#setting up for something in that first chapter

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 14

ch 15 is done so y'all can have ch 14, these are getting longer and longer- If I somehow end up passing 4k words I'll have to break these into pt1 and pt2 🥲

Also- y'all can not rip Jason's finger tattoos saying "jailbird" from me, ever.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 14 >>next(TBC)

Your hands were shaking as Slade led you to one of the many bathrooms in the building, but despite everything, you were proud of yourself. You didn’t cry, that was good enough in your book. “You were fast with that throw. Not many get a hit on the man, as clumsy as he fakes being.” His voice only seemed to make you angrier.

You took a deep breath, exhaling softly. He hasn’t done anything to you, yet at least. You’re not angry at him- is what you had to repeat to yourself before answering. “I wish it was a knife.” Your face twitched at that. “That- was a very emotionally fueled answer- please don’t hold it against me.” Willson was more amused by the answer than scared or worried.

“You won’t be the first, and you won’t be the last.” The man took his handkerchief and dampened it, leaning against the marble sink as he handed it to you, and you thanked him while taking it. “I’ll hold you up to paying for the cleanup, by the way. I love this suit. Now- why did you really want to talk?”

“Straight to the point I see.” At his smile, you just shrug. “Never was one for pull and push games.” Perhaps it was your hormones, or just how much you’ve repressed your emotions for other human beings due to hurt, but his laugh made your cheeks flush. You were putting a pin on that feeling, for now just dismissing it as anger at the male species.

“I just want to talk, get to know you better.” He went to the modern toilet and took out its wall panel, pulling out a briefcase. “You’ve made quite the name for yourself. Among terrible people.” Slade opens the briefcase once it is on the marble top, revealing his gear and a clean pair of clothes. “So, you want to assassinate me?”

“Assassination is for world leaders, my dear.” The shit-eating grin definitely made you think whatever you were feeling was anger. “But you’re not far off. We have similar enemies.” You took the clean shirt he handed to you, took the wet wipes straight from the case, and went straight for the room divider, Slade turning his back to you. “So- what, you want me to help you and when push comes to shove, you’ll help me?” He could hear the doubt, the sarcasm, and the distrust. But he just smiled. “Yes.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Luthor just kept on looking at you for a few seconds as you lay face down on his emperor-sized bed. “Is that his shirt?” He got a muffled yes in response. “He hid a briefcase in your wall and gave me the spare, said he’ll come back with the clean suit… I so think he wanted to kill you or steal something you have here.” Lex just hummed at that, tapping his foot. “And?” You groaned. “Where do I even begin?”

“Well, you could start from the beginning?” Lex said while getting up and grabbing a set of pajamas and tossing them on your back. You sigh and place your head on your hand, turning your body sideways so you can look at him. “I have parental issues and a part of me finds his stupid eye-patch so hot.” You cackled maniacally as Luthor’s face soured. “Ok. How about we skip forward a bit?” He almost begged.

“Alright- wait-…” You take a closer look at the pajamas. “These are my size.” Your eyes meet his as he confirms with no shame on his mug. “Are you not going to ask why?” Sighing you just get up and move towards his bathroom. “You either want a kid or a wife and I’m not mentally sound enough right now for either one. And I’m sleeping with mom- I so do not believe you didn’t put cameras in my room, you weirdo.”

“I’m a paranoid billionaire genius. I have cameras in every room.” It was his turn to laugh like a maniac as he heard you call him a weirdo again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

With everyone out of the manor, it was finally time for Alfred to clean the whole bloody place. These moments were rare, and while Master Bruce insisted on him taking a break, he wasn’t a man to stay in one place for long without work.

He began from the ground up, the cave, the yard. The ground floor and the first level came and went, on the second level he may have gotten distracted by the new books Bruce got for Jason, and by the time the man of the house got back, Alfred was halfway done with the third floor.

Opening yet another door, his eyes immediately critiqued the dust, barely processing the objects before beginning to clean, starting with a little framed photo and the nightstand. It took him two looks before he registered what the picture depicted- a little girl at her kindergarten graduation event. He doesn’t remember Miss Cassandra this young, Master Bruce must have-

No… Cassandra never went to kindergarten. Alfred drops the cloth he was wiping off the dust with, head snapping around the room- Paintings, so many paintings,  drawing supplies. Medals, diplomas- the more of them he wiped with his gloved hand the more the man trembled, heart beating against his ribcage, the same way it did on the active battlefield- where were you?

A child- a whole child- no. He saw you- yes. In the garden, yelling at Bruce- that-… that was six years ago. Six years ago. Six bloody years ago. Somewhere in his panicked frenzy, a hopeful part of him just thought that maybe you changed rooms, yes, that’s why he began screaming your name like a madman, bursting through the rooms he hadn’t yet opened, screaming as he went down the staircase, rechecking rooms, scaring the kids that were in the manor.

Damian frowned at Cassandra and Tim. “Has Pennyworth lost it?” The girl didn’t even pay him any mind as she simply followed the elder. “No, he-… Where is she?” Tim tried to respond but the distraction got to him- he can’t remember the last time he saw you. Damian had no other choice but to follow as well.

Even though the old man used the stairs he was the first to enter the batcave, the kids following in the elevator. “-she’s missing-“ was what they caught, seeing the picture frame Alfred ran around with now clenched in Bruce’s hands.

“No.” Cassandra said softly, confusion clear on her face. “In London.” Alfred looked at the man as he tried to hide his fury. “You sent the young miss to London without even telling me?” Bruce immediately said a firm no, turning to Cassandra to ask how she even knew of that. “Is anyone going to inform me about who we are talking about?!”

Damian had enough, he didn’t like still being left in the dark about things that seemed this important. Tim repeated your name like it was obvious, but Alfred felt the world crash on his head. “Yes. So you all keep on saying, is that code for something?” The old man needed to sit down. They’ve never talked about her. They’ve never told him about her.

Tim was too tired to realize what Alfred did. He just called the boy rude, how could he not remember his other big sis. And it was the wrong thing to do. “I have another sister, and you didn’t tell me? Nobody did?!” The youngest boy snapped at his father before turning to look at everyone else.

Bruce- he was taking hit after hit tonight. He couldn’t come up with an argument to Slade, and he sure as hell couldn’t defend himself against Damian. The last time he remembered seeing you was when he ruined your garden. He slumped down in his chair, clutching the picture of your sad chubby face and the pitying look of the teacher, unable to take his eyes from it.

Where was he? He… He can’t defend himself. How could he? He didn’t even realize you were missing. How much has he missed? How many events and achievements has he ignored or brushed off? Did you leave that night, was that the last drop? He ignored his arguing kids, ignored how devastated Alfred looked… Jason said he was missing a bird. Bruce closes the open files on The Sorceress. “Tim, inform Dick and the others. Oracle. Call Red Hood. Now.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Lois sighed and turned to face her husband who was fully awake. “Ok, come on, confess.” Clark didn’t even flinch, not until she shook his shoulder. He side-eyed her before turning to also face her, sure that Jon was deeply asleep. “What I’m about to tell you should stay just between us.”

“The Sorceress is adopted, her dad is Bruce.” Lois raised a brow but before she could ask for more Clark continued. “I heard her brother and Lex inform the Immortal about it. The boy mentioned that, and I quote, the bastard didn’t pay attention to her for years and now has the gall to show up and act like he doesn’t know her. Lex was sure of the fact that Bruce didn’t even know that she had run away, to begin with, let alone how the kid he barely spent time with looked like anymore”

Lois took a while to soak in the information. “That’s…” She lies back on her back, staring at the ceiling like her husband once was. “If it’s true- it’s a new low for him. I'll look into it.” She looks at Clark. “Don’t let Jon hear that, he’ll-“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“-and that’s what my dad said.” Jon, who was still in his pajamas, huffing from how fast he flew and talked, told Damian once they were in the security of the youngest Wayne’s room. The other boy just nodded. “Thank you for informing me, Jon. Make sure you do not repeat this to anyone else.”

“You should go back before your parents realize you’re missing.” Damian opened the window for the other teen. “Are you sure? Because if you’re not okay-“ Damian shook his head. “I’m perfectly fine, I’ll take care of this and give the information to someone who will be able to confirm what Superman heard."

The young super took a while before leaving, but the fear of his parents finding him gone was bigger. Damian on the other hand was already penning a letter. If the family kept such important information from him, he could too.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Your day was- tiring. You may have overdone it a bit, studying for finals, the anxiety of giving your artwork in for the diploma, helping with clean up, training, helping Titan clean spaces for more housing- by the time you were done you were exhausted.

When the explosion went off, you didn’t even flinch, the text message from Mark saying “dnt wor abt it” was good enough for you. So, you just continued buying your little snacks and energy drinks for tomorrow and went on your way, floating as you simply couldn’t be bothered with walking.

If you were, perhaps, not as tired as you were, you would have been a little bit more concerned about the swarm of reporters or paparazzi, you couldn’t even try to figure it out. “Madame Sorceress! What is your relationship to Mr. Wayne?” and “Hey! Hey, over here! How do you know Bruce Wayne?!” and a lot of similar questions you couldn’t be bothered to answer. “Sorceress! Why do you have beef with Mr. Wayne?”

Now that stopped your movement. You slowly turned towards the person who asked, squinting at the redhead. “You want that in chronological or alphabetical order?” That seemed to trigger more questions and yelling, but your attention was on your ringing phone. “Sorry folk, I have to take this.” Sluggishly, you flew higher than they could be able to pick up with any listening device and answered. “Sup’ Red-“

Your brows furrowed. “Now they found out?... How much?” Jason just snorted. “B tried to interrogate me and when that didn’t work out, Alfred tried to tug at my emotions. Right under their nose and they’re still not seeing it.” You snort. “You’re creating yourself trouble. Just tell them, not like they can do anything now.” Jason knew, but this- the phone number, the texting, and silly pics, was something the other bats didn’t have access to. It was something only he had, that he didn't have to share with the others. He wants it to stay that way. “Nah, let them stew in it.” Jason snickered. “Whatever, Jailbird. Good night.” You roll your eyes, laughing when he yells that you weren’t supposed to know that.

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A tiny little micro sneak peak of chapter 15 because I feel kind:

Jason was having a terrible week, starting with Ms. “I wouldn’t have been as forgiving if you didn’t die and came back kinder to me” Wayne- well- Grayson? He doesn’t know anymore- he’s close enough to just forging papers that say you’re his biological little sister just to fuck with Bruce.

[itstheghostofmypast]

L♡VE- (Hyung Line)

Separate member/non-idol Ateez x (F)Reader

Summary: The moment he realised he loved you.

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG-17

Warnings: None

Word Count: 6.7K

Est.Read Time: 33 min

Networks: @k-labels

Banner: @cafekitsune

Maknae Line: Here

Song Rec: Fallin'- Bang Yedam

A/N: A little Valentine update before Yuyu's IOMT chapter- blame @edenesth for introducing me to this song. Also, would be thanking my queen @edenesth for helping me out with these- especially Song Mingi's <3 - MY LAPTOP DIED ON ME- i-i- ill try to post the second part today too

Corporate Coffee Chaos

Personal Song Rec〜☆ Fallin' Connie Francis

Hongjoong never believed he would fall in love, let alone fall in love with someone at work. True, the man had a handful of ‘situationships’, most- or well all failed to pass to the second stage of ‘love’- he’d gone as far as kissing a few of those few blessed ones before he’d end up neglecting or ignoring them, paying attention to his first love- work. Whether he would like to admit it or not, it was a fact that he could not deny, most of his lovers had left him because he’d been so busy with work, it wasn’t his fault though, well not all of it. He had been completely honest about his ‘unhealthy obsession with work’, and although at one point he would blame himself for his failed relationships and his friends would often tease him about him eventually marrying his ‘desktop’ at the end, he had realised the moment he had met you, that it was not him who was at fault, but his heart, his heart that had closed off to almost everyone he had met, until of course when you had waltzed into the picture, or in specific, his cubicle.

He had felt his heart almost leap out of him, squeezing through his throat, ready to jump out of him and onto your palm, your very much expectant palm, only you had not been expecting his battered, shrivelled heart, instead, you had stormed into his cubicle at 8 A.M, demanding he hand you the reports that his work bestie slash coworker, Song Mingi had decided to butcher, which as a result had affected your job- the hell could he do? Oh, yeah, he was the Unit head, that meant Mingi’s clownery was something he’d have to cover up, though maybe he should thank Mingi for messing up this time, because for the entirety of the time you had been ‘explaining how he was as incompetent, lenient and overly considerate boss with eyebags that made him look like he was 50 - mind you that was a total lie-’ he had been staring at you like a lovesick puppy, trying to form the smoothest pickup line known to man, 

“Let’s discuss this over coffee?”

And discuss, you did, over a cup of coffee that had him falling to his knees for you, especially when he realised you liked your cup of brew as bitter and strong as him. One thing had led to the other and you found yourself often at coffee with Mr.Kim, the unit leader of the IT department, and eventually, perhaps a month or so later, Mr.Kim had managed to find something or someone, he may prefer over work. Well, to some extent, it didn’t take him long to figure out that you were as much of a workaholic as he was, and to an unimaginable extent he had loved that about you- another thing he had loved about you. 

So your routine was set, every morning he’d pick you up from your place, all neat and clean, with a crisp white dress shirt, his scratch-less glasses and a blinding smile, and between you two, in the cupholders of his car sat your coffees, ones he’d have Jongho, his buddy and favourite barista, brew all warm and nice early in the morning, to perfection. Call him an idiot, but it was something he admired about you- another thing he admired about you, how you’d thank him every day for something that was a routine, perhaps even his job at this point, he was after all your boyfriend, your boyfriend who had begun to be so obsessed with you that he’d need you to be around him most of the time, even at work. Though he would not call this the L-word, no he was not going to drop the L-bomb anytime soon and he had discussed it with another one of his close friends, Wooyoung, who had told him, “Hyung, you need to wait for the right moment to prove herself, trust me, I like my girl a lot, but I ain’t no simp, she gotta prove to me that she’s a real one.”

Though with your one year of being together, it was safe to say that you two were past your honeymoon phase, or were you? He wasn’t sure, he was no expert on love, he just knew that you were the first person who had grabbed his face and kissed him without letting him think of a stupid insecurity he could use to back out, and once you pulled back, your hands still gently cupping his cheek you had whispered to him, in the silence of the misty, street, under the streetlamp that had watched you two, “You need to stop overthinking Kim Hongjoong.”

For once he had listened, because soon he had felt himself let go around you, slowly showing you that he too, was human, in fact, too human sometimes- enough to still smile at her and say things like, “I really like you,” or “I hope you know you mean a lot to me.” For some ungodly reason you had never said anything to ruin the mood, you’d smile at him and recite the words back to him, wrapped in a velvet cloak of something he could still not decipher, but the way your eyes would twinkle, cheeks shine with a subtle pink hue and hands slightly tremor in his, he knew your words were sincere. Though a part of him wondered what would happen after this phase would come to an end, disillusionment or-

“Kim Hongjoong!” the man sat up straight, groaning at the pain in his lower back before turning his swivel chair and meeting your frowning face, knowing what was going to come next.

“I can not believe you,” placing the two cups of labelled coffees on his desk you frowned at him, hands on your hips as you glanced at him then the lumbar support cushion you had gotten him for his birthday and his stupid back pain. Shaking your head in defeat you moved to grab it and stuff it between his back and the backrest of his chair, before narrating, “I will be back after a little group meeting, and then, we can go out for a proper breakfast, I know for sure you showed up without breakfast.”

With a salute he watched you leave, before grabbing his coffee, odd, they were labelled, did you perhaps get them from another shop? Oh well, work Hongjoong, work, gotta make that money make purse and get your lady a nice fur coat.

Twenty minutes in he sat back, before stretching his arms above his head and yawning, huffing as he reached for his cup, only to realise it was empty, with a huff he tossed the paper cup in the bin before looking around aimlessly, where were you? For a ‘short little meeting’, huh? Bloody liar, you were worse than him, he knew how’d you get when the marketing plans were delayed, or the payments for the prints didn't make it through- anything, anything wrong to the slightest and the perfectionist in you would go ballistic- no, you’d go bat-shit crazy, pfft, he was not as bad as you.

Chuckling to himself at the thought of your hair already clipped up in a bun, sleeves rolled up, voice raised higher than your sleeves, he decided to start the next task, he could finish it halfway before you’d arrive, so much for breakfast. Leaning- hunching- back into position his fingers began to dance on the keys at an impressive speed, and amidst this display of skill he had reached to grab your lukewarm coffee, glad that you enjoy the same acidity of coffee that he did before he took a big boy swig only to freeze as his brain malfunctioned, for what slipped down his throat was not a warm, crisp taste of roasted coffee, but something that had him physically cringe, recoiling at the taste as he spat in the bin and glared at the cup, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand. Did they get your order wrong? What on earth was this incredibly sweet, milky and creamy- was this tea?!

“Sorry I’m late-” you froze at the sight of your boyfriend holding a paper cup in his hand, your paper cup. Though in return his head had whipped up to glare at you, with eyes ready to kill, a menacing glint in his usual shiny orbs, as he spat at you, “What is this blasphemous treason, woman?”

“I- I can explain- did I label them wrong? Did I mix them up-” you paused when you realised that there was only one cup left, yours, damn it, you should’ve taken this with you- oh well, guess the truth was going to come out sooner or later, you just hoped it did not change his view of you. Gently, you reached forward and took the cup from him, your fingers grazing his as you gave him a shy smile and set the cup down before holding your hands in his as you decided to confess your deepest, darkest secret, “I hate bitter coffee.”

“What.”

With a small pout you nodded, giving his hands a squeeze as you continued, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…it’s just…it’s just that it's the first thing you ever bought me and…and you got me the same coffee every morning and I didn’t want to ruin it, it was such a sweet gesture anyone has ever done for me, out of the blue, just completely caught me off guard and you looked so…proud, so I never said anything.” You were now sitting at the edge of the desk as you continued to explain yourself, “I know it’s kind of stupid but, it really meant a lot to me, and I didn’t want to ruin it between us, I hope you can forgive me Joong, I really do like you, it’s just that I hate, no, I loath bitter things, dark chocolate, roasted coffee, lemon tarts, citrus cakes, even orange juice- like why on earth would I want to recharge myself with gross tasting things when a teaspoon of sugary goodness can do much better-”

“I love you.”

Frankly, he had stopped listening to you as soon as you had said, 'It’s just that it's the first thing you ever bought me and…and you got me the same coffee every morning and I didn’t want to ruin it’- what kind of idiot continues to torture herself every morning just to keep her boyfriend happy- no one had ever done that for him, hell, you’d been drinking Jongho’s strongest brews for almost a year without complaint just to keep him happy? Just to make him feel loved? Were you like an angel who had lost her way while going back up to heaven or something and had mysteriously landed in his arms? Or was he being rewarded by a higher entity? 

“W-what?” you whispered only to feel him squeeze your hands this time and repeat the words, “I.Love.You.” Only in return, he had earned not only your heart but your whole being, and if you weren’t at work, you would have smothered him with kisses, well, perhaps you could do that in the car before you go for your brunch- lunch, it was definitely lunch time now.

“I love you too, Joong.”

Perfect Puzzle Picture

Personal Song Rec〜☆ Bewitched Laufey

Doctor Park Seonghwa was a busy man, one of the best neurologists in his town, with a great track record of patients, and an even better relationship with patients- he was smart, skilled, kind and handsome, a whole package. A package that may have potential mother-in-laws approve of him without a background check, he was a total catch- with the brains, looks and financial stability, there was only one problem, Dr Park Seonghwa was a total nerd. Once the scrubs would come off, the man would morph into a cat mom; introverted, shy, in this case, the cat was the resident cardiologist, a shining star, Dr Choi, who one would often find in Dr Park’s residence or around him at work if the two were free- some even assumed that these two were ‘a thing’. Mind you, as soon as this rumor had made it to him, he had told Dr Choi to disappear or he’d pull his brain out of his nostrils, Egyptian mummy style. Oh, he was also a nerd, with an abnormal obsession with Lego sets.

Ironically, it had been due to his love for lego sets that he had met you, one fine night, and just like the God sent blessing you were, you had smiled at him politely when your hands had touched reaching for the last box of the  X-Wing Starfighter™, only for him to quickly pull away apologising, “You can have it, Miss.” He didn’t want to let it go, but seeing such a pretty little lady buying an intricate set had his lego-loving fanboy-self force him to bow to your mysterious self. Though your response had completely caught him off guard, “Oh, you can have it, my nephew is like 10, I was just getting this one because it's expensive and I can be the cool aunt.” That night your fate of being a cool aunt had been sealed, oh, and you had managed to somehow acquire the friendship of a cute doctor, who had also paid for this lego set…and a few more, each with a backstory you did not care remembering, too mesmerized by his beauty, and amused by his interest in his little hobby, admiring his dedication, since your short attention span barely ever had you finishing a 20 piece picture puzzle, let alone a whole 3-d set.

Therefore, your friendship had slowly blossomed into something more, something more precious, more pure and intimate- of course after the approval of the great Dr.Choi, who at the first glance at you had turned to the neurologist and stated, without thinking- one of his not so good qualities- “She’s way out of your league, hyung.” As a result, he had received a kick, and was told to leave their ‘lunch table’ at once, or he’d complain about him to HR. Nonetheless, Seonghwa was glad to have met you, you were sweet, kind, considerate, and somewhat of a people’s pleaser but something he really admired about you was how when you’d walk into the room, you would be all that he could see, you were the flame to his moth- something about you was so attractive that he’d often end up giggling in bed at the thought of you. Perhaps it was the way you accepted him as a whole, his flaws and his best qualities, how you’d clean with him, how you’d cook for him, how you’d secretly stalk healthy items in his ‘snack cabinet’ and how you’d always leave him craving for more, especially when you’d come to visit him for lunch at the hospital- oh you’d drive him too, and he was grateful, he could drive, but you were a much better driver and at least everyone wasn’t shipping him with Dr.Choi Stupid anymore, since you were very clearly in the picture. Nonetheless, you were a romantic- in secret- and Park Seonghwa, oh he loved that because he was a smart man, who’d know how to use this inclination of yours, which is why a year ago he had asked you out, on valentines day, and guess what? After three months of courting you, meeting your family, and becoming your nephew’s ‘favourite Doctor’, you had said yes to a date you would never forget- especially as the two of you sat at the top of the Ferris wheel, hand in hand, staring at the sunset, alone together, your silence singing around you, enveloping the two of you in a symphony that could only reach its harmonious peak through the beating of your hearts as they waltz under the glow of your admiration for each other.

Tonight was the night, the night he had decided to take their relationship to the next level, their first anniversary was the perfect moment to be doing this, he thought to himself as he picked up the box wrapped in plastic, smiling at the way this was not only romantic but an easy piece to build- it also catered to your ‘bouquets are killing live flowers, so I don’t prefer something so temporary’ policy. The Wildflower Bouquet was something you two could build together, it would officially be your first Lego set, and the first ever Lego set the two of you could build together, perhaps after that, you could play a movie in the background, Barbie The Island Princess one you liked so much, it was the first movie the two of you had watched anyway. Yes, this was a good plan, after dinner, the two of you could clean up, and get to it at home, working together on this. With this thought he had it wrapped up in the shiniest, prettiest wrapping paper, matching his vibrant smile he made his way to the restaurant where you were waiting for him, ready with a big meal for your big boy.

You looked around the hall filled with couples, feeling a bit more special because a romantic holiday wasn’t the only reason you were here, waiting for your boyfriend, no, it was your anniversary as well, and somewhere deep down inside of you, bubbled those three words you wanted to blurt out to him- not yet, you’d tell yourself, Seonghwa was a wonderful man, honest and loyal to the bone, but you didn’t want to scare him off, pressure him into something- he’d take things slow and you knew that, he was more interested in showing you how he felt through his little gestures, and-

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

You glanced up from the table to smile at the man who looked at you like you were his whole world, and to some extent you knew you were, this look was the only reason you were waiting patiently- any other man would’ve been kicked out pretty soon, not this clown though, he happened to be your clown, one you somehow gave your heart to, to juggle around.

“It’s alright, I’ve already ordered for the both of us,” you stated out, knowing it was very much okay to do so, because this man could and would eat anything, as long as the serving size was enough for a small village- lord knows how jealous you were of his efficient metabolism.

“No problem at all, that’s good because now I can give you this!” he smiled, letting out an excited giggle as he placed the box on the table and pushed it towards you, his smile growing bigger at your gasp followed by an “Aww…Hwa, thank you!”

Fingers tracing the glossy paper you smiled at your reflection before glancing at him then proceeding to open the packaging only to stop mid-way as you stared at the box, not noticing the concerned look plastered on the face of your lover who whispered, “Is everything okay sunshine?” Did he mess up? Was this not romantic enough? Shit. Of course, it wasn’t Park Seonghwa, she wasn’t a ten-year-old boy or a grown man with a weird obsession with toys-

“Seonghwa- I- Hey, earth to Dr.Park!”

He snapped out of his self-berating monologue at your voice, his glossy orbs meeting your confused ones, wait- was the guilt?

You placed the gift bag on the table and slid it towards him, “Open it up doc.”

With a small pout, he reached into the bag, pulling out a box, only to pause when he looked at it, before looking at you then the box, then HIS box, then back at you when you let out a sheepish chuckle, “Guess both of us have the same ideas when it comes to romance, huh, doc?”

“Oh…yeah,” he breathed out before mumbling, “First Lego set idea?”

“Yeaaah…” you mumbled, “Thought doing it with you would be romantic- well, I mean YOU did too.” you smiled at him and took the boxes, placing them in the bag and on the ground when the waiter arrived with your food, as you stared at your man who was looking at you like you had just broken him- in fact you had. Never in a million years had Park Seonghwa thought he’d find someone who’d enjoy his hobby with him, he was well and fine with knowing you could tolerate it, but knowing that you were going out of your way to start something new with him, something that meant the world to him, something that could be just something the two of you did together, meant one thing and one thing only-

“I think I’m in love with you.”

You were pouring water in his cup when his words echoed in your ears, a smile gracing your lips as you eyes flickered up from the glass to your boyfriend who looked like he was going to explode in the next ten seconds if you did not meet him with similar sentiments, lucky for him, you did-

“I think I love you too, Doc.”

He visibly shivered in his seat, smiling at you like your little goofy clown anticipating what was to come next. The night was still young, after this very delicious-looking meal he could take you home, he could show you his new cloud-shaped cotton candy bath bomb, and after a little fun in the tub, the two of you could be all cosy in your matching PJs he had been keeping in secret to give you on your birthday- screw it, he’d get you something else on your birthday, maybe even propose to you- and then the two of you could spend the rest of the night building one set after the other, with whatever the hell you wanted as background noise, because he’d be too busy, too obsessed, too absorbed in your beauty, your presence, your being as a whole- he had finally found his missing puzzle piece to make his heart whole.

Game of Love

Personal Song Rec〜☆ Old Love Yuji & Putri Dhalia

“DADDY DILUC HERE WE GO!”

Yunho looked up from his phone to chuckle at your excitement, sitting there in your office attire, heels kicked off near the door, your dress shirt crinkly because of the entire days of hard work, hair in an extremely tight ponytail so you could focus, manspreading on his couch- thank God you were wearing pants- slouching against his couch with the controller in hand. You had been working like a dog at work, hour over hour, nonstop meetings and work that truly would scar a normal human being.

He used to think his job was stressful, having a dog cafe wasn't the easiest thing out there, with so many things to manage, but when he had seen an office woman tired and exhausted, pressing her forehead against the cool glass door of his closed cafe, staring down at a puppy with the saddest pout he had ever seen, he had realised that maybe there were more exhaustive jobs out there. That night he had let you in, nodding at the way you apologised constantly, telling him you had a horrible day at work and just wanted to spend time with the puppers- that and how “stupid apartment policy didn't allow pets.” He didn't really get an chance to give in his two cents because you were so busy hugging every dog that came your way, only for him to realise that you were a regular…only that you'd often come around at this time -closing time- and a “Fairy Prince Manager Guy”, would let you in for 10-15 minutes. Ah, Kang Yeosang, truly a God sent miracle of some kind.

Since that night, Yunho would send Yeosang off early, telling him that he'd close up, that was his job as the owner of course and like the innocent bub the Maltese - sorry- Doberman was, he never questioned, only merrily skipped away with his things all packed up. Each night Yunho would let you in, sometimes he'd even make you something to eat, watching you play around with the dogs while he'd clean up, sometimes you'd help him arrange the things and take the dogs to their beds, sometimes he'd watch you take a small nap with the dogs. And one night much like the others, he had mustered up the courage to ask you out and amid the canine chaos you had giggled out a ‘yes’.

So, after almost a year of being together, your boyfriend who was a true gamer at heart was now sitting in his living room on the floor, back pressed against the couch, phone in hand trying to play a co-op mode with you because you had agreed to game with him only if you played Genshin Impact because “I gotta mine for daddy Diluc.” He had picked you up from work and you had had dinner in the car, refusing to go into the restaurant, so the drive through it was, and as soon as you had reached his apartment complex he had received a big smooch on his cheek followed by a “Thank you, Yuyu~”.

Now, the two of you were going to game, spend some quality time together, even though it was almost midnight, tomorrow was a day off and you were dying to spend time with your very considerate and caring man, who deserved the world and for some reason, the world had given him a girlfriend who barely spent time with him. Therefore, if you had forced yourself to leave work today, going to the restaurant would have wasted time which is why you insisted you have dinner in the car, the sooner you'd reach home the sooner you could spend time with Yunho.

Yunho glanced up at you, chuckling at how you cursed when you lost a team member, “NOooo Razor my boy!” Shaking his head in amusement he looked back at his smaller screen, thinking of how busy he had been the past whole week. One of his dog's was sick so he had been making frequent visits to the Vet, and that's where the infamous doctor Jung Wooyoung had graciously told him, “Keep on ignoring your girl and she'll definitely leave you.” ” Did he then look at the doctor and almost debate on whether he should punch him in the face or not? Yes, he did, but instead of listening to his intrusive thoughts, he decided to take the other approach, one that had most of society believing Jeong Yunho was a very emotionally stable and nice guy, “And you know this how?”

Wooyoung who was patting the cute Shiba Inus, hummed in return, “When couples don't spend enough time together, their connection can weaken, leading to decreased intimacy, poor communication, potential feelings of neglect, and a lack of shared experiences, which can ultimately strain the relationship and potentially lead to resentment or a fading spark between partners; essentially, the bond between them may deteriorate due to lack of quality time together.”

That was all it took to convince Jeong Yunho to spend time with you no matter what, hence, the gaming session. Ever so often he’d glance up at you, smiling at your focused expressions, admiring the way you looked so natural in your element, enough to have him move onto the couch, right next to you, tucking the loose strands of hair behind your ear, his fingertips caressing your cheek in the process before you turned to him with a pout that had his heart clench, urging him to hug you close, smother you with his attention. You had handed him the controller, “You better win, Jeong,” with that you had skipped to the kitchen, looking for something to eat for the two of you, perhaps to make a cup of tea for yourself as well. By the time you had returned with a bag of chips and two cups of tea your boyfriend had ascended your character which almost had you falling to your knees to propose to him- speaking of propose, for a while you had been wondering if you should say those three words to him. Yunho was a smart man, he was a reliable man, and most of all he was an honest man, so you really were not sure what was stopping you from declaring your undying love for him. Maybe it was the fact that he could sometimes be too night, a part of you wondered if he felt the same way about you, you knew he liked you, but did he love you? That is exactly why you had yet to say anything to him, wanting him to make the first move, it would be safer if he did so, it would be better if he did so, because for all you know, maybe he was tired of you-

“You okay?”

His words caught you off guard, almost dropping your cup in the process, clearing your throat. You smiled up at him and nodded, “Just…a little tired Yuyu, that’s all.”

With a slight nod he pouted at your response, leaning closer to place, brushing his lips over your forehead before sighing, “How about we call it a night? You can just wish on the banner later-”

The man could not even finish the sentence because you had snatched the controller out of his hand to wish on the various character banners- thankful that your man was a good grinder, feeding your gambling addiction.

Yunho snorted at the way you were wishing non-stop, whining at every pull, ah, leave it to you to do something like that, you didn’t even hear him when he had declared a bathroom trip, “I’ll be back in ten minutes- the burger really didn’t set well.”

It did not set well at all, his insides were on fire and he’d be lying if he were to say he didn’t open the little washroom window and that he did not in fact use up the entire air freshener. If you had to use the washroom, he’d have to ask you to wait, otherwise, you’d probably break up with him if you were to smell the aftermath of the war that had taken place in the tiled room. He huffed in exhaustion, glancing at his wristwatch, 4 A.M., it was late, even if you had a day off, you needed to sleep, good thing he changed the sheets today, you could take his bed and he'd take the couch.

Walking into the living room to find the TV switched off, remote controllers back in place on the console, coffee table clean, if he were to check the kitchen, he would find washed dishes and a cleaned counter. He saw you sitting on the couch, purse beside you, your phone in your lap- wait? You were leaving? Were you calling an Uber? You couldn’t possibly think he’d tell you to leave at this hour of the night, never- he wouldn’t drop you off either, knowing you, you’d just fall face first on your couch and wake up with the worst back pain next morning. He was about to ask you to sleep here when he heard a light snore, eyes flickering up from your phone to your face- oh, you were asleep. A small smile graced his lips as he sat down on the couch next to you, slowly reaching to caress your cheek, a form of guilt spreading through him as he noticed your tired features, something inside him blossoming, confirming that feel that he’d been pushing deep down within him, trying to ensure to not slip- but here he was ready to confess to you, confess that he had decided to spend the entirety of his life with you, solely because he had never met anyone who was so ready to spend time with him, spend time doing what he’d like. He’d shown you all sides of him, how he was a sweet man, how this same sweet man could snub rude customers who were mean to animals, how you’d seen him get cranky if he was woken up after a rough sleep, and how he’d shown you what he was like in his lowest when you’d come to his apartment to check up on him when his senior husky, Macho Man, the first dog he started his cafe with had passed away due to old age, though it had taken a big toll on him. You had walked into his apartment, looking around at the mess but dared not to utter anything negative, instead you had tiptoed to the six-foot-plus man who was curled in his bed, all tired and sad, coercing the heaps of blankets off him, as you helped him sit up, cupping his face, wiping his tears, “Aww….Yuyu….he’s in a better place now, playing with all those cute big and small doggos up there.” Kissing his tears dry you had pulled him out of bed, had him take a nice path and then had dragged him out in the sun, showing him why he had begun feeling about you this way.

You slowly opened your eyes to Yunho looking intently at you, deep in thought as his fingers continued to run through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. Actually, that had been what had you slowly slip out of your sleepy state, you felt ‘too relaxed’, not a feeling your nervous, overworked body was used to-

“I love you.”

Your breath hitched at the quiet whisper, finally twitching in action, reaching to grab his hand and bringing it down to your lap, clasping his hand in both of yours as you smiled at him, taking in his shocked expressions, “Care to repeat that for me?”

He raised a brow at your little smirk before shaking his head and giving you a big smile, “Well…I was declaring my love for my sleeping beauty who seemed to be spying on me.”

Your laughter echoed in the living room as you felt him move closer and envelope you in a hug, arms circling around you, squeezing you closer when you whispered back, “I love you too.”

Taste of Love

Personal Song Rec〜☆ I Feel Loved Aden, Amin

“Yes, but have you shown her your horrible taste pallet?”

Even though he wanted to argue with the stupid vet, he knew what Wooyoung met. Wooyoung had known Yeosang since middle school, he'd seen how weird the pretty airhead can be, especially when it came to his snacks. Wooyoung scratched the dog's ear before looking at Yeosang, “Dating a pastry chef and not telling her about your horrendous desserts is a bit of a deal breaker don't ya think?”

That was why Kang Yeosang had asked Jongho to give his best worker ant a day off on Valentine's day. He only said yes because it was Yeosang, anyone else would have gotten thrown out at such a barbaric request. You had smiled up at him, wiping your hands with your apron at the sight of the princely man who was talking to your boss, curious about what was going on. Only for them to split when you came closer, Jongho mumbling something about a day off tomorrow and your pretty boyfriend offered you a shy smile and giggled, “Dinner at my place tomorrow?”

Not a bad idea, you loved spending time with him, watching him game for hours, playing with dogs at his workplace, going for walks with him- anything actually, you just wanted good company and Yeosang could definitely be considered as great company. What was worrying you however, was his constant fidgeting. You'd never seen him like this, worrying over the slightest of things, running around the table to hand you a tissue instead of just passing the box. He didn't even let you get up to help him set the table.

You had brought fried chicken and a soda, even though he was persistent that you didn't need to, it was his treat, true, but you couldn't come empty handed, so…you may have brought a nice fudge cake for dessert too, something you had been planning to launch at the cafe, but you wanted your Sangie to taste it first, so he could give you his review and you could mold it to his taste.

Yeosang stared at the box in the kitchen, leaning closer to sniff the chocolate, God, it smelt divine but YOU and your GENEROUS LOVING BEHAVIOUR had foiled his plans of his dessert dish with your much normal, much more delicious and well thought out dish. Running his fingers through his hair he wondered if he should come out clean to you right now, “Love, I gotta tell you something, I Kang Yeosang am a total freak.” Or okay maybe he could rephrase it, “I gotta show u my true self, please don't run away my love, please, trust me, my intentions are pure.”

“Sangie?”

You called out, coming into the kitchen with the dirty plates in hand as you set them in the sink, eying the way he was staring at the cake, “What's the matter? Don't you like it?”

He shook his head and gave you a small smile, one that calms you down before he walked over and placed his hands on your shoulders, “I made dessert too…can we…try that first?”

Your head tilted to the side as you pondered for a moment before smiling at him, “That's why you've been so worried?” You reached for his cheek only to pinch it, earning a gasp from him before moving and running out of the kitchen, calling for him as you took a seat at the table “I'm waiting Chef Kang!”

Yeosang felt his cheeks heat up at that name, technically wasn't nervous about that but at least your consolation made him feel a bit better as he answered back, “Be right there!”

You stared at the bowl in front of you, ramen…and chocolate?

“Is this…a foreign dish, Sangie?”

He felt his heart clench at your innocence, oh God, he was about to destroy you, break you, ruin you for life. Shaking his head he handed you a spoon, “It's….my recipe…”

“Oh!? I got a special treat from Chef Kang himself!?” You giggled before taking a spoonful of broth and sniffing in. It didn't smell bad, though it was an odd choice of combined goods but, you trusted him, you trusted him with your heart and soul. That thought in mind you tasted the dish, freezing on the spot.

Yeosang was eagerly sitting next to you, he had dragged his chair next to yours, with a glass of water in hand and a tissue box near him, in case your reflex reaction were to spit it out. He watched the way your facial expressions change, from curiosity to determination and then you froze, as if you were trying to calculate something, comprehend something, trying to rationalise it. Good lord, she was probably thinking of how to break it to him- no what if she was phrasing a polite way of breaking up with him and-

“I LOVE THIS!”

His breath hitched at your screech, taking in the way you squealed, “I mean sure, it's not everyone's cup of tea but the sweet and spicy taste- the broth is tangy! plus the ramen adds a soft texture to it- why haven't you given me this before?”

He had honestly stopped listening because the moment you had called him a great cook- well, something like that, it was close enough, the point is, he had just realised something, something he was about to blurt out,

“I love you!”

Your monologue stopped as you turned your head to stare at the man who was staring back at you, his shaky hands reaching to cup your face as he blinked at you before whispering again, “I love you…” if there was one thing Yeosang was sure of, it was that he had developed these strange feelings for you, that had him thinking about you 24/7, that had him wanting to be close to you or near you, that's why he'd walk 10 blocks To the cafe for his lunch break, only so he could stare at you work around, passing him a smile every time you'd make eye contact with him. He just didn't know what to call it, he had no words to describe this warm fuzzy feeling…well…that is until now,

“I really do….love you.”

[hazydoe]

Farmer's Daughter

Warning +18 only age-gap,Explicit sexual relations, explicit language,dynamic power

Note:English is not my first language so I apologize in advance if I make any spelling or grammatical mistakes. Many thanks to everyone who read the first chapter of Redemption

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold. Joel looked toward the farmhouse in the distance. The place seemed peaceful, surrounded by fields of wheat swaying gently in the wind. He took a deep breath and moved forward, feeling the weight of the day on his shoulders. It wasn’t the first time he’d made this kind of delivery, but he never felt comfortable in such open spaces, so far from the noise of the city.

As he approached the main house, a figure appeared on the porch. It was a young woman, no older than twenty, with messy brown hair and hands busy with a large basket of strawberries. She wore a worn-out overall and boots. Her alert eyes locked onto Joel with a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Hello?” she asked, her voice firm but slightly trembling.

“I’m Joel,” he replied, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “I have a delivery for your father. He said he’d be here today.”

The young woman frowned and looked down for a moment before meeting his gaze again.

“My father isn’t here. He had to go to the nearest town for supplies. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Joel nodded slowly, assessing the situation. He didn’t like leaving the delivery with someone other than the intended recipient, but he couldn’t afford to come back another day. He had other matters to attend to, and the trip to the farm had been long.

“I understand,” he said finally. “Can you handle it? It’s important.”

She hesitated for a moment but then nodded with determination.

“Yes, I can. Come in.”

Joel followed her inside the house. The place was modest but cozy, with rustic wooden furniture and open windows. On a nearby table, there was a disassembled rifle, and Joel noticed the young woman casting nervous glances at him. He didn’t blame her. In such an isolated place, distrust was understandable.

“What’s your name?” Joel asked as he set his bag down on the floor.

“Lena,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “And don’t worry, I know how to handle these things. My father has taught me everything I need to know.”

Joel gave a half-smile. There was something about Lena that reminded him of Sarah, his daughter. That mix of innocence and determination that only young people who had grown up in tough environments could have.

“Good,” he said, opening the bag and pulling out a box of tools. “Here you go. Tools and some spare parts for the tractor. Your father and I agreed on an exchange.”

Lena nodded and took the box, placing it carefully on the table. Then she walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a cloth bag.

“Here’s what you agreed on,” she said, handing it to Joel. “Some money and a few preserves we made this summer. I hope it’s enough.”

Joel quickly checked the contents and nodded.

“It’s just what we need. Thanks.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as they looked at each other with curiosity, each assessing the other. Joel noticed Lena’s beauty, her body covered by the fabric of her jeans. Lena noticed Joel’s strong arms, his dark hair, and the marks of age on his face. Finally, Lena broke the ice.

“Are you a mechanic?” she asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

“Something like that,” Joel replied, shrugging.

She nodded, as if she understood perfectly.

“I think I’d better go,” Joel said, looking intently at the young girl.

Joel walked down the path leading back to his truck, but something stopped him. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something about Lena that made him stay, something that drew him in beyond the simple transaction. Maybe it was her eyes and the way they looked at him with curiosity and maybe even desire.

Lena was still on the porch, sitting in a rocking chair with one leg resting on the railing, watching him with those eyes that seemed to see right through him. Joel slowly approached, feeling the air between them charged with a tension he couldn’t ignore.

“Do you need something else?” Lena asked, her voice soft but firm.

Joel stopped a few steps away from her, looking directly into her eyes.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Maybe I just need a moment.”

Lena studied him for a moment, as if deciding whether to trust him. Then, with a calm movement, she stepped down from the porch and walked toward him. Joel could feel the warmth of her body, the scent of earth and fresh grass that surrounded her.

“My father won’t be back until tomorrow,” Lena said, her voice now barely a whisper.

Joel felt a shiver run down his spine. He wasn’t a man who let his emotions take over easily, but there was something about Lena that made him lose control. Without a second thought, he closed the distance between them and took her by the waist, feeling her tense for a moment before relaxing in his arms.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” Joel murmured, though his actions said otherwise.

“Maybe not,” Lena replied, bringing her face closer to his. “But it is.”

Their lips met in a slow but passionate kiss, filled with a need neither of them had admitted until that moment. Joel felt the world around him fade away, leaving only Lena and the warmth radiating from her. His hands explored her back, feeling the tension in her muscles, as she pulled him closer, as if she couldn’t stand the distance between them.

“Joel,” Lena murmured between kisses, her voice trembling but full of desire.

He didn’t respond with words but with actions. He lifted her effortlessly, feeling her wrap around him, and carried her back inside the house. The door closed behind them, and Joel pressed her against the wall, never breaking the contact between their lips. Lena held him tightly, as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.

“This is crazy,” Joel said, though his hands were already unbuttoning Lena’s overalls.

“Don’t worry, I’ve always hoped someone attractive would pass by here,” she replied, sliding her hands under his shirt to feel the warm skin of his back.

Joel couldn’t resist. The need he had been suppressing for years surfaced, and he let Lena guide him to her room, a small space with a bed covered in white sheets. He gently laid her down on the bed, looking at her with an intensity that made Lena hold her breath. His hands explored every inch of her body, feeling her respond to every touch, every caress.

“Joel,” Lena whispered, arching toward him. “Don’t stop.”

He had no intention of doing so. With slow but deliberate movements, Joel undressed her, revealing the soft, warm skin hidden beneath the layers of clothing. Lena looked at him with eyes full of desire, and Joel felt his own body respond to the intensity of her gaze.

“You’re too beautiful,” Joel murmured, lowering his head to trail kisses along her neck and shoulders.

Lena held him tightly, feeling the world around her fade away, leaving only Joel and the warmth radiating from him. Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that felt natural, as if they were destined to meet in that moment.

“Joel,” Lena moaned, burying her hands in his hair. “Don’t leave.”

He didn’t respond with words but with actions. He removed the only piece of clothing she wore under her overalls—a pair of white panties. Joel took a condom from his wallet, creating a small, painful distance between them to put it on his large member. Lena looked down to see it, a small smile of amazement on her face.

“It’s too big for me, Joel,” she said as she kissed him uncontrollably. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll make sure you enjoy it,” he said, positioning himself at her entrance.

He thrust in for the first time, bracing himself against the headboard of the bed. Both were a mess, moaning after the first thrust.

He pulled out completely, catching Lena off guard, and then thrust back in with a strong, painful motion. Lena began to tear up.

Joel pulled away for a moment to give her a break and stimulate her breasts. They were the perfect size, fitting perfectly in his hand. He took one roughly and lazily licked her nipple, looking up at her to see her reaction. She only moaned in response to the pleasure. He lowered his arm and grabbed his member, massaging it against her leg as he realized that, due to their height difference, he couldn’t reach her sweet spot.

Joel realized what she wanted and stopped licking and biting her breasts, leaving them red and marked by him. He helped fulfill her desire by rubbing his member against her clit.

“I knew it from the moment I saw you,” Joel said as he thrust hard into her. “Knew what?” Lena asked, arching like a cat in pleasure. “That you were too needy for cock. Did you think I didn’t notice how innocent you were pretending to be? Daddy’s little girl, what would he think if he found out you slept with an older man?”

“He’d probably be mad because from now on, I won’t be able to be without you.”

Joel continued to move firmly, feeling Lena adjust perfectly to him. His hands gripped her hips tightly, leaving marks on her skin. Lena moaned with each thrust, her nails digging into Joel’s back, drawing red lines he barely felt in his ecstasy.

“What else do you want, Lena?” Joel asked in a hoarse voice, his lips brushing her ear. “Tell me.”

Lena could barely form words, but her eyes begged for more. Joel smiled, satisfied, and changed the angle of his movements, searching for that spot that would make her scream. When he found it, Lena arched her back, a muffled cry escaping her lips.

“Joel!” she screamed, her hands clutching him as if he were her only anchor in a sea of pleasure.

Joel didn’t slow down, feeling his own climax approaching. His hands moved to Lena’s breasts, massaging them firmly, feeling her nipples harden under his fingers. Lena moaned, her body trembling beneath his, each of Joel’s movements bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Baby, you’re going to come,” Joel murmured, his words a hot whisper against Lena’s skin. “Let it go.”

And she did. With a muffled cry, Lena let herself be carried away by the wave of pleasure, her body convulsing beneath Joel’s. He held her, feeling his own orgasm hit, filling her with each final thrust.

When they finally stopped, both panting, Joel collapsed beside Lena, pulling her to rest against his chest. Lena curled up against him, her breathing still uneven.

“That was...” Lena began, but Joel interrupted her with a soft kiss.

“You don’t need to say it,” Joel said, stroking her hair. “I know.”

Lena smiled, closing her eyes as she relaxed against him. Joel held her, feeling a strange sense of peace he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Maybe this wouldn’t change anything, but for a moment, it had been perfect.

[ladykailitha]

Heartbreak in Overdrive Part 1

Yeah, I know this is supposed to be Spellbound, but like this has five chapters in backlog, and it really needs to be let out before it breaks containment.

The title comes I'll Wait by Van Halen, as I wanted something to do with fashion and @bookworm0690 really came in clutch with these lyrics.

Summary: Eddie is a top model know for his temper tantrums. Steve is war photographer coming out of a traumatic experience by doing fashion photography. When hotheaded Eddie runs up against Steve's cool under pressure attitude, sparks fly.

Also I tend to make up fictional brands so I don't have to keep running for google every time I need a brand name for something.

~

Eddie Munson fought hard to be where he was. He had climbed up from the literal fucking gutter to being a top model. Fuck that bitch for ruining that title in the minds of the masses, making it meaningless, but he earned it.

He had full creative control over every little aspect of his shoots and everyone knew it. They knew what they were getting when they hired him. Every part of him was what they fucking paid for. His whole glam metal look was a package deal. His long hair, his tattoos, his style. That’s what they got when they hired him.

His current gig was St. John Whiskey, they were trying to appeal to the younger party crowd with their new canned cocktails. Eddie had tried them and they weren’t half bad. If someone served them at rave he went to, he would happy down several of the damn things. But he wouldn’t ask for them. Like ever.

Eddie briefly wondered who was going to shoot the ad, because they hadn’t told him before he signed on the dotted line. Not that it mattered, whoever they got would try to fob it off to someone else. That little detail made the little demon in Eddie curl up and purr. That companies would trip over themselves to get Eddie to model for them, while the actual photographers were fighting over who had to photograph him.

He arrived on set which was made up to look like a club, there were about a dozen extras all tarted up in club gear. To the right was his hair and makeup artist, Vickie Cameron, to his left was his manager next to a row of clothes that Eddie would choose from for the shoot.

Tucked behind a little partition were three photographers; Jonathan Byers, Argyle Ramirez, and Tommy Hagan. They were all playing roshambo. They were playing several games before Tommy groaned.

“Fuck!” he cursed and then walked over to get his kit. His assistant Carol immediately started setting up the lights and shit from his stuff while Argyle and Jonathan celebrated their win.

“Hello, boys,” Eddie said sweetly, causing everyone nearby to jump in the air.

Jonathan had the decency to look embarrassed, Argyle just grinned at him. Tommy on the other hand, his expression soured.

“Munson,” he said tersely. “Keep the tantrums to a minimum and maybe both of us will fucking survive this day.”

Eddie’s face transformed into a feral grin. “Do you job properly and there won’t be a tantrum to be had. Be the hack you usually are and I make no promises.”

Tommy surged forward, likely to start swinging, but Jonathan held him back. Eddie batted his eyelashes at him innocently, then he turned on his heel and made straight to Chrissy and wardrobe. Hopefully they had something good in there he could wear.

Eddie walked over to Chrissy as she was separating some shirts for him.

“They want a dance club vibe,” she said as she handed him four shirts, two jackets, and three pairs of pants. “Everything here has your style but with that club flare they’re looking for.”

He smirked. “Someone, somewhere is learning.”

She swatted at his ass. “Go get dressed, dick. Then hurry back so we can get your accessories picked out so we can get Vickie started on your hair and makeup.”

Eddie nodded and took his prizes to the dressing room. The first jacket was a blueish-black racer jacket and the other was a suit jacket with black sequins embroidered in a brocade pattern. The shirts were all button ups. Of the two black options, one was a soft cotton and the other was satin. The white shirt was of the same material of the first black shirt and the remaining shirt was a silky grey. The pants ranged from tight leather to ripped denim with a tuxedo pant thrown in for funsies.

He tried on several combinations before he settled on the leather jacket, the silver shirt, and tight leather pants. He padded back out to Chrissy who had an array of watches, necklaces, bracelets, chains, and shoes.

He immediately pulled out the shiny combat boots and started layering the jewelry just the way he liked it. Once he was satisfied, he sat down at Vickie’s chair and flipped his hair. “Miss DeMille, I’m ready for my close up!”

Vickie laughed. “Let’s get this pretty face even prettier for the camera.” She got to work on his hair first, washing and conditioning it to take the hair products it would take to tame Eddie’s famous curls.

By the time he was finally ready, so was Tommy and Carol.

She eyed him and then nodded approvingly. He matched the vibe they were going for, but stood out in a fashionable way.

“Ready when you are, princess,” Tommy sneered, pulling out a camera from one of his bags.

Eddie grinned at him and then got into position. Tommy called out poses and shots while Carol managed the lenses, cameras and filters. Things were going well until they weren’t.

“Can someone please tell me why this asshole extra keeps standing in my fucking light?!” he growled.

Tommy stood up from where he had been crouched on the floor. “There is no one in your light, I’m literally taking the pictures and there is not single shade over you.”

“Not that light, dumbass,” Eddie snarled, “the light from the disco ball. It’s supposed to be glittering on my face to bring in the club vibe but some asshole is literal blocking it.”

Tommy went through the memory card and went back as far twenty frames. “Shit, he’s right.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m right, so are you going to get this asshole to stop mugging the shots or am I going to have to lock myself in my dressing room until you do?”

“I don’t even know who it is,” Tommy snapped back. “How am I supposed to find a needle in a fucking haystack?”

Eddie threw his arms in the air. “The disco ball is there!” He pointed behind where he was sitting at a table and to the left. “So it’s obviously NOT the people to my right or in the foreground! Use your fucking head!”

He stood up and stalked toward dressing room, leaving a path of destruction in his wake of knocked over chairs and people glaring at him as he pushed by them.

It took Tommy and Carol about an hour to find out who had been blocking the disco ball’s light and coach Eddie out his dressing room.

All the news articles blew up that Eddie Munson threw a fit on the set of his most recent photo shoot again. Talking about what a diva he was and how unhinged he was.

Chrissy sat him down to talk about the articles. “You probably shouldn’t have thrown the chairs, let’s be fair. But all the pictures that were taken after you came back were the best shots Tommy took.”

Eddie sneered. “They were in the way and I didn’t throw them, I tried pushing them out the way and they got tangled up and they fell. I just needed to be somewhere else in that moment or more than just chairs would have been flying.”

Chrissy sighed. She knew. She knew better than anyone how much space Eddie needed when he got into his head.

“Well,” she said, “we’ll ride it out like we always do. If Tom Cruise can come out of coach jumping with a career intact, you will come of this one just fine, too.”

Eddie threw his head head back and buried his hands into his hair. He counted backward from twenty until he got his thoughts under control.

“I wish Carol was the photographer,” he said mournfully. “She actually seems to understand the artistry behind taking the perfect shot.”

“And we both know she’s never going to a chance,” Chrissy said ruefully, rolling her eyes. “Because she’s a woman. But it wasn’t her who found the extra who was getting in the way of the shots.”

That made Eddie sit up. “Yeah, then who did?”

Chrissy shrugged. “Some friend of Tommy’s who was visiting. He’s some hot shot war photographer that Tommy met in art school and was in town for a couple of days for some award show.”

“Maybe hire him next time,” Eddie said with a snort.

~

When Eddie heard that it was going to be Argyle Ramirez doing the shoot for the Eva Laurent cologne that he was mildly annoyed. He wasn’t the incompetent asshole that Tommy was, but he was far too laid back for his tastes.

Eddie got to the set which was in Argyle’s studio. Everything was white and would be lighted to the appropriate colors. In the middle was a single black leather chair; one of those overstuffed kind.

There were about a half dozen people milling around and that brought him up short.

“Um...” he said glancing over at Chrissy briefly. “I thought it was going to be a closed set?”

Argyle looked up at him with that hazy, dopey smile of his. “The man of the hour has arrived. Awesome!” He looked around at the other people in the room. “Don’t worry my man, once you’re ready to drop robe, most of these people will have cleared out.”

“Most?” Eddie asked, trying not squirm.

“Sure,” Argyle said, blinking at him in confusion. “I’ve got to have my assistants to move things around and shit. But everyone else will have cleared out.”

Eddie bit on his lip. He couldn’t argue with that. Though he had tried. Several times before. Whenever he pushed back on being naked in front of strangers he was told that he was baring his ass to the world, what was a few extra people on the day of the shoot.

He went to go get his hair and makeup done, with Vickie trying to ease her nerves but talking about her long distance girlfriend who also did hair, but always needed help with her smokey eye makeup.

Eddie let her chatter wash over him and he relaxed, getting out of his head and into his body. His body was his job, his sanctuary, and his weapon all rolled into one. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, releasing the last bit of tension in his shoulders.

When he came out of hair and makeup he was pleased to find there were only two other people there besides Argyle. One knelt by a bag, while the other stood by the lights.

That was more than he would have liked, but he had to let it slide. He knew that there were some photographers who had full on teams and all they did was take the pictures. But Eddie had it in his rider that if they wanted him to model for them they couldn’t use those photographers.

He was about down to his underwear when Argyle came bursting into the room. He shrieked and pulled his pants over his crotch.

“Don’t you knock?!” Eddie roared in outrage, clutching his pants close to his body as a shield.

Argyle held his hands up and backed out. “Sorry, dude, I thought hadn’t gotten undressed yet.” He closed the door.

Eddie could tell the man was waiting awkwardly outside so he hurried to get undressed and throw on the black satin robe he was given. He tied the sash tightly around his waist and slid the slippers on his feet. He slowly opened the door and peeked out to make sure it was just Argyle waiting for him.

He stepped out into the hallway and Argyle looked up from his phone.

“You ready now?” he asked.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but if you had been like a minute later or two minutes sooner, I wouldn’t have been in the middle of getting undressed.”

“I’m going to be seeing you naked in five minutes anyway,” Argyle groused. “I really don’t see what the problem is.”

Eddie bit his tongue. He wanted to say the difference was consent, but it seemed like nothing would penetrate the thick fog of weed smoke around the photographer’s head. He just strolled past, his head held high.

Once he had warmed up enough he dropped the robe and the assistant in charge of the lenses rushed forward to grab it.

He sprawled on the leather chair, the material sticking to his ass.

After a few minutes of struggling to get comfortable he finally snapped.

“Is there anyway we can put something down on the chair so my skin isn’t being peeled off with every move I make?”

One of the assistants, Eddie couldn’t be assed to care which one, rushed forward with a long golden drape and laid it over the leather chair. Then when Eddie sat back on it she draped it over his body artistically, making the shot more provocative and less in your face nudity.

“Good thinking, Karla,” Argyle huffed as he knelt to take the next shot. “Pull his hair out a little bit so that it lays flat over the drape.”

Karla hurried to do as she was told. The shoot went more smoothly after that, but he could tell Argyle was annoyed for not having thought of the drape first.

Eddie didn’t spend the whole shoot covered by the drape, but it added something special to the ad that the Eva Laurent people loved.

But Argyle told everyone that Eddie had been reluctant to disrobe in front of people and that’s why the drape was added.

It pissed Eddie off, but with people wanting to believe the worst of him, trying to refute it was like pissing in the wind.

But he made sure to tell the Eva Laurent people that it was Karla’s idea for the drape on his way out, just to fuck with him back.

~

Tag List: NINE SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chaotic-waffle

[yumeka-sxf]

The school vacation is over and the new term at Eden is starting...of course, Anya is less than pleased with this development 😅

Seriously, her groaning reminds me of my "anti-school" phase I had when I was around her age, lol.

This chapter was mainly focused on introducing Anya's new classmates. I'll admit that I feel SxF has enough side characters already for the type of series it is, but maybe they'll only be relevant for one story/arc (like Daybreak and Wheeler). Though having another female friend in Connie might be nice. She seems weird enough for Anya to have fun reading her mind 😂

Since recent chapters have dropped hints about Anya's past and the emphasis on mind-reading abilities/the occult via Melinda, plus we have the lingering mystery of Anya's affinity for classical languages, I feel like this new set up at Eden is going to play into that. Not only has Arnold returned, but we now have a supposed prince in the mix. It's been theorized that Anya's classical language skills are somehow tied to royalty in a foreign land...so maybe Tertius is connected to that somehow. I mean, you must be royally royal to have hair shaped like a crown 🤣

Then we have the as-of-yet unnamed kid who flicked a booger on Tertius. Curious what role he'll play if all this is indeed leading up to more Anya backstory reveal.

I should clear up some weird translation in the English version. In the below panel, it seems like Tertius is mentioning Jeeves, but the term he's using is 爺や ("jiiya") which I believe is an old term used to refer to an elderly male servant.

Now the word "jeeves" in English is a generic term used to refer to a butler or valet. If you've watched enough movies and/or TV series, you may have heard someone refer to their butler as "jeeves." So technically it's not an incorrect translation, but it's incredibly confusing because we already have an established character named Jeeves, who is Damian's butler. So this could make people think that Tertius knows Jeeves, which is likely not the case. They really should have come up with a different word to use, something like "pop" or "gramps."

Besides the new characters, we now have more potential for Anya and Damian to be alone, without influence from Emile, Ewen, and Becky. Hopefully it will lead to more talk about Anya's mind-reading and Desmond lore.

Guess that's all I have to say about this chapter as it mostly seems like setup for what's to come. I've probably mentioned before that the Eden-focused stories aren't exactly my favorites, especially when Anya isn't a key player. But hopefully whatever's going on with Tertius and the booger kid will be leading up to something significant in the end.

Interestingly, this is the first chapter since Loid's backstory that's being split into parts, as this chapter is called 112.1 (112 part 1 in the Japanese version). Similar to what he did for Loid's backstory chapters, Endo tweeted about this for chapter 112. Guess it's just gonna be two parts?

Also, on an unrelated note, we also got the cover reveal for volume 15 today! Features Martha, not surprised since it will include chapters from the Henry/Martha backstory arc.

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 04

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS/WARNINGS: flashback in italics, the first chapter all in MC pov!, The Truce, yoongi is insane about pens and notebooks again, communication via lipliner and water, yijeong cameo, park jimin strikes fear into yoongi’s heart, tangerine hats and heart-pocket pants, seokjin is unhelpful, idk most of this chapter is a bit silly to be completely honest with y’all, stuff happens but i don't want to give too much away (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 6.8k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: i told y’all this was a slow burn... but happy valentine’s day! thank you to tanni @yooniivrse and K @ktownshizzle for beta reading this chapter (and K again for literally writing a whole line for me when i got stuck)

CH. 04: E-X-P-L-O-D-E

There are worse places to be, you think, than sitting across from Yoo Kihyun.

He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. Expensive clothes, perfect teeth, dark brown hair styled neatly away from his forehead. An endearing little divot at the curve of his sharp jawline. The kindest eyes you think you’ve ever seen.

The restaurant he’s picked is a bit hard to get into, a new trendy spot that’s had a line out the door every night since it opened. You’re honestly a little impressed that he managed to get a reservation. If the flush in his cheeks when you mention that is anything to go by, that was his intention.

You’re no good at first dates, but Kihyun doesn’t seem to mind carrying the conversation. He has plenty to talk about, riding high on his critically acclaimed debut. Well-earned acclaim, in your book—he has a beautiful voice, along with a charming personality that his growing fanbase is sure to love the more they get to know him.

You’re happy to listen, and even happier to keep the attention off of yourself for as long as you can. Kihyun’s relatively new to the industry, hasn’t been in the game for too long, and you’re starting to realize that the less he knows about you, the more you like him.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been in such an intimate setting with a man, and you’re surprised by how at ease you begin to feel as the night goes on. The tension in your body dissipates more and more with every sip of wine, every kind word. Kihyun hasn’t made any move to touch you, but by the time he pays the check, you’re starting to think you’d let him if he tried. 

You wait together, side by side, for the valet to pull his car around. Maybe it’s the wine, but in a moment of bravery, you allow your fingers to slide between his tentatively. Your heart skips a beat when his hand squeezes yours, interlacing your fingers all the way.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Kihyun says, his voice soft. “I’m sure you get that all the time, being a model. But it’s true.”

His free hand comes up to brush your hair away from your face, and you turn to him. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you,” he adds.

It’s the first thing everyone notices about you now, with your new career path. More often than not, it’s the only thing people bother to notice, you think. You still haven’t learned how to respond to the compliments, not when you don’t even know how to feel about them.

You kiss him instead. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him to meet you. His lips firm against yours, frozen in surprise, before they yield into something softer. Tentative. Chaste. Gentle.

You were probably going to do it anyway. It feels better than saying ‘thank you’ when you’re not sure you’d really mean it.

★ ★ ★

A week has passed since you shook hands with the devil.

To his credit, Yoongi seems to be holding up his end of the deal—better than you are, even. It’s unsettling. You think you hate it.

It’s gone like this:

Day One

You wake up and choose violence. 

The memory of Yoongi using your ex-boyfriend against you is still fresh in your brain, and you decide to say fuck the truce until he pays suitably. It’s only fair.

Yoongi doesn’t leave the house often, unless dragged, but the universe seems to be on your side today. He’s out of cigarettes! Praise be. Surely his absence, however brief, will give you enough time to exact your revenge.

You tiptoe down the stairs just in time to watch the back of his stupid head disappear as the front door closes behind him. As soon as the lock clicks, you’re springing into action.

Careful not to tip off his bandmates, you slink around the house, stuffing your cardigan pockets with every single Uni-Ball Jetstream Premier pen you can get your sights on. 

Maybe it’s childish, stealing all of Yoongi’s pens, but fuck it. What else do you know about him? What else is there to take? Pens will have to do.

By the time you’ve scanned each room in the house, twice, your pockets are overflowing. More pens create indentations in your stomach, stashed in the elastic of your leggings like a belt. Like a trophy.

Fifty-six pens are dumped into the bathroom sink. An absolute mental patient amount of pens for one person to have, you think as you separate them into groups of seven. You bundle them with hair ties, stuff them into your emptied makeup bag, and hide your crime in plain sight—the bathroom counter.

Then you wait.

The payoff isn’t immediate. Once he gets back, it takes an hour or so for Yoongi to start patting his pockets. A little longer for drawers to be rifled through, for couch cushions to be overturned. You just watch, confident that he won’t find anything.

By the end of the night, the house looks like it’s been ransacked by a crazed fan, and your makeup bag remains untouched.

Day Two

You have sightseeing plans with Jeongguk today, a visit to the aquarium where photos are sure to be taken. You’re just about to leave the bedroom and head downstairs to meet him when you notice a piece of paper at your feet. 

When you pick it up, you’re faced with the scrawl of Yoongi’s handwriting, smudged in an eerily familiar shade of pink.

The name Yoo Kihyun will never come out of my mouth again if that’s what you want. Have mercy on my pens. They didn’t do anything wrong.

— The only person committed to this truce, apparently

P.S. Your lipliner is now a prisoner of war

You absolutely do not snort at Yoongi’s note. You don’t find him funny.

What is funny, however, is that when he swiped the lipliner from the bathroom you share with Jeongguk, he was less than three feet away from all fifty-six of his pens the whole time. Hilarious.

Later, when you’re watching a group of penguins waddle behind glass, you’re hit with a wave of genius.

“Jeongguk-ah.”

“Hm?”

“Can you give me Yoongi’s number? I don’t have it.”

Jeongguk seems more than happy to comply, instantly fishing his phone out from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Wow, you two are really getting along now, huh?” he asks, sounding more than pleased as he taps on his phone screen a few times.

“What can I say?” you hum, retrieving your own phone as it buzzes in your purse. “You were right. We have more in common than we thought.”

You open your camera app and hit record, zooming in on one of the penguins for a few seconds. It’s the first thing you send to Yoongi.

You: has anyone ever told you that you walk like this?

Day Three

Yoongi has a new pack of pens delivered to the house. You decide to let him keep them, since your message was clearly received. No response to your penguin text yet.

Day Four

Jeongguk needs to learn to read the room, you decide.

It’s late as fuck. You’ve been out all night with him, on another sightseeing trip—following him around, holding his hand, resting your head on his shoulder. Everything that’s expected of you.

By the time you make it to the bedroom, the mask of ‘fake girlfriend’ feels too tight, too heavy. All you really want is to climb into bed and go to sleep.

Instead, you’re wide awake, idly scrolling on your phone in bed while Jeongguk talks to his real girlfriend over the phone. With all the fucking lights on.

Despite how hard you try to tune them out, you catch every single word. Jeongguk doesn’t seem to even notice that you’re in the room with him, that you’re trying to sleep, too busy cooing sweet nothings over the line. 

In this moment, you’re more aware of where you stand with Jeongguk than you’ve ever been. And for the first time since this whole charade began, you’re actually kind of grateful that you’re not really dating Jeongguk. As it turns out, Jeongguk in love is nauseating. Since you’re on your phone, you go ahead and tell Seokjin as much.

After toughing it out for nearly half an hour, you slip out of bed. You decide to go get yourself a glass of water or something, give Jeongguk time with his girlfriend. You’re sure he misses her.

You tiptoe to the door quietly, not wanting to draw any more attention than necessary to your presence or your departure. “Noona, I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Jeongguk whines, completely oblivious to you. 

Aw hell nah.

You book it down the stairs as fast as humanly possible, so fast that you’re out of breath by the time you make it to the bottom.

The living room is dark when you pass through it. You think, for a moment, that you and Jeongguk might be the only ones still awake at this hour. As you get closer to the kitchen, though, the smell of fresh coffee floods your senses.

There’s only one person in this house insane enough to make coffee this late at night.

“Hey.” 

The sound of your voice makes Yoongi freeze in his tracks, caught, but he shakes it off quickly. 

“Hey,” he replies in kind, looking you over. “You’re up late.”

Something in his tone makes you pause, confused, until you look down at yourself and realize what he must be thinking. You’re in sleep shorts and a tank top, barely covered despite the chill outside, sneaking downstairs late at night. From the room that you share with your supposed boyfriend. Out of breath and shaken up.

He probably thinks you just had sex.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply stiffly. “Thought I’d get some water.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else, opting instead to stare at the coffee pot as it brews in front of him. Good. You don’t want to know what he’s thinking.

You grab a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it up at the sink. It hits you, as you take a sip, that you haven’t actually spoken to Yoongi since the truce began four days ago. Nothing beyond a note written in your lipliner and an unanswered text about penguins. You don’t know how to act around him now, unsure of how guarded you need to be.

Thankfully (you hope), he breaks the silence first.

“I’ll be out of your hair once this is done,” he says, gesturing towards the coffee. You can’t help but note that he still isn’t looking at you.

“Who drinks coffee this late, anyway?” It’s an attempt at a joke, something to cut through the awkwardness settling between you.

Right at that moment, the coffee pot beeps. Wordlessly, Yoongi fills his mug and shuffles past you like he’s in a hurry, hot coffee threatening to spill over.

“People with albums to write,” he mumbles once he reaches the doorway. Without another glance in your direction, he’s gone.

Day Five

Your day starts with a pounding in your head.

Despite both of you falling asleep around the same time (read: late as hell), the couch Jeongguk’s been sleeping on is desolate when you open your eyes. 

He does that, you’ve noticed. No matter how late he stays up, he’s always up at the asscrack of dawn, going for a run or whatever it is he feels so compelled to do during the devil’s hours.

You roll out of bed around ten. You don’t have anything to do today, and judging by the quiet, it seems like you might have an empty house on your hands. It’s for the best, you think, because your skull feels like it’s about to pop.

Coffee, then. That should help.

Almost as soon as you cross the threshold from bedroom into the hallway, you’re intercepted by an extremely perturbed Yoongi.

“Okay, the pen thing was cute and all, but this is a little different,” he says. No hi, hello, how are you? Great. Your temples are throbbing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, making an attempt to push past him so you can get to the stairs, but Yoongi stops you with a hand on your elbow. Again with that shit.

“YN,” he huffs, unimpressed. “Just give it back. I know you have it.”

“Have what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeat, jerking your arm out of his grasp. “Will you stop fucking doing that, by the way?”

“My notebook,” Yoongi says, stepping in front of you again. “I can’t find it, and you stealing my shit seems to be a running theme this week.”

You blink at him, brows knitted together in confusion. His notebook? The fuck?

“What, you only had the one? But five dozen pens didn’t seem like overkill?”

“YN, I’m not fucking around,” he snaps. “There’s shit I need in there. Like all the songs for the album I’m here to write? An album I’d really like to finish as fast as possible.” 

He doesn’t say the ‘so I can get away from you’ part, but he doesn’t really have to. His tone says enough.

That doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have his shit.

“Should’ve kept better track of it, I guess. I don’t know what to tell you.”

At this, Yoongi laughs, sharp and bitter. “You are fucking ridiculous, you know that? You’re the one who wanted this stupid truce. I was perfectly fine with the way we were operating before, but you came to me, practically begging me to play nice. What the fuck have I been doing?”

He’s looking at you like he expects an answer. You clench your fists at your sides. “Playing nice,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Better than you,” he adds, arms crossed over his chest. “I know you’re used to everyone letting you get away with whatever, but I’m not Kihyun, and I’m not Jeongguk. I don’t gain anything by letting you act like a brat.”

That makes you bristle. “Fuck you. I don’t have your stupid notebook, Yoongi. It may come as a shock to you, but I’m not interested in reading any more shitty lyrics about how much of a cunt you think I am.”

With that, you shove him out of your way once and for all. Blood rushes through your ears as you hurry down the stairs, almost running face-first into a wide-eyed Jimin in your haste. 

Shit. You can only hope he didn’t hear any of that.

You run into Yoongi one more time, right before bed. Same as last night, you’re getting yourself a glass of water while he makes coffee. You move around each other in stony silence, both of you unwilling to acknowledge the other’s presence in the kitchen. 

This time, though, you’re the one that leaves first. It feels a little like getting the last word.

Day Six

You spend the whole day in Teams meetings. You packed your schedule on purpose this time, disinterested in dealing with anyone that isn’t paid to kiss your ass. 

You eat a power bar for lunch. At dinner, Jeongguk brings a plate upstairs for you. You claim that you’re too busy to come down, but really, you’re still licking your wounds after your run-in with Yoongi yesterday afternoon.

It seems stupid now, but you really thought things were getting a bit better between the two of you. Or, at least, you hoped so. You weren’t naive enough to think that Yoongi was starting to like you, but you did think that there was a mutual respect forming there.

Your mistake.

It’s late when you decide to venture downstairs. You’re restless, having spent the better part of an hour tossing and turning while Jeongguk snores from the other side of the room.

Late enough that you think, hope, that you’ll be able to avoid another run-in with Yoongi. Even if he’s still awake, there’s no way he’s making coffee at this hour. You held off for long enough.

When you reach the kitchen, you find that you’re half right. The coffee pot is nearly empty, but judging by the aroma, the pot wasn’t made all that long ago. Yoongi, however, is nowhere to be found.

On the kitchen counter sits a glass of water, and next to it, a scrap of paper. Blank, but unmistakably from Yoongi’s thought-to-be-missing notebook.

Huh. So he found it.

You take the glass upstairs with you, careful not to wake Jeongguk as you sneak back into the room. It’s only when you climb back into bed that your phone buzzes beside you. When you open it, you’re greeted by the sight of your still-unanswered penguin text, and a new message.

The Devil: 🏳️

Day Seven

When you venture into the living room in the morning, you’re surprised to find the whole band gathered around the seating area. 

For the most part, the house has remained pretty quiet during the time you’ve been here. Today, though, it’s rowdy. You quickly find out why when you spot an unfamiliar fifth face—a handsome stranger with his arm slung around Yoongi’s shoulders.

A new bombshell has entered the villa. 

The chattering stops as soon as you’re spotted. You don’t even get a chance to be properly introduced to the new houseguest before you’re intercepted by Jimin, who throws himself in front of you at the foot of the stairs. 

“The inappropriately dressed goddess in silk shorts is Jeonggukie’s girlfriend, YN.”

“You may recognize her face from every Olive Young in Seoul,” Taehyung adds with amusement. 

“YN, this is Yijeong.” Jimin turns around, pointing at you. You think you catch a twitch in his right eye. “Go get dressed. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Um… Okay,” you say, half-awake and confused. 

Once you’re dressed less than half an hour later, you’re all piling into the van outside. The busy day, you find out, consists of a trip to the Little Prince citrus orchard—the trip that the band takes every time they’re in Jeju. You guess it was fast tracked due to Yijeong’s arrival.

In any other circumstance, you’d be thrilled at the prospect of spending your day picking tangerines, but the vibe seems off. Jimin looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, and the glances you catch him sending Yoongi’s way chill you to the bone. You don’t know what Yoongi did to piss him off, but it seems like Jimin has officially cracked, and you don’t really want to get on his bad side by asking.

Still, you suck it up. There will be plenty of photo opportunities, you reason. Plus, the hallabong smoothie this place offers looks really fucking good.

Upon entry, you’re handed a small wicker basket and gloves for tangerine picking. At the very least, the weather is suitable for what Jimin has in store. It’s the kind of winter day that feels fresh and crisp, more than comfortable to walk around in as long as you have a jacket.

At first, the group breaks off into twos—Jimin and Taehyung, Yoongi and Yijeong, you and Jeongguk. You’re not exactly mad about the pairing, considering it means you’ll get to take those pictures for Seoyeon to post on your Instagram. Jeongguk is more than willing to indulge you, immediately tugging you close and snapping a selca with his cheek smushed against yours.

As your basket fills, though, you end up rotating through the group. Taehyung, dressed all in warm tones, buys you one of those smoothies you’ve been eyeing. Jimin snickers at you as you spike it with the flask you’ve had stashed in your purse, stealing a sip. Even Yijeong makes a point to walk with you for a bit, re-introducing himself politely.

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to greet you properly earlier,” he says, sheepish. “It’s hard to get a word in with this group, sometimes.”

“So I’m learning,” you quip back easily, eyes scanning over the hanging hallabongs surrounding your path. “So, you’re here for the weekend, then?”

“Seems like it. Yoongi-yah called me down earlier this week. He wants a fresh pair of eyes for a song he’s working on.”

You scoff at that, unable to help yourself. “Like he doesn’t have three other pairs already?”

Yijeong gives you a sidelong glance, although it isn’t unkind. “He can be kind of secretive,” he explains, careful. “I think he just wanted the opinion of someone without a vested interest.”

You hum, unsure of how to respond. It makes sense, you guess.

“Am I wrong in assuming there’s a little bit of… tension there?” Yijeong continues. “Between you two.”

“We’re working on it,” you mumble, taking a much-needed sip of your smoothie. “Really. Chalk it up to incompatible personalities.”

“Ah.” Yijeong chuckles knowingly. “I get it. Yoongi-yah can be a little…”

“Bitchy?”

“Guarded,” he snorts. “But bitchy, too. I thought the same, when we first met. I was signed to the label about a year after Burn the Stage was. It took us a while to become as close as we are now.”

“You’re a musician?” you ask, interest piqued. You’ve never heard his name before, but granted, you don’t really keep track of that side of the industry anymore.

“Soloist,” Yijeong confirms, seemingly unoffended by your lack of recognition. “Producer, sometimes. I helped master their last album. I guess I impressed Yoongi, back then.”

“Teach me your ways,” you joke, earning another laugh from him.

“He’s not as hard to figure out as he likes to come off. It’s getting him to trust you, that's the hard part.”

Ah. Well. You’re kind of fucked in that department.

“Just give it time,” Yijeong says reassuringly. “If you’ve won the rest of them over, Yoongi will follow. He likes to play the part of the overprotective hyung, but he really is a nice guy when it comes down to it.”

“So I keep hearing. You two must be close, then.”

“Yoongi doesn’t have a lot of people to talk about his problems with. He’s way more interested in being a problem solver for others. But… everybody needs somebody.”

You grimace, stomach dropping at the thought of what kind of things Yoongi might have said about you, to this virtual stranger. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yijeong.

“If it helps, he hasn’t had anything bad to say about you since I showed up,” he adds reassuringly.

“Meaning he hasn’t said anything about me at all?” you ask, hopeful.

“Mm. Well, he said you’re pretty… passionate,” Yijeong says, lips quirking up at the corners in a soft smile. “I’ve learned that’s a good thing, in Yoongi’s book.”

Or it’s code for crazy bitch. But hey, you’ll take what you can get.

“Sure,” you hum, glancing in Yoongi’s direction. He’s a little further ahead on the path, deep in conversation with Jimin. His face is as pale as the white flag he sent you. Uh oh. “We’ll see.”

As the two of you gain on Yoongi and Jimin, it seems like whatever confrontation that was being had is over with. Good, because you still don’t really want to know what that was about.

“You need the Vitamin C, hyung,” you overhear Jimin say as you and Yijeong approach. He bumps Yoongi’s shoulder conspiratorially. “I bought something for you.”

“What?” Yoongi narrows his eyes.

From behind his back, Jimin procures a hat—a fuzzy, bright orange tangerine hat, complete with a tiny green leaf on top. He looks thrilled.

Yoongi, however, does not.

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.” Jimin is already shoving the hat onto Yoongi’s head before he can fight back, dodging his weak attempts to resist. “Cute,” he coos, stepping back to admire his work.

Yoongi glares, but to your amusement, doesn’t make any move to take it off. 

Jimin, delighted, raises his phone. “Come on, let me get a picture—”

“No.”

“Just one! You’re already wearing the hat—”

“Park Jimin, do you want to die?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Jimin is full-on sprinting, chasing Yoongi around the orchard, phone camera wielded like a weapon. You can’t help but laugh. You’ve never seen Yoongi run, but just like his walk, there’s something penguin-esque there.

As Yoongi dashes past you, tangerine hat still firmly on his head, your gaze catches on something. His jeans—fitted just right, annoyingly so—have heart-shaped pockets.

You blink, looking away immediately. Definitely not something you needed to notice. Definitely not something you should be thinking about. But the image is burned into your mind, and unfortunately, Jimin notices the direction of your gaze and stops dead in his tracks.

“Wait,” he gasps, doubled over as he catches his breath. “Hyung, are those hearts on your back pockets?”

Shit.

Puzzled, Yoongi slows to a stop, frowning. “What? So what?”

Jimin, absolutely giddy, points. “Oh my god. Look at you, Mr. Soft and Romantic.”

“They’re just jeans,” Yoongi grumbles, but the slight pink at the tips of his ears says otherwise.

Jeongguk, watching the whole thing unfold, slides next to you where Yijeong had just stood. “You know, you’re going to give everyone the wrong idea, staring at Yoongi-hyung’s butt like that,” he murmurs, voice low so no one else can hear.

You shove him, hard, heat crawling up your neck despite yourself. “Yah, they’re cute jeans!” you hiss-whisper. “Maybe I want a pair for myself!”

He just grins, nudging your shoulder again. “Come on, pervert. We’re all going to dinner.” 

★ ★ ★

When you make it back to the house, you can’t break off from the group fast enough. You don’t mean to be rude, but fuck. You need a minute to process the events of the day.

In an ideal world, said processing would be done with the assistance of your best friend. That’s what Yoongi and Yijeong do, right?

Once you make it inside the house, you make a beeline for the swing out back, phone already tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you slide the patio door open. It rings once, twice, before the call is declined altogether.

SuckJin: You’re joking right?

Right.

Too bad your best friend is a traitorous snake who prioritizes his medical career over being at your constant beck and call.

You: i need to talk to you!!!!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: Are you dying

You: no?????

SuckJin: Great

SuckJin: Nothing I can’t help with over text then

You: in case i don’t tell you enough, you are the fucking worst

You: just so you know

With a groan, you plop onto the swing, thumbs tapping wildly at your phone screen as you try your best to put words to what exactly you’re feeling right now. A task that proves impossible, since you’re not really sure yourself.

You: your worst mistake as my best friend is sitting idly by and allowing me to remain celibate since kihyun and i broke up. what’s happening right now is all your fault actually

You: because now that my JK-related feelings are waning i’m convinced i would fuck absolutely anyone in my current state. that HAS to be what’s going on because there is NO other explanation for my behavior these past few days

You: I CHECKED OUT MIN YOONGI’S ASS!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: LOL

SuckJin: How was it

Why does the universe hate you so? What could you have possibly done in your past life to deserve a best friend so devoid of empathy? You should’ve listened to your gut back in middle school, when it told you to steer clear of the weird, egotistical theatre kid with the bowl cut.

You: NOT the point you freak

SuckJin: What is in the air in Jeju lol

SuckJin: Maybe u two just need to bang it out

What the fuck!

You feel the heat flood your cheeks in an instant, indignantly typing what is sure to be a complete disembowelment of your best friend, but the sound of the sliding glass door opening stops you in your tracks.

It’s Yoongi. Of course it is.

Cigarettes in hand, he crosses the garden until he reaches the swing. Instead of joining you, though, he leans against one of the supports, holding the opened pack out to you in offering.

“No, thanks,” you cheep, stuffing your phone in the pocket of your sweatshirt as you will the flush in your cheeks to die. Seokjin deserves to be left on read for his crimes.

Yoongi shrugs, patting his pockets in search of a lighter. When he finds it, you watch the warm glow illuminate his face as he brings it to the end of his cigarette and inhales deeply.

You feel so far out of your depth here. It’s Yoongi’s house, Yoongi’s garden—even if you’ve staked your claim on this swing since the night you arrived, everything you’ve helped yourself to here belongs to him. Jeongguk included.

Yoongi is well within his rights to have a cigarette wherever he pleases. You just didn’t think he’d prefer to have one here, with you.

“You looked like you had fun today,” Yoongi says, the low hum of his voice effectively breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I did…” You shift positions on the swing restlessly, unfolding your legs and wincing as you stretch them out in front of you. “You looked like you had fun, too,” you offer.

“Mm.”

Talkative as ever, this guy. You guess it’s up to you to keep the conversation going.

“You looked goofy in that hat, though,” you add, your lips quirking up at the corners faster than you can stop it.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at that. “Yeah? Maybe I should give it to you, then, dollface. You’re the model, after all.”

Dollface.

He keeps calling you that, doesn’t he? He called you that the first night you met. He must mean it as an insult, an implication that your looks are all you have going for you. That’s how it felt the first few times, at least.

Still, you can’t help but notice that this is the longest conversation you and Yoongi have had since your fight last week. You’re both being so shockingly peaceable, you can’t help but comment on it.

“So… I had fun, you had fun,” you mumble, lazily kicking your feet to push the swing back and forth. “Crazy concept that you and I can have fun in the presence of each other.”

“Crazy.”

“You can admit the truce was a good idea. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you were wrong.”

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow drag of his cigarette as he considers you. You shrink, pinned as his eyes scan over your face for so long it feels unbearable.

And then he’s moving, cigarette tumbling to the ground as his shoe stubs out the orange glow. Hands swiping ash off of denim. Your eyes track each movement against your will, until you shake yourself out of it and stare at your shoes instead.

“We’ll see.”

There’s the squeak of the sliding door, and then your only company is the smell of smoke and your phone buzzing in your pocket.

★ ★ ★

The finale to Yijeong’s impromptu weekend visit is a night of bar hopping. A night that ends at a local noraebang.

The room all of you inhabit is small but cozy, with plush seating surrounding a sleek table. Accent lighting on the walls glows neon, pulsing to the rhythm of the music. The large screen in the middle of the room is lit up with endless list of songs—some that you’re surprised to see in the repertoire.

Everyone picks off of a tray of drinks and snacks—crispy fries, fried chicken, soju shots, frothy beer—refueling after all of the alcohol you’ve downed tonight.

You’ve lost track of how many drinks you’ve had, but when Taehyung thrusts the microphone into your hands with a boxy grin, you don’t hesitate. It’s been a long time since you’ve been to a noraebang, but you can never go wrong with some Paramore.

The moment the opening chords of Ignorance blast through the speakers, something electric rushes through you. It’s instinct, really—the kind of song that demands to be sung like you mean it.

If I'm a bad person, you don't like me Well, I guess I'll make my own way It's a circle, a mean cycle I can't excite you anymore

Where's your gavel? Your jury? What's my offense this time? You're not a judge, but if you're gonna judge me Well, sentence me to another life

Like riding a fucking bike.

As soon as you open your mouth, Jimin and Taehyung immediately lose their minds, jumping onto the couch and headbanging along like he’s one of the fans at a concert for his own band. Jeongguk, beside him, stares in awe, boba eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them.

But it’s Yoongi you glance at between verses, though you’re not sure why. He’s leaning back against the couch, half-hidden in the dim lighting, watching. His expression is completely unreadable. You can’t look away.

This is the best thing that could have happened Any longer and I wouldn't have made it It's not a war, no, it's not a rapture I'm just a person, but you can't take it The same tricks that, that once fooled me They won't get you anywhere I'm not the same kid from your memory Well, now I can fend for myself

Don't wanna hear your sad songs I don't wanna feel your pain When you swear it's all my fault 'Cause you know we're not the same We're not the same Oh, we're not the same

By the time you hit the chorus, you’re all in—singing like you’ve got something to prove, like the song is a battle you refuse to lose. 

It’s cathartic. It’s messy. It’s more fun than you’ve had in a long fucking time.

As the last note fades out, you’re fighting for breath, buzzing from the energy. The room erupts into cheers, and Jimin all but tackles you in excitement.

“Holy shit, YN,” he howls. “That was amazing. Again, again!”

Before you can protest, Jeongguk takes the mic from your hands and spins through the song queue. “Nah, it’s my turn,” he declares. “Does this thing have Linkin Park?”

When you manage to peel Jimin off of you, Yoongi’s gone.

You know that it shouldn’t bother you. You know that you should say good riddance, let him go do whatever is so important that he had to bolt like that. But for some reason completely beyond you, you just can’t. 

Your feet start moving before your brain can catch up. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, but it falls on deaf ears anyway. Everybody is wasted, attention already diverted to queueing up the next song, and you slip out entirely unnoticed.

The alley behind the noraebang is dimly lit, the cool air hitting your skin like a slap. And there he is, leaning against the wall, cigarette between his lips. He notices you immediately, his gaze flickering to you in that lazy way of his.

“You left,” you say dumbly.

He lifts his cigarette in answer. “Need something?”

It’s a great question. Now that you’ve found him and you’re freezing your ass off, your lost sanity is quickly finding its way back to you. Why did you leave everybody inside to follow a person you hate?

“Just needed some air,” you lie, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Couldn’t breathe in there.”

Yoongi exhales slowly, smoke curling in the space between you, and you shift on your feet, shivering against the cold. If he notices, he doesn’t comment—just watches you with that unreadable expression, waiting.

You should go back inside. You should say something biting, roll your eyes, turn on your heel. But you don’t. Instead, you rub your hands along your arms, trying to warm yourself up, and Yoongi clicks his tongue.

“You’re shivering.”

Uh, yeah? It’s winter and you forgot your jacket inside. Of course you’re shivering.

“It’s freezing,” you mutter.

Yoongi sighs, long-suffering, then shrugs off his jacket. Before you can protest, he steps forward, draping it over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It smells like him—faint cologne and smoke, something a little sharp but not unpleasant.  

You clutch at the lapels before you can stop yourself, blinking up at him. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, waving a hand dismissively as he leans back against the wall. “Just don’t make it weird.”

Right. Because this is totally normal behavior.

You huff, rolling your eyes, but the warmth is welcome, and you make no move to give the jacket back.

Yoongi glances at you sideways, smirking. “See? You do like it.”

Suddenly, the cold is forgotten. Like somehow, the cramped noraebang felt less stifling than standing here, out in the cold with Yoongi.

“Why’d you follow me out here, dollface?”

There it is again.

“You need to stop calling me that,” you snap, annoyed.

“Nah,” he hums. Your eyes are drawn to the orange glow as he flicks his cigarette, crushing embers into the ground with the toe of his boot. “I think you like that, too.”

What the fuck.

“I—”

“Answer the question,” he interrupts.

“Why did you leave?” you counter.

“Needed a smoke. Told you that already.”

It’s a solid alibi, but something in his tone tells you he’s not being completely honest. So, you pry.

“Left in a pretty big hurry, for a cigarette,” you goad. 

Yoongi huffs, exasperated as he runs his fingers through his hair. “What do you want me to say? Clearly you have something in mind.”

All you do is glare at him in response. You’re out here, shivering to death instead of being inside with people that actually enjoy your company. The least he could do is not waste your time by being a fucking pussy.

It’s silent for a long moment, both of you waiting for the other to break. But then, Yoongi sighs.

“I didn’t know you could still sing like that,” he finally says, his voice a low murmur.

Wait.

“Still?” you ask, bewildered.

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth turns up in a lazy smirk. “What, you think I don’t know things about you? You should know better than that by now.”

“I was at your debut show,” he adds, his voice suddenly more earnest than you’ve ever heard it. “That voice was my first impression of you. Almost had me fooled.”

Infuriatingly, he doesn’t elaborate any further. “Fooled into what?” you ask, eyes narrowing. That wasn’t an attempt at a compliment, was it? There’s no way Min Yoongi is paying you a compliment right now.

“Into thinking you’re someone I might want to spend time with,” he replies, unwavering but still completely unclear.

You wish you could tell what he was thinking. What does he mean by that? That if you met under different circumstances…?

The tension is thick, suffocating. Your pulse thrums in your ears, drowning out everything else—the distant music, the buzz of electricity, the rational part of your brain telling you to walk away.

Yoongi just watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something different in his gaze now—something that makes your breath hitch. Eyes all pupil. 

Against your will, your gaze drops to his lips. You wonder if he notices. You hope he doesn’t. Or maybe you hope he does.

You don’t know who moves first.

One second, you’re standing there, glaring at him in the cold; the next, his mouth is on yours, and you’re backing him into the wall. It’s messy, urgent—like neither of you expected this, but now that it’s happening, neither of you want to stop.

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers curl into the front of his shirt. You’re dizzy, drunk off the way he kisses you, how he tastes like smoke and whiskey, how his tongue slips into your mouth like he owns it, the sensation of smooth metal on the roof of your mouth making you whimper.

And then—

Reality crashes back like a cold slap to the face.

You pull away, breathless, hands shaking as you take a stumbling step back.

“What the fuck,” you pant, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, like that’ll erase what just happened.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he looks just as bewildered as you feel, his chest rising and falling just as fast as yours.

What the fuck. What the fuck did you just do?

Without another word, you turn on your heel and bolt, nearly tripping over yourself in your rush to get away. Your head is spinning, your heart hammering against your ribs and threatening to explode.

And Yoongi doesn’t make any move to stop you. 

You leave everything. You don’t stop. You run, catch a cab, operating completely on instinct until suddenly, you’re in the bedroom, door shut behind you, hands pressed to your face like that’ll somehow ground you.

When you finally lower them, your lips are still tingling, Yoongi’s jacket still draped over your trembling shoulders.

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[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER NINE

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash, online scandals

playlist: spotify

It started with a tweet.

A blurry, low-quality video posted by some fan who had managed to sneak backstage. The caption was cryptic but damning:

"WTF did Jisoo do to make Kang Sae-Byeok this mad???"

And underneath it—

A video of Sae-Byeok pinning Jisoo against the wall.

The audio was grainy, muffled by the distance and the hum of post-show chaos, but some words were crystal-clear.

"I don’t want to see you near her or the girls ever again."

"You don’t get to come in here and make her feel like nothing."

The internet exploded.

At first, there was confusion. Speculation. Wild theories about why HOT DIVISION’s lead guitarist was this close to throwing hands with an influencer-turned-socialite like Jisoo.

Then came the sides.

Some people immediately took Sae-Byeok’s, praising her for standing up for whoever she was talking about. Others rushed to defend Jisoo, twisting the narrative into something uglier—something about how aggressive Sae-Byeok had looked, how scary her temper seemed, how it was unprofessional for an artist of her status to act like that.

And then, of course, the worst theory took hold.

That it was about you.

Screenshots of old photos resurfaced—pictures of you with the band, of you standing next to Sae-Byeok at award shows, of you in the background of HOT DIVISION’s biggest moments. Someone even found a picture from that night, showing you leaving the backstage area just moments before the video took place.

And suddenly, you weren’t just the band’s manager anymore.

You were the reason for the fight.

The narrative twisted: Sae-Byeok was in love with you. Jisoo had done something to you. You were caught in the middle of some messy, behind-the-scenes drama that no one was supposed to know about.

It spiraled fast.

By the next morning, articles were being written. Think pieces dissecting Sae-Byeok’s reputation, questioning her professionalism, debating whether or not HOT DIVISION’s label would make a statement.

And through it all—

You stayed quiet.

Because you knew exactly how this worked.

Scandals like this didn’t just pass. They grew until someone stopped them.

And that someone had to be you.

You found Jisoo before anyone else did.

She had been avoiding the internet, dodging calls, probably waiting for it all to blow over before she made her next move. But you weren’t going to give her that luxury.

You cornered her in the back of a café, where she had been sipping an overpriced latte like her name wasn’t being dragged online.

She barely had time to react before you sat down across from her, fixing her with a look that made it clear you weren’t here to play games.

"Fix it," you said, voice steady.

Jisoo blinked. "Excuse me?"

You leaned forward. "You fix it. You clear it up. You tell everyone exactly what the fuck happened before this gets worse."

She scoffed, setting her cup down. "I don’t owe anyone anything."

Your patience snapped. "Are you serious? You owe Sae-Byeok everything right now. Because you’re sitting here, drinking your stupid fucking latte, while she’s getting torn apart for something that wasn’t even her fault."

Jisoo frowned, finally looking uncomfortable. "I didn’t mean for any of this to happen."

"But it did," you said sharply. "And I’m not letting you be the coward who lets her take the fall for it."

A beat of silence.

Jisoo looked away, jaw tightening. "I didn’t think she actually cared that much."

You exhaled through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm. "That’s the problem. You never thought about what you were doing. You never thought about how it made me feel—how it made her feel."

She swallowed. "I just… I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong."

You shook your head. "Exactly."

Jisoo sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. "So what do you want me to do?"

"Tell the fucking truth," you said. "Make a statement. A video. A post. I don’t care. Just fix it."

She hesitated.

Then, finally, she pulled out her phone.

And for the first time since this entire mess started—

She actually did something right.

Jisoo’s video went up within the hour.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t some grand, emotional apology.

But it was enough.

She admitted that she had been careless, that she hadn’t realized how much she was excluding you, that she had walked into HOT DIVISION’s space without thinking about how it might have made you feel.

And most importantly—

She cleared Sae-Byeok’s name.

She explained that the argument wasn’t about anything romantic, that there was no secret drama or jealousy, that Sae-Byeok had only been angry because she had stood up for you.

The backlash didn’t disappear overnight. But it shifted.

Now, instead of attacking Sae-Byeok, people were applauding her.

And you— You finally let yourself breathe. But the damage had already been done.

And you weren’t sure if things could ever go back to the way they were before.

Dinner was quieter than usual.

Not because there was tension—no, after everything that had happened, the tension had finally cracked, leaving something raw and unspoken between all of you.

The girls had chosen a small restaurant, tucked away from prying eyes and the chaos of the internet, somewhere they could just be without worrying about cameras or fans or another scandal brewing.

And tonight, for the first time in a long time, they weren’t just HOT DIVISION.

They were just friends trying to make things right.

Ji-Yeong was the first to break the silence, setting her chopsticks down. "Alright, let’s just say it."

Se-Mi exhaled. "Yeah, we fucked up."

No-Eul nodded. "Big time."

Sae-Byeok, sitting across from you, was unusually quiet, arms crossed, her gaze flickering between you and the others.

Ji-Yeong leaned forward. "Look, we got caught up in our own shit, and we didn’t notice how much we were leaving you out. That’s on us. Completely on us."

Se-Mi sighed. "We should’ve realized sooner. We should’ve—" She hesitated, then met your eyes. "We should’ve been better friends to you."

You swallowed, feeling the weight of their words, the sincerity behind them.

And then No-Eul, ever direct, said, "We’re sorry."

Your chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t from pain.

It was relief.

You let out a small, shaky breath, nodding. "Thank you."

Ji-Yeong gave you a hesitant smile. "Does this mean you forgive us?"

You huffed a quiet laugh. "I mean… yeah. But you guys owe me. Big time."

Se-Mi grinned. "Obviously. We’ll buy you so much coffee to make up for it."

No-Eul smirked. "Or we could just kick Jisoo’s ass next time we see her."

That made you laugh—really laugh, for the first time in days.

And just like that, things started to feel okay again.

After dinner, you stepped outside for some air.

The night was cool, the city lights flickering in the distance, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you actually felt lighter.

But you weren’t alone for long.

No-Eul appeared beside you, hands in her jacket pockets, her usual calm, unreadable expression on her face.

"You doing okay?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

You hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Better than before."

No-Eul tilted her head, studying you in that way she always did—like she could see right through you. "You sure?"

You sighed, leaning against the railing. "I mean… I still feel kinda stupid for letting it get to me so much."

No-Eul frowned. "Why?"

You shrugged. "Because it’s not like they meant to hurt me. And I knew that. But it still—" You exhaled. "It still sucked."

No-Eul was quiet for a moment, then said, "You don’t have to justify feeling hurt."

You glanced at her, surprised.

She met your gaze, something unreadable in her eyes. "You deserved better from us. And you were right to be upset."

The way she said it—so steady, so certain—made warmth bloom in your chest.

You smiled, small but genuine. "Thanks, No-Eul."

She nodded, her gaze lingering on you.

And for a moment—just a moment—something shifted.

The space between you felt smaller.

The air heavier.

Her eyes flickered to your lips, just for a second, and you felt your breath catch.

Was she—?

Were you—?

Before anything could happen, a voice cut through the air.

"Time to go," Sae-Byeok’s voice rang out, firm but unreadable.

You both jolted slightly, stepping back as if the moment had never happened.

When you turned to look at her, Sae-Byeok’s face was blank, but her eyes—her eyes—were sharp, flickering between you and No-Eul with something you couldn’t quite place.

You cleared your throat. "Right. Yeah. Let’s go."

No-Eul didn’t say anything—just shoved her hands back into her pockets and followed after you.

And as you walked ahead, you could feel Sae-Byeok’s gaze lingering on you.

Like she had seen everything.

Like she was thinking about something.

But she didn’t say a word.

Not yet.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25@monroesturnns @laurenkens @yenyu1s @idontliketoread2137 @bitchybananaflower @lyuuw

[elrielffs]

"Elriel can't be next! They barely interacted in ACOSF! Azriel avoids Elain!"

Okay, but why? Why do they barely interact? Why is Azriel avoiding Elain?

We get this interaction at Solstice with Nesta observing Azriel. Azriel is tormented.

We find out in the bonus chapter it's because it's the sight of Elain and Lucien, being able to smell their bond.

Also, I've seen antis say that Azriel being able to smell the bond isn't abnormal but it absolutely is. Fae can smell the bond after it's been accepted but not before or Tamlin/Lucien would immediately be able to clock that Rhysand and Feyre were mates back in book 1.

Mor, Cassian, Azriel could not smell the mate bond between Feyre and Rhysand before it was accepted. They had to be told. Amren could because Amren is not fae. She becomes fully fae later but at the time, she is other.

Azriel being able to smell the unaccepted bond absolutely means something.

Anyways, now we know why Azriel is avoiding Elain.

Azriel literally cannot control himself around Elain, he can't stop himself from being drawn to her and the first instant they were alone both acted on their mutual draw and attraction.

And as for "lack of interactions"...Let's set aside that this is a Nesta book and for most of the book Nesta is barely around Elain and they are in a "fight".

Alot of the time that Elain is mentioned, Azriel is mentioned and vice versa.

Elain beat Azriel for secret keeping.

Elain taking lessons from Azriel + twins.

Hybern rescue mention.

Hybern rescue mention.

Hybern rescue mention. Almost as if it was important.

But we also have Nesta/Cassian observing Elain and Azriel. Every single time those two are in the room together either Cassian or Nesta comment on it. Every. single. time.

Azriel smiling at Elain that she quickly looked away from.

Charged gaze.

Monitoring them, especially Elain laughing.

And then, the impact of things happening around Elain impact Azriel.

Azriel stilled at something happening to Elain and his eyes darkened.

Shadows gathering ready to strike at Nesta for hurting Elain.

Azriel being protective of Elain being exposed to the Trove. The antis will say this Azriel coddling Elain and ergo he's bad for her but notice he's not saying she can't or forbidding it, he's just stating she shouldn't and Cassian also immediately follows up with the same thought about Nesta. (you wanna talk mate behavior? and since when is it bad for an MC in a romantasy series to be protective?? Oh yeah, when it's not the love interest you want.)

And of course, this was after the BC when Elain and Azriel had their miscommunication and Rhysand and Azriel got in their fight and the next day Azriel had lost the snowball fight and threw snowballs filled with rocks at Rhysand.

In a book where Elain is pretty removed from the narrative due to circumstances with Nesta, I say there is plenty of interaction and observations littered through the whole book for the two.

Azriel with his limited page time and status as a side character in this book is mostly pre-ocuppied with Elain and almost every third word out of that man's mouth is about Elain and his most emotional reactions are from Elain.

This is why we say antis are obtuse on purpose because even with the limited amount of information we got there was still plenty that was a natural build up from previous books and a fracture in the couple that was impactful and is left to be addressed as unfinished business (a plot you say?). If it was down to the number of scenes together, in ACOTAR 1 Feyre would of got with Lucien and and would never have left Tamlin for Rhysand.

And we can't forget the previous 3 books no matter how much they want to.

Bonus:

Cassian about Azriel

Nesta with some pretty heavy imagery here.

The rose represents Elain, was carved for Elain.

In the shadows near a Mother described statue.

Mother bond? Azriel and Elain?

Bet.

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I Know You? Part 13

Synopsis: You're having a girl's night with Steph and Cass, whether you want to or not.

Note: I enjoyed writing this chapter. It’s kind of a change of pace from what’s going on I think. And of course, a moment away from Jason (with deep regrets). Enjoy!!

Masterlist

With Jason out the door and said door locked, you sag against it with a labored sigh. You slide down until you’re sitting on the ground, and you take a moment.  You rub at your face. Part of you wants to open the door and tell Jason to come back, to stay with you forever and never leave. But you just can’t do that to him. Yesterday, he looked utterly exhausted, like he hadn’t slept once he brought you home and you almost told him to leave then. Instead, you let yourself relax in the safety of his touch and asked him to stay longer.  He looked better this morning, both when he was asleep and awake. He still looked sleepy in his rumpled clothes and a start of a scruff showing on his skin. Sleepy but not exhausted. You still felt guilty about him sleeping in the same clothes two nights in a row. You would be a bad friend if you made him stay any longer. Shuffling him out the door, you realized he didn’t even have a coat, despite for the moment that you thought Red Hood’s was his, the same that he had let you borrow many weeks ago. The Jar that you had placed in the corner of your mind, and nearly forgotten about, rattled a little. You didn’t have the energy to deal with it and blamed it on the still persistent headache you had.

Now, sitting on the ground, your headache was finally starting to dim, thanks to the pain meds Jason had you take. You became aware of the silence of your home, starting a creeping, anxious feeling in your chest. That wouldn’t do. You pull yourself to stand and start up your speaker to play some music. You were going to spot-clean your apartment, but Jason had already taken care of it. A shower it was then. You took a decent amount of time just untangling your hair, no conditioner and no brushing for two days had taken its toll. You took a painstakingly slow shower. Despite the pain meds, your back ached as you lifted your arms to wash your hair. You had to pause multiple times just to breathe normally. The conditioner followed the same slow process. You sat in the stream of warm water and tried to relax. You realized the warmth of the shower couldn’t match the heat of Jason’s body and choose not to think about that for too long. Two hours later, dressed in clean, not-so-matching pajamas (you had laughed once you noticed Jason had pulled a matching pair from the bottom of your drawer), you settle on the couch giving your body a break and mouthing along to the words of whatever song was playing.

You didn’t play your music too loud, trying to be a good neighbor, but you nearly missed the knocking on your door. It’s a quiet thing at first and you brush it off as something your mind made up (you wonder if you should text Jason to come back because your brain has already started hallucinating noises). The second round of knocks is a lot louder and it causes your shoulders to bunch up in worry. You turn on your couch to stare at the door, trying to will whoever it was to go away. Another, harder, round of knocking pulls you from your seat and to the door. You peek through the peephole into the hallway. You see curly blonde hair and then a warped face with green eyes. It takes you a minute to recognize who it is but once you do you unlock the door and open it.

“Steph?” you question, now face to face with the girl. She wastes no time working herself into your apartment with a grin.

“Hello, Honeygirl. I’ve missed you.” She’s carrying a number of bags and boxes. A lean figure with a mop of black hair follows her into your apartment carrying nearly the same amount of stuff. The items are set haphazardly on the ground, the island, and the dining table. Steph starts unpacking an ungodly number of snacks, skincare, movies, and games.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Well,…” Steph goes on a rant about how you were gone and she had to listen to gossip from Darla and that, while it was entertaining, she wasn’t you. So, she decided why wait for you to come to work when you can hang out elsewhere? Which is all well and good, except you had never told Steph where you lived.

“…and I brought enough face masks to last a lifetime, also I brought Cass,” your mouth shuts from where you were going to interject yourself into her ramble. Your eyes meet brown instead of the blue you had expected. In all honesty, you thought Steph had brought Tim with her.

“Cass?” the girl grins at you and you're pulled into a stronger hug than you anticipated from her.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” Her voice is soft and calming compared to Steph’s frazzled state. Speaking of Steph, she was still ranting, something about if a card game is turned into dice is it still a card game?

As you pull away from Cass, she’s still smiling at you with excitement but you’re not sure why.

“Stephanie.” You say. Steph had never told you her full name, but you can only assume. She pauses in her ranting and unpacking and turns on you with a pout. She takes a few steps forward and drags you into her own hug, petting at your hair like you’re an inconsolable child.

“No, no, honey, you don’t call me Stephanie, only Steph.” You wrangle your way out of her hold with a laugh and finally shut your door, locking it again.

“Stephanie,” she opens her mouth to protest but you beat her to it, “What are you doing in my apartment?”

Steph gaps at you for a moment, trying to collect an answer but Cass answers for her.

“Jason” Steph throws her a warning look that Cass is unbothered by. She picks up the unpacking where Steph left off.

“What she means is,” Steph adds slowly, “Jason told us that you were involved in the whole penguin thing that’s on the news.” Steph’s face cringes as she offers the answer. Your brows furrow. Jason doesn’t really gossip, and you can’t imagine him just spouting out personal information about you. But then you remember. Steph is practically family. Your mind makes a connection, that Cass is most likely the sister that Jason mentioned once or twice. You understand oversharing with family. You used to tell your sister everything under the sun. You want to feel mad at Jason, but you aren’t. At least not yet.

“How’d you know where I live?” Steph seems startled and you get the feeling she had not prepared for any conversation referring to her and Cass’s sudden appearance in your home.

“Tracking,” Cass throws over her shoulder as she shuffles through the kitchen and turns on your oven. You think you should be concerned about Jason’s sister, who is apparently cooking something in your home, but your eyes are focused on Steph for an explanation, as Cass seems a woman of few words. Steph glares at Cass before meeting your eyes with a calmer look.

“Family tracking app. Jason’s been here for two days.” Steph explains and she seems proud of herself, but you cut it short.

“And how do you know my apartment number?” Steph sags again and Cass hops back into the conversation, now adding premade cookie dough balls to a cookie sheet. Again, you think you should be concerned that she’s already made herself at home but part of you is pleased that Jason’s sister seems comfortable doing what she wants in your apartment.

“Barbara.” She says. Steph lightens up.

“Barbara?” you ask having not heard the name before.

“Yes, Barbara,” Steph declares, “She’s the commissioner's daughter.” Steph’s eyes jump to the dining table where the stack of papers the commissioner dropped off were. “He was here, so we asked Babs to get the address from him.” You think Steph is bullshitting you. Actually, you know Steph is bullshitting you. You can’t imagine the commissioner just giving out addresses to his daughter if she asked, especially on active cases. You recognize the name Babs more than the name Barbara, but you don’t remember why. You throw all of this information to the back of your mind and decide this is all Jason’s doing. You could tell how much he didn’t want to leave you alone and you appreciated the persistence, grateful to him again for reading how much you needed people around you.

“Okay,” you finally say. Steph seems shocked for a moment before relaxing.

“Okay?” her voice pitches in question and it makes you smile.

“Yea, okay, I’m happy you’re here. I’m happy you're both here.” You throw a glance at Cass to see her already smiling softly at you. You wonder how much she knows about you, whether the information she received is from Jason or Steph, and whether or not it's good or bad. Steph hops on her feet wildly.

“Good, because I did not want to return this stuff. I may have bought too much.” She notes scanning the bags.

“No kidding, what did you bring?” you take a step forward to look through one of the bags.

“Everything you need for the best girls' night ever!” she begins unpacking the rest of the stuff explaining as she went. You glanced at Cass, perhaps as an explanation for Steph's over-preparedness. She just shrugs and brings her hand up to make a talking motion before helping unpack. The motion makes you laugh and Steph glances at you but keeps going.

Enough face masks to last a lifetime was an understatement. Between those, the ice cream, the cookies, and all the other snacks, you think all three of you could stay in your apartment for years and live off all of the skincare and sugary food. The line between self-care and self-destruction is nonexistent. Pizza was also ordered just to make sure you all got the carbs you need.  The evening went off without a hitch.  You played all kinds of games and you figured out why Steph had her question about a card game being a dice game. She had found a version of Phase 10 as dice instead of cards, you all just decided it made for a quicker game.

Through the course of the night, you come to understand that Jason and Cass were definitely siblings. She reminded you of him, or at least the way he’d been acting since he picked you up at the stupid warehouse. She touched you in a way that felt like constant comfort. A hand on your arm or shoulders pressed to yours, holding your hand in tense moments of a game. You were a little surprised by it, not expecting the girl you had just met to provide such comfort. Steph was touchy too, but you already knew that about the girl. She was more rambunctious about it. A quick second hug when she would win, a tug at your hand to drag you wherever she pleased in your apartment. It made you laugh at how different Cass and Steph were but they balanced each other out wonderfully. You also learned some new things about the girls. They were super competitive

They had shoved the coffee table against the wall to have a game of Twister. You explained that your back was hurt but you would happily spin the wheel and watch. They crowded you, asking when the last time you took a pain med and if you had been drinking water and something about pineapple. You were confused (especially about the pineapple thing) but happily answered. They shuffled you into the kitchen and medicated and watered you. You laughed at them. You felt like you were being babied. It didn’t upset you, but it made you realize that Jason had also been babying you the past two days, just more subtle than the girls. You think you like being cared about in such a manner. Once medicated, they settled you on the couch and prepared for Twister. They had a really intense stare-off before your first spin. Ten minutes into Twister, you learn that they are both extremely flexible. Cass more so than Steph but both would have beat you in the game easily. As time went on you became increasingly worried about the way their bodies would bend until Steph finally collapsed with a huff. Cass easily pulls herself out of the warp of her body and stands victoriously.

“You guys insane,” you say tossing the spinner to the side, “The human body shouldn’t move like that.” They both smile at you, Steph less gleeful than Cass.

“You should see when we play with the whole family. Cass and Dick are always the last standing. The true victor is unknown because we usually cancel the game to do something else.” Steph tells you from her seat on the floor.

“Dick?” you question, feeling odd saying the word to the girls.

“Yea, Dick. He’s an acrobat, that’s hardly an even playing field.” Steph huffs clearly missing your question. Cass sits next to you on the couch and actually answers your question.

“Brother. Richard but we call him Dick.”

“Oh” you nod in understanding and realize now would be a perfect time to be nosey.

“And the rest of your brothers?” you try to casually slip it into the conversation. Meeting Cass’s eye you think she can read you pretty easily. Steph begins to roll up the Twister mat as Cass smiles and answers you. She brings her hand up to count on her fingers.

“Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke.”

“and of course the others like me” Steph does a jazz hand after she plops the mat in the corner of the room. She walks past you both and into the kitchen. You want to ask about that too, the “honorary siblings” Jason had mentioned, but you’ll come back to that later.

“Dick, Damian, and Duke? Did your guys' mom go through a phase of loving D names? Also insane to have that many kids. Are you close in age?” Cass’s eyes wrinkle in confusion from your questioning.  She answers your second question.

“Mostly,” she says, making you want to ask another question, but Steph returns with headbands and face mask packets. She works a headband over your head as she talks and you let her.

“Everyone is around the same age. Jason and Cass are about the same age, then there's me.” She cups her own face like she’s presenting herself before pulling out face masks for you to choose from, “Tim is like a few months younger than me and Duke’s almost a year younger than Tim. Dick is just super old and Damian is super young but he was a surprise so I don’t think I should hold against him, but I will.” Steph rants as she pulls your chosen sheet mask out and presses it to your face. By surprise, you assume an unexpected pregnancy and with that many kids, you can't imagine that surprise.

“Are any of the others unexpected?” you ask as Steph starts putting a mask on Cass. Cass gives you another confused side glance.

“I'm pretty sure Bruce did not expect Dick, and he definitely wasn’t expecting Tim, but he has a way of getting into people's business.” She pauses a second, “You know everyone was unexpected, except maybe Jason.” Bruce. There's that name again. It's complicated, Jason had said.

“Whose Bruce?” They both look at you confused now.

“What?” you start to become self-conscious for a moment before it passes.

“Jason hasn’t talked to you?” Cass asked, less confused and more like she was worried about you.

“We tend to steer clear of family talk.” You admit, feeling guilty. Steph nods, a look of understanding on her features.

“That makes sense for him.” She doesn’t pester you about it, Cass’s hand curls around your own and you’re once again shocked by how the girl has become so comforting in such a short time.

“Bruce is Dad,” Cass states with an earnest look.

“Oh, why does-” you pause unsure if this is a conversation you should have with them or with Jason, “Why does Jason call him Bruce then?”

They both look at you with realization in their eyes, which was kind of funny considering the face mask.

“Jason is adopted,” Steph says slowly, “So is Cass and Tim.”

“Oh,” you begin to erase everything you had concluded about the family and feel dumb for a moment. Jason had told you Bruce wanted to adopt Steph. You kick yourself for not using more context clues.

“and the others?” you ask trying to reassess everything you learned in the last ten minutes.

“Everyone is adopted” Steph confirms

“Except Damian,” Cass adds.

“Oh yea. He’s actually Bruce’s I forget that sometimes. He doesn’t even call Bruce Dad though.”

“His biological son calls him Bruce?” Steph looks at you with a conspiring grin, like this was some hilarious knowledge.

“He doesn’t call him Bruce, he calls him Father” Her voice pitches into a hoity-toity accent, “Like some child dying of the plague.” You laugh both at the description and the voice, your curiosity continues to peek about Jason’s family.

“Enough family business,” Stephs makes a shooing motion with her hand, “Let’s watch something.”

You want to ask more but the girls move to putting your living back into its original state and search for something to watch. You head to the kitchen to collect ice cream and cookies. You spot your phone on the counter and pick it up to check for messages. You have one from Darla and another from Jason. You open the one from Darla and find yourself grateful for opening it away from the girls.

Darla: How’s your sexcation going? Hope that boyfriend of yours is treating you right.

You flush reading the message and glance at the girls sitting on the floor debating the movie.  Clearly, Jason hadn’t given her any details when he called you out from work.

You: It’s not a “sexcation”  I’m recovering from trauma

You mean it only slightly joking. She answers almost instantly.

D: I’m sure that dick is traumatic.

 Your entire body warms over in embarrassment. She must not be at work. While Darla was mild-mannered and gossipy at work, off the clock she could be downright crass. Time for some honesty.

Y: I’m serious

Is all you send, hoping she would understand. You don’t want to have this conversation over text.

D: What’d he do to you? Do I need to call the cops?

You sigh in relief that she finally understands.

Y: Cops have already dealt with it He picked me up and he’s been taking care of me

D: Are you okay? Do you need anything? You should have called me.

You’re glad to know that she’s worried about you but you're not ready to admit that, at the time, Jason was the only person you could think of.

Y: I’m okay I’ll let you know if I need anything and I will fill you in when I come back to work

D: Okay, sweet thing. You call me if something else happens. Take it easy.

A different warmth overtakes your body, one of gratitude. You swipe out of her message and open Jason’s. You roll your eyes the moment you see it.

Jason: How are you feeling?

You ignore the question for your own.

Y: You're adopted?

He answers you in the time it takes for you to pull the ice cream from the freezer

J: Yea?

Y: I can’t believe you never told me!!!

J: Sweetheart

The one-word response makes your tummy roll and you can practically hear the chide in his voice without him being there.

Y: It explains so much about you

J: What’s that supposed to mean?

Y: Lol

You turn your phone off and perform an amazing balance act as you carry three spoons, your phone, two tubs of ice cream, and the plate of cookies into the living room (thank you practice as a waitress). You set the ice cream on the coffee table along with the spoons. You plop onto the couch between the girls, phone dropping to your lap, plate of cookies in hand.

“Is everything okay?” Steph asks as you settle.

“Yea, why?” she points to the phone in your lap. She must have seen you in the kitchen.

“Just people checking in” you add. A mischievous look slowly lights up her features.

“It wouldn’t happen to be a certain dark-haired boy, would it?” You turn slightly to face her, back to Cass, ready to argue when you're cut short by your phone ringing. You pick it up from your lap, and a photo of you and Jason meets your eyes. It was his contact photo, one of the few photos you had of him. You had taken the selfie when he had taken you to see the sunrise. It had been freezing, both of you wrapped to high heaven in beanies, scarves, and jackets. He had brought a blanket for you and wrapped it around your head and shoulders. You almost looked like a homeless person, but you had squeezed together for warmth. You had excitedly taken the picture, the orange of the sunrise lighting up your faces perfectly. Jason had actually smiled. It was your favorite.

If you had been looking up, you would have noticed Cass and Steph share a scheming look. Cass’s arms wrap around your shoulders, trapping your arms to your side. You had assumed she was just hugging you but then your phone is pulled from your hand. You reach for it but are halted by Cass’s hold, once again surprised by the strength of the girl. Steph looks far too giddy with your phone as she answers.

“Hello, Loverboy.”

“Stephanie!” you screech, trying to pull free from Cass with no luck (a choked panic attempts to claw its way into your chest, and you actively remind yourself that it’s just Cass). You hear a voice through the speaker but it's too low for you to understand what he’s saying to her.

“You worry too much. We’re just talking about you is all. It’s fine.” More talking comes from the phone and Steph throws you a get a load of this guy look. You huff as you still trying to wiggle free of Cass. You don’t think the girl is even struggling.

“It’s girls’ night that means no boys. Worry somewhere else” Your foot finally comes up and you kick the phone from her ear. She gawks at you in disbelief. You can feel Cass laughing as she finally releases you.

“I can't believe you two teamed up against me, " you complain as you pick your phone up from the ground. The call had ended, but you dared not call back in fear of the girls stealing your phone again. You do shoot him a quick text in apology before shoving your phone under your thigh.

“we’re just trying to hurry things along,” Cass says. She has a meaningful look in her eyes when you look at her, but you don’t understand it or the statement. You open your mouth to ask what exactly they’re hurrying along, but Steph cuts in before you can.

“Forget boys, it's movie and sugar time! Our ice cream will melt everywhere if we don’t eat it soon.” You eye the condensation that has started pooling around the containers and agree. You have questions you want to ask them, mostly about Jason, but you decide maybe for another time.

You settle back against the couch between them, a pile of blankets across the three of you. As the movie plays, the ice cream and cookies are passed around. Halfway through, a drowsiness overtakes. You feel pleasantly warm emotionally and physically. It's different than when Jason held you at night. This warmth makes you think of your sister. On the odd evenings, you were getting along and you would build a fort in your family living room and camp out on a Friday night. It was a feeling you didn’t realize you missed. A tender ache of grief that you're all too familiar with blooms in your chest but damps when you feel Steph settle her head on your shoulder and Cass turn to rest her head in your lap. You decide very quickly that you feel extremely fond of these two girls who have been in your life for a very short time.

Additional Note: Cass is really trying to hit that fast-forward button and Steph is trying to hold her back. I hope that I have a decent characterization of the girls. From the tidbits that I do know about them, they are very fascinating. We will have one more chapter with girls and then we will have our boy back. Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @penguimlover23, @herodedicatedblog, @dearghostling

[rosenclaws]

Do Mutants Dream of Two-Headed Sheep? Chapter 1 || Logan x Cyborg!Reader

Summary: You find yourself in a strange place after being rescued and you don't feel very welcome here.

Warnings: Body horror, angst, blood, medical stuff, injury, angry reader, defensive Logan, reader has a panic attack

wc: 2.2k

a/n: Here's the first chapter! Its mostly set up with a lot of angst but I'm excited to take this story and explore more about both Logan and the reader.

Series Masterlist

They were called the X-Men. They’re mutants. Just like you. You didn’t know anything. They asked you a million questions. Hooked you up to machines. Took X-Rays. Ran tests. Their scientist. Beast. Hank as he asked you to call him. He poked and prodded you for hours.

You hated every moment of it. You were a fucked up creation. He apologized but you paid him no mind. All you could stare at was your new robotic body. What did they turn you into? Hank starts talking.

The people who did this to you, they replaced half of your body with machine parts. But it was incomplete. They meant to turn you fully into a robot, a heartless, cold dead weapon who would listen to their every command. But by the time the X-men had gotten there they had only gotten half way through.

“It’s incredible really.” Hank mumbles and your head whips to the side.

“Incredible? You call being torn apart and replaced by metal incredible?” You spit. His eyes widen as he starts to back peddle, apologizing for his insensitive language but you don’t want to fucking hear it.

“Leave me alone. I’m done being your little show pony.” You snarl.

“I…I’ll be back later to check on you.” Hank offers you a small smile but you just stare ahead of you.

You look at your hands, your arms, your legs. You can barely differentiate between your new body and the medical IV’s that Hank and stuck in you. You had no memories, no clue who you were, how you got there in the first place. The only thing you remember is pain. Only pain.

You hated it. In a fit of rage you grab the IV wires and rip them out of your arm. You watch as blood drips down your arm. The only reminder you have that you’re still made of flesh. 

Upstairs Charles had called a team meeting. All of them for the lack of a better term were unsettled. They’re mutants. They’ve seen a lot of things in their life. People who don’t look human or have some mutation that changes their physical appearance. But this. This was utterly new and horribly cruel. 

“According to the files we extracted from their computer, the mutant you found is known as Project G.H.O.S.T.” Charles sets down the files on his desk.

“Doctor Peter Crane is the lead scientist hired by Section K. Unfortunately, we were unable to capture him or the leader of a mutant experimentation group. But we were able to get their information and future plans all while destroying their current base of operations.” Scott follows while skimming through the amount of information gathered on the mission.

“Who are they? Why did Crane want them?” Storm asks as she looks at the folder with all your information.

“We don’t know. Most of the information had already been destroyed, not even a name. But from what…” Scott trails off, unsure of how to phrase it. He glances at Logan for just a second before turning back to Charles.

“What we do have, we think they were planning on turning them into a living weapon. Strip them of their humanity and turn them into a puppet.” That struck a chord with Logan. Living weapon, yeah he’s heard that one before. He was one before.

“Did they?” Logan asks gruffly.

“We don’t know. It looks like they only got half way through before we found them.” Scott replies.

Logan grunts in response. He stops listening to Scott once he moves on, something about plans or whatever. He doesn’t care. His thoughts drift back to you. Just what are you? Charles didn’t mention anything about a mutant like you. Half machine. Logan was the one to save you, to cut you free and try to get you out but now he’s wondering if it was a mistake.

What if they had turned you already? Destroyed your humanity and they brought you right into the heart of the X-Men. Are you dangerous? He knows what it’s like to be experimented on, to be turned into a puppet for the masters to play with.

Anyone else would feel a connection, a level of understanding. But Logan, he can’t trust that easily. This is his home and the people living in this mansion are his family. He knows what you could possibly be.

And he doesn’t trust it one bit.

“You’re all dismissed, we’ll try and find out more and plan for next week.” Charles says. He turns his head to stare directly at Logan.

“Logan. Come with me.” Logan grumbles as he gets out of his chair and follows the professor through the halls.

“I know you’re distrustful of our new guest,” Charles starts making Logan scoff.

“Your thoughts are louder than you think Logan. I would have assumed you would be more…understanding.” Charles says carefully. Understanding isn’t exactly the word anyone would use to describe Logan but it was the best choice.

“I understand how dangerous people like us can be.” Logan states plainly. The destruction he caused as Weapon X, he doesn’t remember most of it but he can still smell the blood and sometimes he catches glimpses in his nightmares.

“I see.”

Logan steps in the elevator with Charles and stays quiet as it brings them down to the laboratory. When they enter your room they just see you sitting on the bed. Your eyes staring at the small TV in front of you. The channels flipping back and forth rapidly.

“Hello my dear, my name is Charles Xavier.” You glance at him, then at Logan before turning your attention back to the TV.

“I know this is a lot to process but I promise you we’re here to help you.” Still silent.

“When you’re ready, we have a room ready and we’d like to ask you some questions.” Still nothing. Logan grows irritated at your lack of response.

“Hey. He’s talking to you bub.” Logan snaps, the words tumbling out of his mouth without even thinking. You glare at him as he slams his hand against the TV, shutting it off. With a flick of your wrist it turns right back on.

“Technopathy, a rare mutation indeed.” Charles notes.

“Logan, show them to their dorm room. I think they’ve spent enough time down here.” Charles leaves, stranding you alone with Logan.

He’s the one who found you. You recognize his voice. Though this time he’s much angrier than he was before. He’s hostile and it looks like he might claw you right where you sit.

“Alright kid-”

“I’m not a kid.” You snap. Your robotic hand clenching around the rails of the bed, crushing the metal with ease.

“Fine. I want to know exactly what they did to you. Give me one reason I should let you near any of those kids up there.” Logan growls. You just laugh at his audacity, he doesn’t scare you for a second.

“Aren’t you a warm welcome? Is this typical X-Men hospitality? Stick needles and threaten my life? ” You spit and Logan’s claws come out instantly.

“Listen bub, I know their plans and I want to make sure you aren’t already the weapon they wanted to create.”

“What if I am Logan? A trojan horse to spy on your little friends.” You’re not, you have control but he was pissing you off. If he was going to treat you like a threat you sure as hell weren’t going to spare him any real explanation.

“Then I’ll slice you to pieces in a heartbeat.” He says, brandishing his claws.

Without thinking you flinch just seeing them. They remind you of the blades, the pain as you went in and out of consciousness. Your heart starts to race as flashes of broken memories. The pain shoots through your body, both sides. You don’t understand. You push yourself off the bed and flee to the corner of the room. Logan’s eyes widen as you start to mumble. Your fingers digging into your hair as you try and calm yourself down.

“Hey kid I-” Logan’s cut off by the TV exploding next to him.

“Fuck!” Logan hisses as the parts of the screen dig into his skin.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I didn’t mean it.” You cry.

Logan reaches out but the sight of his claws send you deeper into your spiral. With your right hand you push him into the wall and run.

You hear him shouting but you keep running. Grabbing a jacket from one of the lockers you hurry into the elevator, putting it around you and hoping it covers some of your robotic body. When the doors open you leap out of sight, maneuvering your way through the halls as you hear the sound of children laughing and footsteps getting too close. You can’t think straight, you want to leave. You don’t want to be here anymore, you just want to go home.

What even was home? Did you have one? Did you have a family? You see a group of kids approaching your hiding spot and you bolt. You see a large open door and throw it open, slamming it shut and leaning against it. Closing your eyes you try to focus on your breathing. Your lungs had been replaced too, with each breath you hear the turning of the gears and the squeaking of the air pump.

“I may owe you an apology my dear, perhaps Logan was not the right person to leave you with.” You open your eyes to see Charles at this desk. Fuck the room you went into was his office.

“You think?” You bite back, though you feel yourself a little more relaxed around this man. He chuckles and beckons you over to sit.

“I apologize. You see, you and Logan share more than you may think.” You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything about it.

“He thinks I’m a threat.” You close the jacket tighter around you. Charles stares at you and you feel something off in your head.

“Please don’t read my mind.” You mumble, trying to shut him out. To his surprise you do.

“I’m sorry, your thoughts are just very loud.” From Hank's scans Charles had discovered that your body was an odd mix of human and machine.

Your heart and lungs had been replaced but your brain remained intact. The neurons that controlled your bodily movements had been expertly attached and morphed with the wires that ran through the right side, the robotic side. Your thoughts were loud and clear that even if he tried not to he could still read them.

The conclusion?

You were not an immediate threat, but you could pose danger if you were to give in to your machine side. You carried the capacity for both great good and great evil. Your humanity was out of touch which is exactly what Crane wanted. The doors to his office slam open to reveal a pissed off Logan. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees you sitting there, for a moment you swear you saw his eyes. turn soft. But you blink and the softness is gone. Replaced by complete apathy.

“Look, I appreciate the rescue but I think it’s best if I leave.” You say while looking at Logan.

“If you want to leave, I will not stop you. But I believe you would do well here. This is a place to learn how to operate your new self safely. We’ll protect you, take care of you.” Charles offers.

The truth is he wants to keep you here so they can guide you to the right path. The fear is radiating off of you. He doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know that you’re afraid of becoming exactly what they wanted you to be. There’s one question swimming around in your mind, projecting itself to everyone who looks at you.

Are you human? Or are you a weapon? Can those people have truly stripped away your humanity, by taking your heart, your blood, your limbs?

If they were to find you again they could finish what they started. But if Charles could keep you here, he can help you find your humanity again, help you become yourself.

“I know what you fear and we can help. I promise.” Charles whispers.

“It might be too late.” You whisper back. Staring at your hands once again, watching yourself in the reflection of your metal hand.

“Nonsense my dear, you’re not the first person who’s come here with a past like yours.” Charles says while looking at Logan.

Logan shifts on his feet, there is guilt for sending you into panic but he doesn’t trust you fully yet. But if Charles does, he’ll at least stay out of your way.

“Give us a month, a month to guide you, to help you and I promise the team will do everything in our power to find the people who did this.” You think for a moment.

There’s so much of your life missing and there’s a desperate need to know growing inside of you. If he’s telling the truth, if he can really help you. Then you don’t have a choice.

“Deal.” Charles smiles and places a hand atop your metal one.

“Welcome to the X-Men.” 

[astraeus-tree]

Chapter 4

『Everything Begins From There』

Disparities Between Our Souls You finally reunite with (some of) your family and ask them for help Disclaimer(s): N/A

Chapter 3 <- Chapter 4

Cass had arrived at the rooftop where Damian was at not even 30 minutes after she had said she would. The two had thoroughly inspected the house as best as they could from the distance they were at. Not much was revealed, it had looked almost the exact same as it did before you disappeared.

Hours had passed since your first appearance and when you had gone into the house, many theories about what happened to you were said but none had made sense. The two had stayed on the rooftop, even as they saw the sun peek through the horizon. Their patience was wearing thin, but if this waiting could lead to at least the smallest hint to what happened to you, then it would be worth it.

Finally, when the sun had fully risen, barely visible through the smog, out you came. You were not alone either, the other vigilante was at your side, carrying the rogue that Damian saw last night. They saw you nod at your partner before a silk-like substance come out of your wrist, using it like ropes to jump from one building to another.

Cass and Damian stealthily followed you around the city, utilising the skills they were taught in the League of Assassins. The route you took had been familiar to them, but they had disregarded the thought, focusing on not losing you to your speed instead. Yet, as mere minutes went by, and great distances were covered, they could ignore it no longer. Not when you had stopped in front of the Wayne Manor, their home.

Your home.

You felt your heart beat in your chest and your mind race as you swung through the streets of Gotham. You moved through alleyways that you knew were always empty of thugs. Every once in a while, you would swing high enough to see the city, and every time, you would make sure to take in the scenery. The view of Gotham would never fail to calm your nerves, even with all the pain it had caused you.

As you crossed the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge, you knew there was no turning back. The manor made its way into your sight not long after. You didn’t know if you felt relief or dread, or maybe even both. You wanted so badly to turn around and go back to your aunt’s house, but you had no other choice.

You easily jumped over the fence and walked up the stairs to the door. Just like at your aunt’s place, you had hesitated to knock on the door, but one look at your husband was all that you needed to steel your nerves. Alfred had opened it almost instantaneously, something inside you was telling you that he had been expecting you. You were right of course, he had been waiting since he first heard of your appearance last night.

“Master [Name]. Welcome back.” You weren’t surprised to know that even through the mask, he knew it was you. That’s just how he always was.

“Hi Alfred. How are you?” You asked him, attempting to not make this reunion any more awkward that it has to be.

“I have been well. Please enter, master [Name].” The gap between the double doors widened and he bowed down as you entered. You quickly thanked him as you walk inside. “Please follow me into the cave. I’m sure you have plenty to say.” You nodded, your footsteps echoing as the three of you walked down the hallway and into the Batcave.

The Batcave thankfully had an area that held many cells, and that’s where Miguel had put the anomaly. Had it been a normal cell, you wouldn’t had trusted to put him there, but this was your family and you knew their security was top notch.

In another area, sectioned away from the basically-prison area and the main, a couch was set, a coffee table in front of it and TV across from it. You didn’t remember this room, but you knew time inevitably changes things, and this was one of them. You sat on the couch, Miguel sitting beside you, silently taking in his surroundings.

Alfred offered both of you tea, which you had gladly taken up and you husband cautiously accepting. You were thankful for the silence, it gave you time to collect your thoughts, to think about what you wanted and what you should say.

This peace did not last for though. Three familiar figures had barged into the room, and from their frazzled looks, you could tell they had ran. It was your siblings—or at least some of them. Questions and statements had rushed out of their mouths, a cacophony of voices filling the room. It was safe to say, you were overwhelmed. You were thankful when Alfred silenced them, pointing out how panicked you had looked.

“I’ll answer your questions later. I just want to know, where’s everyone else, especially Bruce?” You asked them.

“The other’s are busy right now, they said they’ll come when they finish what they need to. B is on a mission with the JL.” Cass replied. You inwardly sighed, a part of you had hoped B would be here so you could see his reaction, but perhaps this was for the best.

“Alright. Ok. That’s fine.” You muttered under your breath, your disappointment was immeasurable, but you knew you should’ve known better. After all, you had arrived here out of no where. Even if they hadn’t neglected you, dropping everything and coming back to the manor in such short notice was an almost impossible task. Miguel clasped your hand is his, silently comforting you. That was when Tim spoke up.

“Who is this man with you? Oracle and I have scoured everywhere for anything but nothing.” Of course your family’s first words to you would be an interrogation.

“He’s my husband.” You state plainly.

“And why is there no records of this conjugation?”

“Because it didn’t happen in this universe.”

The silence was loud. Just those few words had explained everything. The family was no stranger to multiverse problems, so it was almost astounding how this realisation had never been made until now. Until you were the one that was saying it to them.

“So why return now? It seems like you’ve already made a life for yourself in this other universe, so why throw it away to come back here?” Damian questions, and for once, his voice isn’t filled with contempt at you.

“We don’t even want to be in this universe. Hell, it’s detrimental for us to even stay here for too long—well not for me but for Miguel and the anomaly.”

“Anomaly?” They all asked, in sync.

“A being that doesn’t belong in this universe.” Miguel had spoken up. You let him continue his explanation of the multiverse and the anomalies, with him being more verse in the topic than you were. Once again, they were quiet at the end of his talk, processing the info dump they had just received.

“Ok… Enough with that though. Have you been well in the past years? Are you going to leave me again?” Cass spoke up. You were taken aback by her words. You didn’t expect for someone in the family to actually question your wellbeing.

“I’ve been doing great. As for the second question, that’s the reason why we’re here actually. We need your help fixing our gizmos so we can go back to our universe. We tried earlier but no results came out of it, so we’re hoping you guys could help us.” You could see Cass’ face drop, you were leaving her again, and this time, voluntarily.

“What do we get out of this?” Tim questioned.

“More knowledge of the universe and gadgets that could help you travel it, if you wanted to.” They all had contemplative looks on their faces, and you knew they were all debating on if this was a worthy deal or not.

“I believe we should help master [Name].” Alfred spoke up. You were grateful, this was probably the one factor that they needed to make their final decision, Alfred’s approval. The three of them nodded, yet you could tell Cass and Damian’s were hesitant. You stood up from the couch, and so did Miguel.

“Great. Let’s get started then.”

Taglist (open)

@kik1010 @cxcilla @00hellohello00 @bluepanda08 @frankie-moon3 @guyfuitty @lumi320 @type-ink @kye-chen-r @sugasweettea @sillyheartmoonnyx @definitely-not-sammie @birbtweettweet @itsberrydreemurstuff @bellethesleepypotato @yaoizee @bat1212 @mybones537 @cim0nnin @ninihrtss @redkarmakai @a-lurking-fae @1abi @lettucel0ver @leeiasure @chericia @yotokx @amber-content @oscarisaac2099 @awawage @k-anaru @randomlyappearingartist @cutelittlesugarfairy @ironsaladwitch @pix-stuff @capswife @bibliophile-yomna @inojinieeee

This chapter is kind of a filler chapter, so I apologise for that guys

I lowkey got addicted to binary puzzles when I was writing this and that's why it took so long lmao

Also, a little rant but oml my physics teacher actually makes me hate the subject so much, which is so sad cuz we're doing a cool topic this term, which is nuclear physics

Anyways, mistakes are free to point out and will be fixed immediately

This week's title doesn't come from the lyrics of a song, but does come from an MV! Wiege recently released on Valentines and I felt I had to include it somehow

Have a nice day/night everybody <3

Also the next chapter of DBOS will be delayed since it is the week of my birthday!! Yippee

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 3: But I Don't Want to Carry On Like Everything Is Fine

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!Reader, Reader POV

Summary: With a birthday printed on your wrist that happened over a hundred years ago, you always thought that you were cursed to never meet your soulmate. But when you finally meet the man that's supposed to be the other half of your soul, you wonder if the stars were wrong, and wonder how this man was meant for you. Reader is Hughie's sister, is not a supe, and is a Literature Professor that gets dragged into the middle of things. This fic takes place in an AU set loosely after Season 3 and does deviate from the plot of The Boys

Tropes: Soulmate AU, Little bit of Grumpy and Sunshine, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy, Jealous Ben/Soldier Boy

Warnings: I'm gonna label this one 18+ because it's Soldier Boy and we all know he's a warning. Homophobic comments towards Hughie (It's Soldier Boy y'all), Self deprecating thoughts, ANGST, SADNESS, HEART RIPPING OUT OF CHEST (figuratively because it's what it felt like to write this), Fear? Mentions of past graphic death, Mentions of torture (SB in Russia), Cursing, Mentions of past abuse (verbal abuse and it's SB doing it to someone because… we ALL know), Mentions of drinking, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Death, Loneliness, Longing, Basically the reader just wants to be loved, Reader wears glasses?, Soldier Boy might be a little OOC.

Word Count: 6.9K

Song Inspiration For Chapter: Love In The Dark By Adele (Title for chapter taken from this song)

Playlist For Series!✨

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!

A/N: I know this chapter is a long time coming, but thank you so much to everyone who has loved this series so far, and for encouraging me to come back to it. I hope y'all are strapped in for a ride, because this is when all the angst starts to unfold… But also… I might have changed up the Soulmate AU even more in a crazy more heartbreaking direction so, there's that too

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Guide:

Reader's thoughts are in italics and in first person.

Ben's thoughts in italics, bold, and blue!

Previously:

"I've been looking everywhere for you sweetheart." The man rumbles, the words vibrating against your fingertips where they rest against his muscular chest. He smiles at you and somewhere deep down you feel something break open that you thought was locked away long ago.

And as you stand there looking up at the man you thought you'd never see again, you feel a flicker of something that could grow into a blaze.

You stand there in the silence that follows the words of your soulmate, the rough vibration of his voice still trembling through your fingertips where they lay against his chest, as you stare up into his hypnotic green eyes. The sunlight that streams in from the windows at you back traces the hardened edges of his handsome face turning his dark hair a honeyed brown. A smile pulls at the end of his lips, crinkling his eyes, and bringing a softness to the rugged features that make your heart beat quicken.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen and yet nothing what you’d expected. You briefly wonder if you were what he expected, but judging from the women you'd seen him with in his memories you weren't, given that you looked nothing like them.

The air around the both of you warms as electricity pops and crackles along your skin skittering against the flesh and bringing goosebumps in its wake. A wave of heat travels from where Ben's hand is gently cupping your chin in his calloused fingertips, that makes you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

Nothing else exists in the world except the two of you. There's no need to breathe, no need to see, and no need to speak, because all you know is your soulmate. You can feel the beating of his heart in your own chest, feel the thrum of electricity in his body along your nerve endings, and each breath he takes you can feel vibrate in your lungs.

You'd spent years feeling like a freak, lost, and out of place, but standing here with Ben so close that you can feel his breath on your face, makes you feel whole for the first time in your life.

He's still too far away.

A voice whispers in your ear and you long to close the distance between the two of you, to hold him tight and never let him go.

The date on your wrist sears hotter than it did the first day you met him burning through the foundation once again that you'd smeared across it to hide it  and the golden cord that wove through the air securing his heart to yours seconds ago grows so hot that it turns a blinding white. And just as you think you'll have to shut your eyes from the brilliant light, the cord squeezes your chest to tight it takes your breath away.

You inhale sharply as a flood of emotions comes washing over you that aren't your own, memories that you'd only seen in your dreams flash through your mind as if you lived them, and Ben's eyes widen as he feels the same thing. His heart beats in tandem with yours, the space between you growing to almost nothing as the cord yanks you so close that you can feel his breath on your lips and his hands fall to your hips to steady you against him, sending goosebumps prickling over your body with his touch.

You'd read about what it was like to meet your soulmate before and people had tried to tell you, but for everyone it was different and no one ever described as anything like this. Especially not happening a second time after they'd crossed paths.

This shouldn't be happening, we've already met.

But you know you're not imagining this, you know that your soul is singing to Ben's, calling out to his and both of them are twisting between the two of you, weaving you together, binding you as one.

The spark in the pit of your stomach you felt the moment Ben's eyes locked with yours has begun to flare again until it burns into a wild-fire, but it's not love you feel, not compassion, not relief, or love, it's fear.

It sobers you.

Its cold finger drags down your spine and seizes in your chest, wiping away whatever else you're feeling for the handsome man standing only millimeters from you.

The Ben's memories you re-lived in your dreams come roaring back like a lion over a kill, each one more horrific than the last.

You see your soulmate standing triumphantly over bodies burned beyond recognition, see him beating someone into submission his fists splattered with red, watch as he laughs at the torment of his younger teammates and then opens his mouth to say something so repulsive it makes your skin crawl, and you see the proud smirk when he knows he's won, when he knows that he can't be beaten and no one can stop him.

He had no remorse in any of those moments, no compassion, no regret, there was only the pride and arrogance that comes with his belief that he had bested whomever attempted to challenge him.

Nothing about him is gentle, caring, or kind and nothing about him is anything like you.

You who'd never been in a fight your entire life, you who tried your hardest to make sure that no one ever felt what it was like to be alone as you had for so many years, you who always put others first, and you who tried to always find something kind to say about someone else.

Everything about your soulmate and who he is terrifies you, chills you to your core and wipes away the sensations that skittered along your skin and buried themselves in your heart moments ago.

He can't be mine. Not someone like him. Please no, anyone but him.

Your soulmate's head tilts to the side and his eyebrows furrow with confusion, mouth twitching into a frown, and you realize that he can feel your fear, maybe even hear it in the quick pulse of your heart or maybe he could smell it.

You weren't sure how his powers worked, all you knew was that you'd seen what he'd done with them, you’d seen the kind of person he was, and you wanted no part of that even if it meant being alone.

You'd spent your entire life waiting for this moment and now you wish it never came.

The cord between you snaps, the sound like breaking glass, but the man's emotions still remain in your head. You feel his confusion, his apprehension, and underneath it all you feel something else, something vulnerable that flicks away in an instant.

You step back from him, allowing his hands fall from your waist, prepared to run, needing to put as much distance between the two of you, but his fingers closes hard on your wrist just over his birthdate, hard enough to bruise.

I have to get of here.

"Where are you going?" He asks, his voice gruff, the sound of water over rocks, smoothing the sharp edges, answering your thought with a question.

"Please let me go." You say, unable to catch your breath and tugging at where his hand tightens around your wrist.

The feeling of his skin pressed to yours is overwhelming, begging you to curve into him, to sink into the warmth of your soulmate and never resurface for air.

But you can't. The fear is there, rising in the back of your throat, clamping down hard and stopping the rush of oxygen to your brain.

You weren't like Butcher, you didn’t hate supes, but you also weren't unrealistic or clueless about them. You didn't believe that all of them were bad, because with the bad came the good.

Your brother's soulmate Annie was proof of that, a supe that wasn't evil or callous or on a power trip to make others submit to her will. She cared for other people, used her powers to help others, but not all supes were like her.

Your brother had told you to stay away from supes like your soulmate, warned you about Homelander before he vanished, and warned you that not all supes were as they appeared. Although, Hughie had tried hard to keep his life separate from yours, Butcher believed you had a right to know that the supes who promised safety and freedom would be the first to take it away from you.

The stories Butcher had told you about Homelander kept you awake at night fearing for your brother and Annie’s safety, and your own. You knew that the new leader of the Seven, Stormfront, was just as bad, if not worse.

As much as you believed in the strength of your brother's soulmate, there was another part of you that knew she might not be a match for Stormfront, at least not on her own.

You yank your hand again trying to break his grip, but it doesn't move from Ben's grasp.

Why is she trying to leave?

Ben's voice in your head makes you hesitate, eyes widening as you look up into his face. You knew that Ben didn't say that out loud and yet you'd heard it. 

Holy shit, how can I hear his thoughts? Can he hear mine?

You weren't a supe and you didn't understand why you could hear his thoughts and feel his emotions, or why you hadn't been able to feel or hear them in the year since the two of you met.

What the fuck is going on? Ben's voice says louder in your head and you don't understand what the hell was going on. No one in history had ever been able to hear their soulmate's thoughts or their emotions, you knew that for a fact.

"Let me go!" You say louder.

All other sounds of whispered conversations and tinkling glasses have stopped as everyone in the room turns to stare at the two of you.

Your emotions were overwhelming, the part of you screaming to run away fighting with the urge to get closer to Ben.

His confusion floods into you as well as a slew of other emotions from him that you can’t put a name to. He doesn't understand why you're trying to get away from him and why he can feel your emotions either.

"But-" Ben begins to say.

You're my soulmate. His thought finishes in your head.

"Let her go." Hughie says appearing on your left.

The confused look in Ben's eyes shifts to annoyance, the green hardening within a second. "Fuck off. This isn't your problem." He snarls gaze flicking to your brother who looks closer to anger than you'd seen him in years.

Ben's anger and annoyance comes in a wave of heat, scorching up your arms and into your chest, clawing against your ribcage.

What the hell is happening?

"Oi let her go mate." Butcher's voice joins Hughie's and you can feel the presence of the other man hovering just over your shoulder.

Truthfully you liked Butcher. You thought he was funny and that he cared more about other people more than he was willing to let on. Not to mention after he lost his Soulmate, Becca, Butcher didn't have much to do, so you’d invite him over for movie nights with Annie and Hughie so you didn't feel like the awkward fourth wheel. Butcher was as much your friend as he was Hughie's.

I didn't fucking ask to butt in you British cunt. Ben's thought burns through your body with a wave of his anger and you can feel the heat of his skin raise.

Another shiver of fear courses down your spine at the thought of Ben losing control and burning you alive just as he had done to his teammates.

Ben's eyes drop back to yours when you whimper in pain, trying to free your wrist from his grasp, and this time Ben releases you.

The warmth you felt from touching his skin is gone, leaving only a dull throb in your wrist as you clutch it to your chest, eyes wide with fear and horror.

Ben's eyes drag down your body to your wrist and you can feel a flicker of something that might be guilt, but you're not sure if he can feel things like that. All you know is that you have to get away from him.

Why is she afraid of me?

Ben's thoughts are back, vibrating through your skull and bringing a wave of emotion with it that's not yours. You back away from him, but Ben takes a step forward to fill the space you left behind reaching for you again.

"Don't touch me." You whisper, throat thick. You couldn't tell what were his emotions and what were yours colliding in your head, all you knew was that you didn't want him anywhere near you.

Stay away from me! You think taking another step back. Ben tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He takes another step towards you still not comprehending what is happening, frustration and confusion burning through the air between the two of you.

You'd seen the short temper your soulmate had, saw what happened to people on the wrong side of it, and you cringe away from him in fear. You didn't want to be on the receiving end of his fist or whatever the hell he had locked away in his chest.

Please don’t hurt me.

The thought comes before you can stop it and you watch something flash in Ben’s eyes that looks surprisingly like hurt.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ben says, eyebrows furrowing together. “I’m your soulmate, I’d never hurt you.”

It confirms what you already know, that Ben can hear your thoughts just as you can hear his.

You back up into Butcher's chest and he drops his hands down on your shoulders to make you feel better.

Get your fucking hands off of her. She's mine!

Ben's voice roars in your head. The wave of jealousy and rage that you feel rip through your body at the feeling of Butcher's touch scorches against your insides.

"You should go." Hughie says calmly, but you can hear an edge to his voice.

"I'm not going fucking anywhere you overgrown glory hole!" Ben snaps, eyes flashing in the light of the sun behind you, the soft green long gone, but falling on you once more.

Why is she acting like she's not my soulmate? Like she doesn't want me?

Ben's voice asks in your head, the words snagging in something deep down that you thought you locked away years ago, the empty place inside that you longed for someone to fill, the empty place you knew that this man was supposed to belong.

No. No. No. Why is this happening to me?

"Hey, you don’t get to fucking speak to him like that in our house!" Annie shouts back at Ben, her eyes narrowed at the man who was at least two heads taller than she was.

It was all too much. You couldn't be here, not with all these people watching you. You move out of Butcher's grip and around Ben as close as you dare, trying to get to the front door and away from him. You could feel everyone's eyes on you and hear their silent judgement.

It reminded you too much of your childhood, the one you spent wishing that the whispers and odd looks would stop, the one when people would cross to the other side of the road like you had something contagious, the one where you felt so alone that you couldn't standing it and when you wished that someone, anyone, would fill the hole you felt inside for far too long. The same hole that you couldn't feel when Ben was touching you.

"Wait-" Ben begins to say, voice gruff, while trying again to grab you, but you dodge his hand and run full speed at the front door of the apartment.

Come back.

There's something behind those words that grates against your heart, but you don't turn around.

Hughie and Annie shout your name, but you're already gone. You can’t be here, not now, not with him standing there, not when he's everything you'd thought you'd never have and yet, everything that you fear.

Your footsteps pound against the cracked pavement, the world around you a soundless blur with every pump of your arms. Rain swats against your skin as you run, each slap of your bare feet against cracked pavement mirroring the thunder that shakes the buildings around you.

You'd lost your shoes the minute you broke into a run outside Hughie and Annie's apartment, and you were too afraid to go back for them.

Water trickles down your spine, bringing the chill of the rain with it, but you can’t feel it, the only thing you feel is the flood of emotions you'd had since the moment you ran into your soulmate again, the one who left you on the street one year ago like you meant nothing to him. 

Funny, when that happened you thought that was the worst of it, but it wasn't.

What did I do to deserve this?

Flashes of your soulmate's memory echo the lightning above, the horrors you witnessed in the sweet abyss of sleep that haunted your mind. Bloody fists, blackened bodies, harsh laughter, and clips of dialogue play through your mind on a sickening loop.

You ran as if you thought you could leave it all behind, as if you could leave him behind, but he was everywhere. He was in the faces of the people in the crowds, in the sound of the thunder, in the thrum of your blood through your veins, in each beat of your heart, and in each breath you took.

The look he had on his face when you fled was there, bringing a wave of guilt for leaving him behind the way that he left you one year ago.

But he left me before he knew me. I know him. I've seen what he's done. I-

The thought brings the memory of the hurt that flashed through Ben's eyes at the apartment back into your head.

In all the memories you'd seen of him, you'd never seen him look hurt, but it was there somewhere, slipping through whatever warped telepathy the two of you had, the telepathy you didn't understand.

How could someone you waited for your whole life fill you with such dread? How could the man who was the other half of your soul, be anything like the man you met?

In the past you'd tried to imagine who it would be, what your soulmate would look like, how he'd treat you, and what kind of man he'd be. You'd seen a faceless man holding sunflowers out to you, a man holding you while you cried, a man sitting with you curled on the couch while you read through one of your favorite books with your head leaning on his shoulder, a man taking you to bed while your fingers clasped his above your head and the soft sound of his voice telling you how much he loved you, a man who touched you reverently, as if you were something to be worshipped, a man who made you feel safe and who would listen when you talked to him, a man who remembered the little things, a man who took care of you, and a man who sat with you while you graded papers and sighed to yourself at the end of a day that seemed endless.

Now it all seemed like a big lie, because your soulmate could never be that man. You'd seen exactly who and what he was.

The idea that you were cursed seemed to fit now, because there had to be something or someone above laughing at your expense, making you suffer all the years you were alone dreaming of a man who could be those things for you only to give you the one man who could be none of them.

Annie and Hughie were perfect in every way. All the little things that made each of them unique molded together to create something beautiful. They loved each other in a way that made your chest hurt to look at them.

You'd wanted that so badly for so long.

And now the stars laughed at you because they'd given you him.

You didn't think it would be possible for you to ever love someone like him. Someone who took from others and gave none in return, someone who found joy in the submission of others, and someone who hurt and killed with no remorse.

Monsters did that, men who thought the world owed them something or rather that the world should submit to them, men who took and took and never once cared what it did to the people around them, and men who never saw anyone else as an equal.

In the past you'd thought that your soulmate of all people would see you as something more than just a possession, but rather something that strengthened him, made him stronger with your love and care, made him a better man, and a man who saw you as someone, not something.

People clear out of your way, parting to watch what they must believe is a woman driven mad, running shoeless, down the streets of NYC in the middle of a torrential downpour.

And maybe you were crazy to run from someone who looked like your soulmate did.

There was no denying that he was gorgeous. He looked like he stepped right out of a book, the dashing dark-hared brooding hero with sharp features and green eyes you wished to lose yourself in. Your soulmate looked like every lead male character you'd imagined and fallen in love with in every book you ever read. The novels you read when everything in the real world was disappointing and bleak, the ones that opened their pages and welcomed you home, promised an escape from the mediocre and enveloped you in the extraordinary.

He looked like everything you ever wanted. Something taken from your unconscious and made real.

Why me?

The fear was back, the cold trickle that became a roar blocking out the little voice inside your head that scolded you and told you to turn around and go back to him, that you needed him, the little voice that told you he was yours, that he was made for you, just as you were made for him. The voice that promised after years of being alone and filled with a cold, empty feeling, all you had to do was turn around and run back to the sun.

But you can't go back, because you're not sure if your soulmate is even human anymore.

In the past your bathtub had been a place of solace where you could have a nice glass of wine and lose yourself in a good book, but today the warm water did little to sooth the anxiety prickling on the back of your neck.

There was a Rosemary Mint candle lit on the small counter next to the sink sending a flickering yellow light over the worn subway tiles in your bathroom. One of two candles Annie had gifted you for Christmas in a handmade basket full of things to pamper yourself and a candle that was supposedly good for "stress relief" but you were prepared to call bullshit on that given the state of your nerves.

The plush white bathrobe hanging on the back of your bathroom door, the jar of soothing lavender bath salts nestled into the elbow of your tub, and the face masks scattered on the bathroom counter also came from the same basket.

All of which served as another reminder of how perfect she was for your thoughtful and caring brother.

The thought brings a wave of sadness over you and you lean your head into your knees.

None of this was helping.

You couldn't remember coming home, didn't remember running up the creaky stairs to your floor, didn’t remember passing by Mrs. Charleson's apartment with the happily painted yellow door, didn't remember unlocking the five locks on your apartment door, and certainly didn't remember slipping into the warm bath you found yourself in.

The only thing you could remember was meeting your soulmate, feeling the warmth of his caress over your skin, hearing the smooth rumble of his voice like distant thunder, and seeing how the memories you'd seen did not do justice to the handsome and rugged features he had.

A shiver of fear follows and your tighten your arms around your knees.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be different.

You think to yourself as your eyes drift to the hand print on your wrist, the one that had already begun to turn an ugly blue and ironically was curved over the birthdate that glowed gold in the flickering light.

Why him?

A wave of guilt comes swiftly when you think of the way he looked at you when you thought that in front of him.

How could he hear my thoughts? How could I hear his thoughts and feel his emotions?

There were so many things about the soulmate bond the two of you had that made no sense. You knew for a fact that no one else could see their soulmates memories when they slept, but the ability to hear your soulmate's thoughts and feel his emotions? It was impossible. And unless someone had spiked your drink with compound V at the party, you still weren't a supe and had no idea what the hell was going on!

But you were thankful that you couldn't hear Ben's thoughts and emotions right now. You didn't know why that was and hoped it meant that it only happened when you were around him or hoped it meant that it would never happen again.

The memory of how you met Ben again sends a warm feeling from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Another mystery… why it was like that to meet Ben the second time.

None of your friends ever told you that it was like that to run into your soulmate a second time.

Then again what other soulmate leaves you standing in the street alone?

The golden cord glows behind your eyelids, the cord that bound Ben's heart to yours for a few precious seconds, a moment that lasted forever. You'd never heard anyone talk about a golden cord before either. Annie said that when she met Hughie it felt like fireworks, but she never talked about feeling like she was bound to your brother or told you that it was anything like what you’d experienced with Ben.

What the hell is going on?

When you'd told Mrs. Charleson that you were dreaming Ben's memories she'd said that she'd heard a myth about it, that it meant the two of you were "meant to share more than one lifetime together," (whatever that meant), but she'd never mentioned anything about a cord that wove soulmates together. You would have gone to talk to her after the train wreck that happened at the party, but you knew that she was still at work.

Despite the fact that she had more than enough money to retire, your neighbor argued that people "who slowed down got old." She'd been running a successful apartment and house cleaning business for years, but about a year ago a man had hired her to clean his apartment and cook for him full time. He'd offered her so much money that your neighbor no longer needed to clean anyone else's home and was employed as his housekeeper.

You didn't know anything about him, didn't even know his name, but your neighbor said he was a kind young man who often reminded her of her son and was richer than a piece of french silk pie. You supposed he was a wall-street guy or the founder of some tech company, but you couldn’t believe the descriptions of his apartment she told you or the pictures you'd shown you.

It sounded and looked like a palace so far in the air it might as well be a castle in the sky, but you wanted to see it in person.

You did like your apartment, but it was too small even just for you. The thought of having a place where you could have a real desk, sunlight, consistent water pressure, a breathtaking view, and no super who only responded to twenty dollar bills and asked you for pictures of your feet daily sounded heavenly.

Not to mention it would be nice not to live somewhere with walls so thin you could hear your neighbors having obnoxiously loud sex at all hours of the night like bats. You had no idea how they ever got anything done with so little sleep.

And yeah, maybe Mrs. Charleson and you had made fun of the guy's decorating choices, but you figured that maybe he just needed someone to help him pick out furniture that was a little more comfortable to make his apartment seem less like a museum and more like a home. Mrs. Charleson had said he was single anyway, which meant that guy probably hadn't met his soulmate and when he did, they would help him out.

The front door of your apartment opens and fear momentarily spikes at the thought of it being your soulmate, that he'd somehow figured out where you lived, and he'd find you naked and vulnerable in the bathtub.

But then you hear your brother shout your name from your living room and a wave of relief crashes over you.

"I'm in the tub." You yell back.

Honestly, you didn't feel like talking to anyone, not after the day you had. You wanted to forget it happened, to go to bed and go to work tomorrow as if everything were normal and not as if your life was falling apart. It always felt like it was falling apart, but today was exceptionally heart breaking.

"Can you come out?" Hughie asks. You can hear him lean his head against the door of your small bathroom and you imagine his frown.

"I don't feel like talking right now." You reply pushing your face further into your knees.

"I brought tacos."

You hesitate for a second. Your brother and you had always been close. Sure there were those awkward sibling moments and a little bit of sibling rivalry and times when Hughie annoyed you to no end, but he was your best friend. It was him who encouraged you to become an English teacher despite the constant disapproval from your parents, him who loaned you enough money to get out from under their roof and start your own life, and him who always knew just the way to cheer you up… hence the tacos.

"And a blind date from Inky's Inspirations." He continues.

Damnit.

Inky's Inspirations was your favorite used book store. You had spent many a weekend curled up in one of the holey reading chairs with a worn paperback in your hand, letting the rest of the world fall away while you were lost in a book that whisked you away on ink and paper with gentle prose. The store had started doing "blind dates," wrapping up books in brown paper with descriptors like "Will melt your panties" or "Made me realize I have a bondage kink" or "Supernatural creature hunter vibes" or "In case you're curious about what the inside of the Loch Ness monster looked like."

That last one had been a supernatural romance that you still weren't sure if you liked it or not. It had been interesting...

But you were under the impression that no one could have too many books. The books scattered all over your apartment and stacked up so high they hit the ceiling were proof of that.

You sigh to yourself cursing your thoughtful brother. "Give me a second."

When you come out of your bathroom wearing your favorite soft t-shirt and sweatpants, your brother envelops you in a warm hug, and unfortunately undoes the little relaxation you felt when you took a bath and makes you begin to cry.

Worse was that a little part of you wished that it wasn't your brother but your soulmate who was here holding you, or rather the version of the soulmate you'd invented in your head, not the man you’d seen earlier.

It made all of this worse, that you were still so alone and sometimes you couldn’t understand how you could feel so alone with so many people in your life who cared about you. But you wanted him, wanted the other half of your soul to hold you close against him, to feel the warmth of his body curving around yours as he told you that everything was going to be okay.

It hurt more than you knew it would, especially now that you knew he existed.

Sobs shake through your body as you cling to your brother and rub your nose into the front of his shirt as everything from today washes over you all over again. Meeting your soulmate again after a year, having all those feeling and emotions roll through you, seeing flashes of his memories again, and running away from him as fast as you could.

You felt lost and yet there was a voice whispering in your ear that told you that the only place that you could be found was back with the man who held the other half of your soul.

"Shh. It's alright." Hughie soothes, rubbing his hand up and down your back. "It's okay."

It was the same thing that he used to tell you when you were younger and nothing made sense, when it felt like you were a freak because of the date printed on your wrist.  The same days when you'd ask yourself the ultimate question: would it be okay?

But now you knew the truth… it wouldn't be.

Because you'd hoped and prayed to meet your soulmate every day of your life, and now that you had, you wished that it never happened, because the man who grabbed you so hard it bruised your skin couldn't be the man you imagined falling in love with when you were a little girl.

"Are you okay?" Hughie asks you.

"No." You murmur pulling back to clean your tear smudged glasses.

Hughie was still wearing the light blue button down shirt from the party, and you feel a wave of guilt crash over you thinking that you ruined his and Annie's housewarming party.

Your brother presses his lips together. "I'm sorry-" He begins to say, but you interrupt.

"I'm the one who should be saying that."

"What? Why?"

"Well I ruined your party and-"

"Are you kidding? No you didn't! That asshole did-" Hughie frowns. "I don't know what he was thinking grabbing you like that."

You swallow the lump in the back of your throat remembering the grip Ben had on your arm.

"Did he hurt you?" Hughie picks up your hand to examine your wrist, frowning at the handprint. "What a dick!"

Your brother didn’t usually get angry, he was more of a suffer in silence kind of person who kept all their emotions a little more close to their chest, but he looks livid. "I swear the next time I see him I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. He shouldn’t have fucking grabbed you like that-"

The thought of your gentle brother yelling at Ben makes a lump of worry catch in the back of your throat. You didn't want Ben to hurt your brother, he was only person in your entire family that made you feel like you belonged.

"Hughie calm down, it's okay."

It wasn't and you both knew it.

"No it's not. He could have broken your arm!" He snaps.

"He didn't." You murmur.

But he could have.

Those words are like taking a bullet to the chest. You’d seen exactly what your soulmate was capable of and exactly how he acted when he didn’t get his way.

What did I do to deserve this?

"That doesn't matter! He didn't have a right to treat you like that. Like you're-"

"His." The word comes out before you can stop it. "But I kind of am." You shudder at the confession.

Even if you didn't want Ben in your life, it didn't change anything. He was still your soulmate. Every part of him was molded and shaped for you just as every part of yourself was molded and shaped for him.

Ben was yours, but you didn't want to be his.

Hughie shakes his head. "He might be your soulmate but you don't belong to him. You're not his property-"

"I know that but-" Your voice breaks under the weight of everything crashing back down over you. "How can he be my soulmate?"

Hughie whispers your name, but you keep talking. It was coming out of you, everything that you had pushed down, all the emotions you'd had as a child, because you didn't want to keep going like everything was fine, it wasn't.

It never had been.

"Why is he my soulmate? How are we anything alike? He's-" A memory of Ben ripping someone in half comes across your mind and it makes you feel nauseous.

"I mean I-" The tears were coming fast again now, hot against your cheeks. "I waited all these years, thought that he'd never exist, thought that I was going fucking crazy staring at this damn date on my wrist and after years of feeling like a freak I find out that the man I've been waiting for is him? How is any of this fair?"

"It's going to be-"

"Stop saying that!" You shout, hands clenched at your sides. "It's not Hughie! It's not going to be okay and I'm so sick of hearing you say it. Not everyone can be happy all the time and have a perfect soulmate. Some of us are fucking stuck with a barbarian who doesn't give a shit about anyone else and kills people for sport!"

Hughie recoils with your words and you feel guilty.

You didn’t mean to hurt his feelings and you knew that your brother was here to help you, but you were just so frustrated and confused over everything that had happened today. You had no idea what was going on and what any of this meant. It all made you feel helpless and you hated feeling like that.

"He's-" You squeeze your eyes shut as if it'll make the thoughts stop, but it doesn't. "He's nothing like me! He's-" The image of a body laying at Ben's feet comes flashing through your head with him standing triumphantly over it. "He's a monster."

You hadn't said it out loud until right now only thought it. The word seems harsh, but you didn't know what else to call a person who killed and hurt other people with no remorse. In all the memories that you’d relived of your soulmate that was the ingredient missing.

Remorse.

Regret.

Guilt.

Shame.

All were things that would have made you reconsider going back to Ben if he'd felt those things after killing or hurting someone, but you didn't feel a shred of any when you watched him tear people apart with his bare hands.

You wonder if it had something to do with being tortured in the lab all those years, if being put through that changed him, but you’d seen memories of him acting just as terrible years before that happened.

"Someone like him isn't capable of feeling love! You can't do all the things he has with no remorse and still be capable of that." By now you were babbling, your voice barely recognizable from the sobs and shaky breaths you kept taking to stabilize yourself, but the truth was you were on the verge of a panic attack. Your eyes shift to your brother's concerned expression. "I'm sorry Hughie I-"

Hughie hugs you again, holding you so tight against him that it hurts. “You don’t have to be sorry. I know you’re frustrated. And I don't understand why he's your soulmate either. You have no idea what I’ve seen him do.“

“I don't know what to do.” You whisper into his shirt with a sniffle, still trying to calm the rapid breathing and beat of your heart, but nothing was working.

Because what the hell should you do?

You'd lived so long believing that you’d never meet your soulmate and even though the thought of being around him terrified you, there was another part of you that was begging you to go back to him.

The fantasy version of Ben manifests again, the one you'd imagined when you were a little girl dreaming of the day you'd get to meet the man who would complete you. Now those fantasies mocked you, every year you spent celebrating the birthday of your soulmate alone in the darkness of your apartment, every minute you spent trying to shrug off the taunts of the people in your hometown and your own parents when they saw the date on your wrist, and every second you spent hoping that it would happen to you while a little voice in your head told you it wasn't meant to be, that someone above cursed you to be alone forever.

All the hope you'd felt was a lie.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this and now that I’ve seen what he’s done I… I don't think I could ever love someone like him."

"No one is asking you to." Your brother says.

"I know that, but- He's still my soulmate."

I want to love him. A little voice deep inside said, it was the same one that was begging you to give Ben a chance, but you ignored it. You had seen the kind of man he was and you wanted no part of him in your life.

You take in a shaky breath and pull back from Hughie to examine the handprint shaped bruise on your wrist right over the golden birthdate that glows against your skin. "I'd rather be alone than be with him.”

The words hurt to admit to yourself, especially after all the years you’d spent wishing that you wouldn’t be alone and watching everyone else get the happy ending you so desperately wanted.

But none of that mattered now. Soulmate or not, everything about Ben scared you, and it didn't matter that the universe said he was yours, you knew in your heart that he couldn't be and that you'd never be able to love someone like him.

And miles away, on the other side of the bustling city that never sleeps, your soulmate sat on the end of his large bed in his empty apartment and looked down at his own wrist, tracing an ugly blue bruise that looked surprisingly like a handprint over your golden birthdate, and the first bruise he'd had in over eighty years.

A/N: Welp, I told y'all it was sad and oh my stars it broke my heart to do this to Ben. 😭 I'd like to say that the next chapter I have planned is less sad... but oh man I think it's worse 😅

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always welcome and appreciated! I really love hearing what y'all think. ❤️ If you'd liked to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

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[bluebellofbakerstreet]

❤️ Valentine Fic Recs ❤️

Happy Valentine's Day! Lots of fic recs - mostly short, mostly Johnlock, mostly fluffy, all with happy endings under the cut:

(edited because I found some more)

Works without a word count are either Tumblr ficlets or single chapter ficlets in compilation fics - bite-sized, like chocolates. Those works are not rated, but I have marked those that are explicit. All are Johnlock unless otherwise marked. Fluff levels vary, but all have happy endings. :)

❤️ Unconventional Gifts ❤️

Fingers by arwamachine. Sherlock is a hard man to find a gift for.

The Love Song of Dr. John H. Watson by TakePen and Ink. John takes Sherlock out for the evening on Valentine's Day. 11,160 words. Explicit.

Home-made Valentine's Day Present by Golfechoromeo Sherlock enlists Mrs Hudson's help in making a gift for John.

❤️ Something Red ❤️

Valentine's Magic by ChrisCalledMeSweetie. Greg has a trick up his sleeve this Valentine's Day. Mystrade. 578 words. Gen.

❤️ Dinner at Angelo’s ❤️

No Date On Valentine's Day by Avath. Dinner at Angelo's - and a little clearing of the air.

❤️ Candy ❤️

Bloody Valentine by Johnlockedness. Sherlock has made hand engraved candy hearts for John for Valentine's day. Has he found the way to John's heart? 3,223 words. Explicit.

❤️ Craft Projects ❤️

Shape of My Heart by MissDavis. February, 2021: John (finally) moves back to Baker Street. 4,680 words. Teen.

Watson's Anatomy by Calais_Reno. John and Sherlock's first Valentine's Day as a couple. 1,507 words. Teen

❤️ Love Notes ❤️

Obligatory Romantic Gesture Day by 13para_dox. John knows Sherlock doesn't believe in Valentine's Day, but after three years of expecting nothing he gets a surprise. 3,589 words. Mature.

Valentine Hopes by BookGirlWithLove. A box of Valentine cards for Rosie’s class sparks ideas in Sherlock and John - but who will have the courage to act upon them? 1,605 words. Gen.

❤️ Chocolate ❤️

This very short and charming ficlet by 221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor. John brings chocolates for Sherlock.

❤️ Established Relationship ❤️

Vital Organs by midrashic. John wants, and agonizes, and argues with himself. Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes falls in love. 8,128 words. Mature.

Home-Made Valentine's Day Present by Anne. Blanket Fort.

The Box - Golfechoromeo. Sherlock is smug about always guessing John's gifts. Can John surprise him?

❤️ Elaborate Preparations ❤️

How To Give Your Boyfriend Who Doesn't Know He's Your Boyfriend the Best Valentine's Day Ever by Unicorn Poe. Sherlock is pretty sure that John Watson is his boyfriend. He's also pretty sure that John doesn't know it. But with a little help from a magazine, some friends, three crepes, five dates, one awesome CD, and a stalker van, John is bound to realize just in time for Valentine's Day. 9,832 words. Teen.

❤️ Flowers❤️

Something in his Jeans by moonblossom. It's probably a good thing Sherlock doesn't wear jeans more often - they'd never get anything done outside the flat if he did. 1,980 words. Explicit.

Rose Petals by  Golfechoromeo. "No, it has to be rose petals," Sherlock complained to the man behind the counter. 

❤️ Dressed for the Occassion❤️

Hope is Sweet by Lock_John_Silver. Sherlock wants to be more than John’s best friend. Has wanted it for ages, truth be told. So, when Molly comes up with an idea, that to some extent involves three year old Rosie, Sherlock doesn’t hesitate. 2,977 words. Teen.

Midnight Becomes You by ChrisCalledMeSweetie. Cindersherlock longs to dance with Prince John at the Valentine’s Ball. But what will happen when Mrs. Hudson’s magic wears off at midnight? 1,564 words. Get.

No Date On Valentine's Day by Anne. It was February 14th and Sherlock and John were alone together.  

❤️ Meet Cute ❤️

Check, Please! by prettysailorsoldier. Sherlock and John first meet on Valentine's Day, surrounded by flowers and candlelight in a fine Italian restaurant. It's the picture perfect romantic setting, with just one small hitch: Sherlock already has a date, and John is their waiter. 7,387 words. Gen.

Paris by Avath. Med student John manages to pull an attractive stranger in Paris. Explicit.

Paris by Anne. Student Sherlock and soldier John meet by chance in Paris.

Speed Dating by Golfechoromeo. "Welcome, everyone, to 'Looking for Love,' a special speed dating event to find that special someone for this coming Valentine's Day!" 

Speed Love by Hotaru_Tomoe. John has a celebrity crush on Sherlock, a consulting detective who solves cold cases. He collects photos and fanarts, and write fanfictions about him. One year later, he meets Sherlock in the most improbable place, a speed date evening. 4,182 words. Mature.

❤️ Free Space ❤️

Speed Date With Destiny prettysailorsoldier. When Molly's friend cancels on her at the last minute on Valentine's Day, John is called in from the bisexual reserves to be her wingman at the LGBT society's speed dating event. 10,409 words. Teen.

Enter and Sign In, Please by Mad_Lori. John appears on the Valentine's Day episode of "Late Night with Jimmy Fallon" while Sherlock is overseas on a press junket. In the Performance in a Leading Role verse. 2,553 words. Gen.

Paris - Golfechoromeo. The twinkling lights of Paris were spectacular.

Speed Dating by Avath. Joh nWatson doesn't expect much from this speed dating event.

Undersense by Silvergirl. John seems to have written Sherlock off completely, and Sherlock's best shot at fixing it lies well outside of his usual toolbox.

❤️ First Kiss ❤️

Conversation Hearts by rsong912. Will U B Mine? 1,382 words. Mature.

Men don't get flowers on Valentine's Day by HoneyPiePuzzle. A story in which Sherlock gets an anonymous Valentine’s present and John gets weird. Miscommunication ensued. 20,814 words. Mature.

❤️ Matchmaking ❤️

February 15th prettysailorsoldier. After a difficult breakup years earlier, Sherlock has decided that romance is something he can do without, but a blind date with the handsome, charming, funny (did we mention handsome?) John Watson might just prove him wrong--if he's willing to take the risk again. 8,148 words. Teen.

Valentine Ambush by Mice. There's a dinner and some romance. Neither of them had quite expected it. Anthea, as always, is to blame. Mystrade. 3,169 words. Mature.

❤️ Champagne ❤️

Home-made Valentine's Day Present by Avath. The boys both ask Mrs Hudson for some Valentine's Day assistance.

❤️ Texting ❤️

Undersea-Rainbows by agirlsname. If John ever saw a picture of how Sherlock gazes at him when he isn't looking, things would turn around very quickly for them. 11,239 words. Explicit.

No Date On Valentine's Day by Golfechoromeo. Sherlock was sulking. It was Valentine's Day. And he, as anyone would have guessed, was alone and dateless. But not John Watson.

He told me by Salambo06. It's Valentine's day, Sherlock and John are at Baker Street. Sherlock's phone buzzes with Irene's text alert and John goes all TLD again and says that for god's sake, it's Valentine's day and he should just reply. 2,941 words. Explicit.

❤️ Candlelight ❤️

No Sex, No Kissing, and Absolutely No Romance by kedgeree. It's Valentine's Day, which is just another day, right? There is absolutely no need for sex or kissing or romance on this particular day. In fact, John and Sherlock have a bet on. John can resist Sherlock for the day. And Sherlock can resist John. Neither one needs sex or kissing or romance. Neither one will give in first. 3,830 words. Explicit.

❤️ Secret Admirer ❤️

The Heart of the Matter by prettysailorsoldier. It's the annual Valentine's Week fundraiser, carnations, conversation hearts, and singing telegrams (oh my!) making their way around the school corridors, and Sherlock Holmes has quite happily never received any of them. So, when he gets a box of conversation hearts containing a message from a secret admirer, his first instinct is that it's an elaborate practical joke, but, as he and his mystery suitor begin texting, he starts to wonder if there might be something to this Valentine's Day lark after all. There is, however, the entirely unrelated problem of one John Watson to contend with before he can be sure. 13,427 words. Teen.

Quo Fata Vocant by prettysailorsoldier. Sherlock is enamored with one of the employees at the university library, wiling away hours of his days just to catch a glimpse of the dynamic John Watson: captain of the rugby team, event manager for the LGBT society, and third-year medical student. Of course, being only a first-year, it's unlikely John will ever notice him. At least, until fate (and a little well-intentioned meddling) intervenes. 18,115 words. Explicit.

Secret Admirer by Avath. Sherlock had been getting letters stuffed in his backpack for weeks. Kidlock.

Secret Admirer by Golfechoromeo. John's secret admirer is helping him to pass his organic chemistry class.

Secret Admirer - Anne. Uni rugby player John asks Sherlock to help him figure out who is sending him anonymous notes.

Love, In Five Acts by unicornpoe. Somebody is wooing Sherlock Holmes—only he doesn't think it's the person he wants it to be. 4,443 words. Teen.

❤️ Confectionary ❤️

A Whole Latte Love by prettysailorsoldier. Sherlock's a regular at a coffee shop near his lab, always coming in at the same time and ordering the same thing. That is, until they get a new barista: a fellow student with a penchant for latte art who will throw a not-entirely-unwelcome wrench into his routine. Latte art totally counts as confectionary, right? No? Well, there are scones, too. 8,277 words. Teen.

Arrest the Man in the Towel by trillian_jdc. Greg met Sherlock during a case at a sauna. What if Mycroft was also there? In a towel? And they end up telling John and Rosie Watson this story of their first meeting on Valentine's Day? While Mycroft bakes? It's a lot of holiday silliness, is what this is. Mystrade. 4,009 words. Teen.

❤️ Cooking with Love ❤️

All Hearts' Day by agirlsname. This time, John has to see the clues. 446 words. Gen.

❤️ Only One of them Knows they’re on a date ❤️

The Importance of February 14th by cypress_tree. Sherlock was born on Valentine's Day. John doesn't know this and invites him out on a date. Sherlock assumes it's a birthday celebration and believes so right up until the moment John kisses him. 3,156 words. Teen.

❤️ Kids’ Party ❤️

Puppy Love prettysailorsoldier. Sherlock hates the class Valentine's Day parties, everything from the sweets to the decorations giving him a headache, and that's not even mentioning the valentine exchange, only one from Mrs. Hudson ever making it into his envelope. That is, until today... 3,775 words. Teen.

❤️ Love Song ❤️

My Funny Valentine by NoLessLuminous. In retrospect, John supposed that it hadn't been the wisest move to cut out early from his date on the 13th of February. To be fair, it hadn't been one of Sherlock's fake emergencies. No, instead it had been a rapid stream of unanswered phone calls from Mrs. Hudson, culminating in an almost indecipherably frantic voicemail, the only distinguishable words of which were "Sherlock," "fire," and (puzzlingly) "bring home some bicarbonate of soda." 5,938 words. Explicit.

❤️ Subtle as a Ton of Bricks ❤️

Before You Know It by Calais_Reno. Sherlock seeks relationship advice. 736 words. Teen.

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Kaiju!AU Rewrite Snippet

So as stated in a previous post, I've started rewriting the chapters I currently have for the Kaiju!AU due to the original not meeting my original vision and my own pacing minimizing the quality (in my own mind anyway). I'm still on hiatus from answering asks for imagines for the AUs, but I am still working on the ideas at my own pace and will slowly reintegrate myself into something comfortable and enjoyable.

Anyway, this is set shortly after Yuu discovers the ship and plane graveyard from the original prologue, expanding a bit more on the island itself...as well as meeting someone MUCH earlier than I had planned the first time around. >v>

I've still got much to finish writing for the first chapter and get it to a point where I'm satisfied with it, but I'm happy that I've been able to add more of the worldbuilding ideas I had discussed in previous posts so far!

In short: Story begins relatively the same, but it's been expanded a helluva lot more than before and will progress differently now that I'm gaining more confidence in my own skills since first attempting this AU!

Warnings: Some swearing in the snippet and some implied blood. If I need to tag anything in here a specific way, please let me know so I can keep it in mind whenever I post the final product!

//////BEGIN SNIPPET//////

The sun was steadily rising now as they continued their search, somehow managing to escape the giant metal deathtrap maze and into a wide clearing. Up ahead they could see a jungle tree line, immediately recognizing the cluster of yellow at the top of one of the trees. Relieved to have found a food source, they ran as fast as they could towards the trees. As they grew closer and closer, however, their excitement turned to confusion as they slowed to a trot. Still the trunks of the trees continued to grow bigger, dwarfing Yuu as they stopped and stared up in horror at the sight of the trees looming over them like towers.

“What the hell is going on,” they uttered, slowly turning in a circle as they realized just how small they were compared to the foliage. Plants that should have come up to their waist or shoulders were large enough to form a canopy, shielding them from the steadily growing harsh sunlight. Trees that should have been easily 15-20 feet tall were easily three times that height, fruit that should have been easy to pluck and gather now swayed threateningly like a boulder ready to be dropped.

Buzzing overhead caught their attention as they looked up, pure terror filling their veins as they saw what could only be described as a giant dragonfly-like creature flitting about. It hovered close to a flower, the downdraft of its wings buffeting Yuu with strong winds as it landed on a petal—and disappearing the moment the flower snapped shut around its body, clamping down like a vice as it struggled to escape.

“Nope! Nope, nope, nope, nope!” was all Yuu managed to say before they scurried away, not wanting to find out if anything else had a taste for flesh. “Giant food is one thing, but I draw the line at man-eating plants!”

Giant food, giant bugs, giant plants, a deserted island, and an entire graveyard of ships and planes? This had to be a fever dream or a nightmare of epic proportions! Yet it was getting harder and harder to find logic in anything they were seeing. None of this should even be possible, and yet…here they were, stranded in the middle of nowhere with no idea of who they were, how they got here, or even why they were here. And if the insects and plants were enormous, what else was even bigger than them? They didn’t even know if there were any other survivors out the-

‘Get a grip, Yuu!’ they thought, managing to stick close to the edge of the jungle on their right and keeping the shore on their left side. ‘Panicking won’t help anything, and you need to stay focused. Food will have to wait, so let’s just find water and shel-‘ the ground collapsed under their right foot, sending Yuu sliding down a steep incline with loud, “Aaaah!!”

Whud!

“…ow,” they uttered, groaning as they slowly sat up. Glancing back where they came from, they spotted the steep slope that had been concealed by one of the leaves. The dirt was smoothed away to reveal red and yellow clay, as though someone had carved out the opening with a tool to remove any bumps or ridges. Realizing that it would be too steep a climb to get out of the ravine, they sighed and shook their head. “Great…is everything on this island trying to kill-”

Thoom…

“…me…” Their voice trailed off as another thud hit the ground, the earth vibrating beneath their feet as they slowly turned towards the densest part of the forest. Something was coming, the sound of branches creaking and snapping reaching Yuu’s ears as they slowly started to creep behind a large rock formation—before finally noticing the razor-sharp teeth and the empty eye socket. They clamped their hands over their mouth as a massive black shape began to emerge, ducking into the gap of the skull until they could peek through the socket.

The creature that emerged was gigantic, towering beyond anything they could imagine as it crept into the area on four legs. The sunlight fell across its body, black and green feathers gleaming while its beak—wickedly sharp and deadly—was slick with something damp.

‘What…what the fuck is that thing?!’ Yuu thought, pressing their body against the inside of the skull as they watched the monster move.

It sniffed the air, its four glowing golden eyes scanning the area. It sniffed at the colorful crystal formations at the base of the tree. A pair of thin, small arms extending from its chest as the strange hands grasped at the stones, snapping them from the base. When it opened its beak, the sun glinted off of sharp rows of teeth before it crunched down on the crystals. Once the crystals were gone, it sniffed around for a moment before it stood on its hind legs and leaned against one of the trees. Its neck stretched out further than they thought was possible, its sharp beak plucking at the fruit that seemed so ridiculously small in comparison. From this angle, they could see a pair of massive wings pressed tightly to its sides and a long serpentine tail lazily sweeping across the ground.

‘Okay…whatever the hell that thing is, it seems only interested in fruit, so maybe it won’t mistake me for a bug and eat me…?’

Something skittered across the bark near the monster’s claw, and a moment later its head had darted forward. A giant spider-like bug with crystalline spikes was squirming in its beak before it tossed its head back, swallowing it whole before continuing to pluck at the fruit with a distinctly happy trill.

‘…yeah, that makes more sense,’ they thought, feeling their heart beating heavily in their chest. ‘Dammit…I can’t run or that thing will spot and eat me like that spider! Maybe I can just…wait here in this skull and-”

Beep-bwoop!

“Shit!” Yuu whispered under their breath as they immediately reached down to the ankle bracelet. To their horror, the bird-lizard monster’s head immediately snapped towards their direction, the two feathery ears popping up and swiveling left and right—searching for the sound again. ‘Dammit, why is the universe trying to kill me?!’

THOOM…THOOM…

Each footstep from the monster made their heart jump as they pressed their body against the wall of the skull, bracing their feet against the other side to avoid falling over and making more noise. They could hear the beast sniff the air, the musty smell of rotting meat and fruit washing over the area while something loud scraped against the ground around their hiding spot.

‘Please don’t beep again, please don’t let it find me, please, please, please, please!’ they thought, staring at the bracelet as the light blinked mockingly up at them. The monster sniffed—horrifyingly close now—as a wave of hot air rushed through the eye socket. Through the gaps in the skull’s teeth, they could see its shadow blocking out the sunlight, the tips of what they realized were its massive claws beginning to curl underneath their hiding spot and starting to lift. ‘I just woke up, I don’t want to die!’

Just then, in the distance, a loud, echoing roar filled the air.

Immediately the bird-lizard let out a sound akin to a chirp as it dropped their shelter back down, the quiet crooning it was making earlier devolving into a terrifying hissing snarl and caw. The earth shook as Yuu heard it bound away, branches and leaves snapping in its path as they heard it barrel through the forest. Then…

Silence.

///////END SNIPPET////////

MWAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!! This is only a snippet of what to expect once I'm finished with my rewrites! Something I've come to realize is that whenever I introduced some of the Kaiju, I never really elaborated on their appearances outside of the basics from that species list I wrote before. Definitely going to be making more of a point of describing how they look to make it easier for my readers to imagine!

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER ELEVEN

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash

playlist: spotify

You were going to throw up.

Not in the cute, haha-I’m-nervous-but-still-functional way, but in the actual way where your stomach was twisting and turning like it was personally offended by your existence.

Because this wasn’t just any event.

This was the Grammys.

The biggest night in music. The night where HOT DIVISION—your band—was nominated for two awards. The night where the entire world would be watching them.

And, more importantly, the night where you were responsible for making sure everything went smoothly.

Which meant no wardrobe malfunctions, no missed cues, no PR disasters—just a flawless, effortless evening where everything went according to plan.

No pressure.

The limo ride to the venue was filled with a mix of excitement and chaos. Ji-Yeong was buzzing, practically bouncing in her seat as she scrolled through Twitter, reading fan reactions in real time. Se-Mi was dramatically practicing her “Oh my god, we won? I had no idea!” face in the mirror. No-Eul was—well, No-Eul, calm and composed, quietly observing the madness.

And Sae-Byeok?

She was sitting silently beside the window, arms crossed, her jaw set in that unreadable way that meant she was thinking too much.

You, on the other hand, were gripping your phone with a death grip, mentally running through your checklist for the hundredth time, trying not to spiral.

Okay. Arrive at the carpet. Do the interviews. Smile. Keep them moving. Don’t let Ji-Yeong say anything that will get her canceled. Check their places for the ceremony. Manage post-show plans. Keep them out of trouble. Oh god, this is a disaster waiting to happen—

A gentle squeeze on your hand pulled you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, looking down to see No-Eul’s fingers wrapped around yours.

It wasn’t obvious—wasn’t dramatic or attention-grabbing. Just a quiet, steady warmth, grounding you.

“You’re doing fine,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how tightly you had been holding onto your phone, your shoulders hunched with tension.

No-Eul gave your hand another squeeze.

“Breathe,” she said simply.

And somehow, you did.

Sae-Byeok saw the whole thing.

She had been sitting across from you, watching the way your fingers trembled slightly, the way your breathing had gone shallow. She had felt the nervous energy rolling off of you, had wanted to say something—do something.

But before she could, No-Eul had beaten her to it.

And now, Sae-Byeok was watching you relax under her touch, watching the way you leaned into her comfort, watching the way No-Eul was able to calm you down in a way she hadn’t.

And it pissed her off.

Not at No-Eul.

Not really.

But at herself—for hesitating. For sitting there, watching instead of acting.

She clenched her jaw, looking away, forcing herself to ignore the uncomfortable twist in her stomach.

This wasn’t the time.

The limo pulled up to the venue, and suddenly, it was real.

The red carpet stretched ahead, cameras flashing, reporters lined up, calling out names. Fans were screaming, banners waving in the air, the energy electric.

And then the door opened.

Ji-Yeong stepped out first, exuding effortless confidence in a stunning baby pink gown—soft, elegant, the fitted bodice flowing into a delicate train behind her. She looked like a princess who could either charm you or absolutely destroy you, depending on her mood.

Se-Mi followed, dressed in a sleek black suit with a deep red pocket square, her hair styled in effortless waves, looking every bit the rockstar she was.

No-Eul stepped out next, wearing a similar black suit, but with a silver chain accenting her waist, her look sharp and refined, effortlessly cool.

Then Sae-Byeok.

And god—if looks could kill.

Her suit was jet black, tailored to perfection, the crisp lines making her look absolutely lethal. Unlike No-Eul’s refined style, Sae-Byeok’s was dangerously effortless—like she had barely tried, and yet, somehow, she looked like the most powerful person in the room. A single silver ring adorned her finger, a thin chain peeking from beneath her shirt collar.

And then there was you.

You stepped out last, the moment slow, almost surreal.

Your dress—deep wine red, shimmering subtly under the lights with tiny jewels woven into the fabric—hugged your figure perfectly. It was elegant without being overwhelming, a statement without trying too hard.

And on your feet?

The heels No-Eul had bought for you.

The second you stepped out, the cameras focused on you—flashes going off, murmurs passing through the crowd.

You weren’t the celebrity.

But standing next to them, you looked like one.

Sae-Byeok’s jaw tightened.

Because now, it wasn’t just No-Eul who had noticed you.

It was everyone.

And she hated that she wasn’t the one standing next to you.

The energy in the Grammy arena was electric.

You sat sandwiched between Se-Mi and No-Eul at your table, your heart still racing from the red carpet frenzy. The girls had handled the interviews like pros—Ji-Yeong had been her usual chaotic self, Se-Mi had flirted with at least three different reporters, No-Eul had stayed effortlessly cool, and Sae-Byeok had been… quiet. Focused.

You weren’t sure why.

Now, settled into your seats, you tried to relax as the ceremony unfolded around you.

Tried being the key word.

Because holy shit, they were nominated for two Grammys.

And the nerves were absolutely killing you.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Se-Mi murmured, nudging you playfully. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You exhaled sharply, gripping the stem of your champagne glass. “I might.”

Ji-Yeong, who had been casually fixing her lip gloss in the reflection of her spoon, grinned. “Well, if you do, at least make sure to do it dramatically. Give the cameras something to talk about.”

No-Eul rolled her eyes, but there was warmth there. “You’re worse than the reporters.”

The show continued, performances lighting up the stage—Olivia Rodrigo’s haunting vocals, SZA’s effortlessly stunning set, a rock tribute that had Se-Mi absolutely losing her mind.

And then—

Then it was time.

The first award.

“And the Grammy for Best Rock Album goes to…”

The presenter—a legendary rock artist whose posters had once covered Se-Mi’s childhood bedroom walls—paused, tearing open the envelope with a smirk.

“HOT DIVISION, ROCKSTAR!

For a second, there was silence.

As if none of you had actually processed it.

Then—

Ji-Yeong shrieked, grabbing Se-Mi’s arm in a death grip. No-Eul let out a rare, genuine laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. Sae-Byeok exhaled sharply, a small but unmistakable smile breaking through.

And you?

You felt everything all at once.

Pride. Relief. Overwhelming joy.

They did it.

They hugged each other, still half in shock, before making their way up to the stage.

You stayed at the table, watching them from below, your chest aching in the best way possible.

Ji-Yeong, of course, grabbed the mic first. “Holy shit—wait, can I say that? No? Whatever—holy crap, we just won a Grammy.”

The audience laughed.

Se-Mi took over, grinning. “This is insane. We started as four idiots playing in garages, and now we’re here. Thank you to everyone who believed in us.”

No-Eul spoke next, her voice steady, sincere. “This album was everything to us. To our fans—this is yours as much as it is ours.”

And then—

Sae-Byeok stepped forward.

She wasn’t one for long speeches. Usually, she let the others take the spotlight.

But this time—

This time, her eyes searched the crowd.

And found you.

“This award means everything,” she started, her voice softer than usual—but firm. Sure. “But there’s someone who isn’t up here with us who deserves just as much recognition.”

Your breath caught.

Sae-Byeok’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Our manager. Our best friend. The person who’s been with us since the beginning, making sure we didn’t completely ruin our own careers.”

Laughter rippled through the audience, but you couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

“She’s the reason we’re here,” Sae-Byeok continued. “The reason this album even happened the way it did. She’s the one who picks us up when we fall, who believes in us even when we don’t believe in ourselves. And she never asks for credit.”

She exhaled, gripping the mic a little tighter.

“So this is for her.”

You felt your eyes sting.

“She might not be on this stage,” Sae-Byeok said, a small, almost-smirk tugging at her lips. “But she’s just as much a part of this band as the rest of us.”

The applause was deafening.

And you—

You had never felt more seen.

You could see a camera pan toward you and you waved, holding back tears with a smile. They weren't tears of pain; just pure tears of joy for your girls.

You were still reeling.

Still trying to process the fact that Sae-Byeok had just dedicated a Grammy to you in front of the entire world.

Your heart hadn’t slowed down since she stepped off that stage, her words still echoing in your head. Your best friend. The reason we’re here. Just as much a part of this band as the rest of us.

You weren’t going to cry.

You refused to cry.

But when Sae-Byeok sat back down next to you, her knee brushing against yours, her gaze flickering toward you as if to check if you were okay—yeah, you almost lost it.

Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat, forced out a small, shaky laugh, and muttered, “That was—um. That was a lot.”

Sae-Byeok smirked, her voice low, just for you. “You deserved it.”

And that was definitely not helping your whole don’t cry on national television thing.

Before you could respond, the next award category popped up on the screen, and suddenly—holy shit—it was happening again.

The presenter smiled, glancing down at the envelope in her hands.

“And the Grammy for Best Rock Performance goes to…”

A pause. The dramatic build-up.

You gripped the edge of the table, heart pounding.

“HOT DIVISION, ROCKSTAR!”

For a full second—absolute chaos.

Ji-Yeong screamed so loudly that Se-Mi actually jumped, knocking over her champagne glass. No-Eul blinked in shock before breaking into a rare, wide grin. Sae-Byeok exhaled, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe it.

And you?

You just sat there, hands covering your mouth, watching them win again.

Two Grammys. In one night.

Your girls.

Your band.

They pulled you into a tight group hug before rushing back onto the stage, still half in disbelief.

Ji-Yeong, ever the chaotic menace, grabbed the mic first. “Okay, now we’re freaking out.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Se-Mi practically bounced next to her. “I don’t even know what to say—holy shit—”

“Language,” No-Eul muttered, but she was smiling.

Sae-Byeok took a step forward, shaking her head slightly as she looked out at the audience. “This song…” She paused, looking back at the girls. “This song was everything to us. It wasn’t just about making music—it was about proving to ourselves that we belonged here.”

The audience quieted, hanging onto her words.

“And now, standing here, holding this—” She lifted the Grammy slightly. “—it still doesn’t feel real.”

Se-Mi leaned into the mic. “But it is, babe.”

More laughter. More applause.

Then, before they ended their speech, Ji-Yeong grinned mischievously. “Oh, and one more thing—” She turned toward you, still seated at the table, eyes wide. “Our manager? Our favorite person in the world? She’s two-for-two tonight.”

Se-Mi nudged the mic closer. “Which means she officially has to party with us after this.”

No-Eul smirked. “No excuses.”

Sae-Byeok, standing slightly behind them, simply met your gaze.

And for a moment—just a moment—everything else disappeared.

No cameras. No flashing lights. No roaring applause.

Just her.

And the silent, knowing look that said, We did it.

We did it together.

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[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝚇𝙸. 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, toxic family dynamics, parental abuse, alcoholism/disordered alcohol use, protective!Joel, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, beauty in the mundane, learning to be peaceful in the stillness WORD COUNT: 6.8k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: How odd it is to be haunted by someone who is still alive.

“But what if I miss a payment?”

“You’re not gonna miss a payment,” he assures you for the millionth time.

“And the interest is, like, 27%, so if I miss a payment it’s gonna be so much extra on top of the bill,” you stress.

“Your interest is only that high because you don’t have any credit in your name, baby. It’ll get knocked down eventually – once you build up a good history – but that’s just how it starts out most of the time.”

You can tell he’s about to launch into his comforting finance dialogue yet again, but you don’t stop him. You still need to hear him say it, even if it feels like he’s beating a dead horse at this point. You need the comfort in his assurances, and for once you don’t get down on yourself for needing it and seeking it out.

“And you’re not gonna make huge purchases to start, right? You’re gonna put small, consistent charges on there every month and pay it in full every month. After 6 months to a year, you’ll get a low credit utilization ratio, and you might be able to increase your credit limit. It sounds scary, but it’s really simple. I promise. And I can go over it as many times as you need to feel comfortable with it.”

You gnaw your bottom lip and review the little pamphlets and flyers Joel collected for you. He was insistent about having you use your money not for helping with the mortgage or grocery bill or utilities but rather to open your own bank account and then a line of credit so that you could start building credit in your name and your name solely.

Now you were on a Joel Miller crash course about interest rates, utilization ratios, FICO scoring, and all sorts of other financial planning topics that were meant to help you build a firm foundation for lifelong financial independence and security. You constantly doubted yourself and felt overwhelmed with the volume of information, but Joel was adamant about it. After a while, some of it was finally sticking, and you could only pray that you’d pick up more and more of it each time.

Your payments were scheduled automatically now through your online banking, which he also helped you set up, and he helped you get into the habit of keeping track of things on the phone app. “If it’s easy enough for me to do it, I know you won’t have any issue with it” he’d laughed when he first installed it. He was honest to god excited about how much you’d be able to put into savings over the course of the next five years. 

The concept of five years into the future felt hard to conceptualize. You were still getting used to staying on your feet most days and taking more onto your plate when possible. But to Joel, it was something just around the corner. He talked about it as though it was clear as day in his mind’s eye. He saw that future for you – for the both of you – so easily.

The thrum of your pulse felt sticky every time at the casual insinuation that he’d be there to see it, that you and him would still be together and happy and in love, but your stomach lurched at the thought of it. 

He cared an awful lot about you. That much was clear. It was the whole acknowledging the whole being in love thing that made it harder to fathom. It felt dangerously hopeful. It was hard enough to admit to yourself that you loved him, even though there was really no denying it at this point. But that awful, nagging worry still nipped at your heels: would he grow tired of it all one of these days? The mollycoddling and constant instruction for shit you should’ve had all figured out by now?

There was no real concept of losing him in your head because that was even harder to envision than anything else. Your thoughts flipped over to a blank slide when you even tried to imagine what it would feel like to not have him in your life. When the nerves of it all started to prick and sting and make you nauseous, those were the moments you held him a little closer to you until the fear subsided.

Joel doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s watching you, all bent over the edge of the deck with your little stack of porcelain plates that you carefully arrange in a neat line along the step.

“Madeline and Helen, you’re over here,” you call over your shoulder to the two grungy “frenemy” cats, as you’d dubbed them.

He snorts and shakes his head, but you just ignore him and continue with your task. All the plates are dispersed, and your usual hoard of neighborhood cats have come meowing and pawing for the “good brand wet food” you insisted on buying for them. When you first started this habit of spoiling the “cat collective,” Joel had been surprised to learn that so many stray cats roamed the neighborhood. That was, until he noticed that many of them had collars and tags. Despite belonging to a nearby family and having perfectly good homes, they regularly showed up like the greedy, indulgent creatures they were.

You didn’t mind, though. You were delighted to greet them all every night like the informal mayor of some feline city. You gave them names despite some tags displaying an entirely different moniker. They responded to whatever you called them, though, so he really had no room to say anything about that. The corner of his mouth twitched up as he watched you slip into your little routine. You’d taken to giving them all nicknames or new names, mostly from movies you’ve watched together.

When the two “frenemy cats” had gotten into a little brawl on the stairs a few weeks back, you broke up their fight and giggled to yourself when you came up with the grand idea of naming them after characters from Death Becomes Her. He shared in a laugh at the fitting names you chose, and you flashed him a million kilowatt smile that made his knees weak.

He watches in open amusement as you chide Walter –  the rotund, irritable tabby that struggles to play nice with others once he’s gobbled up his own dish and is unable to bully others for theirs. You’d quoted “you’re outta your element, Donny!” to Walter about a half dozen times by now, but he never seemed to find your references to The Big Lebowski as hilarious as you did. The grumpy furball looks up at you, annoyed but put in his place, and allows you to scratch his head.

While you made your nightly circuit, Joel scanned the back deck, surveying a potential spot for a small safehouse unit. Might as well start looking into building a heated, insulated area for all these cats since you’ll probably worry yourself sick over how cold they could get in the winter without proper shelter. They could always carry their asses back to their own houses in the neighborhood, but, knowing you, the thought of “what if?” would make you fret enough that he wants to have a plan and build ready to go when it’s time. He tucks it into his mind for later, just like so many other ideas and dreams and possible futures with you.

For now he enjoys giving you the space to indulge in the things that make you happy, a freedom to do something not because there’s an end goal in mind but because it makes you feel radiant in the moment. He loves to see what you latch onto without the angry voice of a controlling dirtbag berating you and making you feel insignificant and frivolous just for finding joy in things.

Watching you shift from constantly on edge to relaxed was a reward all in itself. It was most noticeable at night. You’d stir so frequently in bed those first few weeks after moving in. It might’ve been the new house noises, sure, but there’s no doubt the learned vigilance was a big part of your tendency to be a light sleeper. When you’d startle awake, he’d wake, too. You’d be apologetic and sometimes even a little embarrassed at being so jumpy “over nothing.” He’d just pull you closer and tell you it was okay and to try to go back to sleep. It took a while before it really sunk in, but eventually falling asleep and staying asleep came easier to you.

He was constantly discovering new ways your upbringing and home life had carved these jagged neural pathways in your mind. He didn’t know what the answer was for some of them, other than time, but for the simpler things, like letting you freely explore hobbies and whims, he’d jump at the opportunity to give you that sort of life.

“Do you think I could just… wear some shorts and a shirt? I mean….”

Your words taper off as you stare down at the dress Sarah had ordered online along with the pretty blue one you wore to Kenzie’s graduation ceremony. You didn’t want to repeat the blue dress when you’d just worn it so recently, but you really didn’t want to be up moving around and socializing in a dress all day anyway. Plus, the temperature had crept up steadily now that Memorial Day had just come and gone. Ideally it was denim cutoffs and tank top weather, but you could deal with some linen type shorts and a t-shirt for the sake of a party.

“I’ll match with whatever you put on, so just go with somethin’ comfortable,” he suggests. “There’s worse things than being underdressed for a college graduation party. I doubt anybody’ll even care, honey.”

He was probably right, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself and drag Joel down with you. Attending parties and looking the part of a well put-together couple was new for you, and there was only so much “fake it ‘til you make it” bravado that could pull you through these sorts of settings. Joel dons a pair of darkwash, neat jeans with a short-sleeved button up, and you huff loudly at how easy he makes things look. 

He catches your toothless irritation and shoots you a wink before grabbing the dress and hanging it up in your shared closet.

“C’mon, let’s look at the shirt options ya got,” he encourages.

The lack of options ended up being a bit of a blessing because it meant you weren’t overwhelmed with choices.  You wind up settling on a spaghetti strap top that’s nice and flowy with a small bow detail in the back. It wasn’t the fanciest thing, but it was dressier than a plain t-shirt. A once over in the mirror reflected a pretty well put together outfit, and your shoulders relaxed with the crisis having been avoided thanks to Joel. He, of course, looked effortlessly handsome and casual.

The drive to Kenzie’s house for the party is uneventful, as are most of your driving excursions these days. Pretty soon you’ll accrue enough hours of road time to take the test to be an actual, bonafide licensed driver. Joel is in his usual spot in the passenger seat with a hand resting on your thigh, calming and a reminder that you’ve got help if you need it. 

The half-circle drive is full of cars with brands you’re sure you could never pronounce correctly. The front of the house and down the street is lined with more of the same, and Joel takes mercy on you when it’s time to parallel park, swapping seats with you and taking over. You watch the confident stretch of his arm along the back of your seat as he reverses neatly into a spot. He hops out to get the door for you, and you both comment on the lavish decorations as you walk into the party.

There’s way more people in attendance than you anticipated, and you just hope you won’t have to socialize too much with people you’re probably never going to see again. Kenzie’s dad spots you and makes his way over to extend a firm handshake to Joel and a warm side hug to you. He doesn’t stick around for long as he returns to his hosting duties, but he flags down a member of the waitstaff for beverages before politely excusing himself to continue on his rounds.

Joel whistles low and cocks a brow as he takes in all of the setup. “Nice lookin’ party.”

You laugh under your breath at the understatement of the century. “It’s insane. This could be somebody’s wedding! It’s freaking gorgeous,” you gush.

He agrees silently, sipping on his cocktail and wrapping his free hand around your lower back and waist. He points out that most people seem to be either wearing business casual adjacent looks or something more formal, which places you both a little underdressed but not so much that you stick out. You also observe that he was right about people not really seeming to notice or care what you had on. It made you feel a bit more relaxed as you sought out Kenzie.

So far you hadn’t come across anyone you knew, but it wasn’t awkward with Joel by your side. He had that poised, assured air about him like always, and it made everything feel manageable. Under control. Free of chaos.

“Ooohhh, hey!” a high pitched squeal sounds across an open path of people. You turn to see someone you recognize but can’t remember her name. You refresh Joel’s memory that this is Kenzie’s friend who had asked him at the graduation about any single brothers, cousins, or nephews that he might have. She shimmies up to you and waves excitedly.

“There’s my little matchmakers!”

Joel laughs awkwardly and shakes his head. “Sorry to tell you, er….” he trails off, her name clearly not springing to his mind either.

Thankfully she doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, and you're not entirely convinced she’s aware of much at all. “Sel,” she supplies with a bright smile.

“Sel, right,” he amends. “Sorry to tell you, Sel, but we are unfortunately here sans eligible bachelors.”

She makes an exaggerated pouty face before busting into a fit of giggles and shrugging. “Aw, dammit. Can’t win ‘em all, I guess. Well, it was good seeing you!”

She struts away without another word, and you and Joel exchange an amused look.

“Wonder how many of these she’s had,” Joel chuckles, shaking his half empty cocktail glass.

You giggle and playfully slap his side. “Oh, shush. She’s entitled to celebrate a little bit. It’s gotta feel good getting that degree after being in school for four years,” you contend.

He bobs his head in passive agreement. “Now remind me again why your friend was workin’ with you in a grocery store when she’s got all this waiting for her back home? Coulda just focused on her studies, couldn’t she’ve?”

It was a fair question. Why on earth would someone work a minimum wage, public facing job if their family could afford this sort of lifestyle? 

“She told me before that her dad wanted her to know what the ‘real world’ was like. I’m pretty sure he didn’t grow up with a whole lot, and I guess he didn’t want his kids to end up spoiled or whatever.”

Joel nods his head like that makes perfect sense to him. “Explains why her dad seems like a decent guy. Doesn’t have that ‘daddy’s money’ attitude. Your friend doesn’t either for that matter, so I guess he��s done a pretty good job keepin’ her level headed.”

When you finally do come across Kenzie, she seems a bit frazzled. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so uptight and serious. She hastily explains that she’s spent the entire party schmoozing with all her dad’s “dumb important friends” and hasn’t had a chance to relax at all. You feel a bit sorry for her, but you know she’ll probably end up with extravagant gifts from said family friends in exchange for a few social niceties. 

Your eye lands on a familiar looking man whose identity isn’t readily placed. Was he at the graduation ceremony, too? Was he the dad to one of Kenzie’s friends? He looks at you for a split second like he recognizes you as well, before he looks away, disinterested. You shrug it off. Maybe he’s just got one of those faces.

Kenzie’s dad comes back around and asks if he can “borrow Joel for a minute,” to which you assure Joel you’re fine without his company for a little while. He shoots you one last worried glance over his shoulder as Kenzie’s dad claps a hand against his back and starts up the construction conversation they’d been having at the ceremony. You watch Joel’s reluctant figure weave through the crowd until he’s following Kenzie’s dad inside the house through a large side door. 

The sea of attendees around you make for good people watching. You wouldn’t admit it to Joel, but not having him by your side feels strange and a bit vulnerable, especially now that you spend practically every waking moment together. It was something you’d become rather accustomed to, and with your nerves starting to pick up again you remind yourself that it’s healthy to do things on your own every once in a while. You’d done it plenty in your life, and being subjected to it now wouldn’t kill you. 

A solid twenty minutes have passed, and you distract yourself with the abundance of ornate decorations.

Deeper into the backyard is a small bunching of rose bushes. The delicate folds of pink petals have you considering asking Joel if he could plant this sort of thing in your backyard. You smile gently to yourself, running a fingertip along the velvet furl of the rosette. Your backyard. Together. A little garden of eden right smack dab in the middle of Texas.

Sentimental musings are cut short with the announcement of a “few words shared on the eastern lawn” in about five minutes. Throngs of guests begin making their way toward the tabled section that you assume is the “eastern lawn,” and Joel is still nowhere in sight.

You hang back and check your phone. No texts or missed calls. You call him, but it rings until it goes through to voicemail. He’d probably muted it for the party. You decide to just go look for him in the house, letting yourself into the same side door they’d used when they went inside almost 30 minutes ago. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten carried away talking business.

A welcomed cool breeze butts against your bare skin when you slip inside, the indoor AC a stark difference to the looming summer heat outside. A pristine and stately kitchen filled with stock for the party greets you: ice filled coolers, wrapped trays of hor d’oeuvres lining the countertops, napkins and utensils and glassware all stacked to the side and ready to go when toasts are made. The smooth marble counters give an air of quiet opulence, made all the more silent with no noise coming from anywhere in the house.

A sliver of a stairwell is visible just around the corner. A separate hallway stretches door after door, no light glowing from any of the rooms behind them. A dull babble of laughter and conversation outside at the opposite end of the house is practically a white noise in this massive, empty space. Joel’s deep timbre is absent. No creaking footsteps from upstairs. No friendly hum of conversation.

It felt a bit intrusive to just waltz upstairs to look for him, but it’s not like you didn’t have a good reason to be looking around. Surely at the very least Kenzie’s dad wouldn’t want to miss whatever was about to happen on the eastern lawn.

“Can’t say I’m surprised to find you hiding out in here.”

The familiar voice cuts through your chest, your heart clenching sharply as you turn to find your dad wearing a nasty, callous expression. He looks more exhausted than you remember, somehow more dead in the eyes. It’s only been a few weeks since you’ve last seen him, but he stands before you more gnarled and sickly than memory serves. His skin shines with a thin layer of perspiration, and his lips are so dry and chapped it’s as if all the moisture in his body is steadily exiting through the gathering beads of sweat along his brow. His eyes are sluggish but malevolent, darting all along your face and body as though he’s taking inventory of your present state.

The words you wish to scream, for him to get away from you, get twisted and caught in your throat. You stand there, infuriatingly mute, and await whatever venom he’s here to deliver. He makes no rush as he walks fully into the room and slides the door shut. He looks so out of place here, in your world. In your life. A living ghost here to haunt you once more.

“Takes guts to be at somebody’s party celebrating everything you’ll never be.” He pauses to let the barb cleave and carve, laughing to himself as he continues, “ I mean, imagine you a college graduate. Barely fucking graduated high school.”

His line of sight wanders around the room as he picks you apart. Although his air is indifferent and unrushed, you have an odd, sneaking feeling that he doesn’t want to look you in the eye again until he’s established a rhythm of cutting you down, as though your absence has left him feeling out of sorts and unpracticed in destruction.

“Some hell of a fluke that the driven, successful young ladies here at this party see anything in common with a loser like you.”

His eyes slip over to yours again, narrowing with palpable hatred. “Can’t imagine any of them are a complete embarrassment to their families.”

“What are you doing here?” you finally manage to spit out.

He bobs on the balls of his feet, stepping around airily with his hands in his pockets like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he found all of this an amusing way to pass the time. Like he hadn’t just cannonballed himself into your life again.

“Got a funny text from an, uh, acquaintance of mine. A picture of you, sticking out like a sore thumb. Surrounded by better dressed people. Way outta your social class.”

Embarrassment warms the back of your neck and the tips of your ears at his astute, cutting words.

“Had my friend wondering if he was imagining it was you - misremembering your face, maybe – especially since he didn’t see me anywhere nearby. Told him he was right and that I’d be sure to come say hello when I dropped in.  He was nice enough to remind me of the address. What a guy,” he finishes in a dry tone.

He laughs, a hollow and mirthless sound, and takes a step forward, hands shoved in his pockets that you now realize are balled into fists. His voice was steady enough, but the fury bubbling beneath the surface was quickly rising to the tipping point. There was no doubt he’d been drinking heavily – that dangerous teetering between being dampened by the alcohol and being livid that it still didn’t make all his problems fade away into a muted, ignorable thing.

“How much have you had today?” you lob at him. “Or has it just carried over from last night?”

He laughs again, just as empty and forced as the first. “It’s funny because, the thing is, I can promise you there’s no amount of whiskey that could make me as delusional as you are. I mean, parading around this party in what? Backyard barbecue clothes? Can’t even put together a decent outfit for one day, but you expect to keep up with these people? College graduates getting real jobs, not just some entry level bullshit you sucked off some old jackass for.”

Heat rises on your chest and neck at the insinuation that Joel only offered you the job in return for sexual favors. You jut your chin out defiantly but can’t find the words to say. Can’t find the words that will defend yourself. Defend Joel. Make your dad leave with his tail between his legs. He takes your silence as another opportunity to tear you down.

“You think you got real friends here? How many times do you think they’re gonna cover your tab? Spot you $100? Invite you to weekend trips? Hm? How many times are they gonna get out their wallets before they see you for the leech that you are?” he hisses.

“I think you need to leave,” you warn with a tremble tacked to the last word.

“And don’t get me started on that middle aged perv you got brainwashed into giving a shit about you,” he continues, completely ignoring your reproval. “He might be giving you a little allowance for now, but I give it a few years max before he dumps you for the next young bimbo he can use to wet his dick. Of course you’re too fucking stupid to realize that. It would be funny if it weren’t so fucking pathetic.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” you snap, adrenaline rushing through you now and helping to supply the harsh words. 

His eyes crinkle with a malicious smirk, like he revels in finally having got to you. 

“Or what?” he sneers. “All you can ever manage to do when things get tough is run. So, what are you gonna do now? Run?”

You don’t miss the challenge in his tone, daring you to try to leave before he gives you permission to do so. 

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE NOW.”

The curve of his mouth is sickly sweet, a slip of red the only thing standing between you and his corrosive words. His gate is unhurried walking towards the door, leaning against it in a lazy show of provocation as he blocks it. The shrill tempo of your pulse in your ears grows louder while you stare each other down. It’s a dangerous game of calling the other’s bluff, and you know he’s banking on you fleeing. You know he wants to track you down and catch you this time before you can get away, just to prove that your actions wouldn’t go unpunished. Just to remind you of who’s in control. 

But something contrarian and fortified slinks between your ribcage and finds purchase there next to the hum of your heart. 

He doesn’t make the rules anymore. 

This is no longer his game that you’re forced to play just to survive. You don’t live in this nightmare anymore. This isn’t your life now. 

He doesn’t control you anymore.

“You’re a really sad person, dad.” 

The somatic buzz kindling and catching inside you yields a wave of goosebumps all over your body, the shake in your hands and voice just a timid thing that stays barely in check. You still your head and really look at the fractured shell of a man in front of you, and it’s more obvious than ever: he’s more lost than you’ve ever been and ever will be.

“You’re never gonna be happy,” you assert.

It all floods you now, a blurred picture coming into focus. That clarity you’d sought so long but never had with the mind muddling environment of abuse. But suddenly you aren’t searching for the words anymore. They’re all right on the tip of your tongue and ready to depart.

“You’re gonna die sad and miserable and probably alone, and I know that has to eat you up inside to finally realize it. That no matter how much you try to put your anger and your– and your pain onto others, it still doesn’t make it go away inside of you.”

His balled fists rest at his sides, heaving breaths moving his chest like the snap of a rubber band.

“You can’t hurt me anymore. You can’t hurt anybody I care about anymore. You don’t have the power like you used to. You’re just… you’re just nothing, dad. An empty person who’s trapped inside his own mind like a prison. And-And honestly? I feel bad for you.”

The flicker of surprise at your words graces his worn features before quickly being replaced with a deep scowl. For once it’s him cornered into a stunned silence, but you have no intention of letting up.

“I left, dad. Don’t you get it? I’m done. You don’t have power over me like that. Not anymore. The sooner you realize that, the less of your life you’ll waste trying to hurt me again because it’s not going to happen. You tried to break me down and take away everything, and it still didn’t work. I’m not broken like you. I’m gonna be okay, no matter how much you hate that. And you can call me a loser as many times as you want, but it won’t change the fact that it’s really you who’s lost out on everything in life.”

A heavy air lingers, but you feel lighter than you ever have. Your deep, centering inhale punctuates the finality of the meeting.

“I’m gonna go now, and I think you should leave the party before something bad happens.”

The urge to scurry away from the danger rises, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. You refuse to let him see you run from him anymore. 

Of course, it was never likely that he’d just let it go so easily. 

Menacing stomps follow your measured stride towards the stairwell, your exit cut short by his piercing grip around your bicep and the sharp whip of your body as he yanks you sideways to face him. The smell of alcohol comes off him like a foggy wet cloud.

“You think you just get to leave in the middle of the night like a disgusting, slimy rat and not have to answer for it?” he fumes, his nose pressing against yours when he hauls you face to face.

He doesn’t control you anymore. 

He doesn’t control you anymore. 

He doesn’t control you anymore.

There’s no hesitation in your movements, wrenching your arm from his grasp and slamming the butt of your palm into his nose. As clumsy as the unfamiliar motion is, it affords a moment of frozen shock from your father, which you take as an opening to rear back and slap him with as much force as you can muster. Your hand immediately prickles and tingles from the impact.

The few feet of space apart that you gain is quickly closed when he charges at you with a raised, clenched hand ready to strike. The fact that you’ve never fought back before seems to be your saving grace in this moment, the disorientation of you actually resisting and challenging him making his approach unsteady and delayed.

Your hand still stings from the slap as you wad it up and swing it into his gut before he can make contact with you. He sputters and doubles over in shock at the unexpected blow, but the late retribution still comes sooner than you anticipated. He readies to ambush you, lip curled over his bared teeth, when something smashes and shatters into the wall beside his head.

“I was hoping you’d show up one of these days and make trouble just so I’d have the fucking excuse to beat you within an inch of your fucking life,” Joel growls.

It’s a blur of violence as he barrels into your dad, tackling him to the floor in one headlong motion, and lands two punches before it can even register. The clamor draws more people, one of them being Kenzie’s dad who you spot darting back out of the room with his phone to his head — you assume to call the police. A handful of waitstaff hang at the perimeter of the commotion, gawking at the all out brawl taking place in the middle of the kitchen. You aren’t much better, just standing there rooted to the spot in an adrenaline freeze, as your dad manages to topple Joel onto his back and land a punch to his jaw.

By the time they flip again, two men have been alerted to the fight and brought inside to intervene. They aren’t dressed like the other waitstaff, but it’s clear they’re here working the event in some other capacity. A frenzied

yelp pierces the air as Joel digs his knees into your dad’s elbows, pinning him to the ground. Joel yanks a chilled bottle of wine from a nearby bucket and smashes the neck of it against the edge of the counter. The light catches on all the jagged edges of broken glass when he raises it in the air and flips it over in a drive directly into your dad’s mouth, who instantly gurgles and gags at the influx of liquid and serrated opening.

“You look real thirsty,” Joel taunts. “Have a drink. This one’s on me.”

Pockets of liquid jet out from the side of your dad’s mouth as he chokes on it, Joel holding the bottle snug in place as the contents pour out. The two men in matching black uniform shout “break it up, fellas,” which falls on deaf ears. The liquid eventually empties, and the bottle cracks into several more pieces when Joel slams it against your dad’s temple. Blood spills and mixes with the choked out liquid, pooling and smearing across the floor.

The two men quickly lodge themselves between the two when a flurry of fists and kicks and jabs from Joel start right back up. He manages to get one last closed hand strike to your dad’s face and one crushing stomp to his thigh as the bigger of the two uniformed men finally drags him away. Your dad lies motionless on the floor as the man scolds Joel for taking “cheap shots” instead of heeding the calls to break the fight up like they’d asked.

Joel wears a flinty, unrepentant sneer that only deepens when his eyes cast down to your unmoving but groaning dad. He spits a bloody pool of saliva onto him as he’s ushered to the other side of the kitchen.

“Put your hands on her again, asshole. See if you walk away the next time.”

You can feel all the eyes in the room slip over to you, making the connection of what had started this entire mess. Some of the faces lose their look of pity for your dad, all crumpled and thrashed in a feeble sprawl on the floor. 

“You okay, baby? He hurt you?” Joel demands.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, instead running impatient hands all along your body to assess for injury.

“I’m okay,” you answer, and it’s a relief to be able to offer that in truth. “I was holding him off long enough for you to get to me.”

His shoulders sag with the reassurance that you’ve not been harmed, hands roaming up to gently cup your jaw and search your face for any lingering distress. You don’t turn away, content to let him find the undercurrent of peace that swells within you, held in his arms. 

It’s the first Father’s Day since you severed contact. Calum had already gleefully sent you a picture of your dad’s mugshot, framed and hung on a wall in his apartment. Having the advantage of knowing you were safe and sound while he listened to the recap of Kenzie’s party meant he got to enjoy every last bit of comeuppance relayed. He’d cheered you on when you recalled how you’d defended yourself, verbally and physically, and he demanded to complement Joel directly on his part in all of it before he let you hang up.

Kenzie’s dad was the first to press charges, having absolutely no qualms about sending a message to the guy who almost ruined his daughter’s graduation party. It didn’t hurt that he had connections with some law enforcement higher ups, more than enough “fuck you money” to throw around, and a top notch lawyer on retainer ready to let the long arm of the law screw your dad over. With a neutral but supportive nudge from Joel, you also pressed charges.

When all was said and done, your dad was looking at: trespassing, assault, battery, menacing, criminal mischief, disorderly intoxication, disorderly conduct, false imprisonment, stalking, driving while intoxicated, open container in a motor vehicle, property damage, and a smattering of any other offense that the lawyer could manage to unearth, ready to assist his client in rubbing salt into your dad’s wound.

You weren’t sure how much of it was going to stick or what the outcome would be, but it sure as hell didn’t look good to have a pending imputation like that with a job like his. Hell, any employer would look sideways at a string of legal infractions that extensive and that damning. It wasn’t exactly something tenure and bullshitting could smooth over. And if Kenzie’s dad had any say in the proceedings, your dad wasn’t going to get off the hook easily.

“You’re just buttering your old man up now,” Joel chortles to the screen.

You smile to yourself as you listen to his and Sarah’s video chat. She couldn’t make it back home to celebrate in person, but she’d made sure to call and lay the sweet talk on thick.

“Yeah, but it’s obviously working, sssoooooooo….”

“Little shit,” he chuckles under his breath, walking aimlessly through the house and out onto the back deck.

You hear him laugh loudly a couple minutes later, and you can’t help but join in with your own giggle. Eventually the cadence of his voice changes into words of endearment and goodbyes. He tucks his phone into his pocket as he rounds the corner.

“You’re a really good dad,” you observe warmly.

The corner of his mouth ticks up softly at the compliment, but he takes his time walking over to where you’re sat comfortably on the couch before responding. “Ya think so, huh?”

“Yeah. I do.” 

Your voice is steady and pointed. You want him to know you mean it. You might not have a personal reference to defend your position, but you know without a doubt that Joel Miller is the best father and deserves to hear it every day of his life.

He pauses for a moment before asking, “You doin’ okay? Is the day botherin’ you at all?”

You assume he means the fact that it’s Father’s Day and you have a strong contender for worst dad on the planet.

“I actually– it might sound weird, but I actually feel really light. I feel good.”

“Not weird at all,” he assures you, plopping down next to you and scooping your legs to lay across his lap so he can rub your ankles and calves. “Dead weight is dead weight. Not bein’ weighed down by him’s gotta feel like you’re finally able to live the life you deserve. Deserve the damn moon on a string for all the shit he’s put you through.”

You exhale, an amused little sound. “You’re doing it again.”

“What? What am I doin’?”

“Gunning for Best Boyfriend in the World award.”

“Remind me again what put me in the running,” he teases and leans in for a kiss.

“A million things, but today it’s mostly just– seeing you be who you are. Getting to experience that and be a part of it.”

The air of levity dampens a bit when you reach for his hands and draw him closer, and he recognizes the shift from playful to earnest.

“I think sometimes people are just meant to… they’re made for showing love. They’re made to pour their love into special people, people they love. And they are the most happy when they get to do that. I think- I think that’s you. I think you pour your love into people, and that’s when you’re happiest. To see the people you love being filled with your love.”

“Goddamn, honey, Sarah already made me all mushy,” he grouses, suddenly blinking rapidly with glossy eyes. “Y’all are gonna have me a blubbering baby if y’all don’t quit.”

But you can’t stop. You can’t hold it in. You can’t keep yourself from gushing about this beautiful person you’ve been lucky enough to know and create this life with.

“I love you, Joel. I’m in love with you.” 

It comes out without thinking, but it’s meant for this moment. There’s no hesitation or regret in it. You want to say it again.

“I love you,” you repeat, drawing on the intoxication and freedom of it finally being spoken.

“I love you, too, honey,” he returns softly. “So damn much. Love you so damn much.”

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