen was the most reassuring sign you could have hoped for. You contemplated whether this indicated a significant change in your relationship, pondering if labeling him as your boyfriend was too forward or merely acknowledged the truth of the current situation. You were cautious not to appear overly clingy or presumptuous, uncertain if he even harbored enough affection to envision you as a life partner. Would he even be able to resist flirting with any other attractive girl who walked into the Baratie? The mere thought of him offering that same attention to someone else made your stomach churn.

The situation was complex and demanded some introspection. Still, no matter what the future had in store, you were resolved not to let your insecurities hinder you again. At last, you had decided to let go and wholeheartedly embrace the growing affection you felt for the cook. You had no intention of retreating into your shell and pretending it never occurred.

You longed for more. You craved more.

And so, you drifted off to sleep with a smile spreading across your face, Sanji's image etched into your mind.

As dawn broke, your eyes opened instinctively, adjusting to the soft light filtering through the cabin window. You yawned, stretched your arms and legs, and slipped off the mattress, still groggy from sleep.

Your heart pounded as memories of the previous night flooded back like a cold shower. On one hand, you were thrilled at the prospect of seeing Sanji again, while another part tempted you to feign illness to skip work altogether.

Fortunately, you were wise enough to see that such an excuse would have been both childish and absurd. Regardless of how things would turn out from that point on, you were confident in your ability to move forward with your head held high, without retreating or running away. After all, a lifetime of being assertive and vulnerable had taught you important lessons.

You quickly freshened up, applied some flattering makeup, and ensured you looked your absolute best. Aware of Sanji's admiration for beauty, you wanted to give him every reason to notice you (and only you) above the other women vying for his attention. Those ladies better be prepared, because you weren't going to let them win.

As you stepped out of your cabin, the clinking of cups, glasses, and dishes from the kitchen reached your ears. The atmosphere was serene, marking one of the most relaxing moments of the day. You descended the stairs, straightened the buttons on your uniform, and tucked a few loose strands of hair away. Just as you were about to enter the dining room to set the tables and tidy up, someone gently grasped your hand and led you into a secluded area.

Sanji looked at you with a captivating glint in his eyes. A joyful smile formed on his lips as his arms wrapped around your back the moment you leaned into his chest. Surprise and joy surged through you, causing your shoulders to relax as you melted into his embrace.

"Good morning, love," he murmured, gently grazing his nose against yours.

"Hey, good morning," You responded with a beaming expression. "What are you doing?”

"Taking every chance to have you all to myself."

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Then we should probably hurry, we don’t have much time.”

“It will be enough.”

There was no hesitation, shyness, or playful teasing. His lips met yours with a tender, slow, and innocent touch, something that was barely there but electrifying nonetheless. His familiar scent enveloped you, and the hair falling over his left eye tickled your cheek delightfully.

His hands tenderly cradled your face, his thumbs gently stroking your skin. Your fingers threaded through his silky hair as his lips pressed firmly against yours. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entry, which you eagerly granted. The experience was extraordinary—a perfect way to kickstart your day as you savored his taste and the warmth of his kiss.

When he finally pulled back, a wet sound signaled your separation, and Sanji let out a satisfied sigh. "I could kiss you all day.”

"Wouldn’t that get tiring though?”

He lifted your hand to his lips and placed a gentle peck on your knuckles. "It would be so worth it, my lovely. I can't bear the thought of waiting until tonight.”

His ardor to be with you was invigorating. Regrettably, you were not permitted to indulge in it.

"We need to behave. You don't want to be kicked back to waiting tables, and who knows what Zeff would do to punish me.”

"You're a woman; he wouldn't do anything to you.”

"So the blame would fall solely on you? That's all the more reason to avoid it."

Despite your best efforts, Sanji's arms found their way around your waist once more, pressing you against the wooden wall as your back collided with it. His mouth found yours again, grazing your bottom lip, as your breaths mingled in a sweet, intimate dance.

"I'd be a waiter for a month straigh

t if it meant I could have another kiss from you.”

How could his smooth words and leg-shaking voice resonate from his chest all the way to the depths of your core?

"You can have all the kisses you want," you whispered. "As long as you don't seek them somewhere else.”

You threw out the bait almost impulsively and immediately regretted your boldness. However, Sanji didn't seem offended in the slightest; his smile only broadened at your remark.

"How could I ever do that when I have the most beautiful and perfect woman right here in front of me?”

Your cheeks flushed, and his words sent a jolt straight to your heart. "Right. Why should you?”

"I mean it," Sanji continued, his eyes locking onto yours with such passion that it made your breath catch.

As you stood there, emotions churning within, a mix of excitement and vulnerability cascaded over you. He gave you another kiss before you could respond, making your entire world tumble over and collapse. His tongue ventured into your mouth with a restrained hunger, sending shivers down your spine through deliberate, sensual movements. His free hand traced along your hips, drawing you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

His lips descended, leaving a path of soft, open-mouthed kisses from your jawline to your neck. It felt unbelievably amazing and intensely hot, exactly the type of contact you had been waiting for. The euphoria, the taste of his saliva, the heat surrounding you. It had been so long since you experienced anything like that, and none of your past encounters could compare to what he embodied.

He was unlike anyone or anything you could ever imagine. It felt utterly perilous.

As spectacular as it was, you couldn't allow yourself to get lost in it. Every passing second heightened the risk of being discovered by your team, and that was neither the time nor the place to explain why you were making out just steps away from the kitchen.

Moreover, you questioned whether your self-control would hold if things progressed any further. Truthfully, you were skeptical.

"Sanji, we... we need to get to work.”

He hummed against your skin, lingering a bit longer before returning to your lips. Finally, albeit reluctantly, he released you.

"Ah, I think we have a problem," he said, amusement in his voice. "Your cheeks are a little red.”

“Wait, what??”

You instinctively lifted your hands to your face, feeling the warmth radiating from it. You muttered a curse under your breath, pressing yourself against the partition, as if you wished to disappear into it.

In contrast, Sanji seemed unbothered by your predicament. He chuckled and rubbed your back as you buried your face in his chest, clearly entertained by your attempts to conceal your spontaneous responses.

"It's not funny," you retorted like an offended child.

"I'm sorry, love. I got carried away for a moment there.”

"…I never said I didn't like it.”

Moved by your heartfelt and courageous words, Sanji pulled you into another strong hold. "What am I going to do with you? You're so adorable I could eat you up.”

"Just great. Now you're making it worse.”

He seemed to be having the time of his life, completely at ease and treating you like the most cherished person in the world. He paused, gently stroking your cheeks, giving you a moment to unwind and steady your racing heart.

Finally, as your heartbeat steadied and your skin cooled, you emerged from your hiding place with Sanji’s fingers still lightly touching yours. While he made his way to the kitchen, you took a different route to the dining hall. The tables were only partially returned to their original positions, still looking barren and unready, requiring your meticulous care and attention.

Parting from him with a knowing glance was even more difficult than you had expected. As it turned out, you simply couldn't get enough of him anymore.

Even though he was close by during the entire shift, those few inches felt like an insurmountable distance. Minutes stretched into hours, and the hours dragged on, feeling as heavy and excruciatingly long as an entire week.

Fortunately, your first day as Sanji’s lover went off without a hitch. The well-known connection the two of you had formed played to your advantage; his customary caring and flirtatious demeanor towards you raised no eyebrows among your colleagues or Zeff. Nevertheless, restraining your desires throughout your work was sheer torture. Every time you were near him, the temptation to cast aside your uniform, kiss him, and whisk him away was practically irresistible.

That night, the times you nearly lost control with each other were innumerable. His fingers played with the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly to feel you against him. Your hands roamed up and down his chest, drifting dangerously close to the edge of his trousers. No words were exchanged, only smiles, joyful grins, and swallowed breaths to contain the agonizing actions you both longed to savor, waiting for a moment that didn’t feel so rushed.

Mari’s hand slapped her forehead in a defeated facepalm, the sound echoing through the Snail Phone. The reproach that followed was entirely expected, leaving you with no choice but to nod silently as she spoke.

“I swear, I'd give anything to spend just one day inside your head,” she said. “What were you thinking? He was right there in your bed, completely at your mercy. He wouldn't have refused if you had made a move.”

“I know, it’s just….”

"Let me guess, you prefer to take things slowly."

“Yeah.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled you finally initiated that kiss. I just don’t see why sleeping together at this point would be a bad idea. You’ve been working alongside him for weeks.”

You exhaled deeply and pulled your knees up to your chest. “Honestly? Because I really think he might be the right one.”

“...Oh.”

“Do you think I’m delusional?”

She laughed softly. “No, Y/N, I’m just surprised. I thought you were worried that he might not be serious.”

“Right. My statements are pretty contradictory, I know.”

"To be fair, you also feared that he wouldn't reciprocate your advances to that degree, and that his flirting was actually just a form of kindness, a game he wasn't interested in taking further."

“True.”

“But now, you know that wasn’t the case. To me, it seemed like he really had a difficult time pulling away from you.”

"It was probably the opposite, but... you get the idea."

After a brief pause, she kept the conversation going. "Like I've said before, this is your life. Only you can determine what's best. If you need more time before taking such a big step, then take it."

You smiled. “Thank you Mari.”

“Just let me ask you one thing.”

Uh oh.

"Considering how heated things became in bed, how did he manage to leave under those circumstances?"

“Well, he just… did?”

“Yes, but how?”

“What do you mean by ‘how’? He got up and walked away.”

She cleared her throat ominously. “So, he didn’t have…. you know…”

"Mari, what exactly are you implying?"

Somehow, you foresaw the direction the dialogue was taking, and in retrospect, you should have let it go.

“Jeez, how can you be so oblivious? I’m asking if he got hard, duh!”

As a result, you almost choked on your own breath. “Mari!!! What the hell?!”

"What? Are you saying he managed to avoid it? That would require an incredible amount of self-control. Honestly, I'd find it quite offensive."

“No! I mean, I don’t know.”

“You mean you didn’t even look?”

“Of course not!”

“Ugh, seriously. You’re so hopeless.”

You placed a hand over your mouth and spoke in a barely audible whisper. “Do we seriously have to talk about it?”

"Why not? Men talk about this stuff all the time. And as your best friend, I'm genuinely curious."

You scowled. "As if I'd tell you either way."

“Rude.”

“I’m not being rude. I just don’t think it’s fair. How would you feel if the man you were interested in went around talking about your womanhood?”

"I’d be quite flattered. After all, the way to my heart is through my vagin-"

“Mari!!!”

She erupted in boisterous laughter, wheezing and struggling to catch her breath. You heard something topple over, and her voice straining from the effort. "S-Sorry! You know I love teasing you."

You looked upward, rolling your eyes. “Yes. Could you not?”

“Okay, okay. My bad.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “Thanks for keeping me company. You should all come visit me on my day off.”

"That would be wonderful. The guys can't stop talking about you."

“Really?”

“They miss you, Y/N. And so do I.”

"Aww, I miss you all too. Honestly, you’re my only regret."

You had adapted to your new routine at the Baratie, but the loneliness during your free moments was a persistent downside. As the saying goes, you cannot have it all.

“Well. Don’t you even think about coming back just for us.”

“I love you, but I have no intention of returning anytime soon.”

"Good. The old you wouldn't have even found the courage to leave, so this is a significant step forward."

And she was right. You had spent so much time trying to please your family and everyone they brought into your life that you lost sight of your own dreams. But from the moment you first walked into that restaurant, it felt like you had been reborn. You had an epiphany, quite literally, emerging from a state of comatose subservience.

It was Sanji who sparked your awakening. He instilled in you a newfound belief in yourself and gave you the courage to break free from your chains.

And just like that, the caged bird that loved to sing found its freedom.

Unfortunately, securing a private moment with him away from the kitchen was more troublesome than you had planned. On some nights, Sanji prolonged his stay under the guise of taste-testing, only to end up with you pressed against the counter, his tongue entwined with yours. You reveled in the excitement, but the ever-present risk of being caught loomed, with others potentially noticing a change between the two of you. There was always a nagging worry that Patty or the head chef might walk in at the most inconvenient moment.

For days, you artfully avoided them, finding refuge in the hidden corners of the Baratie or sipping a drink on the starlit balconies. Every instant in his company was extraordinary, and you savored each second, your shoulders occasionally touching as you exchanged heartfelt anecdotes. Sanji often recounted tales from his childhood, emphasizing the humorous incidents he experienced under Zeff’s care. Having lived most of your life under the control of others, with decisions made on your behalf, you found yourself with few stories of your own to tell. Nevertheless, Sanji was always understanding and loving, showing sincere interest in your friends and anything that wouldn't remind you of your family.

When his fingers met yours, enveloping your hand in the most comforting grasp, you realized you needed nothing more. It was so simple—just the touch of his skin or a smile from him, and your entire world instantly lit up.

You secretly longed to explore the ocean with him one day, perhaps even in search of the All Blue together. You hadn't yet discovered a new dream to pursue, because all you wanted was right there beside you.

Your secret rendezvous continued for quite some time, evolving into an essential ritual for both of you. It was a thrilling adventure, a mission to remain unnoticed. Every kiss felt enchanting, and your cuddling grew more assured and daring with every passing day. As long as you remained dedicated to your work and kept your emotions in check, no one had any grounds for criticism. In fact, Sanji's presence seemed to enhance your efficiency, leaving you thoroughly pleased with your job.

He became your confidant and anchor. His cheerful spirit, playful smiles, and secret touches meant solely for you rejuvenated your energy and further bolstered your confidence.

Saying goodbye to him every night was the hardest part of your day. Sanji never imposed on you, never asked for more than what you freely offered, and never crossed boundaries, though he often came close enough to make you consider breaking them.

However, you should have known there was only so much you could do to hold back your physical desires, and that eventually, all that you had would no longer suffice to fulfill them.

One day, you and Sanji were assigned the task of managing the storage inventory. Although it was one of the most tedious duties, it provided a rare opportunity to be alone together at work without needing an excuse. Resisting your natural impulses was a true test of endurance, but despite a few occasional kisses and the usual banter, you both completed your lists diligently and without any improper distractions.

It was only after setting the notebooks aside and leaning against the wall together that things started to escalate.

Again, it began innocently enough—a gentle touch of your hand as he rested his head on your shoulder. You allowed it, softly swirling your thumb over his knuckles and tracing the contours of his silver ring. You kissed his forehead, your free hand gliding along his forearm, where his rolled-up sleeves exposed his skin up to the elbow—his muscles, his tendons.

Your jackets lay draped over a nearby chair, giving you more freedom to move around the room. Inevitably, that brought you closer, leading to more intimate contact between your bodies.

Sanji looked deeply into your eyes, straightening his posture and tightening his hold. His gaze was magnetic, his pupils dilated, but his smile never wavered. He left you breathless, brushing his nose against yours in an affectionate gesture before claiming your lips in another kiss.

"I don't know what to do with myself," he confessed, caressing your cheek and tucking your hair behind your ear. "You're so beautiful I could shout it from the rooftops."

Your eyes dropped as a shy smile tugged at your lips. "You're exaggerating."

“I’m not, my lovely. Every night, the moon envies your beauty.”

His words, delivered with the sweetest tone, were the most sincere you could ever hope to hear.

His eyes shimmered with admiration and tenderness. "I’m the luckiest man in all the seas to have you by my side. You’re the most incredible woman I have ever met in my entire life.”

Your family insisted that you were unworthy of love, and over time, you came to believe it, thinking it was something you could never attain or truly deserve. He had twisted everything you once held as true, exposing it all as one enormous lie.

Driven by urgency, you pressed your lips to his once more, clutching the lapels of his shirt and squeezing your eyes shut. The cook responded immediately, cupping your face—a motion you couldn't get enough of—with one hand slowly trailing down to the sensitive skin of your neck.

The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate and all-encompassing, leaving you both breathless and hungering for more. Enveloped in the sensation of his mouth and the familiar, delicious taste of tobacco, spices and vanilla, you scarcely noticed his hand slipping lower, pausing slightly before coming to rest on your covered breast.

For a moment, you remained still, enjoying the contact and secretly hoping it would last longer. But as soon as it continued, delicately spreading around your mound with a tentative squeeze, familiar alarm bells went off in your head.

Your desire for him was undeniable. Yet, no matter how strong your growing need, a storage room was far from the ideal setting you had envisioned for your first time together.

Reluctantly, you slowed your pace and gently moved his hand away, signaling him to pull back. Panting and at a loss for words, Sanji stared at you with eyes full of unfulfilled craving.

His eyes averted, a sudden wave of embarrassment overcame him. He jolted to his feet, touching the back of his head as he turned his body away from you.

"I'm really sorry, love. I shouldn’t have done that."

If only he had known that stopping was the one thing you didn't want.

“It’s fine,” you reassured him, standing up and placing a comforting hand on his back. “I just don’t feel safe here. We should return.”

Sanji swept his hair aside, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. “You’re right, we should.”

Seeing him so guilt-ridden and defeated hit you hard. You knew it was necessary to avoid future regret, but being so close, so ready for it to become more, now left you feeling completely downhearted. You picked up the notebook filled with inventory notes, reached for your jacket, and put it on as if it weighed a ton of bricks.

Sanji looked away the instant your eyes met his. Shame flooded him as he struggled with the realization that he had lost control and betrayed the principles that had been ingrained in him since childhood. The notion that he might have initiated something you didn't want was a severe blow to his pride.

Yet, he couldn't have been more mistaken.

"Sanji," you whispered, moving nearer to him. "You have nothing to apologize for, I promise.”

You sensed him tense under your touch, but when you wrapped your fingers around his in an encouraging hold from behind, he relaxed with relief.

“I’ll join you in a moment. There's something I need to look into.”

After thoroughly searching the storage room, you assumed he needed some time alone to gather himself from the built-up tension. And so, without questioning him, you kissed the back of his shoulder and left with a heavy heart, silently promising to continue where you left off another time.

Because you needed him. You wanted to be explored, tantalizingly stimulated, and lifted to the highest star you could ever reach.

You simply couldn't bear to wait any longer. That much was clear.

The storage room was oppressively hot, challenging Sanji's physical stamina. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, desperate for air, as his heart raced wildly and pounded against his chest.

What truly kept him unmoved was the unmistakable anticipation straining against his pants, which he successfully maintained hidden from you. He was already ashamed of his behavior and couldn't endure the idea of adding more to his mortification.

How could this have happened? He was taught to view women as the most delicate flowers, deserving of utmost respect regardless of their character or background. Despite your kindness and understanding, the mere fact that he touched you so intimately without your consent was enough for him to harshly condemn himself.

And there he was now, staring in disbelief at his intense, throbbing arousal.

Sanji desperately tried to steady his heartbeat, resting against the storage shelves in a futile attempt to regain his composure. Every second felt like an eternity as his mind spun with conflicting desires and responsibilities.

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, making an effort to divert his mind from the stifling heat and his persistent erection. Thoughts of you, with your wonderful smile and angelic touch, only intensified his growing excitement. Memories of your lips on his and the sensation of your body pressed against him caused an exhilarating rush through his veins, kindling a deep warmth in his belly.

"Get it together, man," he murmured, raking a hand through his hair.

The process was excruciatingly slow. His arousal continued, pulsing and demanding a release he refused to grant. The temptation was overpowering, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He resisted the urge, staying firm and resolute, not daring to grasp it for even a moment of gratification.

It required considerable effort, self-reproach, and mental affirmations for him to finally quell it.

To Sanji, you were a precious jewel—one he wanted to protect and never part from. No matter how his body reacted, he wouldn't let his primal instincts override his judgment again. Not without your explicit permission.

Eventually, with a final exhalation, Sanji straightened himself, smoothing down his shirt and adjusting his tie. The composed, professional stance he was expected to maintain began to reassert itself, though it was a thin veneer over a tumultuous sea of emotions.

When Sanji returned, his usual confident demeanor was intact, but you could still detect a subtle hint of nervousness that only you seemed to notice around the kitchen.

He wasn't avoiding you—still joking and smiling—but he was moving away a bit too quickly, as if the fear of having offended you was keeping him from staying close.

You went to great lengths to include him and engage in normal conversation, as there was no reason for any resentment on your part. It pained you to see him so troubled, especially since, in your eyes, Sanji's actions were entirely natural and not inappropriate.

If only you were in a more private setting, your mind would wander to all the things he could do with his hands and tongue. That gentle squeeze on your breasts was enough to imagine more—him moving further, undressing you, and caressing your bare skin directly.

No, you couldn't let him blame himself for something that affected you so profoundly.

As you drew closer, organizing his cooking station and providing the needed ingredients, Sanji's tension slowly melted away. A soft touch on his hand, a tender brush of fingers along his back or arms as you walked by, the sound of your joyous laughter, the lightness in your voice—all these gestures brought him a sense of calm and silently affirmed your complete comfort.

Or so you thought.

As the kitchen cleared out and your colleagues departed one by one, you eagerly anticipated the moment you would finally be alone together again. His steady gaze followed your every move, and you couldn't help but smile at the attention, wishing it would never cease.

The moment you recognized that things wouldn't go as planned, you felt completely devastated.

Inevitably, Sanji’s creative freedom had backfired, prompting Zeff to demand an explanation for the new, unapproved dessert he had felt inspired to create again without his supervision. Feelings were already running high, and the discussion quickly turned into a heated debate filled with insults and criticisms. It didn't take long for you to understand the seriousness of the situation, and Zeff kindly suggested that you retire for the night.

In other words, your opportunity to speak with Sanji alone had entirely slipped away.

You had little say in the matter. All you could do was wish them both a good night (as much as it could be, given the circumstances) and shuffle off to your room. Your feet moved heavily along the wooden boards, and a headache pulsed from the tension in your nerves.

With a long, pained sigh, you slumped against the door before collapsing onto the bed, as though you were swimming against the current. You buried your face in the mattress, groaning as your legs shifted restlessly.

It exasperated you to no end. Although you admired and respected Zeff, his harshness toward Sanji often felt a tad excessive. On that particular day, his intervention was especially ill-timed, as Sanji's simmering frustration indicated his emotional turmoil was far from properly resolved.

The prospect of enduring another day without a private conversation with the cook felt unbearable. For a moment, you questioned whether stopping him had been the right choice or if you should have seized the opportunity when it presented itself. The storage room was dim and damp, far from the ideal spot for intimacy. Making love with Sanji was something you had envisioned very differently, and there was too much activity outside for the two of you to act impulsively.

Getting caught with your pants down and his arousal buried inside you was definitely not the way you wanted to lose your job (not that you wanted to lose it in any way). You acted on instinct, fully aware it wasn't the right moment for such a significant step. So why did it feel like you'd made a huge mistake, treating Sanji like a casual fling when he meant so much more to you?

Ever since he touched it, your breast had been pulsing with need, and you found yourself hugging your torso as you curled up in a ball on the bed. He applied only the faintest pressure, just barely cupping it in his hand through your clothes. Yet, for reasons beyond understanding, it felt as though he had done a lot more, causing your nipples to harden against your bra just from the memory.

You shook your head, dispelling the mental images your brain was conjuring. If you closed your eyes and concentrated on the background sounds, you could make out the distant voices of Sanji and Zeff, still engaged in their heated argument with remarkable persistence.

It only lasted a few minutes, with your body teetering between reality and dreams, before you drifted away on a sea of restless thoughts.

You remained like that, fully dressed and lying on your back, your hands resting by your sides for an indeterminate amount of time.

You woke up to the sound of knocking at your door. As your eyes adjusted and the ceiling came into focus, you listened intently. By the time the third, fourth, and fifth knocks reverberated through the room, you realized someone was truly there and not just a figment of your dreams.

You sprang to your feet, strode to the door, and opened it while combing your bed hair. Sanji stood in front of you, his face etched with concern and hesitation. It seemed like he was on the verge of turning away, but the moment he saw you step out of your cabin, his expression melted into a broad, relieved smile.

“I’m sorry love, did I wake you up?”

"It's alright. Would you like to come in?"

"I should probably let you rest."

You laughed softly. "I’m awake now. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it."

You grabbed him by the elbow and promptly pulled him inside, closing the door behind him and locking it to ensure your conversation wouldn’t get disturbed. You were done with any potential or direct interruptions.

Sanji remained silent, hands on his hips, with fatigue written across his features.

“Are you okay?” you inquired, stepping closer.

In response to your question, Sanji shook his head resignedly. "I really made a mess of things today."

"You're not referring to the dessert, are you?"

“Not exactly.”

With a sigh, you sat on the bed and patted the spot beside you, inviting him to join. Sanji obliged, settling beside you, his knee softly touching yours.

"I've said this before, but it looks like it needs repeating: you did nothing wrong today."

“Y/N, you are a sweetheart for trying to cheer me up, but you can be honest with me.”

"I am."

His gaze stayed on you as you spoke, but your words failed to achieve the desired effect. He averted his eyes, looking apprehensive, as he struggled to find the right response.

"You were never treated the way you deserved before. The last thing I want is for you to feel any pressure from me."

"Pressure?"

He swallowed. "I don’t want you to do anything with me that you might not truly want."

Did he honestly believe you didn't find any pleasure in what occurred in the storage room?

"Who said I don’t want that? Because as far as I can recall, I never did."

“Y/N….”

“Sanji, I’m serious. You don’t need to worry about it.”

There was nothing you wanted more than to be with him, and only him, in ways that your mind could barely fathom due to the impropriety of your imagination.

It was ironic that he, of all people, felt so uncertain and afraid. You had always taken his charm and flirtatious nature for granted, assuming it had built up his confidence for moments like these. His fear of destroying what you both had created, and of losing you along with your consideration, reflected your own anxieties before it all started.

If nothing else, it validated what you had been wondering all along: to him, you were undeniably the only one.

You clasped his hand with both of yours, tightening your grip. "There's nothing you could do that would ever push me away."

He remained unsure, his mouth slightly open, but no sound came out.

"What do I need to do to make you believe me? I love everything you do, Sanji. And I genuinely mean everything."

This time, he finally accepted your admission. With a relieved sigh, he exhaled deeply, his fingers gliding over your knuckles. "You're beautiful, intelligent, and have a heart of gold."

Ah, there it was, the exuberant and gallant side of him that you had grown to treasure.

You brought his hand to your lips, kissed his fingers softly, and then rested your chin on them. “Well, we have these things in common too.”

Sanji's face brightened as he pressed his lips together, looking at you with the most genuine, sparly eyes you had ever seen.

He was irresistibly and strikingly handsome. Even though you weren't as vocal about it, you wished he knew that no other man could ever measure up.

You moved forward, meeting him halfway for a sealing kiss. His lips were warm, moist, and delicate, carrying a hint of the fruity dessert he had made when Zeff wasn’t looking. It felt so good that you couldn't bring yourself to break away, the sound of your kisses filling the cabin like a song with a steady rhythm and harmonious melody.

Sanji paused, allowing you both a moment to catch your breath. You giggled, a bit winded, your hands still intertwined.

"Do you have any idea how incredible you are?" he asked.

"You've mentioned that before," you said sincerely. "I don't see myself in such a lofty light, though."

"Oh, my lovely, the old man practically adores you. You outwork all of us put together, and I have to keep an eye on Patty because I'm sure he has a crush on you.”

You arched an eyebrow. "Patty? Interested in me?"

"It's either that, or he enjoys getting under my skin."

“You can’t seriously be jealous of Patty. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Men are powerless in the presence of an extraordinary woman like you.”

You shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ve already found my man.”

Damn. That didn't come out the way you intended. Or did it?

Sanji's focus lingered on your face, lost in contemplation, until a sudden spark of realization illuminated his expression. "Have you?"

At that point, with everything taken into account, denying it was no longer an option.

"Honestly, if it weren't for you, I would have never found the courage to leave my old life behind. To step away from my family and all the expectations they placed on me. I did it all because I wanted to know you, to be with you."

His eyes glowed with adoration.

"You made me feel important and special, more than anyone else ever has—even more than my friends."

“Because you are, Y/N,” he whispered with conviction. “You are far better than all those wretched people who made you think otherwise.”

You nodded. “This is exactly why I like you. Without even knowing me, you already understood.”

He played with your fingers, twirling and caressing them in his grasp. “You looked so sad. I couldn't stand to see you like that.”

In truth, he couldn't bear to see any woman in such pain. But now you knew that what began as mere compassion had evolved into something more significant.

“And now that you’re by my side,” he continued, “even my worst days have become the best moments of my life.”

Your heart was racing so intensely that you feared it might burst from your chest and fall right into his lap.

"What will I do when the day comes that you decide to leave?"

Your breath trembled as you blinked rapidly, fighting to hold back the burning tears welling up in your eyes. Your family constantly made you feel worthless and expendable, never able to live up to anyone's expectations. Though your friends loved you and sustained you with their unflinching support through years of emotional turmoil, they often seemed distant and out of reach. Their lives unfolded effortlessly as intended, while you found yourself stuck, aimless, and lagging far behind.

You felt an emptiness, a sense that something important was missing and never meant for you. Unexpectedly, that one casual night at the Baratie restaurant altered the course of your life forever.

“I haven’t been here long,” you replied. “And I have no intention of leaving.”

"Do you really enjoy being here?"

"I do. More than I ever imagined I would."

Sanji's smile widened as his hand slid upward to encircle your wrist.

"And just so you're aware, Patty is a good friend and great company. But he's not you."

His countenance radiated pride and satisfaction. “’Course he isn’t.”

"Right,” you smiled. “So there's no need for you to be jealous of him."

“Nah, I’m not jealous.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m just looking out for my girl.”

‘My girl’…

Your heart skipped a beat as his declaration sank in. No matter how you tried to view it, there was only one way to interpret his words. It was heartening to witness how deeply he cared about your happiness and well-being. He was a refreshing breeze, a guiding light in your darkest moments.

Heavens above, you were truly in love with him. It was a daunting realization, one you hadn’t anticipated arriving so soon. Deep down, however, you had always known.

From the instant you noticed his smile, his eyes, his polite mannerisms, his protective nature, and his physical strength, you struggled against your emotions like a ship caught in a tempest. Finally, your arduous journey had brought you to the safe harbor that Sanji represented for you.

Being with him felt like finding your true home.

"Well, your girl can never get enough of that."

He grinned contentedly, kissed your forehead, and then the tip of your nose. “All you have to do is ask.”

All you needed to do was ask, and he would fulfill your wish immediately.

Yes. You only needed to ask.

Could you find the courage to venture into unknown territory, uncertain of what awaited? Could you even dare to hope for more, after all the dedication you put in to reach that point?

Sanji was always there for you, with his kindness and affectionate gestures, ready to catch you whenever you were about to fall. He was nurtured by exceptional teachings, with Zeff playing a significant role in his upbringing, molding him into the admirable man he had become. But just like you, there was always a part of him that longed for more, for things that seemed so distant and impossible to reach.

You were two solitary souls adrift in a vast ocean, kindred spirits who found each other through challenging times.

Your eyes welled up with tears you could no longer control, one slipping down your cheek and landing on his wrist. Sanji’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a furrowed brow as he brushed his thumb along your jaw.

“What’s going on, my lovely? Why are you crying?”

How could you possibly explain to him that his mere presence, his voice, and his smile were all you needed to feel whole and satisfied?

“Sanji…” Your voice was low, as thin and strained as a pulled thread.

“Yes, beautiful. What is it?”

“Stay.”

Sanji's gaze immediatly softened. You knew he required no further explanation; your intentions were unmistakable.

“Do you want me to spend the night with you…?”

“I do,” you confirmed. “Please, I need you. Stay with me.”

He swallowed again, more audibly this time, and withdrew his hand from yours. Then, he tenderly cradled your face in his familiar comforting manner, his breath warm against your skin. “Are you sure about this? Because once we start, I won’t be able to hold back.”

“I don’t want you to hold back.”

“Y/N—”

“Sanji, I only stopped you today because I want this to be special, not something that happens in a storage room where anyone from our crew could walk in on us.”

You reached for his tie, your nails delicately tracing the knot. “I actually wished you had never stopped.”

The air around you grew increasingly magnetic, and your body temperature soared to an impossible level.

“Then you’ll have me,” he vowed. “If this is what you want, I’ll be yours until dawn.”

“That won’t be enough.”

“How about for as long as you want me?”

"That's better. But I don't think I'll ever stop wanting you."

His lips barely touched yours, a gentle caress brimming with promise. “Then I’ll keep giving you reasons to want me.”

All your self-control had dissipated, leaving you with an overwhelming desire for his body. With desperate fingers, you untangled the knot and yanked, letting his tie fall to the floor. Sanji happily let you take control, lovingly brushing your hair aside to kiss your cheek, chin, neck, and collarbones.

It felt suffocating, your head spinning like a tornado, but you quenched your thirst by straddling his waist, positioning your knees on either side. Sanji consumed you, relishing the flavor of your lips and tongue, as his hands traced gentle circles on your lower back.

With a sense of urgency, you began unbuttoning his shirt, opening the top and revealing his chest. You fought the impulse to tear his shirt off and reveal him all at once, his delicate touch contrasting sharply with your impatience. His fingertips slipped under your shirt to gently caress your back dimples, causing your upper body to jolt slightly, a moan escaping your lips.

Your breath quickened. As you continued unbuttoning his shirt, you intentionally let your fingers glide over the warmth and smoothness of his skin. Sanji's hands tightened around you as you instinctively moved your hips against his.

Through the gap in his shirt, his chiseled physique was on full display, with sculpted muscles that made your mouth water. Sanji grinned at your evident appreciation, swept his hair back with that characteristic flick, then returned to your lips and began lifting the hem of your shirt. You raised your arms, letting him slip off the garment to reveal the lace of your bra.

Sanji delicately set the shirt on the floor beside his tie. His careful handling of even your clothes was genuinely endearing. Your hair had fallen into disarray, partially obscuring your face. He smiled tenderly, tucking the stray strands behind your ears, his blue eyes locking onto yours.

His ability to remain romantic even in the heat of the moment was something you weren't accustomed to during lovemaking. He valued you, treating you like the most delicate piece of glass, holding back his own desires even as you felt his hardness pressing against your core.

His eyes paused briefly on your breasts, snug within your bra. He cast a fleeting glance, just long enough to admire their shape and the outline of your nipples through the fabric.

"So beautiful," he breathed, pulling you into another passionate kiss.

“Look who’s talking,” you said with enthusiasm, easing his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms.

Sanji quickly discarded the rest of the garment, tossing it onto the growing pile of clothes at his feet. It was amusing to see the stark difference in how he treated his own belongings compared to the care he took with yours.

"Let's get you more comfortable, my lovely."

You bit your lower lip, pressing your hips into him with more insistence. “I’m comfortable right here.”

He took a deep breath, stifling a laugh that came out as a muffled gasp. “Then let me ensure you're even more satisfied.”

With his warm hands gripping your sides, he adjusted his position and gently lowered you onto your back against the mattress. Your legs, already spread with him nestled between them, wrapped fully around his waist. Sanji’s arousal was palpable through his pants, pressing insistently against your trousers. Your inner walls clenched involuntarily and your clit throbbed from the friction of his bulge. The intensity was all-consuming, yet you wished for it to never end.

He kissed you repeatedly, his fingers skillfully unbuttoning your lower clothing. With gentle precision, he slid them down your thighs, prompting you to arch your hips to assist.

Something had clearly snapped inside him. As soon as your pants came off, he quickly kicked off his shoes. He unbuttoned and took off his black trousers with such frenzy that you feared they might rip, but he was too careful for that to happen. You hungrily took in the sight of his hard thigh muscles, sculpted knees, and strong calves, like a woman starved for a long time.

It had been years since your last sexual encounter, and you couldn't remember ever feeling so intensely aroused. This time, there were no fears of disappointing your partner or insecurities about your body not matching his expectations. No, his sweetness and protectiveness left no room for doubt in your heart.

Sanji's hands moved up your hips, teasing the elastic band of your underwear before gliding over your belly. It took all your willpower to avoid staring at the prominent erection straining beneath the tight fabric of his dark briefs, pushing forward so forcefully that you wondered how he could endure such discomfort without flinching.

His fingertips hovered just below your breasts, barely grazing their curves as he sought your permission with his eyes. He remained still, not daring to repeat his earlier move from the storage room. He needed your reassurance, and you had no reason or desire to stop him from doing what you wanted most in the world.

With a confident smile, you placed his hands on your mounds, letting him savor their softness as you let out a delightful sigh. He breathed in deeply, gently wrapping his fingers around your flesh and squeezing as if it were the most precious silk.

"Y/N," he murmured. "Is this all right with you?"

You furrowed your brow. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because my only wish is to make you the happiest woman alive. If anything I do feels inappropriate or makes you uncomfortable—”

“Sanji. I swear.”

How could he be so remarkable? Even as his desire intensified, he held himself against you with a restraint that would drive any other man to madness. Yet, he curbed his impulses and waited for your explicit consent, making your heart race like never before and your eyes well with emotion.

His respect for you was boundless and limitless.

“Do I look uncomfortable to you in any way?”

“No, but I—”

"Believe me when I say you can do anything you want to me."

He wet his lips, his jaw clenched as the tension coursed through his veins. “Anything?”

To prove your point, you kissed him gently, slipping the tip of your tongue inside to caress his. “Anything.”

And that, at last, seemed to evoke the right reaction in him. His pupils dilated, and the corners of his lips curled into the most prideful smile he had ever shown.

"Just relax and let me pamper you, beautiful."

Well, if that didn’t send a shiver of pleasure straight to your core, you couldn't imagine what the rest of the night had in store for you.

You nodded fervently just before his lips crashed against yours again. The kisses were hot, sensual, and ravenous, with your tongues taking center stage in the passionate exchange. His hands squeezed, massaged, and lifted your breasts with the same expertise he used in the kitchen, his culinary skills translating seamlessly into the bedroom. And then, as his forefinger daringly slipped beneath the edge of your bra's cup, your mind went blank.

With a gentle tug, he effortlessly exposed your nipple, pink and stiff, for his eyes to finally behold. You felt a sudden pang of self-consciousness, but before you could fully grasp it, Sanji’s lips were already tantalizingly close to the sensitive bud. Your mind was in turmoil, and your stomach clenched with pleasure as his mouth barely parted, gently grazing your nipple and eliciting an uncontrollable moan.

His tongue darted forward, swirling around it as if relishing a cherry on top of a cake. A sigh escaped your lips, and you squirmed as he uncovered your other breast, his thumb instantly beginning to stimulate it. The sensation was utterly intoxicating, sending shivers straight to your clit and inner walls.

Sanji kept going, adjusting himself between your legs, his eyes locked with yours as he sucked on your hardened nipple. The sight was incredibly arousing, and despite your best efforts, you threw your head back as the pleasure became uncontainable.

Your chest arched, giving him the perfect chance to amplify your pleasure. With one breast in his mouth, his other hand journeyed downward, bypassing your mound to explore further. He traced gentle circles over your stomach, abdomen, and hip bone.

Your fingers wove through the back of his hair. Though you didn't pull, the simple gesture anchored you as your world seemed on the brink of unraveling. You shivered, whispering his name like a prayer, waves of pleasure crashing over you relentlessly.

His fingers slid over the waistband of your underwear, tracing your pubic bone and sensing your warmth through the cotton. Everything he did was meticulously orchestrated and seamlessly executed, setting your nerves on fire and making them sing.

Sanji knew precisely what he was doing, and he carried it out with mastery.

"Are you okay, my lovely?" He asked, his lips just barely parting from your breast.

You spoke with such resolute speed that even you were taken aback by your own zeal. “Yes. Keep going.”

Sanji conveyed his contentment with another kiss on your lips before turning his attention back to your breasts, alternating sides as his fingers continued their exploration. You yielded to his touch, your hips lifting as his tongue circled your neglected nipple, while his fingertips teased just above your covered clit.

He paused, tracing his thumb along your clothed entrance without making direct contact with the pulsing nub.

“Sanji—”

"See how wet you are," he noted casually, with the excitement of a child discovering their new favorite toy.

"Oof. And who do you think is responsible for that?"

“Definitely not Patty.”

“Are you serious? Patty again?”

Sanji laughed heartily, his white teeth gleaming in the dim light of the cabin. His blond hair, though partly uncombed, remained spectacularly beautiful. He appeared both ruggedly sexy and astonishingly sweet, consistently attentive and considerate, no matter the situation.

Even in the throes of passion, he never appeared weathered or out of place.

“I’m sorry, love. Maybe I am a little jealous.”

"But why? I'm practically naked in front of you. There's no other man I'd rather be with or think about. Ever."

Could your friendship with Patty have truly unsettled him, while your biggest worry was never being enough to make him fall for you?

Sanji's smile grew even wider as he propped himself up on his elbows, bringing his lips to your face once more. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Honestly, if you don’t do something soon, I feel like I might burst.”

Oh, he was reveling in every second, covering you in kisses and looking completely ecstatic.

“I would never leave you like this. I like tasting good food before eating it, and right now, you are more delicious than a Clafoutis.”

You chuckled. “A what now?”

"Clafoutis. It's a tart made with whole black cherries, enveloped in a sweet, custard-like batter."

“Great. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

Sanji shook his head, amused. “No dessert on earth could ever rival your flavor.”

‘Except that you haven’t fully tasted me yet,” you said to yourself.

His fingers pressed more firmly against your labia, feeling your wetness seep into your underwear. You nibbled your lower lip and inhaled sharply, another moan escaping as he established a consistent rhythm.

The straps of your bra slid off your shoulders, revealing more of your breasts. Under different circumstances, this might have embarrassed you, but he made everything feel natural and free of shame. Your nipples, erect and slightly flushed, tingled with sensitivity, which only fueled Sanji's arousal. His fingers traced upward, barely brushing your clit and flicking it through the garment with the most delicate touch.

You shivered and gasped, anticipating his next move, only to find him gazing at you, spellbound.

“What…?”

His eyes turned red, and his lower lip trembled faintly, but his feelings were undeniable. "You really are extraordinarily enchanting."

How many times had he complimented you in a single day? His affection was so genuine that you found yourself starting to believe every word.

“Being with you like this makes me question what I ever did to deserve you.”

His reassurance began to dismantle the walls you had built around your self-doubt. It was clear how much he meant it—how deeply he trusted in you.

How often had you yearned for someone who could recognize your true worth without pressuring you to meet their standards? Years of reshaping yourself to fit others' preferences had left you like a clay doll—constantly broken, scratched, and never quite measuring up to what they wanted.

Then Sanji entered your life, lifting you from the mental slums you were trapped in and mending every crack with the purest gold.

You sat up abruptly, wrapped your arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply, channeling all your love and desperation into it.

"Where have you been all my life?" you asked, breaking the kiss with a loud, wet pop.

“I’ve been right here, waiting for a woman like you to walk through the restaurant’s door,” he replied, his voice husky.

“There are plenty of pretty ones, you know.”

"Mm," he whispered against your lips. "But as you said, my lovely, they aren't you."

It felt as if an arrow had pierced the center of your chest, leaving you breathless in an instant.

"Please, I need you to touch me," you begged. "I want to feel you right now."

He cherished your honesty, the richness of your voice, and the comforting warmth of your bare body beneath his.

Gently laying you back, he deftly unhooked your bra, capturing both straps between his thumbs and forefingers. His eyes darkened with desire as the tip of his hardness pressed more insistently along your inner thigh through his underwear.

“Can I take this off?”

He was just too charming to resist.

“Absolutely.”

You felt his strong hands on your upper back, tracing over your shoulder blades and down your arms. With care, he lowered the straps, removing your final piece of clothing and letting it fall to the floor.

Unable to resist any longer, his lips pressed against yours for what felt like the hundredth time, his hands kneading your breasts as he hummed against your tongue. He trailed kisses along your jawline, found the sensitive spot on your neck, then returned to your nipples, sucking one and then the other like a chef savoring the most delectable creation.

But he didn’t stop there, oh no. While keeping one of your buds engaged, his hand returned to your clit without hesitation. Through the delicate fabric of your panties, he located your sensitive spot, swollen and craving more attention. This time, he stroked your clit up and down, faster and faster, making your legs spread wider instinctively.

With his fervent massage and the prior attentions, it didn’t take long for that familiar knot to form in your belly. Your hips moved in harmony with his hand as he caressed your clit in the most exquisite way, at the perfect pace.

"Sanji, I’m almost there," you announced, your voice quivering.

“You’re close?”

“Mhm.”

“Then let me make this feel even better for you.”

Intrigued by his next move, you watched as he eased away from your chest and moved down the bed. He slipped his fingers beneath the elastic, lacy band of your lingerie and began to slide it off. You let him, feeling your panties roll down your legs until you were completely bare and exposed for him to see.

Sanji shifted his position, drawing his face closer to your core and gently spreading your thighs wider. His eyes absorbed every intimate detail of your womanhood. With anyone else, you would have felt extremely uneasy, considering such scrutiny offensive and remendously mortifying. With Sanji, it was different. He sincerely admired every part of you in every way you offered, devoid of any vulgarity or hidden agendas.

“Every inch of you is a work of art,” he expressed, his thumb lightly caressing your clit again. “You’re divine, like a beautiful flower deserving of the utmost reverence and adoration. I’m mesmerized by you."

Hit and sunk. Quite literally. Should he ever, for some absurd reason, abandon his cooking career, you could easily envision him as the most talented poet in the entire East Blue, if not the world.

“Sanji—”

“Shh, I’ll take care of you.”

And so he did, expertly stimulating your clit with precise movements, while two of his fingers effortlessly found their way inside you. You were completely soaked, making his access to your inner walls smooth and easy. He entered you slowly, his fingers advancing and searching for that sensitive spot he knew would make you lose control. Your hands gripped the sheets, your chest heaving as your breath became more rapid.

The moment he found it, your G-spot reacted instantly, making your eyes roll back and your voice falter. You were on the verge of release, holding on the brink but not quite able to soar.

And just when you thought you couldn't handle any more, his thumb was replaced by his tongue, which danced over your clitoris in rapid circles, causing a series of sounds that made your skin flush and burn.

It was unexpected but welcomed nonetheless.

Sanji groaned against your core. The interplay of his mouth and fingers became intoxicating, the sensation in your abdomen intensifying and drawing you closer to an agonizing climax. He pleasured you with insatiable hunger, savoring every moment as if you were his most prized delicacy.

You gathered a handful of his hair, sweeping it aside to get a clear view of his eyes. They were full of pleasure and reverence, connecting with yours in a way that made you want to cry anew.

"I need you," you repeated, your hips trembling.

He smiled knowingly, his fingers skillfully beckoning you closer to completion. "I'm here, my lovely. I'm not going anywhere."

With each touch and stroke, he elevated you to heights of pleasure you had never dreamed of. Your body responded exquisitely, moving in perfect unison with him, as if guided by instinct. He played you like a finely tuned instrument, akin to a bard crafting the most wonderful love song in existence.

And finally, with just the right lick and press deep inside you, your orgasm arrived like a powerful sea wave, sweeping you away from the shore. You covered your mouth to contain your moans, otherwise too loud for anyone else on the ship to ignore. Your legs trembled and your hips bucked, but Sanji's arms kept your thighs secure. Though his fingers had withdrawn, his mouth stayed fixed on your clit, drawing out the pleasure until your orgasm subsided.

You were panting, your body weak and trembling, as Sanji brought his wet fingers to his mouth. His nostrils flared, and his eyes closed as he indulged in your taste with the same rapture he reserved for his finest ingredients.

Your walls were still shaking, pulsing and clenching around nothing, already feeling empty and requiring something else. As soon as he returned to you, his kiss infused with your essence, the evident rigidity of his arousal made it clear that your night had only just begun.

And you were more than enthusiastic to explore every aspect of Sanji’s devotion.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 7 (coming soon) ->

[americas1suiteheart]

Here's the link for the whole series on Ao3 if you prefer to read it there :)

Weird Science | Chapter II

Egon Spengler x Reader

[Notes; This is a shorter chapter and is kind of a filler I guess, but I promise there's more the next one. There is no summary for this.

[Warnings; Some foul language and that's about it.

Part 2/? | <Previous Chapter | Next Chapter>

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Ring, Ring, Ring, Ri-!

You run from the other room to get the telephone, nearly tripping over some of the boxes scattered throughout your apartment. You answer the phone, picking it up and holding it to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Y/n! Hey, it's Ray. I was calling to see if you wanted to swing by our research area sometime this week? Me and the guys have been working on something but hit a bit of a roadblock and need help getting it fixed or changed up soon," Ray's voice rings out excitingly through the phone.

"Hey Ray! Sure I can, but it'll probably have to be either tomorrow or Friday, I'm kinda stuck moving some of the boxes out to my apartment right now,"

"That's fine, Y/n. Also, how do you feel about getting some drinks with me and the guys this weekend? I figure I can reintroduce you to Peter and Egon again. I think it'd be fun if you aren't too busy," Ray suggests.

"Great! I wouldn't mind going with you guys, I think it'd be nice especially with all this that's goin' on right now too." You say, twisting the telephone cord in between your fingers.

"Great! How about you come on over Friday and after we finish up we can all go down to a bar for the night. The work shouldn't take too long."

"Yeah that works, I'll see you Friday then. Bye now."

"Bye Y/n, see you Friday." Ray says before hanging up the phone.

You place the phone back into its holder, then walking through the stacks of boxes to get back to organizing them.

I forgot just how much fun it was to talk to friends, why did I ever loose touch with all of them? Especially Ray.

You pick up a box labeled Motherboards and Breadboards, scribbled out in messily neat handwriting, picking it up and placing it on top of the boxes labeled Wires.

You had only been moving your stuff out for two days now, so regardless of the amount of shit you had in your apartment currently, you still weren't done and there was unfortunately plenty left in what used to be your lab.

You go to turn on your radio, tuning it to a radio station that played some of your favourite stuff and luckily managed to catch it just as a song was about to play.

-bzzt!- "...You're listening to 97.5 FM, the top radio station where you can get all of the newest -bzzt!- hits! Here's Everything She Wants from Wham's new album 'Make It Big'!" -bzzt!-

You make a mental note to remember that you need to buy another radio, as the speakers on yours were starting to give out.

"Somebody told me, "Boy, everything she wants, is everything she sees" I guess I must have loved you, because I said you were the perfect girl for me, baby,"

You danced as you organized more of your boxes. "Where on earth am I going to put all of these?" You said to yourself, putting your hands on your hips.

"Somebody tell me, o-" -pop!- -fzzt!- Your radio began to pop and spark, and it finally gave out with some mild vapor coming out of it.

"Shit! No, please don't give out on me now." You sigh, unplugging the radio from the port and trying to fan away the smoke.

'As if my week couldn't get any worse right now. I'm starting to look forward to Friday more and more.' You think to yourself.

You run your fingers through your hair, deciding to take a nap so you could try to calm yourself down.

---------------------------------------

You wake up, stretching and letting out a groan. You look at your bedside clock. 7:47 PM, the clock read.

You get up and head into your kitchen to make dinner. You grab a pot, a can of tomato soup, some bread, and a couple slices of cheese.

Grilled cheese and tomato soup couldn't really be considered the best dinner but its what you had. that's another thing you needed to add to your list. New radio, more groceries.

You add the can of tomato soup and a can of water into the pot and turn the heat on. You get four slices of bread and four slices of cheese out, placing them onto your cutting board as you go to grab your skillet and some butter.

You walked back into your living room to turn on your answering box to listen to any messages you might've gotten while you were napping.

-beep!- "You have- 3 new messages" -beep!-

You walk back into the kitchen to make your grilled cheese, turning the stove on for the skillet and putting two slices of butter on it to melt.

"Hey, Y/n! It's Sarah. I wanted to call to tell you that Mark and I are engaged now! How awesome is that, right! I'll have to talk to you about it when you actually answer your phone. I'll talk to you later, bye!" -beep!-

You smile to yourself, it was always good hearing from Sarah, you never got to talk to her often and you were happy that she finally got engaged with Mark. It might be better to meet with her to congratulate and talk to her, you'll call to tell her that later.

"Hey, Y/n. It's dad. I heard about what happened at the University and I want to say I'm sorry, kiddo. If you ever need help with anything or just want to come and hang out with your old man you can always come over whenever you want. I hope you feel better and, uh, yeah. I love you, stay safe." -beep!-

It was always so nice to hear from your parents. You hated to say it but it was even better when you heard from your dad rather than your mom. You'd always been daddy's little girl though. You need to go and visit them very soon, you forgot just how much you missed them.

You take both of the grilled cheeses off of the skillet and turn of the stove for both the soup and the skillet.

"Hey, Y/n, it's Ray again. Good and exciting news; me, Venkman, and Spengler got actual evidence that phantoms and ghosts are real and even got an ectoplasm sample. Not so good news; we've all been kicked out of the University today. I guess the Dean decided he was done with us in the same week. Anyway, just wanted to sha-" -beep!- "Time limit exceeded." -beep!- "You have no more messages" -beep!-

"Shit. I hope they're okay." You say to yourself, taking your plate and bowl to place it on your kitchen island.

Your home didn't feel all that cozy now with all of the boxes scattered throughout your apartment. Though you guess it never was to begin with.

There were only the bare necessities. A bed, one chair next to the island, pots and pans, food, a small television, a table where the television and phone sat, and a few other kitchen appliances. You were always at your lab so you didn't feel the need for a couch, things for hobbies, or anything else that weren't completely necessary, though you guess that a television wasn't exactly necessary.

You sit at the island and eat, turning on your television and putting on the news. Nothing interesting to say the least, just the same boring thing as everyday.

You sigh and clean up the mess from your food, walking them and putting them up to dry. Turn off the television and head into your room to go to bed again.

Though it sucked to have been fired from the University, you had a lot of time to relax now, to sleep a normal amount of time for the first time in years. But the downside of it is that you were bored. So.. incredibly.. bored.. This was also the first time that you had nothing to do in years to occupy your hands and mind. It was awful.

You finally fall asleep after letting your mind wander, thinking about how you never would have had to let Thallman go work with another professor if you would've just done something else to not piss of the Dean.

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This was a shorter chapter and I'm actually being smarter about making chapter fics, making two of them at a time so people don't wait ages for one individual chapter to be released (And I'm terribly sorry for that, guys), and I'm sorry for the pace that this is going. But the next chapter is going to have more, I promise. I'll stop the ranting for now, I do hope you enjoyed it, though.

[glaciertea]

Masterlist here~

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.9<< >>Ch.11

Notes: You and Miguel are together.

CW: He will smell something coming off of you, Miguel does have anger issues

Chapter 10: Same Way That the Stars Adorn the Sky...

Word count: 6.1K

Nearly a month passed as you and Miguel began to date. Well, as far as dating goes, there technically weren't any labels attached, but you assumed it was because Miguel was nervous about hopping into a relationship after so long.

You two still did the lovey-dovey couple activities; you were just strings attached with and without the string. Highly confusing, but you didn't mind.

Tapping your foot along to your music, you cook up some shrimp-fried rice. You came to realize that his job tends to hold him back, and you understood. Being a high-ranking worker and a hero can consume anyone's time, so who were you to be upset if he showed up late?

Especially when you took into consideration that he was missing hours to be with you when you would hang out every Wednesday night before.

You felt there was no reason to complain.

You got into the music more and more. You began to twirl and slide across the floor as if no one was watching you.

“You look so adorable dancing around.”

You jumped out of your skin as Miguel leaned against the pantry door.

“Miggy! I swear!” You feigned a grumpy pout as Miguel couldn't help but grin.

“I didn't hear you come in! Did you use my window again?” You turned one of the stove dials down, rotating over to him.

He just blinked and shrugged his shoulders. He was guilty.

“I made you a custom key and everything, and you still insist on using the window?” You tried to keep up the upset charade.

“I prefer it. It's more convenient to me.”

There was a day when Miguel stumbled through the window, gravely injured with a giant gash wound near his chest. You remembered freaking out, wondering why he didn't go to his job.

Apparently, he set his watch to go straight to your place after the mission was over but didn't take into account the collateral damage that was going to beseech him.

Miguel didn't have time to head to HQ, so he painstakingly taught you how to close it up just enough so it could revitalize properly on its own. With a first-aid kit, a fresh sewing needle, and thread you got from your job, you went to work.

Your hands never felt that steady in your life. You didn't realize how much blood a human could hold... or how much puke you'd held back after finishing.

You made sure to vomit when he was deeply asleep.

He ended up replacing your entire mattress, managing to find the exact bedsheets you had owned.

But ever since, he's been crawling through that window, no matter how much you whine about it.

“Miggy. The door.”

“Mi corazón.” He dragged out your nickname.

“I have a door right there. See, see! Door!” You expressively gestured toward it.

“Corazón!” He pushed himself off the pantry, entrapping you in a bear hug, and lifted you up with ease. “Mi chula. Mi adorable corazón.”

He trailed kisses from your forehead down to your neck as you rapidly patted his shoulders, laughing loudly.

“No, no, stop! That tickles! Miggy!” You squealed harder as Miguel tickled your sides, making you squirm. 

“He-hey! Not fair.” You giggled as Miguel went to kiss your neck again, randomly pausing.

He got a whiff of something. Something strong. 

“Miggy? You okay?” You calmed down and caught your breath as Miguel buried his head deeper into the crook of your neck. “Miggy?”

You've never seen him do something like this before, and it started to raise alarms. Miguel sniffed you and released a groan. Feeling the vibrations in his chest, his grip was gradually getting tighter. 

“Corazón…” Miguel grunted before snapping out of his haze. “¡Mierda! Lo siento mucho, corazón, no era mi intención hacer eso, algo se hizo cargo y no sé qué–” 

He placed you back on the floor before you lightly whacked his chest. “Hey, hey, it's okay. As long as you're okay. So, are you okay?”

Miguel gave a troubled nod. You motioned for him to come to you, to which he obliged. He bent over just enough so you could reach him. Holding his head, you gave him two pecks on the forehead, then pressed yours to it.

“Good, I'm glad you're okay. Now come on, the food should be ready.” You smiled brightly before giving him one more kiss on the lips.

Miguel still wasn't managing the relationship aspect well for himself. He was tremendously grateful for you enduring his moments and tendencies; however, he was still nervous about hurting you. 

“How was work today? You are a bit earlier than usual. I had a weird hunch that would happen too, so thank goodness I cooked when I did.”

Miguel collapsed on your couch, a habit he picked up even before you got together, and massaged his temples.

“Where do I even begin? We had two anomalies stuck on E-374, so that meant double the workers in that case, and I had to be there for that. What should have been an hour's work ended up turning into three when Jess's new rookie decided to do her own thing instead of following directions!”

You handed him his serving as he thanked you and hurriedly sat up to give you room to sit.

“Oh, the ghost teen? Yeah, teens tend to want to try and venture on their own path. Like any child, they require a lot of patience. Especially teens.”

Crossing your legs on the couch, you both began to devour the meal.

“I try to give them the patience; it's just so hard when you hand them those simple tasks and they still try to be all rebellious and diverge!” Miguel complained in-between bites.

“You're telling me you weren't a rebellious teen?” You placed a hand on your hip.

“No, I wasn't.” Miguel pushed his plate onto the table and crossed his arms.

A smug smile appeared on your face.

“Okay, yes, but that's different. What about you, then? Even though you wouldn't have struck me as one.”

“Hey! I did some rebellious things! I knew where the liquor cabinet was.”

“And did you drink any?” He picked his meal back up.

“Yes! I had a sip–then decided to wait until the legal drinking age. Oh, oh! I did sneak out once. But then they had to turn around fifteen minutes later because I kept crying about getting caught. Then there was that one time I asked permission about sneaking out…”

“My thoughts exactly. You were a good teen who followed directions! If only they were like you, I wouldn't have to deal with this.”

“But that's it; they're not like me. Like how you're not like me, and vice versa. We may have similar viewpoints about things, but we're our own individuals who are still learning to this very day, particularly teens. It's why they need patience so they can grow and understand the world around them.”

You stood up to grab water bottles. “You just have to explain your side.”

“I do!” He took the two bottles from your outstretched hand and opened one up.

“Without getting upset, listen to theirs. She probably saw something you didn't see, but the ideas may have clashed. We had our moments like that.”

“But the difference is that you actually hear what I have to say.” 

You smiled and bumped his shoulder, minding his meal and drink. “Well, I also don't get the yelling end. Perhaps that's why it's easier for us.”

“Why would I yell at you? You wouldn't do anything that would warrant it. In fact, I would never raise my voice at you.”

A small curve formed on your lips as you remembered the time Miguel mistakenly butt-dialed you as you heard Miguel shouting at Peter B. about him bringing his baby again on a mission. It was a chaotic five minutes of squealing laughter from a child and Peter and Miguel going back and forth.

Miguel had the urge to recoil until his body blipped out of existence when you told him. After that commotion, it worried you, so you taught him some breathing techniques if he ever felt that rise of aggravation begin to bubble.

It's been semi-helpful for him. He didn't realize how much he had to use to control his temper.

As a few hours crept by, Miguel's watch blared during the middle of a film you both decided to mindlessly check out.

“Miguel! We need you! Strong Sandman variant in E-2230! Truck. Truck! Hurry, Miguel!” An unfamiliar voice sprang out from the communicator as absolute chaos resounded in the background.

“Ay dios mío. ¿Puedo simplemente relajarme por el día?” He glided his hands through his curls. “¿Por un día?”

“Sounded pretty serious.” You nestled yourself into the soft blanket you were sharing beforehand.

“I guess it is if they need me.” He materialized his suit, leaving the mask off, and released a displeasing gruff.

“Still on for that rooftop date this week?” You pulled your body up so you were standing on the couch long enough to reach him.

“I'll see what I can do, corazón. It's just tough to make time now with all that's going on, and I ju-” 

You stole a kiss from him. “You know, I'll understand if we have to postpone. Now go out there and be the good guy that you are.”

You affectionately rested your forehead on his, garnering a smile from him.

“Gracias, mi corazón.”

“Of course, and use the door! The door–Miggy! The door. The door!”

Miguel sprinted towards your bedroom and right towards the window. “In a rush, mi corazón! More convenient!”

And with that, he was swinging into the city's night. You gave a bemused smile before laughing to yourself, resting on the wooden sill, gazing out over Nueva York's luminous view.

Miguel chuckled to himself as he grappled and flung from lamppost to building. He wanted to revel in the moment, especially after spending time with you, but his comrades wouldn't allow it as his wristwatch beeped and blared again.

Grating his teeth, he spawned a portal in mid-air and leapt right through. For once, he weirdly felt prepared to take on this situation. That's a common reaction, but now he seemed unstoppable.

This was the dynamic. You and Miguel appeared more lively—well, as lively as Miguel can get.

Ronnie nearly ecstatically backflipped off the shop's roof when you first told her you and Miguel were together.

You made sure to leave the Spider-Man part out.

And the spiders detected that Miguel didn't get irked as much. He still has his pissy moments, but they came off oddly tame.

Snuggling in your favorite cover, you stared at the sky. You focused your eyes on locating any other stars but found difficulty as the light pollution canceled it out.

“I swear one of these days I'm going to move out of the city.” You huff, rubbing your arms.

He was running late, but you didn't mind. You couldn't fully comprehend his work or what he exactly does, yet you were aware of the on-demand position he faced, and he was definitely worth the wait. 

Shutting your eyes and taking in the crisp air, you visualized an iridescent flare covered in a multitude of tinier colors.

“Hola, mi Miggy.” Your voice held that delight.

Miguel eyed you from behind, as he could picture the smile you were giving.

“Mi corazón. I'm so sorry I'm late! I got caught up in another mission. This time I was stuck with the cockney punk, Peter, and Jess's apprentice. Lo juro, estoy tratando de escucharlos, corazón, de verdad, es cuando hacen estup-”

“Come sit down, Miggy.” You tapped the empty spot next to you, not peering back.

Miguel didn't bother to phase his suit away and took the hint. You encased him in the blanket and cuddled up in his chest. Eyeing his state, his suit was a bit dusty; attempts at freshening up the sweat, the cuts, and dried blood. His gleaming, tanned skin bathed in the moonlight.

He was a rich, fine painting.

“You don't have to apologize, you know. If that were the case, it'd be an endless loop.” You knocked your head on his muscular arm.

“I knew what I was getting into. As long as I get to be with you, I'm fine if you're late. If it's one hour or two, hell, even eight, it'll be alright.”

“The forbearance of a saint. I swear, you make it seem so easy.” Miguel wrapped his arm around you, dragging you closer.

“Well, it's not something you wake up with one day. Just a commodity I've learned from years of what I've seen and gone through.”

Checking the time, you slapped at his thigh a bit. “Give me ten minutes. I'm going to run and make us some tea. I also made some cookies! Uh, the pre-made dough kind. I would've baked some, but I couldn't overcome the case of... laziness.”

He gave a slanted smile and whiffed a chuckle out. “That's fine, corazón. Take your time.”

With a cheer, you rushed down to your place as Miguel zoned out the minute you were out of sight.

This is what he should be used to. This is what he wants to be used to. No troubles, no pestering from spiders that do whatever they please, no anomalies, and no daunting pressure about a universe collapsing.

Even though it's wedged permanently into a part of his brain, it partially dwindles into a bean-sized thought when he's beside you. Whenever he's ready to see you, his heart and stomach flutter in anticipation.

Your smile, laughter, kindness, affection, and more embellish his formidable and stressful life. It's to the point where he daydreams about a future with you. He notes it to be utterly pathetic, as if he's some hopeless romantic. But he just can't stop the thoughts.

Living in a gorgeous, rustic farmhouse by a lake. A garden spirited with fresh fruits, vegetables, and flowers as his children pluck away weeds or harvest some of the delicious foods for the night's dinner.

As the heat passes through, he'll bring out some fresh lemonade as his kids dash in his direction, laughing with your smile. They'll chug it down and immediately want to wrestle before you warn them not to, as they just drank, and it'll make them sick.

They’ll share a calming moment before joining back together and helping in the mini-farmland. He's one with peace—a warmth he hasn't been acquainted with in so long. He'll look up, his heart melting as the kids' curiosity seeps through, and you'll answer, giving your words of compassion and wisdom.

He'll be happy. At that moment, he was happy. In this moment, he wants to be-

“Miggy? You okay?”

Miguel, containing his discomfiting reaction, turned over to the voice. You'd held a tray with a plate full of gooey chocolate-chip cookies and two mugs with steam flowing out of them.

“Si, corazón. Going over the assignment from earlier. Thinking how it could've gone smoother.”

Placing the tray in front, you carefully handled his tea and settled it in his hands.

“I'm sure everything went well, Miggy. You got that wicked, intellectual, massive brain power going on up there. Knowing all those big boys science and math to help you out!”

Miguel didn't know, but rather to be fazed or amused by that, before a hardy laugh broke out.

“Big boy science and math?”

“Yeah. Especially math, because you calculate the problems!” Your eyes crinkled as you granted him a giant, wide-mouthed smile.

Miguel sat the tea beside him and rested his claws over his face. An absurd, muffled wail of agony escaped the man as he shook his head.

“Ay dios mío–where's the suit? You must be hiding it somewhere.”

He cradled you in his arms and pokes your sides as snorts of laughter spewed out from you. You both eventually recovered from the antics and munched on a few cookies while sipping the herbal tea.

“Oh, hey, it's the start of a new month. A new beginning.” You signal at the waning crescent and lone star.

Miguel stalks to where your attention was directed, as his eyes go back and forth between the two.

“I know about the new month and how it signifies the time change, but new beginnings?”

“Mhm. In a way, a new month is the start of something fresh. When you close the last day of the month, the calendar rolls over to a whole different part.”

You take a sip of your beverage.

“Sure, the days and months are the same every day of every year, but when they change, so can life. The moon and star can start and continue a story, but the chapters will be different. Progress! Progress will always be made, no matter how you look at it.”

Miguel sat his mug down. He let your words sink into his depths as he took your views into consideration.

“Do you think I have progressed?”

“For the month? Yeah, they're small but still noticeable. I've noticed you have been doing the breathing exercises whenever something irks you. You say what's on your mind a bit more, which I'm really happy for.”

You snuggle next to him, your head near his pec.

“You slightly ask for more help instead of struggling because of that control you try to unhealthily keep fed. You take my compliments a bit better; you still have moments of rejecting them, but it's still a good step.” You placed your mug next to his.

“You know, now that I say all that out loud, they're bigger progressions than tiny ones from my standpoint.” You giggled as Miguel just stared.

“Miggy, is everything okay? I didn't upset you, did I?”

He only shook his head, placing your hands in his. “I-I just remembered something I read a long time ago.”

Squeezing his hands, you waited for him to speak his mind.

“Osram ne nsoromma. The moon and star also represent love, faithfulness, and harmony. The symbol represents a bond between two lovers. It's usually for marriage, but I now believe it can go even further.”

Your heart raced as your mouth gaped open. “Miguel…”

“Luna. Mi Luna. Corazón, you are my moon. Whenever you illuminate the night's sky, I will always be there, right next to you or all around.”

He caressed your cheek as he wiped a tear away.

“How do you say star in Spanish?”

“Estrella.”

“Mi Estrella, my star. The moon and star. Even if all the other lights try to hide them, they will manage to shine the brightest.”

Your lips met in a fiery, impassioned kiss, entangled in an embrace that you both refused to separate from.

“I swear… we are so cheesy like year-old cheddar.” You dried your eyes, as more teardrops flowed and a shiver of laughter escaped from you.

“Si, mi Luna, but if it's near you, I would be the cheesiest cheese in the entire universe.”

Miguel pulled you up and tightly hugged you. He embedded his face in the crook of your neck and lightly kissed it. Trembling on the flurries from his lips, a whimper leaves your mouth.

Then that scent punched his nostrils. 

“Corazón…”

A strangled moan escaped from Miguel. His grasp refused to loosen. His tongue was swirling and teasingly gliding against your delicate skin.

You forced your squeaks back, as you didn't want anyone to hear you both up there. But when he grazed his fangs against your skin, a whiny cry found its way out. Miguel slipped his claws under the hems of your shirt, faintly nicking your flesh with his talons.

“Mi corazón. Hueles tan delicioso. Tu aroma perfecto y tu piel aterciopelada es adictiva, mi Luna.”

“Mi-Miguel, wa-wait. Fuck–Mm!” You bit your tongue, mewls coming from your throat as you gripped his hair.

His calloused fingers left circled patterns over your waist, his teeth sinking into your supple skin, nipping and sucking roughly. His claws sneakily palmed your breasts, squeezing the wretched fabric that stood in between him and your lovely mounds.

“Mi Estrella–” you slurred in lust, your mind racing in rounds until it was dizzy.

Miguel removed his mouth, and a giant reddish-purple splotch lay proudly for all to see.

He grabbed your sides, mindful of his sharp nails. His dangerous, carmine eyes pierced into yours. You stared back, heaving, as Miguel brought his thumbs down to your puffy lips, parting them with ease. Your tongue marginally slipped out, an indication he took to run them down your glossy appendage. Your breaths were ragged—how hot it was against his fingers.

He moved them away, causing you to whimper. Your aroma managed to become stronger, and that sprang another part out of him.

“Mi Luna is going through a time. She's about to begin... Mi corazón is going to start.” His husky voice huffed against your neck as you moaned out loudly.

He bundled up a portion of your hair, bringing your neck closer to his mouth, and bared his fangs. You quivered violently, petrified, and yet intoxicated, as you were ready to be bitten–

“¡Ah, mierda!”

Miguel yanked away, sporadic wheezing expelled from you both. Miguel drew back his claws, and you uncoordinatedly straightened your hair back to its original state.

You were a few inches apart as you two gazed out into the city's skylines.

You debated if you should question what happened but refrained from it and peeked over at him, observing his ashamed face. You could tell he was rebuking his actions mentally, and it crushed your soul.

“Don't, mi Estrella. I enjoyed it. I very much loved every second of it.” You filled that shred of space that he made between you two.

“Corazón, I nearly bit you. What if I accidentally punctured an artery? What if I hurt you? What if I-”

Thud.

Your forehead was on his, and your digits were kneading his shoulders to relax him.

“I know you wouldn't, Miggy. I trust you with my body. I know that's crazy to say, but I'm saying it because I'm comfortable around you. I know you'll never do anything to harm me in any way. Well–”

You leaned into his ear and licked his earlobe. “Unless I asked for it.”

An electric bolt shocked down his spine, making him grunt. His eyes were scanning yours, as he only saw that consideration and understanding. That love. That affection.

A string snapped to the ground.

“Come with me to my job.” Miguel snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you down.

Letting out a squeaky “oomph,” you landed on his hard chest. “Hu-huh?! Do what now?”

You balanced your elbows on his pecs and scooted your way to face him. 

“Come back to the HQ with me. Spend the night.”

You flickered your eyes, confused at so many things.

“Wait, wait. Several questions.”

“Alright, adelante.” He nodded to let you continue.

“One. You stay at your job? Two, spend the night tonight? Or another night tonight? Three, is that allowed? I know you can have visitors, but not after closing hours.”

“One, yes. I have an apartment near the top floor. Two, yes. Tonight. Three, I'm the leader; I'm allowed to bring in anyone.”

You couldn't argue with those results, but that angel on your shoulder was vocalizing their worries. “Fair, fair. We'll be okay, right?”

“Si, mi Luna, but we'll have to go through the back entrance.” Miguel arranged you so you were straddling in his lap.

“Not the front?” You angled your head upward.

“I don't want them harassing us both. They are a very nosy and gossiping bunch.”

Bowing your head, you began to gather the dishes. “Well, if that's the case, help me clean while I pack up some clothes! Do you think you'll be able to get me to work tomorrow?”

“If I can turn a forty-minute walk into ten, I can definitely get you there in the same amount of time or less.” Miguel swiped up the tray for you.

“Sounds like a plan! Alright, give me some time, and we can head on out.”

With a pep in your steps, you packed a small drawstring bag with your pajamas, extra clothes, and a few hygienic products.

Miguel proposed swinging you both over to the headquarters, just so you could become familiar with the process.

You loved that idea. Being lifted off the ground into the metropolis’ gleaning nightfall. The ambience that will ring around them.

Who would regret a choice such as that?

 

You regretted that choice.

 

Clinging onto his front for dear life as the winds violently whipped your hair and face. Screeching, you realized whiplash was certainly what you were going to feel as he propelled his body from building to building, with the occasional extreme free fall.

His claws were grating up the infrastructures before being aggressively snapped forward whenever he flung his neon web out.

No wonder he had you wear your bag upfront as he deathly tied the opening. All of your items would've been scattered across Nueva York like a scavenger hunt. 

Miguel touches down behind the tower with a powerful thump, his hand patting your back.

“Alright, we're here. You're okay, right?”

Skidding down his body, you dared not  speak one word, dropping down to the pavement floor on your hands and knees. You appeared as if you were a wet cat who just got pushed into the water.

“I love solid ground. I would make love to every inch of this sidewalk if given the possibility. Oh God, I'll just wake up early and walk to work. Yeah. Yeah, I'll go with that.”

Miguel rolled his eyes and puffed a chuckle out. He assisted you up, stabilizing you to make sure you reclaimed your bearings.

“Okay, but if you're running late, mi Luna, that'll be on you.”

You nuzzled your head into his torso, giggling into it. “I'll take the repercussions. But, if I'm desperate, I'll ask for the express pass.”

You bumped your hip into his side and looked up.

“So this is the place. Jeez, Miggy, how do you not get disoriented with this?”

Miguel shrugged his shoulders. “Second nature? You get used to these things.” He twisted his body around, making sure the coast was clear.

“Alright, let's head on in.”

Miguel took your hand into his and led you towards a narrow pathway with a singular street lamp illuminating a very unused pathway.

At first glance, it seems to be a regular wall that's attached to the building, but hidden away, tucked in a corner, were two steps leading to a single steel security door. It's blocked out, even from a bird's-eye view, just as he wanted it.

He specifically demanded to have a secret back entrance when he wanted to sneak away from it all. He scarcely uses it, but when the time is desperately desired, he heads on off. You observed as he punched a few buttons on a digital keypad, intrigued by the separate world behind that barrier.

Jitters snuck its way to you as he pulled the door open for you. You were ready to view the vast amounts of colorful spider-people swinging by and crawling up the walls from all sides.

Then your face dropped. Buzzing lights, white panels, and dirt-free, blue tiles underneath filled the hallway from as far as you could see.

“It looks like a bad clinic horror film.” You swirled your head from wall to wall.

“It's designed to be like this. It doesn't get any sort of traffic. Only two of us know about this. Well, three now, but I'm one of them. Come on.”

The walk seemed endless. The corridor looped endlessly for you as nothing changed. Finally entering a new section with spread-out hanging wires and brighter lights, a single door on wood panel partitions stared them down.

“Are there more apartments, or is it just yours?”

“There are spare rooms, but not like this.”

He fumbled for his key and opened it when new voices began to close in on your direction. Miguel shoved you in and briskly slammed the door shut.

“So after every mission, you have to make sure that you file a report in the system. That way, everything is orderly, and—oh, evening, Miguel.” Jess acknowledged her superior and pinned her hands to her hips.

A teen with half-shaven, ear-length blonde hair saluted Miguel, then immediately finger-gunned. “Evening, captain. Or do I call you Miguel? I'm still trying to figure that part out. The other spiders say leader; others say superior. I hear the vampire overlord from time to ti-”

“Gwen. Shut up.” Jess pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Shutting up.” She zipped her lip and pretended to throw away the key.

Miguel narrowed his eyes on her, still dissatisfied with the earlier events, even more so with the ‘vampire overlord’ nickname he didn't know about.

“Oh, Lord, anyways, I was meaning to contact you about you taking off right after the mission. You usually stay behind to make sure things are in proper order, but they said you just took off. What happened?” Jess dryly asked.

“I had to do more coding for a molecular device I'm wanting to use for the Go Home Machine. And I'm creating a new invention that will smooth and increase the portal's wrap speeds.”

Miguel leaned his back against the wall and glared at the two. “I wanted to jump back into it.”

“Oh, sweet, you are? Thank goodness, I swear, when I'm blasting through, my stomach feels as though it's being yanked out of the soul and the bod-”

“Gwen!” Jess turned to her with a disbelieving, scrunched frown.

“Gotta lock that key from me! Lock it up and just throw it. Okay, I'll just–” She nervously tittered before taking three steps back.

“Right. Miguel, you've been working on these projects for a while now. I've noticed the influx of days you've been missing to work on them. Look, if you need me to have Lyla or Spider-Byte assist you in the work, we can reduce their time on other proj-”

“I don't need assistance. I'm fine doing it by myself.” Miguel shoved himself off the hardwood.

“You say that, but for the past, what? For three and a half months, you've been working on these, and I'm hardly seeing any progress being made. Plus, the extra reports and anomaly cases have started piling up on my end. I've been telling you, Miguel, I need help.”

“They take time, Jess. I'm doing them. I just don't want to waste productivity on tedious paperwork.” He hissed, trying to curb his temper.

Lies. Lies. They were all lies, and he knew it.

“I know that stuff takes time, Miguel, but you promised that you wouldn't leave me in the open like this.”

“Jess, yes, I get it. I just need the time." Miguel's breathing picked up as Jess continued her tirade.

“I recall alerting you months prior that there's been rampant increases in anomaly activities. And I'm just alerting you now that the papers have been accumulating over the week, and I need you to-”

“JUST SEND THE DAMN REPORTS. I'LL DO THEM.”

He rammed the wall with his closed fit, causing a piece of wood panel to collapse on the ground. Gwen covered her face, hoping not to get smacked by plywood.

He brazenly inhaled and exhaled out the nose and mouth. His strained, ragged breathing saturated the tense air between the three. Gwen pretended to check her phone as Jess closed her eyes, the noiseless space ringing until she spoke up.

“Miguel. I know things have been tough lately, but like you tell us, focus on the tasks at hand. Right now, these tasks need to be reported, making sure those anomalies’ messes are thoroughly scrubbed clean. That's all I'm asking.”

Miguel withheld any comments about that. Refusing to even make a peep. Pressing her lips together, Jess tapped Gwen's shoulder.

“Let's go. I'll show you an efficient way to document your assignments.”

Gwen returned it with a thumbs-up. “Sounds good. Uh, see you around, boss.” She gave a stilted wave, then hastened her steps to the opposite end.

“I'm not trying to attack you, Miguel.”

“That sounds exactly what you're trying to do.” He harped back.

She opted to ignore that. “You've been more distracted as of late, and it's been stressful for us as well. I just want to be on the same page.”

He averted his attention to the floor. He hated how she was right. He scorned the fact, but he couldn't tell the reason.

It'll damage them too much. 

“Night, Jess.”

Jess clicked her tongue. “I'll send you the folders. Goodnight, Miguel.”

No other words were exchanged. No more needed to be.

Your ears perked when you heard the door hinges squeak a bit. “Everything okay? I heard a loud bang.”

Miguel trudged over to his couch, where you resided, and slouched next to you. 

“Just my secondary refusing to understand that I have other things to attend to. I have too much on my plate, and she just wants to pile more shit on me!”

You sensed the heated vexation emitting off him as his leg juddered. Your right hand positioned itself over his knee and waited. It took a minute, but it decreased in speed.

You knew.

“Being a leader is hard. They always look to you for everything or the right choices. You're held to these impossible standards just because you're the overseer… but is the leader also not allowed to have someone to rely on as well?”

You rubbed your hand in circular motions as he drooped on the sofa more.

“You have so much weight on you; does no one help take some of it off your shoulders? I know Peter, but what about the others?”

Miguel kneaded his temples and sighed out. “In a way, they try, but they don't do it right. I have to do so much, but more things pop up, and it never ends.”

“Ah, that unhealthy habit of you fueling that control. You haul it around to the point where you're burning yourself out, mi Estrella.”

“I just don't want anything to go wrong, but I have things that I need to do. It's an endless cycle of so many things that need to be taken care of. But I can't do those things because of moments like this!”

His claws dragged against the cushions, ripping up some of the padding. You removed your hand from his knee to his hand.

“Remember at the gardens how I said I envied flowers?”

Miguel turned to you with a quizzical gaze. “Yes?”

“And how they're able to show vulnerability.”

“Yes. I remember.”

“From the things you've told me, it sounds like you're used to doing everything by yourself because you're worried others will mess up, but it's okay to slip up and show vulnerability and ask for help. We rely on each other, from the smallest of things to the biggest.”

You interlaced his and your fingers together.

“Maybe try telling your secondary, uh, Jess? That's her name, yeah, if there's anyone who can help out with some of the stuff that has to be done. If there's hundreds of spider-people working here, I'm pretty sure they're all crazy smart to take on some of the endeavors that you do.”

Was Miguel being biased in this situation? Yes, he was, but hearing it from you was soothing. That benign, good-willed nature as you conversed with him instead of tearing him down.

“I-I will see what I can do, mi Luna. Simplemente, no puedo creerlo. How are you so gentle?”

“I'm not gentle.” You giggled. “I just want to make sure that you're okay. I deeply care for you, Miguel, and I only want the best for you.”

“No, no, mi corazón, you are very gentle.” He engulfed you in a firm hold, kissing your forehead as you laughed, and grabbed his arm with both your hands.

“Alright, alright. I'll be gentle as an excuse to forgive you for pushing me into your apartment.”

“Ay, I'm sorry, mi Luna. I panicked when I heard others, and I didn't want them harassing you and-”

“Hey, hey, it's okay; I'm just teasing.” You placed your lips on his forearm and nuzzled more into him.

Miguel sheepishly grinned and buried his face in your hair.

“So…”

“Si, mi corazón?”

“Going to show me around your place? It's so dark in here, I nearly stumbled over many unknown objects.”

“Ah–sorry about that. Yes, I'll show you around.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ella-janehaven @prozacgooble @sanguwuxyoonbummy

[popculturebuffet]

Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck Retrospective: The Empire Builder from Callisota: "No Scrooge McDuck once had everything. Now all he has is Money and What Money Can Buy" (Patreon Review for WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to my look at The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck. After a long hiatus, it's almost over. Just two chapters left.

We've also got one I forgot..was banned. Yeah turns out a year ago Disney contacted rosa, told him this story was was banned and weren't really up to discussing it. As for why... well you can look above and get a pretty good idea. This story features Bombie the Zombie and Foola Zoola, characters Barks created... and characters who are entirely racist carcatures in their original form. Rosa DID do his best to give Foola depth, taking him from a one note villian to someone who didn't want a colonizer taking his land. Bombie.. really coudln't as he was a zombie and all that, but you can see from above why Disney wouldn't be crazy about reprinting Bombie and... I fully agree. As seen above, I can see WHY disney would choose to not want to print this story in it's orignal form as while Rosa did his best to fix the designs... Bombie still dosen't look that great.

The problems are twofold. The first is with Disney itself, who is unwilling to let anyone talk about it, is content to bury the story at at most suggested having people edit Rosa's art, something he's against. And I do get it: letting someone else walk all over something you carefully made.. isn't fair. I dont' agree with him on refusing to edit it due to being asked, as while as he says himself

“The Dream of a Lifetime” has only THREE panels of its 25 pages in which Bombie appears. Rather than ban this entire story forever due actually to only TWO of those three panels, the publishers suggested that I allow them to have Bombie redrawn. I would not allow art-tampering if my name is on the book. (I can tamper with my own art in reprints if I made some error, but I won’t allow changes forced on me.)

Look, I do think they should allow Rosa, if he's able as I know drawing is hard for him these days, to draw it and I do think just saying outright "you have to" instead of opening up an actual talk with him over the issue is scummy. Disney is being dicks and their possible "solution" of just removing the story is stupid. This is an integral part of life and tims and editing it is the better part. (As noted with dream of the life time it's only three panels).

That said while I love Don Rosa.. he should redraw it. He shoudlnt' of had his hand forced, again he deserves more respect and it's clear Disney is fairly hands off when it comes to it's comics. if he can't, then I do understand. But Rosa does have to understand.. this IS necessary. This WAS an error on his part as while he did do his best to make the characters look less racist and in Zoola's case an actual character, and was horrified by this chapter in Barks history in his commentary.. he has to understand times have changed. And while he considers the Don Rosa Library just for adults.. that's simply not the case. Jason Aaron , who wrote the recent Uncle Scrooge and the Infnity Dime, read these stories with his kids. Other people will do the same. And black children.. deserve to not have to see a racist caracture. I'm not saying ther eisn' ta market to have an unedited version with a warning label on it, Scrooge has adult readers, but I am saying these comics , while written smartly and fitting everyone.. are all ages and always will be. I'd rather the story be edited slightly to be updated than gone all together.

Let's be fair though: While I do think Rosa is being stubborn, Disney.. is still the worst and still shoudl've given him a more resonable chat than this. Disney clearly dosen't give one iota of a shit about these stories or how important they are to comics as a whole and while this chapter could use an update, it's callous to chuck it in a bin as some racist artifact when while the art.. again could use a slight touchup, maybe make bombie a full on green zombie like the 2017 cartoon.. the story itself.. isn't racist. Rosa took a racist old tale and made it a story of collonalism and scrooge's worst moment. The worst thing he ever did.. was forcibly take land from the people already living there and that's worth telling and Disney is fucking stupid for not getting that.

Lucky for me I own the story already, but I can't say that for everyone and hopefully at some point Disney gets their head and finger out of their ass and compromises with rosa while he's still around to compromise with.

For now the story itself.. and this is the one I was dreading. Not for all the above, i'd happily forgotten that till I went to get the image then had to dig into it a bit. Thank you reddit. No.. this is the sad one. See when we first met Scrooge.. Barks hadn't quite worked out who he was. He was always a bastard but he wasn't the layered bastard we know, one who will undersell his nephews but also do the right thing in a pinch. As a result he entered the story a frail old recluse donald hadn't met yet with Night on Bear Mountain, and earlier stories had him more as an antagonist before Barks took a shine to him and found out just how well the old man fit the adventure stories that he'd been telling with donald.

One of those early stories... was a massive headache for Rosa. Voodoo Hodoo, the story with the racist carcatures mentioned above, one where Scrooge gleefully admits to tearing down an african villiage and getting cursed as a result.

Like me Rosa had dreaded this part as how the hell would this fit: he coudln't ignore it due to his pride, trying to weave everything in, but it was incredibly hard to parse that with who scrooge became.. till it hit him: USE the fact it was horribly out of character for Scrooge. Have it be the one moment that in rosa's words "he became flintheart glomgold" that one moment of weakeness where he became his worst self for just one day, succumbed to every bad instinct he had did something truly unforgivable... and have it have consequences. Have his worst moment, his one bad day, be the reason his family left and he didn't reunite with them till inviting donald and the boys for christmas all those many decades later. It's why I dreaded this chapter: it's the one where Scrooge gains everything he ever wanted.. and looses what he had in the process. It's one of the hardest chapters to read and it's under the cut.

So we open with Matilda closing her scrapbook. Up to this point her scrap book had been the opening page, tracking her brother's journey.. but now she and her sisters are adults working for their brother, staying at the office while he travels the world and the seven seas building his empire and slowly filling his bin. It's a nice bit of symbolisim considering what's about to happen.

Scrooge returns as you'd expect.. inside a canon as he refused to pay extra shipping to ship himself. He could, as Hortense points out let someone else run the show.. but he refuses. No one else has his grit and while he dosen't say it... no one else simply has his stubborness. When mugged and having his hat shot he runs down the new generation of mcvipers in a flashback simply because they shot up his hat and cost him money. The man DOES need a better work life ballance.. but he isn't wrong. Scrooge is simply at his best when he's doing some of the work himself. His 2017 self does delegate more.. but truly thrives when his nephew and niece and later passel of nephews and daughter he never knew he had remind him of adventure. He dosen't always turn a tidy profit.. but the experince is well worth it and for every loss there's a gain.

This mindset makes a LOT of sense in story: We've seen scrooge struggle and scrape to get this far. Fight every minute as he will not settle for a life he does not deserve nor feels his family dosen't. Every time he seemingly got up the mountain and won... something shoved him back down with only a small handful of cash as progress, enoguh to get to the next adventure. Over that, with Rockerduck and Roosevelt's help, he learned he just.. loved the chase. He's in a comfy enough place where he can still keep going on the chase.. but every small loss isn't a gutting reminder he hasn't gotten anything but experince. He can take risks. He sometimes dosen't because he's a cheap old bastard, but he can adventure.. because he can afford it. Before it was just to survive.. now it's because it's what he WANTS to do. He wants to be richer than god, to keep going keep growing his empire and he was taught the only way to get that far is to do the hardest work yourself and maybe let others come to you for money once you got it.

Case in point Scrooge really didnt' see the need for a larger office staff, leaving only his sisters to run it.. and thus hilariously passes out when he finds they hired Ms Quackfaster. For those more familiar with Ducktales 2017 Quackfaster here is more timid, put upon back when it was entirely okay to abuse your secretary/office assitant. Ah the 40's.. please stay 50 feet away at all times thank you. He goes catatonic at finding out they have a full staff, but Hortsens is unphased throwing a whole cup of coffe in his face and making it clear that A) They couldn't do this with two people ya jackass and B) we're comnig with you.. ya jackass.

The girls have brought quackmore to office manage so they can go globetrotting something scrooge is suprisingly happy with.

Sadly this is about as light hearted as this adventure gets as we head into the congo.. where

The story strangely dosen't say, which is uncarctrastic for Rosa. This story has that racist habit a lot of stories do of just saying "Africa' instead of "what country exactly on the largest continent in the world". Which is not great when he was far more specific when we did the previous jaunt to south africa. Yeah... some oft his story has not aged well and Rosa can and should have done better. He does through research but here just... plunks a very plot importnat villiage int he middle of a giant continent.

Scrooge is intent to impress his sisters.. but instead shows them, and us, how far he's fallen: Scrooge does one of the oldest tricks in the colonalist playbook, offering the cheif a quarter for the land rights since the man genuinely DOSEN'T know he's getting screwed over. This trope is.. awful, that old "Oh stupid indgenious peoples they'll belivie anything. So it's not great.. but it is softend a bit as the chief offered a tiny war drum something sacred to him, something not worth money, but worth a lot to their small community.. and scrooge faked that gesture while really screwing the poor guy over. While the optics are sketchy.. the intent works: Scrooge has sunken so low that rather than make his money square and returning a heartfelt gesture of someones cutlure sincerly.. he tricks the person for his own ends.

The sisters call him out for this... and it's a scene I forgot.. but boy does it hit

Seeing Scrooge fallen this low.. is hard. While it's not the man gut punch of the comic, Don Rosa's not even close to done working the body, it still hits to see how much he's changed. It was to the point I THOUGHT this was a bit abrubt, that while it's been a while since the last chapter, it surely can't of been THAT long.

Thinking back though... this was set up most of the story. Scrooge's dark side has always been part of his character, especially in the comics: Even in the better days ahead in the prime of the barks and rosa eras.. he's still rageful, barely pays his family or workers, petty and often wont' do things he easily could simply to be a selfish dick. Christmas for Shacktown has him refuse to help pay for christmas for orphans even when Donald put in the hard work to get 25 dollars.. which is, to my shock 294 dollars and 17 cents in today money. So yeah donald gathered nearly 300 dollars in charity.. that scrooge refused to repay. I'd say he's the worst evil billonare in fiction but his competition is pretty stiff

Point is part of Scrooge's charm is he COULD be an asshole... it thankfully got toned down with time and Ducktales and ESPECIALLY 2017 Ducktales toned it the fuck down, the latter having what I consdier to be my faviorite version, but he's still some form of bastard, and his need to grow as a person or suprising bits of depth and humanity are what make him so fascinating. He's a dick.. but he has a lot of layers to him and a moral code.

This chapter shows just what thin ice that code is on: how it wouldn't take too much for him to tip over the line and become an even worse glomgold. While that darkness isn't there in the early chapters, as younger scrooge is both a tad more naive and way more kind and trusting it slowly builds: in Raider of the Copper Hill he nearly goes mad with power at just the THOUGHT of his newfound fortune and only having to sell his newfound wealth immediatly for pennies snaps him out of it. The Terror of Transval breaks his trust in most people completely, thanks flinty. In King of The Klondike while still sympathetic you can see his harder shell having fully formed, how he avoids other people, is rude to just about everyone and later in the next chapter, is fairly cold to people.It's been bubbling faster and faster: In the billionare of dismal downs, he snaps at the townspeople threanting to leave them all homeless out of petty spite. And finally in the previous chapter, he kicks those boy scouts out rather rudely, which bites him in the ass when they assume he's a foreign spy. The last part is just them being dummies, but there's this harsh sharp edge we simply don't fully notice forming.. because it's who scrooge is even after he takes about ten percent off. The guy is mean.

But Barks uses this opportunity to show why he's a hero.. by showing him, for one shameful moment, as a villian. As a pure monster who gladly tricks an indigenous person out of their land and his response to being called out on it by his anchors, the thing noticably able to snap him out of his worst insincts... is to say "i'm done playing fair."

Scrooge is often honest.. because he's got people around to curb his worst insincts. His family keep him grounded: having the goal of helping provide for them kept him honest, his dad kept pushing him away from his worst instincts and his sisters and mom kept doing the same.

The problem is.. slowly but surely.. he's just about lost everyone: His mentors are long gone or in the white house. He dosen't trust anyone enough to have actual friends. And as for his family.. h'es slowly lost them: His Uncles have passed by now, he lost his mom and found out in the worst way possible, and he just lost his dad. He has his sisters.. but like Donald and the Boys later, he's on an uneven enough playing field with them to ignore them if he wants. After all he provided for them, he gave them a home in america, what fucks should he give they don't care. Their the last tether he has to his humanity and he's kept them at arms length, keeping them at home whlie he journied and letting himself get more and more corrupt. Without the humanizing aspects of his goal to gain wealth, having saved his ancestral castle, given his sisters a good life and become rich, all that's left is gaining more and more money whatever it takes. Scrooge may be unscrupoious on a good day.. but he has enough honor to do the right thing, to be honest about his money. Without that is just the monster barely contianed under the surface and the last thing locking it out.. is about to go away.

So Scrooge confronts the Voodoo Part of the tribe, which while... once again about as researched as Tintin in Africa, is one of the better parts. Again Barks casual racisim.. shows a bit. It's something I didn't notice on previous readings but is kinda.. obvious now as the man just didn't bother ot put in the research he did for white legends and locations. He's not always racist, he put true effort into researching the dreamtime for the Dreamtime Duck of Never Never, but it's clear when it comes to africa he didn't really give a shit.

That said while he has issues I WILL give Rosa credit for how he redid Foola. The racist aspects are gone aside from fangs for teeth.. and characterzation wise he's treated not as some cheap villian.. but as a man who puts on scare tactics because he's used to men like scrooge: Greedy white assholes who try to take everything they can from his sacred land. Foola is unimpressed by this colonizing asshole and it's a part of the story that, unlike most of the other villiage stuff, holds up very well: Barks clearly respects Vodoo even going on one of his signature "old man yells at cloud" rants about how "traditional" zombies are nothing like the ones we know now. Foola is only in the story for a short while but makes a hell of an impression, being one of the few characters to truly best scrooge

Now Scrooge probably woudln't of takent his well in any form at any time. The diffrence is the scrooge later could at least be talked down by the nephews or would've barged back in solo to fight Foola. He also never would've done the racist offering a quarter shit to him or the chief. This scrooge.. does easily the worst thing Scrooge McDuck has EVER done in any medium.

I love the heavy shadows over his face in this scene, just the pure.. evil radiating off scrooge for a moment. Anger, malice.. we've seen it.. but we've never seen him as a complete and utter monster destroying people's lives and homes all for his greed and every minute of it is painful, seeing just how... Broken matilda is by it. You can see just how sad she is to see her brother not only tear her apart for no good reason but tear innocent people apart.. while Hortense.. prepares to pack.

Somehow scrooge manages to do MORE horrible shit, pretending to be someone else to get foola to sign the contract. Foola swears his revenge... and Scrooge returns not to his sisters forgiving him and gladly taking the money as he expected... but a letter

While dishonesty is kinda underselling it, it's a truly painful moment. It's also an awesome one as the whole time Scrooge has ignored what they've had to say.. and now he can't. All he can do is gripe about WHY he's sunk this low: that if the world isn't honest why shoud he be? It's a problem that feels extra relevant these days: if the world is a dumpster fire... why shouldn't I be one too? If nothing we do matters, what does anything matter?

I'd forgotten this scene.. but damn it hits. The one thing that gets through to him.. is his dad. He can lie to himself.. but he can't lie to his dad. And the answer to that hypothetical above was simple: to be true to yourself, to respect yourself enough not to sink to tohers levels.

This does convince scrooge to go reunite with his family.. but first he has bigger issues. Foola's back..a nd he's brougth bombie. And bombie's design isn't great, but Barks reimagines him well: more as an unstoppable juggernaught than a mildly racist zombie. Thankfully Rosa also needed to retcon something else: Scrooge looked like a young donald in the flashback, something that didn't really stack up with later versions, so in not ignoring this story, Rosa found a clever way to deal with that; his earlier disguise looked like donald, so bombie only goes after him when he has a hat on.

The next section is kinda weak, if understadanbly so: Rosa had to cover DECADES of Scrooge's life this time around, so we follow him as he doe ssome buisnessy buieness buienss and outwits bombie, along the way picking up a candy striped ruby. IT's all pretty standard though the climax of it.. is fucking amazing. Bombie follows Scrooge to the titanic. Where Scrooge dosen't notice the boat sinking because he's busy with bombie. It's a sequence I just kinda eyed over in past readings but in this one.. hot damn is it fun.

After he beats bombie we then get a montage as Scrooge makes a global empire, mostly nods to various barks stories I don't think i've read yet, like the gilded man of el dorado.. who then runs in fear as he forgets who he's dealing with. Nothing bad but it feels like it's there more to cover all the gaps in scrooge's history left before the finale than tell a story for the most part. There is one exception though: after he gets shoved off a cliff.. he finds he's picked up a new ability, one of his most famous

Also props to rosa for explaining the "how he can swim through coins" thing: As ducktales 2017 put it it's a hard won skill and just diving in would kill anyone else. Rosa like barks takes this seriously, as while this world has fantastical stuff in it he grounds it in the logical explanation, ones that don't feel like nitpicky fan wankery, but a logical reason why Scrooge can do the thing people know him for.

Turns out Bombie wasn't lost in the titanic... which makes sense: If James Cameron the Bravest Pioneer didn't find him while taking underwater footage of it, he must've been gone. The Chief of an Island scrooge is negotating with takes the ruby in exchange for binding Bombie for 30 years and Scrooge is sur ehe'll NEVER see him again.

Some time ,more finagaling and proftering later, Scrooge FINALLY returns home to a warm reception.. an ddickilsh bashes the mayor with the key to the city

Sadly his return to his office.. means our ending. And it's one of the hardest things i've had to write about. And I had to write about frasier mowing down the ACLU a few weeks back.

No this ending is simple but crushing: His sisters decided to let bygones be bygones, enough time had passed. Sadly.. Scrooge taking the long way round.. meant he just.. dosen't care. He brushes them off, storms into his office and when Hortense storms in.. he angrily tells them they didn't care when he was abroad all that time supporting them before. What he misses.. is that things changed. Two, when he started his trip, small children with no real agency seeing their brother off versus two grown women who simply want him to acknowledge them.. is diffrent. They don't need him anymore.. and Hortense tells him if he shoes them away NOW, it's over. And sadly.. Scrooge pushes them away. While before it was due to his darkest hour.. this time.. it's just due to who he is. Scrooge is a prideful old bastard who can't accept weakness and sees his emotoinal ties as just that. IT's why it takes him so long to actually admit, and rarely to their faces, he cares about Donald and the nephews.. and his sisters need and deserve that. THey deserve to be acknowleged. Donald and the Boys did.

Speaking of Donald he and Della were here and whiel Della was only a character enough at this point to get a cameo Donald... gets the last shot in.

Bout sums up their relationship really.. but it's also oddly sweet.. donald kicks scrooge's ass, literally and desrevedly.. because he made his momma cry.

Scrooge has a chance, to reconcile, to fix this.. but sadly instead...

God that last panel, his sisters sadly resigned to letting him go as the Bin towers over everything, showing off just how lonely he is and forever will be. Even if this story as a whole has a happy ending, this ending... guts you.

And somehow.. I found a way it guts me even more on a second reading. This.. is the last time Scrooge talks to hortense that we're aware of. He DOES see Matilda again, a story we'll certainly get to someday, and one of Rosa's finest.. but it's heavily implied Hortense and Quackmore are gone by the time Donald and Della are adults as we never see them and unlike Della, we never got an explination in the comics. Scrooge's last time seeing his sister was a terrible argument and him turning his back on his family out of pride. He lost so much time with her, her children and his family.. all for nothing.

The Richest Duck in the World is a good story.. if an uneven one. Parts of it are mildly racist, with Rosa again not having cared enough to do actual research this time and that's damming from a guy who prides himself on it, and it drags for a bit as Rosa has to stitch together decades of noodle incidents in Barks work. The titanic scene is great but most of it is pretty much fanservice and while I am a fan of Barks work, i'm not the super student Rosa is, so I don't get nearly as much out of it. I'm fine with fanservice, but the rest of the comic does a better job threading it in naturally.

That said while the chapter is uneven.. the parts it nails.. it really NAILS. Scrooge's darkest hour is truly chilling, a monsterous act that is truly horrifying to watch and the ending just hits like a truck. While we get a SLIGHT breather with Donald kicking his ass, it ends on a gut punch that reminds us Scrooge.. lost his family. The very thing he set out to help... he lost.

Thankfully.. this isn't the end. While this is the climax.. i'ts not the ending. So

Next Time: We end this trek as Scrooge gets to know his nephews and has to deal with an old foe. Till then thanks for reading

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 7 - Friends, Enemies, and Everyone in Between

Summary: Valerie adjusts to life in Memphis, dealing with a frosty welcome from some locals. A confrontation at a hair salon leads to her being labeled a homewrecker. She receives shocking news from Elvis whose life appears to be unraveling.

Author's note: Yes, I know this picture of E is from 1968. But he looks so hot, so roll with it.

The Memphis airport was smaller than Vegas, quieter. But the photographers weren't.

"Miss Pedretti! Over here!" 

"What about Mrs. Presley?" 

"Is it true about you and Elvis?"

I kept walking, sunglasses firmly in place. Jerry had warned me they'd be waiting. Memphis press was different than Vegas press. Hungrier, more personal. These weren't just looking for a story. They were defending their hometown boy.

The black Cadillac Elvis had sent waited at the curb, Red behind the wheel. No Elvis. I hadn't really expected him to come, but still. The empty seat felt significant.

"Welcome to Memphis," Red said, taking my bags. His smile was apologetic. "Boss wanted to be here, but..."

"But Priscilla's at Graceland." The words came out steadier than I felt.

I unfolded the newspaper I'd been clutching since the airport, smoothing out the real estate section. The ad was still circled in red crayon: "East Memphis. 2BR, hardwood floors, good light." Something about it had called to me. My place. My choice. My life in Memphis, even if part of that life belonged to Elvis.

"Change of plans," I told Red. "I’m not going to the hotel."

He glanced at the paper, understanding dawning. "You found your own place already."

"I did."

"Boss ain’t gonna like that."

"Boss doesn't have to like it."

Red's laugh was warm. "Girl, you really aren't like the others, are you?"

The apartment was on the third floor of a red brick building shaded by magnolia trees. The realtor, a sharp-faced woman named Mrs. Whitmore, was waiting.

"Oh!" Her eyes went wide when she saw Red. Recognition flickered. "You're..."

"Just the driver, ma'am." But he winked at me as he carried up my bags.

The apartment was exactly as advertised. Hardwood floors that needed polish. Windows that caught the morning light. A kitchen small but workable. The second bedroom could be a music room. I could teach here, once I got settled.

"It's perfect," I said.

Mrs. Whitmore named a price. With my new salary as a studio musician - the Colonel's 'arrangement' - I could afford it easily. But I was already scanning the newspapers for teaching jobs. Someday soon, I'd be free and clear of his influence.

"Welcome home," Mrs. Whitmore said, handing over the keys. Then, trying too hard to sound casual: "Will you be... living alone?"

Red coughed.

"Yes," I said firmly. "I will."

After she left, I stood in my empty living room, keys heavy in my hand. My place. My life.

"You sure about this?" Red asked softly. "Being out here on your own?"

Through the window, I could see downtown Memphis in the distance. Somewhere out there was Graceland. Elvis. Priscilla. All of it waiting.

"I'm sure."

But by the third day, with no word from Elvis, doubt started creeping in. The apartment felt too empty, too quiet. The Memphis humidity crept through the windows, making everything feel damp and uncertain. I'd unpacked my clothes, arranged Elvis's books on makeshift shelves, even bought a secondhand record player. But something felt unfinished.

The phone didn't ring.

*

American Sound Studio looked nothing like the gleaming facilities in Vegas. It was a converted movie theater on Thomas Street, all red brick and character, with a soul that Vegas studios couldn't touch.

"This is where the magic happens," Red said, leading me through a back entrance. "Where Boss cut 'Suspicious Minds.'"

The other backup singers were already there. Three women, all perfectly coiffed despite the Memphis heat. They stopped talking the moment I walked in.

"Ladies," Red nodded. "This is Valerie Pedretti. She'll be joining us. She is a seasoned studio musician from Chicago. Got a hell of a set of pipes."

Mary Holladay, the eldest, stepped forward first. Her handshake was firm, professional. "Welcome to Memphis." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "We've heard so much about you."

I bet you have, I thought.

Ginger and Donna, the other two, exchanged looks that spoke volumes. But before anyone could say more, a familiar voice carried from the control room:

"Where is she? Where's Valley?"

Elvis appeared in the doorway. A week's worth of missing him, of wondering why he hadn't called, of practicing what I'd say when I saw him again - all of it vanished the moment our eyes met. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to run to him. I did neither. Only Elvis could make a woman forgive him just by walking into a room. I both hated and loved him for that power.

He wore black, as he often did, but somehow he looked different here. More solid. More present. His eyes found mine through the cigarette smoke that perpetually hung in the studio air. Bad for the lungs, I noted. 

"There you are. Welcome to Memphis." His smile was careful - we had an audience. "Everyone ready to make some music?"

The other singers watched our interaction like hawks. I kept my voice professional. "Ready when you are, Mr. Presley."

Something flickered in his eyes - amusement? Frustration? - at the formality. But he played along. 

"Alright then. Let's see what you've got." He turned to the group. "From the top, ladies. 'Sweet Sweet Spirit.'" A beautiful hymnal that he loved so much. Perfect for a warm up. 

For the next three hours, we worked. Really worked. Elvis was a perfectionist in the studio, demanding take after take until the harmonies were exactly right. I kept up, matching Mary's powerful alto, complementing Ginger's soprano, finding my place in their well-established blend.

During a break, Ginger cornered me by the water cooler. She was stunning - tall and elegant, with flawless mahogany skin and eyes that could pierce right through pretense. Her eyeliner was perfectly winged, and she carried herself with the kind of grace that came from years of knowing your worth in a world that tried to deny it.

"You're good," she said, surprising me. "Real good. But..." She glanced around, lowered her voice. "Be careful, honey. Memphis ain't Vegas. People here have long memories and longer knives."

Before I could respond, Elvis called us back in. As I took my place behind the microphone, I caught him watching me in the control room glass. For a moment, his carefully maintained facade cracked. The look in his eyes made my knees weak.

Then Mary started the harmony, and it was time to sing.

We recorded until our voices were raw. Elvis was relentless, but I understood why. Here, in this shabby-beautiful converted theater, he wasn't the Vegas showman or Graceland's lord of the manor. He was a musician, pure and simple, chasing perfection in the grooves of a record.

"One more time," he'd say, and we'd do it again. He even threw one of his latest hits at us to stretch our harmonies to the limit. "Kentucky Rain" was complex - a four-part arrangement that required absolute precision. Mary led with her powerful alto, Ginger and Donna weaving around her like smoke, and me... me finding spaces I didn't know existed in a song I'd heard a dozen times.

"That's it," Elvis said suddenly during our seventh take. He was looking right at me through the control room glass. "That's the sound I've been hearing in my head."

The other women shifted slightly. They'd been doing this for years, crafting those harmonies to perfection. Now here I was, changing things.

"Again," Elvis called. "From the beginning."

Seven lonely days and a dozen towns ago…. I reached out one night and you were gone…. Don't know why you'd run, what you're running to or from… All I know is I want to bring you home.

My voice wound through the arrangement like thread through fabric. Not competing, not dominating, just... belonging. I closed my eyes, letting the music take me somewhere beyond this room with its watchful gaze and careful distances. God, this is what I’d been waiting for. What I was meant to do. 

When I opened my eyes, Elvis was in the recording booth with us.

"Ladies," he said, but his eyes were on me, "take five. Except you, Valerie. Need to work on your phrasing."

The moment the door closed behind them, he was there. His hands found my waist, burning through the thin fabric of my dress.

"Been going crazy," he muttered against my neck. "Three days without touching you..."

"Then why didn’t you come see me?" But my protest died as his mouth found that spot below my ear. "Hey. The others could come back..."

"Let ‘em." His hands tightened possessively. "Missed you so damn much. The apartment's really necessary? Really gotta be so far away?"

I pushed him back gently, needing space to think. "Yes. It is."

He studied my face, something vulnerable flickering behind his eyes. "Cilla leaves for California next week. Then you can—"

"No." I kept my voice soft but firm. "I need my own place. For now."

"Even if it kills me?" But he was smiling now, that crooked boy's smile that made my heart flip.

"You'll survive."

"Will I?" His thumb traced my lower lip. "What if I don't want to survive? What if I just want—"

The control room door opened. We sprang apart like guilty teenagers as Chips Moman, the producer, stuck his head in.

"Ready when you are, E.P."

Elvis's face smoothed into professional neutrality. But his eyes, when they met mine, still burned.

"From the bridge this time," he said, his voice steady. "One more time."

The other singers filed back in, careful not to look at my flushed cheeks or Elvis' slightly mussed hair. But I caught Mary and Ginger exchanging glances. In Memphis, I was learning, nothing stayed secret for long.

We worked until dusk painted the studio windows purple. My voice was shot, but Elvis kept pushing - not just me now, but all of us. Something had shifted in him since our stolen moment. He was chasing perfection again, but with a new intensity.

"That's the one," Chips finally said after what felt like our hundredth take. "Elvis, man, that's it."

The playback filled the studio - four voices weaving around Elvis's lead like they'd been born to it. Like they'd always belonged there. Like I'd always belonged there.

"Beautiful," Elvis breathed. Then, softer, meant just for me: "Like you."

Mary cleared her throat. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Actually," Elvis said, not taking his eyes off me, "I thought we might try something new tomorrow. Valerie, you play piano, right?"

The other singers went very still.

"Yes," I said carefully.

"Good. I've got this gospel arrangement I've been working on..." He finally looked at the others. "Full band, full choir. Everyone's invited."

The invitation was pointed. Clear. I wasn't just the new backup singer - I was going to be involved in arrangements. In creation. In his music.

Donna muttered something under her breath. Ginger touched her arm quietly.

"Sounds wonderful," Mary said, her professional smile firmly in place. "We'll see you tomorrow then."

After they left, Elvis caught my hand. "Stay? Just for a minute?"

"Elvis..."

"Just want to play you something. The gospel arrangement." His thumb traced patterns on my palm. "Need your opinion."

I knew I should leave. The sun was setting, and Memphis wasn't Vegas. People would talk.

But when he sat at the piano and patted the bench beside him, I sat.

"It goes like this," he said softly, and began to play.

*

The next day, Memphis showed its teeth.

It started at Burke's, the only decent bookstore in East Memphis. I was looking for sheet music when I heard them - three women with carefully sprayed hair and pearls that gleamed like armor.

"That's her," one whispered, not bothering to lower her voice enough. "The Chicago girl."

"Playing piano for him now, I heard." 

The second voice dripped with disdain. "Like we don't have perfectly good piano players right here in Memphis."

“Well,” said the third, “you know what they say about Northern girls…” The words stung more than they should have. It didn’t feel fair. My parents were Southern, born and raised, though these women would never bother to learn that. For a moment, I felt a flicker of understanding about the gossip Elvis dealt with daily - even if my small taste of it was nothing compared to what he faced.

I kept my eyes on the sheet music, but my hands were shaking. The whispers followed me to the counter, where the clerk suddenly ran out of change. Funny, since it was right there in front of her.

"Register’s all out," she said sweetly. "Maybe try Goldsmith's instead? They're more... accommodating."

I left without the music.

At the grocery store, a woman pulled her children away as I passed, like being a session singer was contagious. The butcher couldn't find the cut of meat I wanted. The coffee shop was mysteriously full, though half the tables sat empty.

By the time I got to my apartment, fury had replaced the hurt. I'd faced down the Colonel, handled the Vegas press. By God, I could handle some small-town spite.

The phone was ringing when I walked in.

"How you holding up, sugar?" It was Ginger, surprising me. Her voice was like warm syrup on a waffle. "Mary told me about Burke's. Her sister-in-law works there."

"News travels fast."

"Honey, in Memphis, news travels before it happens." She paused. "Listen, some of us are getting together tonight at the Rendezvous. Just singers, no... complications. Want to come?"

I hesitated.

"Come on," she pressed. "Can't hide in that apartment forever. Besides, you need allies in this town."

The Rendezvous was underground - literally. A basement restaurant thick with barbecue smoke and history. Ginger was already there with Donna and two other women I recognized from the studio - backup singers who worked for the studio.

"Valerie, meet Sophie and Jane," Ginger said. "They also sing with Al Green."

"When he lets us," Sophie laughed. She was older than the others, with kind eyes. Her dark skin popped against her bright orange dress. Even in the dim lighting she was absolutely radiant. "Heard you held your own with Elvis yesterday. Not many can keep up when he gets in one of his perfectionist moods."

"The arrangement was beautiful," Donna admitted grudgingly. "Even if it did take forty takes in all."

"Forty-three," I corrected, and they all laughed.

The ribs came, and with them stories. About Al Green's legendary temper. About B.B. King's generosity. About Elvis, back when he was just a truck driver with big dreams.

"Mary's the only one of us who knew him then," Ginger said, wiping sauce from her chin. "Says he was real shy, if you can believe it. Always polite, calling everyone 'sir' and 'ma'am.'"

"Still does," Jane noted. "When he remembers he's not in Vegas."

"Speaking of Vegas..." Sophie's eyes were sharp but not unkind. "You gonna be okay here, honey? This town can be hard on outsiders. Especially ones who..." She trailed off diplomatically.

"Who date married men?" I kept my voice level.

"Who catch the eye of its favorite son," Sophie corrected gently. "Elvis isn't just a singer here. He's... Memphis. And Priscilla might live in California, but she's still his wife. Still comes to church when she's in town. Still has friends here."

"I have my own place," I said. "My own life. I'm not trying to take anything from anyone."

"Honey," Ginger sighed, "that's not how they'll see it."

As if to prove her point, a woman passed our table and "accidentally" spilled her drink on my dress. She didn't apologize.

"Maggie Johnson," Donna muttered. "Dated Elvis in high school. Still bitter about it twenty years later."

"That's nothing," Sophie said. "Wait till you meet the Sunday School crowd. They've been praying for Elvis and Priscilla since 1959."

"And now here you come," Ginger added, "all talent and beauty and Northern independence. They don't know what to do with you."

"I don't know what to do with me either sometimes," I admitted.

The women exchanged glances.

"Well," Sophie said finally, "for what it's worth, I like what you did with our harmonies today. About time someone shook things up around here."

After dinner, Ginger insisted on driving me home. "Memphis isn't Vegas," she said for the hundredth time. "Not safe for a woman alone at night."

But when we pulled up to my building, Elvis's Cadillac was waiting.

"Oh Lord," Ginger muttered. "Here we go."

He was leaning against the car, all in black despite the heat. Sunglasses on, despite the dark. When he saw us, he straightened, and even Ginger sucked in a breath.

"Still got it," she whispered. "After all these years, he still just... got it."

"Thanks for dinner," I said quickly.

"Remember what we said," she called as I got out. "About allies!"

Elvis waited until her tail lights disappeared before pulling me close.

"Missed you," he murmured against my hair.

"It's been six hours."

"Too long." He pulled back, frowning. "You smell like barbecue. And... is that wine on your dress?"

"Local hospitality," I said dryly. "Your old girlfriend Maggie says hello. Sort of."

His jaw tightened. "Who's been giving you trouble?"

"No one I can't handle."

"Valley Cat—"

"I mean it." I touched his face, feeling the tension there. "I knew what I was getting into."

Elvis's jaw tightened at my words, and I recognized that look - the one he got when he wanted to fix something, to make it better, to protect what was his. He'd bought Cadillacs for strangers just for being kind to him; I could only imagine what he wanted to do to people who were cruel to me. But we both knew his protection would only make things worse. Memphis had to accept me on my own terms, or not at all.

"I don't need protecting."

"No." His smile was sad. "You never did."

We stood there in the humid night, neither speaking. Somewhere a radio played "Love Me Tender" - in this town, Elvis was always playing somewhere.

"Come up?" I asked finally.

He glanced at my dark windows, wanting to say yes. I could feel it in the way his hands tightened on my waist.

"I shouldn't," he said reluctantly. "Cilla’s at Graceland, and people watch..."

"People always watch."

"Around here, they do more than watch. They remember. They judge." He pressed his forehead to mine. "Just a little bit longer. ‘Till she goes back to California. Then maybe..."

A car passed slowly, its headlights lingering too long. Elvis stepped back automatically, the gesture practiced. Protective. Of me? Of himself? Of the image he had to maintain?

"I should go," he said. "Early session tomorrow."

"The gospel arrangement?"

"Yeah." His smile returned. "Got some ideas I want to run by you. If... if that's okay?"

He was asking permission, I realized. Giving me the choice to step back, to be just another studio singer. To make my life in Memphis easier.

"I'd like that," I said.

He kissed me then, quick but tender, not caring about the watching eyes. When he pulled away, there was something like wonder in his face.

"What?" I asked.

"Just thinking," he said softly, "how glad I am you said no to the Colonel's house. How right you look here, in your own place. Being yourself."

Another car drove by, slower this time.

"Go," I said gently. "Before the whole neighborhood figures out."

He touched my face once more, then got in the car. I watched until his tail lights disappeared, then climbed the stairs to my apartment.

Inside, the empty rooms felt different now - not lonely. Purposeful. This was my space, my choice. My life in Memphis, complicated and difficult, but also exciting.

On the coffee table, my copy of "Kentucky Rain" waited. I put it on the second hand record player, letting the music fill the space.

Our voices rose behind Elvis's lead - Mary's strength, Ginger's grace, Donna's precision. And mine, weaving through them all, finding my own way.

Just like I was finding my way here.

One day at a time.

*

The studio sessions were going well - too well, maybe. Every day we made magic, laying down tracks that even Chips said were something special. The other singers had warmed to me, professionally at least. Even Mary had stopped giving me those sideways looks when I suggested arrangement changes.

But Elvis? Elvis was all business. Professional. Controlled. As if that night outside my apartment had never happened. As if his hands hadn't burned through my dress, his voice rough with need. As if he hadn't promised "soon" and "when things settle" and all those other sweet half-truths I was starting to doubt.

I told myself to be patient. Priscilla was still at Graceland. Things were complicated. He had to be professional. But at night, alone in my apartment, those reasonable thoughts offered little comfort.

"You need your hair done, honey," my next-door neighbor Mrs. Patterson said one morning as I was collecting my mail. She was new to the building, recently divorced, and had taken it upon herself to "help" me settle in. "I know just the place. Lucille’s - best salon in town. They know how to handle hair like yours."

I touched my unruly curls self-consciously. The humidity had been winning lately.

“They're not too expensive?"

"Oh no, quite reasonable. And they take walk-ins on Thursdays."

That's how I found myself going to Lucille’s on a sticky Thursday afternoon.

The bell jangled above my head - one of those tinny, brass things that somehow manages to sound cheerful and ominous at the same time. The smell hit me first: peroxide, perm solution, hairspray thick enough to choke on. But underneath it all was something else. Something like gardenias and honeysuckle.

Priscilla's perfume.

The usual salon chatter died faster than a summer romance. Through the sudden silence, I could hear the whir of hair dryers, the steady drip of a leaky faucet, the hammering of my own heart. And there she was, reflected in every mirror like some kind of multiplying nightmare - Priscilla Presley herself, perfectly poised under a dryer hood.

Time did that funny thing it does in moments of pure horror – stretching like taffy, making each second feel like an eternity. I could see every detail with excruciating clarity: the precise way her eyebrows arched, the perfect curve of her mouth, the slight tilt of her head that made her look down at you even when she was sitting.

When our eyes met in the mirror, I saw something shift in her face. Like a mask slipping just enough to show what was underneath. She'd been waiting for this, I realized. Maybe not here, maybe not today, but sometime.

"Oh." Her voice carried over the hair dryers, honey-sweet and twice as sticky. "The new backup singer. How... enterprising of you to find your way here."

“I was just leaving,” I stammered.

“Not only do you have designs on my husband, you now want my hairdresser, too!”

Every head turned. The stylist working on a blue-haired lady's perm froze mid-roll.

"I'm sorry," I started. "I can leave. I didn’t know–" I reached for the door handle and missed. Humiliated. 

"That this was where I go?" Her laugh tinkled like broken glass. "Don't apologize. It's actually perfect timing. I've been so curious about the girl everyone's talking about." She examined her reflection, adjusting a roller with precise movements. "Though I must say, up close, you're not quite what I expected."

Someone near the shampoo station whispered "Lord have mercy." Three women by the magazines crossed themselves. I heard a comb drop, its sound like a gunshot.

"Really, I should go," I said, turning toward the door. 

"Oh, but you just got here." Her smile was pure poison honey. 

My stomach dropped. She smiled, seeing it land. "I'm not—" I swallowed hard. "This isn't—"

"Let me guess." Priscilla's voice went softer, more deadly. "You're different. Special. You understand him like no one else can." She laughed, the sound sharp as razors. "Does he still use that line? Or has he moved on to something else?"

The manicurist dropped her file. The receptionist wasn't even pretending not to listen anymore. It seemed as if the entire salon held its breath. Even the hair dryers hummed quieter.

"He's not—" I started, but she wasn't finished.

"You're staying in that little complex off Marquis, aren't you? That’s where they always stay." 

I was nowhere near Marquis. But my cheeks were so flushed and my heart pumping so loud, I wasn't able to speak. All I saw were fifteen sets of eyes, unblinking, trained on me. The receptionist was practically vibrating with the effort of not running to the phone. Two women by the magazines were staring, open-mouthed.

"And now think you're helping him with his music?" Now her voice had an edge, like she'd forgotten her audience for just a moment. "That's what he does. Finds sweet little things who think they can save him with their... understanding." She practically spit the last word. "Meanwhile, he's probably already got another one lined up in Nashville. Or Vegas. Or wherever he's running to next."

"Mrs. Whitfield!" the blue-haired lady stage-whispered to her friend. "Call Martha. She needs to hear this!"

I gripped my purse strap so hard my knuckles went white. 

"Now that's enough."

The voice belonged to a regal woman under the dryer next to Priscilla's. She lifted the hood, every pearl around her ebony neck gleaming like armor.

"Mrs. King." Priscilla's voice had that careful tone people use when they know they've gone too far. "I was just having a friendly chat with—"

"Girl," Mrs. Lucille King cut in, "I have known that boy since he was singing in church basements. Known you since you were barely more than a child yourself." She adjusted her pearls with dignified precision. "And I know the difference between drawing blood and drawing attention."

Priscilla's perfect composure cracked, just slightly. Then, with deliberate care, she stood.

"You're right, of course." Her smile could have frozen hell. "I apologize for any... unpleasantness. Riley, we'll reschedule. I seem to have developed a headache."

She gathered her purse, not bothering to remove the rollers. As she passed me, her perfume wrapped around us both like a cage. The bell jangled as she left, somehow managing to sound like the end of something.

"Honey." Lucille's voice cut through my daze. "Come sit by me. We're going to fix what the good Lord gave you, and forget what the devil just stirred up." She paused. "At least until it hits the church prayer circle. Which should be... oh, about fifteen minutes from now."

Three hours later, I emerged with my curls tamed into something that could handle the humidity. But Priscilla's words followed me home, echoing with every step.

*

By late afternoon, it seemed like every woman in Memphis had heard about the showdown at Lucille’s. You could practically hear the story spreading, phone lines burning with the details - how Priscilla had held court under that dryer, how Lucille King had come to my defense, how Elvis Presley's wife and Elvis Presley's... whatever I was... had squared off between the shampoo stations and hairspray shelves.

The whispers followed me home from the salon, even with my newly tamed curls. At the corner market, Mrs. Henley - who'd been perfectly friendly yesterday - suddenly found the canned goods fascinating when I passed. Her friend Mrs. Durham actually crossed herself, like being the other woman was catching. Their voices carried as I pretended to study tomatoes:

"Bold as brass, showing up at Leonard's..." 

"...and Lucille King taking her side! Times sure are changing..." 

"...but what about poor Priscilla? In her condition and all..."

That last bit made me pause. In her condition? But before I could process it, the florist - who'd been watching this little drama unfold - called out that they were closing early. At 3 PM. On a Thursday.

Memphis was choosing sides, and it wasn't choosing mine.

I decided to walk home instead of calling a cab. Bad decision. The humidity pressed down like a wet wool blanket, and every passing car felt like it was slowing to stare. One actually was - a blue Buick full of what had to be church ladies, their beehive hairdos perfectly unmoved by the weather, their eyes sharp as they took my measure.

About halfway home, sweat making my new hairdo droop, a familiar black Cadillac pulled alongside. Not Elvis' - this one belonged to Red.

"Get in," he said through the open window. "You shouldn't be walking alone right now."

I slid into the blessed air conditioning. Red's face was grim.

"News travels fast," I said.

"Like lightning in a dry forest." He navigated through the afternoon traffic with practiced ease. "Boss is... well. Let's just say the Colonel's got his hands full right now."

"Is he..." I trailed off, not sure what I was asking. Is he angry? Worried? Coming to see me?

"He's Elvis," Red said, which could have meant anything. "But listen - you might wanna lay low for a bit."

"I can handle a few dirty looks."

"It ain't just looks I'm worried about." He pulled up to my building. "Promise me you'll keep your doors locked tonight?"

That sent a chill down my spine despite the heat. "Red, what aren't you telling me?"

He studied the steering wheel like it held secrets. "Last time Elvis had a... special friend... in Memphis? Lady found her tires slashed. Sugar in the gas tank. Real Old Testament stuff." His eyes met mine. "People get real jealous around here. Just be careful, okay?"

I nodded, but as I climbed the stairs to my apartment, his warning echoed in my head. My hands shook slightly as I unlocked the door - all three locks. The apartment felt different somehow. Smaller. Less like a sanctuary and more like a target.

The phone started ringing the moment I walked in.

"Lord have mercy." It was Ginger. "I just heard. You went to Lucille’s? Are you insane?"

"I didn't know—"

"Honey, everyone knows that's Priscilla's salon. Has been since '63." She paused. "Although word is, Lucille King put her in her place something fierce."

"You heard already?"

"Girl, my hairdresser's cousin's best friend works the front desk there. I knew about it before you'd finished getting your hair done." Another pause. "But that's not why I'm calling. Listen - some of the old church crowd is real worked up. Mrs. Whitfield - you know, from First Baptist? - she's organizing some kind of prayer circle. For your soul."

"My soul is fine, thanks."

"It's not funny, Valerie. These women... they take this stuff seriously. Real seriously." She lowered her voice. "And there's something else. A rumor going around about Priscilla. About why she's still in town..."

But before she could finish, the line dropped. Just as I was about to redial, the phone rang again.

It was Jerry this time, his voice tight with tension. "Boss is on the warpath. Broke three vases at Graceland, fired two of us, and told the Colonel to go fuck himself. Which, honestly? About time on that last one." He tried to laugh but it came out wrong. "Just... maybe don't answer your door tonight?"

The calls kept coming. Sophie. Donna. Even Mary, her usual cool professionalism cracking enough to warn me that "things were getting complicated." Each one trying to prepare me for something they could feel coming but couldn't quite name.

Between calls, I paced. The apartment felt like it was shrinking, the walls closing in with each pass of the phone's ring. Outside, the sun started to set, painting my windows blood red. In the distance, I could hear church bells - First Baptist, probably, calling its flock to Thursday night prayer meeting. Probably to pray for my immortal soul.

That's when the first rock hit my window.

It didn't break the glass - just a warning shot, you might say. But the message was clear enough. Through the curtains, I could see shapes moving in the parking lot. Women's voices carried up, sharp with righteousness:

"Jezebel!" 

"Homewrecker!" 

"Leave them alone!"

I didn't bother calling the police. What would I say? Help, Elvis Presley's fan club is mad at me? Instead, I turned off all the lights and sat in the dark, listening to the voices below. They faded eventually, but the fear didn't.

Around nine, my next-door neighbor - the one who'd suggested Lucille’s in the first place - slipped a note under my door: "Sorry. Didn't know it was her day. But maybe you should have?"

The sounds of Memphis at night filtered through my walls - distant traffic, a train whistle, somebody's radio playing "Suspicious Minds" like a cruel joke. I sat in my reading chair for hours, still wearing my salon-fresh hair and pride-stained dress, waiting for... something. The other shoe to drop. The next rock to hit. The world to end.

It was well after 2 am when I heard it. The distinctive rumble of a Cadillac engine, followed by the slam of a car door that sounded like judgment day. Heavy footsteps on the stairs - taking them two at a time from the sound of it. Then the pounding started.

"Open the goddamn door, Valerie!"

Elvis's voice carried down the hallway like thunder. A door opened down the hall - Mrs. Patterson again, probably calling the building manager. Perfect. Just what I needed - witnesses to this particular scene in the ongoing soap opera of my life.

When I opened the door, he nearly fell in - a bundle of barely contained fury in black leather despite the heat. His eyes were wild, pupils pinned to nothing.

"I'm going to fucking kill her," he snarled, pacing my small living room like a caged tiger. All that coiled energy had to go somewhere. "What she said to you... how dare she... in public..."

"Keep your voice down," I said, even though it was far too late for that. "The neighbors—"

"Fuck the neighbors!"

But he lowered his voice to something more dangerous - that deadly whisper that meant real trouble, not just show trouble. He knocked a book off my coffee table. One of his books. 

"She had no goddamn right—"

"Actually, she had every right."

He stopped pacing. The sudden stillness was worse than the motion.

"What?"

"She's your wife, Elvis." The words tasted like copper. I sniffled back a tear. I couldn’t help it. "Your wife. Who has to read about her husband's new girlfriend in the papers. Who has to hear gossip about late-night visits to some apartment in East Memphis—"

"Are you defending her?" His eyes were fractured glass. "After what she did to you today?"

"I'm trying to understand her!"

"She humiliated you on purpose!"

"And you let her!" The words exploded out of me, surprising us both. 

"I'll handle Priscilla."

"How? By not divorcing her?"

"You knew the situation when—"

"No, YOU knew the situation." My voice cracked like a whip. "I can handle a whole lotta bullshit, Elvis. But I don’t know if I’m cut out for you still being married." I gestured around my empty apartment, at all the shadows where dreams used to live. "It makes me look bad while you play house with a woman who hates you."

He flinched. "Priscilla doesn't hate me."

"Oh, yes she does. She hates you, Elvis. And if you haven't noticed, you're blinder than I thought." I laughed, but it wasn't funny. "She's got her life in California. You've got yours here. So why keep up this charade? What are you so afraid of?"

"I ain’t afraid of anything," he snapped, but something flickered in his eyes. Something like truth trying to get out.

"Then explain it to me. Because - God damn, Elvis - you're choosing misery with her over happiness with me, and I can't figure out why."

"You don't understand—"

"Then make me! Give me one good reason why you won't divorce her. One honest answer instead of all this Colonel horseshit about timing and image and—"

"She might be pregnant!"

The words hung in the air like smoke. Through the window - the one with the spiderweb crack - I could see the moon hanging low over Memphis. Fat and yellow, like it was watching our little drama with unholy interest.

"What?" My voice sounded like it was coming from far away.

He sank onto my couch, suddenly looking older. Tired. His hands were shaking so bad he could barely light his cigarette. The pills had him wired wrong tonight - I could tell by the way his eyes wouldn't quite focus, the way he kept starting sentences and losing them halfway through. 

"The last night in Vegas. After the final show. I was... I wasn't..." He stopped, started again. "The stuff was hitting wrong. Everything was spinning. I couldn't... I don't really remember…"

The implications of what he wasn't saying made my stomach turn. But he pushed on, words tumbling out like he needed to get them gone.

"Next morning she was there. In my bed. Said we... said I..." He looked up then, his eyes lost. "The papers were all ready. For the divorce. Then she tells me... tells me she might be..."

That's when he saw the window. The crack running through it like a question mark.

"What the hell?" He was up again, moving too fast, nearly stumbling. "Did someone... who did this? Was it those church ladies? Those sanctimonious cunts with their prayer circles and their—" He stopped. "You're not safe here."

"I'm fine."

He stood there in my small apartment, undone by his own choices. Through the cracked window, I could see his reflection fractured into pieces - like the man himself, broken into too many versions to count.

He moved toward me, hands reaching. Those hands that could make a guitar weep, that could make a crowd scream, that could make me forget everything but him. "Baby, please. I love you."

"Get out." I stepped back. His eyes were wild now, desperate. The pills wearing off, reality setting in. "Go home to your wife, Elvis. Or what might be the mother of your child."

"Val—"

"Get. Out."

The last two words came out like bullets. He flinched as if they'd hit flesh.

After he left, I sank to the floor, my back against the door. Through the thin walls, I could hear my neighbors pretending they hadn't heard every word. Their silence felt like judgment.

The cracked window threw moonlight across my coffee table where his copy of The Prophet lay. Inside, I knew, he'd written questions in the margins about parallel universes. About other worlds where choices were different, where timing was better, where love was enough.

But this wasn't that world.

This was Memphis, where Elvis Presley might have made a baby with his wife the night before he told me he loved me. Memphis, where good Christian ladies threw rocks through other women's windows. Memphis, where I was just another girl in just another apartment, learning the hard way that some loves hurt more than they heal.

Tomorrow I'd have to go to the studio. Have to stand next to him, sing harmony like nothing had changed. Have to watch him, love him, hate him, all at once.

But tonight?

Tonight I just let myself cry.

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[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 8: It’s Still Not A Date

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!) Soldier Boy calls the reader Petals.

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 8.4K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Super creepy dude (it's not Soldier Boy), sexism (it's Soldier Boy), swearing, Denial of feelings, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

"What?" You ask for the hundredth time as you catch Ben glancing over at you from the driver's seat.

Street lights flicker on the outside of car, rigid lines of the buildings softened by the speed as he maneuvers the vehicle through the crowded Saturday night traffic.

He was driving, obviously, because when you'd tried to take the keys, Ben had snatched them away and stated "women can't drive" to which you'd responded "I’m not going to be told that I can’t drive by someone who was born before the invention of the wheel.”

Ben looks back out the windshield that’s bathed in a red glow from the stop light above. “Nothing.”

The color of the light cuts through the shadows in the car,  dramatizing Ben's proud nose and sharp jaw, catching on the lapels of his coat and making him look like a creature that rose from the sea when a god fell into the depths.

Again it reminded you of all the classical literature you'd read in high school and your first year of college, finally understanding what poets wrote about when they described true beauty, and thinking that the fall of man might not have been from pride but rather man fell for beauty such as this, the beauty that Ben possessed.

When you'd first met him, you'd thought that it was a proud beauty, a haughtiness that Ben had because he knew exactly how good he looked and he expected people to worship that, to bend over backwards for him, but now you weren't sure. Yes, Ben knew how attractive he was. And yes, Ben was Ben, but with you sometimes you weren't sure. The moments you spent on your couch when he asked you about your father or when he asked you how your day was or when he indulged your ridiculous request to try out couches at IKEA or when he thought to buy you coffee or when he sat outside your bathroom just to hear you sing you didn't see the haughtiness, didn't see the pride, didn't the anger, and you didn't see the version of Soldier Boy that you'd seen in clips and photos from the past, you saw someone different, someone real.

“You’ve said 'nothing' seventeen times.”

“I have not.” His eyes flick to yours once more, annoyance pulling his mouth down into an attractive frown.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face? Did Annie draw a mustache on it?” You reach for the visor to look at yourself in the mirror again. "Because she did that one time when we had a sleepover in middle school and she didn't tell me until we got through second period."

"She drew a mustache on you?"

"Yes. To be fair I had drawn a mustache on her the week before, but I didn't use a permanent marker."

"How long have the two of you been friends?" Ben asks slowly.

"Since elementary school." You examine your face in the mirror. You always had a habit of smudging your mascara or your lipstick whenever you wore it. It wasn’t that you meant to, it was that each time you legitimately forgot you were wearing it. But your face is devoid of anything abnormal. You still looked the same as you did when you left the apartment, dark lipstick, smoky eyeshadow, contoured cheeks, and you didn’t see why he kept looking at you. "We grew up in a small town and we were the only two supes in our class. The other kids thought we were freaks, used to make up jeers, there was also something about cooties, but I think I've repressed it."

"Fucking dicks." Ben mutters.

"It's okay. I didn't really care and I had Annie. Would have been worse if it was just me." You shake your head to focus back on what you'd asked Ben before. "But what is it?"

“Nothing. It’s just-“ Ben clears his throat turning again to look out the front windshield as the light turns green. “I’ve never seen you wear anything like that before.”

“Well it’s not exactly my style. Could you see me sitting in the dirt messing with plants and potting soil in something like this?” You snort at the image. "Overalls and jeans seem to be more durable and sustainable for my lifestyle. Not to mention cheaper." You'd seen the price tag on the dress that you were wearing, something that Frenchie said "fell off a truck."

“It should be.”

“What?”

“I mean-“ He shrugs looking away from you. “As much as I’d like you to walk around wearing nothing at all sweetheart, I think you should wear things like that more often.”

"And why is that?"

"You look nice."

"Are you saying that I don't look nice all the time?" You tease him, forcing yourself to frown. It was difficult when you could  feel your body warming from the inside out with his compliment. "That I'm some terrible slumpy mess-"

"No I- I just meant that you-" Ben clears his throat again, his hands tightening on the wheel as he searches for the right thing to say. “Why can't you just take the fucking compliment I-" Ben says, almost sounding a little angry.

"I'm just messing with you Ben."

“Oh.” He lets out an awkward chuckle.

Sometimes you thought that it was cute and almost a little endearing that Ben didn't understand sarcasm or social cues from the new century, it made you feel like it was up to you to educate him on things like that.  Not that it was a burden, it never felt like a burden to show Ben how to use things or introduce him to the wonders of 2024.

Not to mention you liked how Ben was a little bit old-fashioned about some things, like how he actually got a physical copy of the newspaper every morning and took the time to read it, or how he wasn't on his phone as often as everyone else was or how Ben actually seemed to pay attention when you talked to him. That last one was always surprising, you'd thought that given how eager Ben was to get into your pants he'd only be focused on that. But when you spoke, Ben's eyes never glazed over or darted to his phone as if he secretly wished for you to stop, Ben genuinely listened to you when you spoke to him. Not to mention he gave you an incredible amount of eye contact that you weren't used to receiving from other people living in this century.

"Thank you." You fold your hands in your lap, thinking about the compliment Ben just gave you. "You know, I-" You hesitate.

I can't believe I'm about to admit this out loud to him.

"I don’t think you look too bad yourself." You finish.

Deep down you really hoped that the music earlier had been enough to cover the conversation you had with Annie back at the apartment. In that conversation you'd admitted that you found him attractive, and you didn't want him to know that. Well, know that you actually admitted it aloud. He already had fun making you squirm whenever he brought up the subject of sex.

"Thanks Petals. Keep buttering me up like that and I'll give you a preview of what I've got under this." Ben winks at you.

"I don't think I need to see your unicorn underwear, thank you." You roll your eyes and stare out the window watching the buildings fade into a dark blur in shades of gray and black. "Or your Strawberry Shortcake Tattoo."

"My what?"

"Nothing."

"I don't have any tattoos sweetheart." Ben pauses as if considering. "If you want I'll let you strip search me when we get back home. I think that would be quite educational for you. You know? Seeing exactly what a real man should look like."

"Can we focus on the mission?" Your cheeks heat, but for some reason you couldn't stop thinking about the word 'home.' Ben had never called your apartment that before, he'd called it "our apartment" but never home. It was weird to hear him say it and weirder still was how it made something in your chest tighten.

But you ascribed that to the dress. The ridiculous dress that you weren't sure how on earth you were going to chase down another supe in and the same dress that was only held on to your body by a small sliver of fabric at the back of your neck and seemed so fragile that you feared it would rip when you breathed.

"I'd rather focus on exactly what you've got on under that dress baby."

"Use your imagination." You roll your eyes at him.

"Oh I am. Trust me. But I think that the real thing would be much more satisfying Petals."

Ben eases the car into a space down the street from the party, but close enough that you could hear the classical music, the chatter of the crowd, and see the bright lights. As you get out of the car, Ben flashes around the front to open the door for you.

You blink up at him in surprise as he takes your hand to help you out, and you let him without a second thought. No one had ever done that for you before, even your high school boyfriend who never made the effort to get out of the car, let alone walk you to the door after a date. You weren't expecting him to do that for you.

"Oh. Thank you." But when you join him on the sidewalk, Ben doesn't let go of your hand. You're dangerously close to him, closer to him than you were in the car. The wind picks up behind him rustling through his hair and sends the smell of his shampoo and cologne washing over you in a wave that makes you feel like your chest is unraveling.

Ben's gaze darkens as he stares down at you, and he steps forward, pinning you against the side of Butcher's car.

"Ben what are you doing?" You croak, unable to find your full voice, not when your throat felt like it was closing.

"Come on. You really want to go to that stuffy party Petals?" He purrs, smiling down at you. His hand was toying with the fabric of your dress, at the top of the slit that was just barely above your mid-left thigh

“Ben-“ Your jaw clenches tight, but the feeling of his hand beginning to slide against your skin, pushing the fabric of the dress aside, makes electricity trail with his touch.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No.

The look in his eyes is all consuming, turning his eyes into two liquid pools of a jade colored sea that beckons you forward, highlighting the golden flecks that sparkle and shine in the darkness.

Ben's smirk grows. “Are you really going to keep pretending that you don’t want me to fuck you? Your cheeks are flushed, your heart is beating faster just like it always does whenever I’m around-“ He leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of your neck making an involuntarily shudder roll through you like a clap of thunder. “That’s my girl.”

It would be so easy to give in. To let him take you back to the apartment, to let him have you like he'd wanted from the first moment you met.

As the thought of giving in begins to peel back your inhibitions, a memory floats up from the darkness.

It's your parents, dancing in the kitchen when they thought Darren and you were asleep. Soft light illuminates the kitchen from candles that cover the counter tops and flicker in the air conditioning. The soft tone of "Gonna Sing You My Love Song" is playing, while they sway together and your father looks down at your mother like she's his whole world, singing to her the lyrics with his whole heart. You could still hear his deep voice finding the words and could see your mother smiling radiantly at him.

The memory is gone as soon as it comes, but it reminds you of what you want, that you want love and you didn't want to waste your time with someone who would only pretend to care for one night.

I have a job to do. And I don’t want this- well… I don’t want it all that much.

You think about what Annie and Hughie have, how they tell each other everything, how Hughie listens to what she wants and brings her flowers just because he was thinking of her. It made your heart ache to think about their relationship and to think of your parents again, but you knew that it was what you wanted more than anything in the world. You wanted someone who understood, who wished to be with you not because he wanted to possess you, but because he loved you and wanted to share his love with you and wanted to be loved by you.

"No." You say, pushing back on Ben's chest. He doesn't move much, but he does drop his hand from dress.

“Why not?” He snaps eyes no longer jade pools, but now a blazing emerald "I don't understand you Petals-"

"That's not special Ben, loads of people don't understand me."

"Do you have any idea how many women would love to be where you are? How many women have begged me to-"

"To fuck them?" You tap your lip thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, I realized that you haven't said that to me today so naturally I forgot. And I really don't want to rehash this now!"

“I want to.” His eyes blaze with anger. “I don’t understand. You flirt with me, tell me that you find me attractive-"

"I was being nice! You told me I looked nice. That's what you do when someone compliments you. And I do not  flirt with you."

"Yes you do!"

"No I don't." You shout. "I've told you before that I don't want to have sex with you."

He runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “We both know that’s a fucking lie. So why not? Do you think it’s going to be bad? Because I can guarantee that anything we do together will be fucking fantastic. Is it because you hate me? Because hate sex is pretty satisfying. Or do you think that I'm going to lose control or something or not take care of what you need? Because I’m pretty damn attentive!”

"For the last time, I don't fucking hate you Ben I just-" Your teeth clench together in anger.

A couple in nicely dressed clothes walk by, eyeing Ben and you with wide eyes and reminding you exactly why  you're here.

"Beautiful night isn't it?" You nod your head in their direction awkwardly with the words, before you take a deep breath. "Look this is not the time or the place. We are on a mission and if you don’t want to come to the party, that's fine, I can handle the supe on my own.”

You push past him and begin to walk down the sidewalk a brisk pace, hoping that he will just leave. Because now you were getting pissed off and frustrated. You didn't understand why you had to keep having this conversation with him.

I have told him several times that I don't want to sleep with him. I haven't flirted with him. I don't think I've led him on in any way.

A part of you wasn't annoyed because of the many times that he had come on to you, it was annoyed because of the moments that Ben would act differently, when he acted like a man you could see yourself falling in love with. It made you feel like he was just jerking you around and trying to pretend so you would  give in, like this whole thing was his big scheme to get into your pants.

“I just don’t understand you Petals.” He grumbles as he catches up.

“You’ve been saying that since we first met Gramps.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say Macho Macho Man.” You reply, but then the wind picks up again and you can smell his cologne transporting you back to a few moments ago when his hand pushed back your dress and you felt the scratch of his stubble against the skin of your neck and it felt like you had swallowed lightning. It quickly took you back to the moment when he kissed you outside of your apartment the first night he'd stayed with you, how he curved his body around you, and moved his mouth against yours, sliding his tongue past your bottom lip and-

“See you’re doing it again.” Ben is staring at you, noticing the flush that travels from your cheeks and creeps to your ears. “Just admit that you want to have sex with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

And then you lose it, wheeling on him, poking your finger into his muscular chest.

 “Because then what?" You spit and Ben's eyes widen in surprise. "You fuck me once, leave right after and never talk to me ever again? You fuck women then throw them away. You don’t see sex as something special, you see it as a way to let off steam,  to justify your existence, and to make yourself feel good about you.” Every syllable is coupled with a finger poking into his chest.  "You only want me because you can't have me. I understand that you have this fascination with me now, but as soon as I give in, you won't care." You say it to enforce the idea in my own mind, to gain control of your hormones and push away the memories of Ben and you together.

"You don't know that." There's something on the edge of his voice that you can't place.

"Yes. I do."

"How?"

"Because I've seen the evidence!"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Let's brainstorm for a minute." You hold up a hand to stop him. "Who was it that founded Herogasm?"

"Me?"

"Who was it that got Tinder as soon as he got back to America?"

"It wasn't as soon as I got back it was at least a week later-"

"Ben, I want to have sex with someone I love. Not just a quick fuck for five minutes in Butcher's car, or a romp in the shower, or just to 'loosen up'. Okay?" You swallow the lump in your throat. "And I won't do that to myself, have feelings for you, and sleep with you, only to have you throw me away."

Ben blinks and you watch something cross through his gaze that you'd never seen before. "I'd never throw you away Y/n." He says it softly, just barely audible over the sounds of the city.

"You say that now, but as soon as I give in, it won't matter." You clear your throat. "Now I'm going to go to this party, you can do whatever you want, but please just let me do my job."

And then you walk away from him and into the flashing lights and soft classical music that does little to stop the pounding of your heart and the lump of emotion stuck in the back of your throat.

You haven't seen Ben in exactly twenty seven minutes.

In the first seven minutes of your dramatic exit and entrance into the party you had slipped into the bathroom and cried. Why you were crying you weren't exactly sure. Maybe it was the tidal wave of emotion or just the way that your blood was pumping and your heart felt like it would break free and take flight, but you did. And when you emerged from the stall with blood shot eyes and smeared makeup you redid it all the best you could in the bathroom mirror, using the emergency kit that Annie had given you.

Of course you couldn't take all the credit, there was an elderly woman in a navy blue dress in the bathroom who practically witnessed your mental break down and when she saw you struggling to do your make up she helped and more importantly did not ask any questions.  She did however say that if you pointed out exactly who it was who did this to you that she would go "make them wish that they were never born." You were tempted to watch this woman kick Ben's ass, but you'd only thanked her and went out to join the party.

The people were dressed elegantly, sipping champagne from crystal glasses and munching spinach puffs so good you were sure that Kronk was in the back making them and apple tarts that were so mind blowing you were sure that Lorelei Gilmore was somewhere stealing a tray. You were disappointed that you hadn't brought a bigger purse, because the spinach puffs were practically orgasmic and you'd only been able to shove three in alongside four apple tarts. Not to mention that there was so much free merchandise and party favors it meant that you now had a new iPad, a tennis bracelet, a watch with a crystal face, an expensive bottle of champagne and several bottles of perfume that smelled so rich it made your head spin. You were contemplating somehow smuggling out another gift bag so you could sell the iPad on eBay when you feel your phone vibrate in your clutch.

You were expecting it to be Butcher. He had been more about low tech tonight, not relying on radio contact too much, just texting and phone calls for emergencies. Not to mention Butcher had as much patience as a child who was told to wait until after dinner to have a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie.

But it's not Butcher's name that lights up on the screen, it's Annie.

Annie : So how’s the date going?

You pause for a moment and you think about telling her everything that happened in the past twenty seven minutes. You had wanted to call her when you were crying in the bathroom, but you didn't know what to say, didn't understand why you were crying.

I'll tell her later, over wine, because I'm going to need a lot of wine after tonight. You sigh again as the memory of what you yelled at Ben rings in your ears. You didn't know why you felt this way, you'd told him the truth  if anything you should feel relieved, but… Maybe I should apologize-

You shake your head. No. I won't apologize, it was him pressing all my buttons and trying to get me to… Right. I gotta answer Annie.

You: It’s not a date!

Her response is immediate.

Annie: Sure… tell Ben to get you home by 10.

You: I’m disowning you as a best friend.

Annie: Well when you reinstate me as a best friend, I want all the dirty details.

You: There aren’t going to be any dirty details!

Because I had a fucking mental breakdown, unloaded all my feelings on a man who keeps telling me that he wants to fuck me, and is probably mentally compartmentalizing all his possessions and is going to be moved out by the time I get back home.

Annie: And when you guys finally have sex, know that I am ready to be an aunty and I am ready to help you raise super-baby. It's going to be so much fun!

"Oh for the love of-" You begin to let out a string of colorful curses just as someone bumps into you. You raise your eyes to stare at the man.

He's taller than you, at least six feet and built like a body builder, with graying black curls swept back over his head, sun kissed golden skin, and wearing a perfectly black tailored suit, a crisp white shirt and a navy blue tie, all of which oozes wealth, . There's a hint of a shadow along his strong jaw that gives him a masculine quality to offset the fancy clothes, but emphasizes a long scar that hooks over the left side of his chin and drags down to his neck. His nose has been broken in the past, but still has a curved hook and his eyes are a deep amber brown almost a maple that hold humor and curiosity.

"I'm sorry." The man's voice is low, almost a little raspy, with a hint of an accent that you can't place. He's attractive, fit, and probably close to mid-forties, early fifties. You recognize him as the man running for City Comp Troller, the person whose party you were crashing.

"It's okay." You force a smile, shoving your phone back into your purse, trying not to smoosh the spinach puffs and apple tarts.

"I'm Elijah Black." He holds out his hand to shake yours, his brown eyes lazily tracing up and down your figure as he does.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, alarm bells go off. Something about this man seems wrong, sinister, almost predatory. His hand is soft, surprising giving his imposing figure and stature, and the action of him shaking yours causes his shirt to pull away from his throat revealing just the kiss of black ink that arches over his collar bone, but vanishes in an unknown pattern beneath his white shirt. "And you are?"

"I'm Lisette Worthington." You say the fake name confidently, throwing a shy smile in his direction. "It's alright I was in the way-"

"And very angry at someone." Elijah adds with a smile.

"Yeah,-um- my friend is trying to get back together with her verbally abusive ex. She won't listen to me when I tell her not to." The lie comes easily.

"Pity. I always listen to my friends." He smiles wider, still holding on to your hand, even though you've let go of his. "Especially if they're as pretty as you."

"Oh -um- that's sweet." You answer with an awkward laugh looking for a way out of this. You tug your hand, but he doesn’t release it.

At that exact moment, Ben's arm comes around your waist and he pulls you back into his muscular chest, eyes locking with Elijah.

"Sorry I was gone for so long sweetheart." He says loudly so Elijah can hear him, tightening his grip on your waist. Ben places a kiss just behind your right ear as he does so as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And you fight the warmth that blooms ebbs beneath the surface of your skin when he does.

Despite everything that happened outside you were relieved that Ben was here with you, because Elijah was creepy and Ben always made you feel safe. And despite his constant attempts to get into your pants a part of you trusted that Ben would have your back.

Elijah's eyes flick down to yours as if waiting for you to confirm the fact.

"It's alright babe." You smile up at Ben, leaning in to him and allow yourself to lay your free arm over where it's resting on your waist. Your thumb strokes back and forth over the back of his hand as you do. And for a moment Ben doesn’t look away from your face, something passing through his eyes that you can’t place.

Ben's gaze flicks back to where Elijah is still grasping your other hand. "You gonna drop my girl's hand or are we going to have a problem?"

You flush when Ben uses the words 'my girl' and are thankful that Ben's back is to the large red, white, and blue display of flowers on the table behind him that begins to shed it's flowers and come back ten-fold in even brighter shades of color. Elijah's eyes flick to the display confused momentarily, before sliding back over you.

"Apologies." Elijah lets go of you, but doesn't back away. "I just wanted to get to know her a little better." You don't like the way his eyes trace over your figure as he says it. "You know, it might be considered rude to keep someone like her all to yourself."

"Just like I'd consider it rude for someone to make a move on someone who belongs to someone else." Ben retorts, emphasizing the word "belongs" in a way that makes it suddenly very hard to breathe.

You can hear Ben's jaw clench together, his body tensing behind you slightly, and feel it warm a few degrees as he begins to lose his temper. You can feel the tension traveling through his body and to calm him down you do the one thing that always helps you, you squeeze his hand where it rests on your hip, trying to tell him that it's okay.

Elijah's mouth turns up, eyes glimmering in amusement at Ben.

"But thanks for keeping her company, I can take it from here.” Ben's voice is cold and humorless.

"Of course. I'd hate to leave a beautiful woman like her for even a moment. You’re very lucky.” He smiles at Ben, who doesn't return it. "I'm sure I'll see you around Ms. Worthington. Don’t forget to vote.”  He emphasizes the name as if he knows it's not real, and has the audacity to wink before he vanishes into the crowd.

Ben holds on to you for another minute, eyes locked on the place where Elijah vanished, but he does not return. Ben’s arm is still wrapped around your waist, holding you to him so tight that you can feel each of his muscles beneath his suit and you fight to keep your heart beat under control and to fight the urge to blush all over again. Finally, he lets out a breath and releases you.

"Are you okay?" Ben looks down at you, his eyes filled with something that looks a lot like concern, surprising you.

Why is he worried about me?

"Yeah. Thanks."  You smile as you look at him, but it feels forced.

Ben nods once.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did.” He states.

You blink at him confused.

“I didn’t like the way you looked when he started talking to you. Or when he wouldn’t let go of your hand.” His expression hardens, jaw tightening as if he's relieving the memory. "You looked like a deer in headlights Petals."

"I did?"

"Mhmm. Could hear your heartbeat from over there." Ben nods his head in the direction of the bar, where various couples scramble for liquid courage and waiter weave through the crowds holding fresh trays of spinach puffs and crab claws.

"Oh. Well, thanks again, he was very creepy." You bite the inside of your cheek in quiet contemplation thinking for a moment. "I mean some politicians are supposed to be that way, but he was definitely top ten of the creepiest men I've ever met in my life."

"Just promise me I'm not number one." Ben half-smiles, but there's something in his expression that makes you realize that he might not be joking.

"You're not on the list." You say it to reassure him.

"Really?"

You nod. “I -uh- haven’t seen you all night-“ You begin to say. It was true, you had no idea where Ben had gone when you'd had the "fight." If you were going to call it that.

“I was at the bar, getting a drink.”

“Oh.” You do an awkward shuffle with your feet, trying to think of some way to move the conversation along.

Why does this feel so awkward? Why does it feel like we broke up?

Ben doesn’t speak for a moment, instead he’s looking down at you with an unreadable expression. “Petals?” He says it quietly, the same way he said it the day when he told you he was going to buy the couch and you didn't have to worry about paying for it. He said it almost… reverently… not in a teasing way or in a harsh way, he said it in a way that made you feel your knees buckle a little.

“Yes?”

“I’d never-“ He clears his throat as if it’s difficult for him to say what comes next. He lets out a frustrated breath. “I’d never throw you away. I want you to know that.”

“Oh please Ben you don’t have to say that I-“

“No I'm not just saying that. I- I’m not some fucking monster.”

“I don’t think you are Ben. And you shouldn’t have to explain yourself or apologize.” You hold out your hands waving them in front of you.

“But-“

“No.” You shake your head and place your hand on his arm. “I shouldn’t have unloaded all that on you and I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair. And it's okay."

“What’s okay?”

“It’s okay that it’s not who you are. That you're not really one for relationships. And what I should have said is that, I’m not going to ask you to change or guilt you into doing something that you don’t want. It’s not the type of man you are.”

"What type of man am I?"

"Well you're just not a one woman kind of guy or really into relationships." You say it to clarify, but in your head this conversation is becoming as awkward as the one you had outside.

Ben is oddly quiet.

“But that’s okay.” You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. "I meant to also say that, I really don't want to sleep with you because I don't want to make you change for me. That feels very cruel, to manipulate someone that way. For me to want more, to fall for you and you just change the way you are for me."

"Petals-" He's saying it softly again, the way that tugs at your heart.

"I promise I'm fine and I just want to move on. Pretend we didn't have that conversation, or really this one either," You laugh awkwardly. "Okay?"

Ben stands there in the silence, his mouth pulled down into a frown. "If that's what you really want."

"I do. So things can go back to normal?"

"Sure." He says it slowly.

"Good." You turn your head to look away into the crowd, feeling a little bit better, but at the same time you couldn't fight the wave of disappointment that pricked on the edges of your soul. You didn't know where it came from.

The people around you are still mingling with one another and you're trying not to notice how close Ben is standing to you, so close that you're practically against his chest, but there is a good inch of space between the two of you and you revel in it.

I will handle this because I have to. Ben has made it clear what he wants, and I have made it clear what I want and-

As you have the thought you think you see a flash of white in the crowd, the back of someone's head that you think you should know, but as you try to stand on tip toe to catch a glimpse of their face, they're gone.

That was weird. I mean it kinda looked like-

Ben's phone rings in his pocket and he answers it.

"Shit." Ben mutters. He grabs your wrist and tugs you through the crowd which parts easily out of the way of his broad form.

"What is it?"

"The supe is outside!"

Shit.

Ben and you burst through the front doors of the building, just as a hooded figure drives past going full speed in a fancy bright red convertible.

"Come on!" Ben shouts running towards one of the valet who is about to give the keys to a black sports-car idling by the curb to it's owner. Ben grabs the keys as he speeds by, sliding over the hood in his haste to get to the driver's side before you and you follow.

"Sorry! We'll bring it right back." You shout at the owner as you throw open passenger side and slide into the car, slamming it behind you.

But as you do, you realize that something's wrong… what you thought was the passenger side of the car is actually the driver's side.

Wow I was not expecting that.

You lock eyes with Ben who looks devastated by this turn of events.

You can't help the grin that splits your face as you start the car with a press of a button, remembering exactly what he said about women driving earlier. "European car bitch."

Ben looks murderous. "Hey wait a minute-"

"No time Gramps." You slam your foot down on the gas.

The purring of the engine turns into a roar as the car jolts forward in hot pursuit of the red convertible. You shift to a higher gear as you press down further on the gas.

"Oh for fucks sake."

"Calm down. I'm a great driver-" You look over at him.

"Eyes on the road! Fuck." Ben clutches on to the door handle so tight you think he's going to rip it off.

"Ben it's okay, don't have a cow."

"Truck."

"What?"

"THERE'S A FUCKING TRUCK!" Ben shouts reaching for the steering wheel as if he thinks he can drive over you, as a garbage truck backs out into the street.

"You're gonna get us into an accident!" You snap back swerving around the truck to follow after the supe.

"No I'm not! I'm going to fucking save us."

"Not with that attitude." You shift to another gear as you speed up to push through a red light.

The supe turns right in a wide arch cutting off the traffic coming from the left.

"Take a right!" Ben says.

"I have eyes Gramps! Stop backseat driving."

"I wouldn't have to if you'd let me switch with you!"

"Not a chance. We'd lose the supe." You jerk the wheel, feeling the car curve in a beautiful arch through the light. "Man when I get rich I am gonna get one of these."

You hear your phone buzzing in your purse and you start to pick it up, but Ben snatches it away. "No! Please for the love of God do not take your eyes off the road!"

"Fine. Answer it for me."

Ben reaches into your purse and stops. "Why the fuck do you have spinach puffs in here?"

"Because they were free and they were so good." You sigh, taking another sharp turn.

I have no idea where we are going or what we're going to do when we catch this guy.

The supe obviously knew that you were following after him, which meant that there was no way in hell he was going to go back to his chop shop.

If he was smart, he would lead us as far away from it as possible.

Ben hits the speakerphone button.

"Hello?" You sing-song.

"Where in the bloody hell are you?" Butcher shouts on the other side of the line.

"Well I'm not exactly sure. It’s dark. Ben can you read any of the street signs?" You say as you hit the gas, swerving around another car that enters the roadway in front of you, weaving through the oncoming traffic for a moment to get back behind the supe.

"OH HOLY FUCK!" Ben practically screams, one of his hands pressed against the dashboard, the other holding on to the door panel.

"Guess that's a no." Butcher says.

"Gramps is a little upset that I'm driving."

"How are you going to catch the supe?"

"Haven't gotten that far yet."

You watch the convertible take a sharp left down a small alley. "Hold on Ben."

"No No No No!" Ben rips the door handle off as you turn into oncoming traffic narrowly missing a dumpster to follow the supe.

"Holy shit!" You slam on the breaks as you see the convertible completely stopped and the supe standing there. He's wearing a dark sweatshirt that's pulled low over his head, a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, and he's glowing. Well, arcs of bright blue and white electricity weave around his body, crackling through the air around him.

Your eyes narrow as you sit there in the car, Ben glancing from the supe to you as if trying to decide whether or not he should throw himself from the vehicle.

You rev the engine and the supe tilts his head to the side as if daring you to come closer. You slam your foot down on the gas and the car jumps forward to ram into the supe, but just before it does, he shoots upward off the ground using his electricity to propel him to the rooftop above.

You slam the breaks, but the car smashes into the back of the convertible, deploying the airbags.

Well, guess I can't return it now.

Ben is already out of the car and you follow.

"Swing me up to the roof." He orders, loosening his tie.

"Who the fuck do I look like? Tarzan?" You respond looking around for a weed or a vine, but you don't see any.

Ben sighs in frustration and jumps as high as he can with his super strength, making it about half-way up the fire escape before he swings himself up all the way to the roof.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. What am I supposed to do?" You shout up at him, but Ben is already racing over the rooftops after the supe.

You grab your purse and your phone from the car, running out to the street and following the pulsing lights of what you assume must be electricity that get further and further away as Ben chases after the supe.

"What in the bloody fuck is going on?" Butcher roars through the phone as you run as fast as you can, stiletos clacking against the pavement, arms pumping. Your dress is whipping back behind you and you're sure that you're flashing pretty much everyone who passes by, but you're too focused on the supe.

"Well-" You gasp for air because the last time you ran this fast was in middle school when your neighbors doberman broke free and chased you around the neighborhood and no matter how many times Annie tried to get you to do cardio with her you'd rather die than run recreationally. "Soldier Boy is pursing the supe but he's -gasp- on the roof and I don't-"

You were going to say that you didn't have a way up there but then you remembered exactly what was in your purse.

Sacrifices must be made.

"Butcher just trace the call, I can't talk now." You don't end the call, instead you stuff your phone into your purse and remove one of the precious apple tarts. "Fuck I really wanted to eat you." You whisper longingly to the pastry in your hand. You take a bite and try not to moan aloud at the taste, before you pull your arm back to throw it, but then you stop and take one more bite.

I mean… this is a HUGE sacrifice and maybe Ben is completely fine and-

Electricity crackles over the top of the building and you see Ben for a split second almost get knocked off the roof, before he runs back out of sight over the lip of the building.

Or not.

You launch the tart onto the side walk ahead of you manipulating the remains of the apple to sprout and grow into a tree that sits at an awkward angle. You reach down and rip away the dress so that it's no longer floor length, but now reaches your knees and won't get caught on the shoes.

"Wow." You hear someone say and turn to your tight to see a little girl sitting on the steps of one of the buildings eating a vanilla ice cream cone.

You clear your throat with an awkard smile. "Stay in school kid." Before you run full speed up the trunk. Your eyes are glowing bright green as you will the apple tree to grow larger and larger, curving it's branches outward until you're able to leap from it's outstretched arms onto the roof.

Ben is using a makeshift piece of wood as a shield to fend off the electrical attacks of the supe that stands on the opposite side of the roof. The man is still glowing, the tendrils of blue and white reaching outward from his body to wrap himself in a cocoon of safety from Ben.

Another blast shakes the roof beneath your feet that Ben catches with the wood, his shoes sliding backwards a foot with the force of the expulsion.

Damn it. He's gonna owe me a whole cartload of spinach puffs and I will collect.

"Eat this you electric bitch!" You shout throwing one of the spinach puffs at the man. It hits him square in the chest, getting through the electricity because it doesn't conduct anything, and falls on the ground at his feet.

The man tilts his head down at it confused as to what it is.

"Did you just throw a fucking Spinach puff at him?" Ben shouts.

"Yes. Don't say I never did anything for you Gramps." You respond, and as the supe looks back up at you from the ground, you will the plant to grow.

The tendrils wrap around his legs, holding him in place. As the man looks down to fight off the plant, Ben advances with the wooden board and swings as hard as he can.

It hits the supe in the left side with an incredible cracking noise, you're not sure if it's the board or if it's the supe's ribs, but there's enough force to propel the supe from your trap halfway across the roof. His body rolls, kicking up dirt, soot, and who knows what else.

When the supe stands he's still wearing his hood and his scarf, but somehow he looks more angry. How he was able to convey that with his face covered, you weren't sure, perhaps it was the way the air around him seemed to glow, or how his eyes had shifted to a bright blue that burned through the shadows on the rooftop.

Ben races forward, but as he does you realize that the supe wasn't just standing there, he was charging up. And as Ben gets almost past you the supe shoots a bolt of pure electrical energy. Everything slows down. There's a high pitched crackle as the bolt jumps and sizzles through the air, separating the water molecules. Every hair on your body stands up as the smell of ozone fills your nose.

And your instincts take over.

Your body leaps forward of it's own accord smashing into Ben and propelling him out of the way of the bolt, your arms wrapping around his muscular chest and side as you do so. The bolt scorches through the air just over your head where Ben had been standing, making the hair on the back of your head stand straight up, but the supe missed.

In your head you were saving Ben like he saved you the first time you met the supe, when Ben yanked you back out of the way and ripped one of your favorite shirts, but something about this feels different, it felt like the protective instincts you felt for Annie when she told you exactly what the Deep had done to her.

Ben rolls the two of you as soon as you land so that his body is curled protectively around yours and if the supe takes another shot the only thing he'll hit is Ben's unprotected back. Your face is buried in his chest, arms cinched tightly under his armpits to entwine at his back, holding him to you as tight as you can.

When you raise your head to look behind Ben preparing to go another round with the supe, he's gone.

"Shit where did he go?" Ben shouts standing from the ground and looking around at the now empty rooftop.

Well that's just great. I wasted my spinach puff and my apple tart. Maybe that party is still going on and I can grab some more. You begin to think to yourself, as you adjust the remants of the dress, but then Ben wheels on you, his face contorted in rage.

"This is all your fault! You and your stupid Spinach puff!"

"Whoa. Don't you dare speak that way about the spinach puffs, buddy. They were amazing and-"

"I don't fucking care! You couldn't have done anything else?" Ben snarls. He's standing so close to you that you can feel his anger heating the air between the two of you. "Or better yet, you couldn't have just stayed out of my way? I had this handled! But NO you just had to get between him and me didn't you?" His eyes are narrowed at you, glinting in the night like emeralds. "I would have had him!"

Why is he so angry about this? All I did was push him out of the way. You suddenly think back to how when you landed Ben immediately rolled so that you were no longer in the line of fire. Did he do that on purpose?

"WHAT? I saved your life! A thank you would be nice-" You snap back.

"No you didn't. All you did was make things even more difficult for me. Just like every other fucking woman."

You narrow your eyes at the sexist comment. "How did I do that? All I did was help you!"

"No you fucking tackled me! And believe it or not Petals, I'm not going to let you get fucking electrocuted because you keep trying to save me!"

"I didn't want you to-"

"What? Die? I hate to break this to you Petals, but I'm not some pussy like that plant fucker. And electricity doesn't kill me."

"How do you know that? It could-"

"It fucking doesn't, because those assholes in Russia already tried all that shit on me!"

His words make your breath catch. You were trying not to think of all the horrors that Ben suffered in his forty year captivity, because each time you did it made your heart break for him. No one deserved that, not even him.

"Oh." You whisper quietly pressing your lips into a tight line.

"So next time you want to risk your fucking life for me, don't. Because anything that asshole can do to me, worse shit has been done, and I'd rather feel a little fucking electricity than watch you get blasted to pieces." He snarls and stalks off, in the direction of the apple tree you used to get on the roof to look for the supe.

The smell of ozone is still in the air, the sounds of the city rising from below, the bright lights of the distant skyscrapers standing like stoic watchmen. You can just catch a glimpse of Vought Tower amongst them.

And as you stand there in the aftermath you wonder if Ben really didn't care about you, then why was saying that he'd rather get electrocuted than watch you die, and why did he turn his back to the supe and shield your body from the coming hit?

A/N: Wow a lot happened in this chapter…. But honestly R.I.P the apple tarts and the spinach puffs. But, yes I know a lot of angst, a lot of the reader and Ben both living in denial. I promise that I do have a plan for this fic and that they WILL end up at the end. Y'all just gotta bear with me. 😂😭

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd liked to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

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[m1d-45]

To My Beloved Scholar, Alhaitham.

How have you been, my dear scribe? Taking care of yourself, I hope! It would make me sad if you weren't taking care of your body. I know you are very busy, but make sure you're getting proper food, water, and rest! I'd hate for you to wear yourself out!

I'm sorry I haven't been wishing very often. I very much want to bring you home, but I don't want to take you away from your duties as a scribe. I know how much your work means to you, my dear. You work so hard and put so much effort into everything you do, I'm so proud of you!

When you finally find yourself free from your work, even for just a bit, look to the night sky for me. Don't worry, I'll know when the time is right. I'll send a star to you, and if you feel like you're ready, just reach out. I'll be happy to bring you home, my beloved scholar.

See you soon, dear!

-Icarus

(Attached to the star is a book of myths and legends from another world. There is a lace bookmark, marking a page labeled "The Legend of Icarus". There's a small note that reads, "I chose to borrow this name because I like the story! :)" )

(This is sibling anon btw)

alhaitham looked up from his desk at the bright light at his window, atypical for this time of night. he has to lean back a bit in his chair to see what’s beyond, to see the unnaturally bright stars dropping from the sky. he’s transfixed, for a moment longer than he’d normally be, watching the glittering stars fall. starshowers are typically mostly blue, which is what separates them from regular meteor showers or shooting stars, and this much gold is statistically impossible…

similarly impossible is a star floating down to his window.

yet that’s what happens. a spiky sphere-like star, as wide as a piece of paper is long, bumping against the glass of his window as if upset he hasn’t let it in yet.

alhaitham stands, unlatching the window, and the star slips in the moment the gap is large enough. it floats, and crumbles when he touches it. he hastily shuts his window, clutching at the remnants of the star before the contents can fall too far. a piece of paper slides onto his windowsill, but he caught the book in his hands fine.

…a book?

it’s plain, a simple hardback with the words ‘legends and mythos’ scrawled across the front in embossed cursive. there’s a bookmark in it, surprisingly, and when he opens it he’s taken to the beginning of a chapter.

the note makes him pause, but he ultimately decides to set it aside. it’s only when he picks up the paper from his windowsill that it makes sense anyway.

his first response is to frown. who would call him their ‘beloved’? ‘dear’? who knew him by name and asked him to take care of himself, who sent messages through-… stars…

…ah.

he’s thankful there’s nobody to see him behave so foolishly- he chalks it up to the late night, to the lack of rest (proven to decrease cognitive function in a variety of animals, including humans) and the peculiarity of the situation. so he starts again, reading your letter with less the mind of a cynic and more one of a follower.

and when you call him your beloved for the second time, he manages to smile, eyes locking on the borrowed name.

when the time comes, he wonders, will he know the one that’s yours?

[heavenlycloud]

the veil~ ღཾཿ༉ ༘჻ღཾཿ჻

one: hell froze over ‧₊˚ ⋅ ༘☆*.ﾟ

warnings: swearing

pairing: huh yunjin x aespa 5th member! fem reader

summary: y/n and yunjin watched their members have eyes glued to their phones whenever they possibly could. they both laughed and shook their heads in amusement while thinking 'couldn't be me'. just for them to both fall into the same exact category of addicted once that first message was sent.

author notes: i realized that i don't really need pov labels so i didn't put them in. but if anyone prefers them or finds they make it easier to follow along in these beginning chapters, i can keep them in (just ask it's no problem!) additionally, will be making a taglist so feel free to drop in my inbox or the comments with your @ if you'd like to be added. lastly, feedback, comments, reblogs, questions, literally anything but hateful speech is welcome and very much appreciated!

̟ ̇ ˖ಎ˚˖࿔ masterlist 𓂅୨⊹ ₊˚๑

you stared at your phone and reread the notification that appeared on the screen for what seemed like eternity. aeri looked over your shoulder and waited for you to accept the match, and when you didn’t she grew impatient. yizhuo blurted out, “for the love of-” she reached over and pressed the accept button for you. panic flooded your veins as you frantically looked back and forth between your two members, “why would you do that?! what the hell do i do now?! i wasn’t ready bro-” aeri cut you off and pointed to the typing dots that appeared on the screen followed by the first message from your new match. she stood up with yizhuo close behind her, “relax you don’t need to freak out about anything. just talk to her like you would anyone else.” as the two of them started to leave the room, yizhuo tacked on, “have fun, we’re going shopping so we’ll be back later.” more than anything you wanted to beg them to stay and help you but they were already out the door before you could think of anything to say. 

a little over an hour passed and you still had yet to reply to the mystery girl on the other end of the phone. instead you ran back to twitter, just to be welcomed by the same posts your members made not long after two of them left you alone. skimming over the posts you rolled your eyes and mumbled to yourself, "it be your own people..." [ft. minji who posts about you knowing you won't see it]

the message notification appeared once more on your screen since you hadn't dismissed it physically like you had mentally. for a moment hesitated, debating on if you really wanted to go through with this or not, after all it's not like she would know who you were if you just terminated the pair, right? the internal debate rushed through your thoughts until you just decided to text the girl back.

you tried to think of something, anything to say just so you weren't leaving this mystery girl on read leaving her to believe she was about to be rejected before it all began. except that's exactly what you were doing.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚✭・彡♡・✫.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

unbeknownst to you, yunjin was frantically posting on twitter, second guessing the first message she sent you an hour prior.

she paced around her bedroom for what felt like eternity in a futile attempt to calm herself down. yunjin chewed on her lip while debating on if she should terminate the match and try for a new one.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚✭・彡♡・✫.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

your gaze lingered on the notification for what had to be the tenth time today. a moment of hesitation, then you slid up and began typing out a simple greeting, your finger lingered over the send button. however, it was just long enough for you to press backspace and delete what you’d typed... again.

instead of actually responding, and initiating the conversation your mind was flooded with second guesses on the 'right' way to do it. after three tries of coming up with something, you circled right back to twitter. you scrolled back to your most recent post to see if any of your other friends had suggested anything helpful under your latest post...they didn't.

frustration bubbled in your stomach as you told yourself this shouldn't be this hard, yet here you were dealing with a single text as if it was life or death. eventually you just decided to answer with a single word rather than an actual conversation starter. not even a second after you hit send there were text bubbles appearing as lyra, your mystery girl began texting you.

while you sat cross legged on the couch smiling stupidly at your phone, yunjin was in her own room doing the exact same thing on her bed. conversation between the two of you flowed so easily it was like you had been friends with one another for years already. question after question she answered as you asked with you following the same model.

in the midst of typing whether she thought cereal was a soup, kazuha came into the american's room. yunjin paid no mind to the younger girl who entered with a towel in her hand as scrunched the water out of her jet black waves. kazuha started to ask , “unnie can i borrow your hairdryer mine is-” she stopped suddenly and looked at yunjin who was literally giggling and kicking her feet, too engrossed in her own texting conversation to realize kazuha standing before her.

kazuha narrowed her eyes then snatched the phone from yunjin’s hand with nearly cat-like reflexes. yunjin jumped off her bed and lunged for kazuha as she shouted, “wait give that back, zuha-yah!” the latter skimmed through the messages before letting out a laugh and handing the phone back, “i thought i was gonna see you two flirting or something, not debating on if cereal is a soup.” yunjin rolled her eyes and asked, “what did you want before you started being nosey?” kazuha pointed to the hairdryer on yunjin’s desk and grinned when the older girl passed it to her without complaining.

kazuha looked over her shoulder on her way out, “i’ll get it back to you in the morning because it’s late. goodnight unnie, thank you!” yunjin didn’t look up from her phone as she mindlessly replied, “night zuha.” upon the words she spoke did she realize the meaning behind them and she checked the time, eyes widening when she realized it was nearing midnight.

yunjin frowned as she read your next message that said you were heading to sleep because you had a practice in the morning. yunjin’s frown was replaced with a gentle smile when she saw you add on that you’d talk to her the following morning, and with that she locked her phone for the night and decided she’d get some sleep too. 

‎♡‧₊˚˘͈ᵕ˘͈‎ 彡♡ ༘*.ﾟ .·:¨༺ ʚ♡ɞ༻¨*:·.﹢࿐ ☆

taglist: @https-f4iryjin @awkwardtoafault @seungspolaroid

[noturprobiem]

These are two parts from my future hualian fic from the first chapter. It has spooky elements, beware.

Six years ago Xie Lian swore to never step foot in this cursed building, and yet here he was. The place hasn't changed a bit since he left. Pale blue walls, white tile floors and heavy doors made out of metal were more familiar to him than his own house. He used to come here at six in the morning and leave at the dead of night, reporting every flickering light on his way to the exit. Flickering lights were a bad sign in a place like this. Everything was a bad sign in a place like this.

The corridors were always coated in eerie silence. No natural light could get inside, so it was impossible to know what time of day it was. There used to be a clock on the wall, but it didn't last. It wasn't a good idea to have fragile objects out in the open, especially near Xie Lian. The doors weren't labeled, but there were small differences between them. Some had dents, some were scratched, some melted in places. Since Xie Lian left, the door to his office got changed, and now it looked almost too good compared to the other ones.

He hesitated in front of the door. Then sighed and pressed his id card to the scanner. It opened without a sound.

[...]

Xie Lian flipped through the files while they were talking, only taking note of the name given to the entity. He didn't like reading what other people saw before going into an encounter. Sometimes researchers overlooked important evidence because they focused only on details that were mentioned in the reports they read. From his experience, everyone would meet an entity differently, and you should first see what's your relationship with it before judging the danger levels. So, he immediately planned an expedition to the place of the latest reported blood rain.

Spending the night on a train wasn't anything new for him. No matter how long they've studied the entities’ ability to bend space and time they never came even close to replicating them, so trains it was. Some especially risky ones, like Shen Yuan's big brother, would attract the entity's attention for this, but then no one could guarantee that you'll ever arrive anywhere.

It was pitch black outside. Sometimes you could see pale lights through the dirty glass and every time it made Xie Lian's heart jump in his chest. Sometimes it looked just like…

Xie Lian was seventeen when an entity known as The Stalker found him. He was always considered a promising student, teachers painted for him a career in physics or chemistry, a bright future in academia. Instead, he first got into a university building as a lab mouse. All because something put its eye on him.

It was easy to ignore at first. A flash of light here and there. A sound from a room where no one was supposed to be. A laugh somewhere in the dark. Catching movement with the corner of your eye only to see that it's just an illusion. Trivial things, and stress only made them happen more. And then he started waking up in the dead of night, convinced that something was watching him. Something was breathing lightly in the corner. Something moved. It was a silly thing to be afraid of for a nearly eighteen year old, of course, so he didn't bring it up. Even when that fear manifested in the form of sleep paralysis, a pale white mask looking at him from the ceiling in the dark and silent room, its texture a mix of human skin and silicon, its eyes bottomless pits of ink, it was just because of stress. Exams were approaching, after all.

First time he went to the doctor was after the demon appeared in his kitchen. It was hard to call what he saw a human face, but it was clearly imitating one. It was glowing, only two empty eye sockets and a smiling mouth remaining. Xie Lian froze in place, not daring to look away. The creature slowly melted, dissolving in the darkness. But it didn't disappear. Xie Lian knew it was there, always watching, always following, just not visible now.

His Laoshi, Mei Niangqing, found him pretty quickly. He promised Xie Lian answers and a job in the Institute if only he let them study what made him «special». He agreed with no hesitation, hoping to get rid of the creature, who became progressively more violent with every passing day. None of them knew how much the situation was going to escalate.

Despite his anxiety, the calming rhythm of train wheels hitting the rails slowly lulled Xie Lian to sleep.