#she just stays quiet and despairs on her own

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | Chapter Six (6/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety. Mentions of mental health medication. Sexual content. Francesca has a lot of anxiety but is being very brave about it.

Notes — Some time skips, which I’ve tried to make as clear as possible. This chapter (and the final 2) are a lot longer, so grab a tea and a snack. Also: my race calender/fic timeline isn’t perfect. Just don’t focus on it too much and it’s fine. lol

It wasn’t a dramatic goodbye.

There were no tears, no desperate clinging (however much Francesca secretly wanted to). Just the low hum of the kettle in the kitchen, still steaming from their morning tea, and Henry sulking under the couch because his new treat dispenser (Oscar) was leaving.

His duffle bag sat by the door — not even fully zipped — and Francesca stood barefoot in the hoodie she’d claimed as her own, her hands swallowed by the sleeves.

“You’ve got everything?” she asked. 

He nodded. “I triple-checked. Twice.”

“Sounds excessive.” She teased, though the words came out quiet and unsure. 

“Sounds like me,” he grinned, stepping closer, his hands slipping under her arms to rest at the small of her back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but didn’t move from where she’d tucked herself against his chest. “Just… it’s been so nice. Having you here. Being with you for real.”

Oscar’s chin rested lightly on her head. “Yeah,” he said, after a pause. 

Francesca’s fingers curled in the fabric of his t-shirt. “Do you want me to walk you out?”

He shook his head. “No. Stay here. It’s cold.” He leaned back slightly to meet her eyes. “You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be okay,” she echoed. Then, quieter, “you’ll come back, right?”

Oscar let out a breath, soft and sure. “Of course I’ll come back. I already miss you.”

“You haven’t even left yet.”

“Exactly. Tragic.”

She laughed, and he kissed her. A steady, soft press of lips that lingered a moment longer than it needed to, a goodbye without having to say the words, really.

When he pulled back, his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth like it was second nature now. “I’m only going to be an hour away,” he reminded. “Text me. Or call. Whenever you want.”

She nodded. “Okay. I will.”

“I like it when you bother me,” he added, as if she didn’t already know.

“I like being heard,” she said, a little wry. He was ridiculous. Who liked being bothered?

Another kiss, this one to her forehead.

She huffed out a breath, her cheeks flushing red. 

And then he was throwing his bag over his shoulder and opening the door, glancing back one last time.

Francesca stayed where she was, fingers curled into the hem of her sleeve, watching until the door clicked shut behind him.

Henry mewled in despair. 

“Yeah.” Francesca whispered. She stared at the front-door. “I think I know how you feel.” 

— 

TWO DAYS LATER

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar 

Francesca 

osc

would u still want me if i was ginger 

Oscar

I have nothing against ginger people 

Francesca 

🤨

oh

did u date a ginger b4 me 

Oscar

No I’ve never dated a ginger girl 

Francesca 

you’ve dated a ginger guy??????!

Oscar 

Stop 

I’m in a meeting 

Francesca 

ok sorry 

i might dye my hair 

Oscar

Whatever makes you happy 

Francesca 

ok <3 

— two hours later — 

katie talked me out of it 

Oscar 

Thank god. 

Francesca 

😾

ur mean 

Oscar 

You’re gorgeous just the way you are. 

Turns out they don’t need me for anything else this week. I’m going to borrow a car and drive back to you. That ok? 

Francesca 

yay yay yay 

of course it’s ok duh  

also i have a question. 

Oscar 

What is it baby 

Francesca 

do u wanna take me on a date? 

Oscar 

… 

Of course I do 

Do you want me to take you on a date? 

Francesca

yes 

somewhere like… quiet  

maybe not too far from the flat 

if that’s ok. 

Oscar 

I’ll make it happen

Proud of you. 👍🏻

Francesca 

ew why r u using the dad emoji. 

Oscar 

👍🏻

Francesca 

oscar 

Oscar

👍🏻

Francesca 

you’re good at making me laugh 

thank u 

i got a bit anxious overthinking the date thing 

Oscar 

I know 

Go make yourself a cup of tea and eat one of the pastries I got you 

I’ll take care of everything. 

Francesca 

god i want to kiss u so hard rn 

Oscar 

👍🏻 

Francesca 

fuck off 

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca 

Katie 

Have you managed to get the outline finished? I’m getting pressure from the team at H.C. 

Francesca 

um 

yes it’s been done for 2 days 

im scared to send it to u 

Katie 

I need it. 

They’re annoying me with their emails Francesca 

Do this for me 

I hate emails. You know this 

Francesca 

im worried it’s not going to be good enough 

and they’re going to hate it 

Katie 

How about this. 

I like reading. I love romance. 

Send it to me. I’ll read it. 

I will be brutally honest with you - no holding back. 

Francesca 

ok 

i would rather you be the one to tell me that it’s terrible actually 

Katie 

Send it. 

Francesca 

*word document* 

— 

iMessage — Oscar & Francesca

Oscar 

About to leave Woking 

Do I need to go to Tesco for anything on my way back? 

Francesca 

i would like some cans of sprite 

and also there’s this book i need for the video i want to film tomorrow 

they sell it in tesco apparently 

*screenshot of book cover* 

Oscar 

I’ll try my best to find it 

Do you have dinner planned already? 

Francesca 

i didn’t know u were coming back tonight rmbr🤨

Oscar 

Yes but what were you going to eat? 

Francesca 

uhhhhh i have some instant noodles in the cupboard 

probably that 

Oscar 

I’ll bring food back for us 

I’ll probably get there around 7

Francesca 

im being very casual about this ‘u wanting to come back here so soon’ thing

but i might bite u or smth when u actually do get here. 

fyi 

Oscar 

I’m sure you weren’t this strange before I made you my gf🤨

Francesca 

no i was 

just hid it better 

do u want me to stop 

sorry 

Oscar 

Don’t stop. 

Francesca

😼

Oscar 

Freak. 

Can’t wait to see you 

Actually leaving now. Call me if u need me. I’ll answer on the Bluetooth 

Francesca 

❤️❤️❤️

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca 

Katie 

It’s really bloody good 

Not perfect. Very real 

That’s what makes it so good 

They’re going to love it. 

Can I send it? 

Francesca 

yeah. send it. 

love u 

Katie 

Love u twice 

—

iMessage — Oscar & Francesca

Oscar 

Is this the right one? 

*picture of oscar’s hand holding a book* 

Francesca 

yesssssssssssssssss 

thanku 

Oscar 

Cool 

Are you okay with lasagna? 

Francesca 

yesssss please 

that sounds so good 

with garlic bread though

Oscar 

Of course babe 

Francesca 

hurry up and get back here

want to smooch you 

Oscar 

Don’t make me blush in Tesco 

Francesca 

ok 

ooooooooooo ur so handsome 

oooooooooo i wanna kiss u so bad 

oooooooooooooo ur my boyfriendddddd 

Oscar 

You’re impossible. 

—

The door swung open before Oscar even had the chance to knock properly.

Francesca stood in the doorway, wrapped in a fluffy pink dressing gown covered in little hearts — fucking cute, Oscar thought — her hair a little mussed, her expression soft and sleepy. Hard to believe this was the same woman who’d been threatening to bite him an hour ago.

Her eyes darted straight to the bag in his hand.

“Book first,” she said, grabbing it from him. “Boyfriend second.”

Oscar blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” she said, digging through the Tesco bag not unlike the way a raccoon would approach a bin. When she eventually found the paperback — slightly curled at the corners due to the fact that he’d piled the family sized lasagna on top of it — she held it up triumphantly. “Thank you. Best boyfriend award goes to you.”

He stepped into the flat, kicking the door shut behind him. “Okay. What happened to wanting to smooch me, huh?”

Francesca, cradling the book like a newborn, looked up at him with a small, crooked smile. The way she held herself around him had already changed — looser, lighter — but there was still a flicker of nervousness in her eyes that made something tender unfurl in his chest.

“Oh, that’s still very much on the table.”

Then she launched herself at him.

She wasn’t particularly heavy, but Oscar still stumbled back a step, letting out a surprised laugh as she wrapped herself around him like an overexcited octopus. Her arms looped around his neck, her legs around his waist, and he buried a grin into her hair, heart thudding a little too hard in his chest.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“I missed you,” she mumbled, clinging tighter. “It felt like you were gone forever. I nearly forgot what you looked like.”

Oscar hummed. “I was gone for two days. And we FaceTimed twice.”

“Same thing.” She pouted. 

He kissed her cheek. Then again, a little closer to her mouth. “I missed you too.”

“Okay,” she said, peeling herself off of him just enough to look at his face, though her arms stayed loosely around his neck. “I’m hungry. Ravenous. I’ve been glued to my laptop all day. I posted the Taylor video and it’s already getting such a great response. Comments are so sweet and—” She stopped herself abruptly, biting her lip. “Sorry. I’ll shut up. You’re probably exhausted.”

Oscar shook his head, eyes gentle. “Don’t do that.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“I want to hear about it,” he said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell me everything.”

And then, without any real warning, he lifted her up fully off of the ground. Francesca let out a delighted squeak, arms tightening around his neck. He carried her into the kitchen, her dressing gown trailing behind them like a little pink cape, and settled her carefully on the counter. She beamed at him, legs swinging slightly.

He touched her thigh gently, grounding. “I’ll sort dinner. You talk. Start from the beginning. And don’t think I forgot — tell me what Harper Collins said to Katie too.”

Francesca looked momentarily flustered, but her smile was soft. “Okay. So, I woke up super early. Couldn’t sleep. Ended up doing this last-minute edit on the Taylor video because I thought the voiceover sounded weird and it was annoying me—”

Oscar opened the oven and slid the lasagna in, listening as she spoke. He added the garlic bread to a tray and popped it on the top shelf, wiping his hands on a tea towel as she continued.

“—and then eventually, at like five, I posted it, and it took off way faster than usual stuff. I thought it might do well, but not like… this well. People are already posting clips on TikTok and, like, videos of them talking about me analysis too.”

He pulled out a bag of pre-washed salad and gave it a little shake.

Francesca pulled a face. “No thanks.”

Oscar laughed. “It’s baby leaf salad. It tastes like nothing.”

“It’s sad green sogginess in a bag. I’m not eating that.”

Still grinning, he put the salad aside without argument and leaned back against the counter, gesturing for her to continue.

“Okay. And then Katie called,” she went on, fingers tugging at the edge of her sleeve. His gaze zeroed in on her hands without meaning to. Slightly red, a few new dark purple bruises near her wrist. He blinked and averted her gaze before she could notice where his attention had fallen. “She said she sent the outline to Harper Collins. And they liked it. A lot, apparently. There’s going to be another meeting next week. It’s not, like, a done deal or anything but… it’s probably going to happen.”

Oscar’s chest swelled with something deep and proud. “That’s massive, baby.”

“I know,” she said, in a whisper, like she still couldn’t believe it herself. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’ll have been a dream.”

He stepped closer and kissed her forehead. “Nah. It’s real. You did that.”

She smiled into the kiss. “You’re annoyingly supportive for somebody who has no real interest in books.”

“You’ve watched every race since we started talking,” he said, resting a hand on her hip. “Even though I know you hate it. Seems like we’re even.”

She nudged his side with her knee and leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder, quiet for a moment. 

“I really missed you.”

Oscar turned and pressed a kiss into her hair. “Yeah. I missed you too.”

They stayed like that for a beat — her legs swinging gently off the counter, his hand warm against her side, the quiet sounds of the oven in the background. Then she tilted her head, nudging her nose against his jaw.

“How was your simming?”

He let out a soft, amused breath. “Decent, actually. They’ve been saying nice things lately — about how I’m handling the car, learning fast. It’s been a bit surreal.”

She smiled. “I’m not surprised. Although maybe I’m biased, since I think that you’re the best driver in the world.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but he looked suspiciously fond. “I have my moments.”

She gave him a measuring look. “What do they mean, though? Like… when they say you’re doing well — how do they measure that? Is it because you don’t crash a lot?”

He looked briefly thoughtful, then leaned his hip against the counter beside her. “Well, part of it is just about the data — lap times, feedback. But I think it’s also about how I’ve adapted. Rookie seasons are usually tough.”

“Rookie?” she asked, brows knitting slightly. “That’s like… you mean you’re in your first year?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. First year in F1.”

She blinked at him, clearly surprised. “Oh. Wow. Really? But you’re so good.”

His ears went a little pink, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess. I—uh, they’ve been saying I might win something. Rookie of the Year, maybe. Because I already have the podiums in Japan and Qatar.”

“Wait,” she said, brows lifting. “Okay. Podium. That’s when you got handed the trophy with Lando and the other guy, right? With the champagne?” 

“Yeah. When I came third,” he said, trying not to sound too proud. “In Suzuka. And second in Qatar.”

“I didn’t realise Japan was your first podium.” Suddenly, she was so glad that she’d sat and watched the entire race. 

He gave a small, almost shy smile and turned back to the oven to check the lasagna. “Thanks.”

She was still looking at him, trying to piece it all together. “I still can’t believe this is your first year, though.” 

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve been racing for a long time, just not in F1. Started in go-karts when I was six. Moved through the junior formulas — Formula 4, 3, 2.”

She gave a slow nod, processing. “Like levels in a video game.”

He chuckled, setting a timer on his phone for the garlic bread. “Exactly like that.”

She swung her legs idly from the counter. “So how’d you get into McLaren, then? They’re a, uh, good team… right?” She attempted. 

That made his smile falter just slightly, like he was choosing his words. “Bit of a weird one, actually. I was with Alpine before. They had me signed as a reserve driver — like, waiting in the wings in case someone got sick or injured.”

She nodded along. “Okay. So what happened?”

“Well… they were supposed to offer me a seat for this year, but they didn’t. Or, they sort of tried, but it was messy. Public. I wasn’t even properly informed about it, and they kind of announced me without confirming things with me first.”

Francesca’s face twisted. “Wait — what?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing over at her with a wry smile. “They just… assumed I��d go along with it. But I’d already been talking to McLaren, because I wasn’t getting answers from Alpine. And McLaren offered me a proper seat. Real deal. They wanted me.”

“So you picked them,” she said.

“Yeah. I signed with McLaren. And then Alpine’s team principal — Otmar — lost it. Tried to sue me.”

She blinked at him. “Wait. What? Like — actual legal action?”

He nodded, looking faintly amused. “Yeah. They took it to the Contract Recognition Board, tried to argue I was theirs and McLaren had no claim. But it didn’t go anywhere. The CRB ruled I was free to go. McLaren had the real contract. That was that.”

She stared at him, lips parted in disbelief. “You had a team try to drag you through court because you didn’t want to drive for them?”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, though the muscle in his jaw ticked slightly. “Yeah. It was stressful. It sucked, honestly, especially because it was all happening during the first few races of the season. But McLaren were amazing through all of it. They backed me.”

Francesca looked at him, a little in awe. “That’s… insane. No offence, but you’re kind of underselling this. You survived a motorsport custody battle and won.”

He laughed, properly. “It does sound much more dramatic when you put it like that.”

“Because it is dramatic,” she said, nudging his knee with her foot. “God. People online always talk about the politics in F1 but I didn’t realise it was that petty.”

“It can be,” he admitted. “But it worked out. Mclaren’s my home now.” He said. 

She smiled at him. 

He moved to the other side of the kitchen, pulling open drawers and cabinets, trying to familiarise himself with the space. 

She cleared her throat. “Um.”

Oscar looked over. “Yeah?”

She fidgeted slightly, fingers picking at the edge of her dressing gown sleeve. “I, uh… I like your helmet, by the way.”

Oscar looked up from where he was rustling around in a drawer for a spatula. “My — what?”

“Your race helmet,” she clarified quickly, already pink in the cheeks. “The design. The colours. I think it’s cool.”

Oscar paused, blinked once, and then that slow, boyish smirk spread across his face. “Is this…” he started, crossing the small kitchen toward her, “is this like that TikTok trend? The one where girls admit they’re into guys who wear masks and helmets?”

Her eyes went comically large, and then she groaned loudly and buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God.”

“No, no, come on,” he said, grinning as he stepped closer and nudged her knee with his hip. “You like my helmet, huh?”

“I liked it before you made it weird,” she muttered into her palms.

“You like me better with the visor down?” he teased, voice low and amused. “Does it take me look all scary and mysterious?” 

She peeked out from between her fingers, glaring at him. “It makes you quiet. That’s the appeal.”

He laughed, light and happy. “Rude.”

“I was trying to be nice,” she mumbled. “I see lots of pictures of you. You look… cool. Really cool. Like you know exactly what you’re doing, even though you say that you’re still learning.”

That softened something in him instantly. His teasing grin faded into something smaller, more genuine.

“Thanks,” he said. “That means a lot.”

She shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. “It’s just a helmet.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, nudging her leg again, gentler this time. “It’s a big part of the job. You wear one every race, every test. And the design — that’s personal. You pick it. You make it yours. Kind of the only part of the whole thing that’s really yours, you know?”

“I thought that,” she mumbled through her fingers. “Before you made it weird.”

“I didn’t say anything! You’re the one who—”

“Oscar.”

He grinned and leaned forward, nosing her hands out of the way. “Hey,” he said, soft. “Thank you. I like it too. It’s custom painted, you know. I’ve had different designs through the years but the current one, the colours, the patterns, it feels like me.”

She met his eyes again, visibly trying to recover her dignity. “It’s… really nice.” She glanced at her bookshelf, where she kept all of her trinkets. “It’d be cool to have a mini one. To keep there.” She told him. “On my shelf.”

He kissed her. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

—

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user17 ahhhhhh f1 + booktube (my worlds are colliding)

user8 i am SO excited for your next video pls upload soon

katiebirdx my godson is so beautiful

bookishgoldie isn’t he😍

—

The room was quiet, dark except for the soft golden spill of the hallway light that Francesca had insisted on leaving on. The bedsheets were warm and a little tangled, kicked down around Oscar’s shins. Francesca was curled up against his chest, her ear pressed over the slow rhythm of his heartbeat, one leg slung lazily over his hips.

It was the first night they’d shared her bed. The couch had been fine — cramped, but fine — and she’d liked the way he hadn’t minded, hadn’t pushed. But this… this felt easier than she thought it would. Softer.

His hand moved slowly up and down her back, tracing the hem of her t-shirt with absent-minded comfort.

“I like your bed,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

She smiled against his skin. “It’s my bed. Of course you do. I also have impeccable taste in blankets.”

He chuckled, low in his chest. “Mmm. Can’t argue with that.”

For a long stretch of moments, there was only silence, shared breaths, and the occasional shift of limbs, adjusting to new closeness. Then Francesca tilted her head just slightly, her cheek still pressed against him.

“Do you want to… I don’t know. Brainstorm date ideas?” she asked softly. “I was thinking about it again earlier.”

Oscar blinked his eyes open, a little surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet, a little shy. “Just… you know. Not all at once. Just ideas. Things we could do. If I felt up to it.”

His hand stilled on her back for a second, then resumed its slow movements. “I’d love that,” he said. “No pressure. We can keep it all imaginary if that helps.”

She nodded against him. “Imaginary dates are safer.”

He smiled. “Alright. Imaginary date number one: picnic in the park. I bring sandwiches that are way too elaborate because I’m trying to impress you. You bring crisps and get mad when I try to steal them.”

She snorted. “Realistic.”

“Imaginary date number two,” he continued, warming to the game, “I take you to a little museum, rent the entire place out for just us. We look at weird 18th century art and pretend to care about it.”

“That sounds amazing, actually.”

“We leave early because it’s so boring and end up eating fast food in the car.”

“You would be the one to get bored first,” she teased.

“Probably.”

She shifted slightly, snuggling even closer, nose brushing along the edge of his collarbone. “I think I could do a museum. If it was just us.”

Oscar’s heart did something slow and fond in his chest. “If that’s what you want, I’ll make it happen.”

She smiled, sleepy and small. “That’s very boyfriend of you.”

He kissed her hair. “I am your boyfriend.”

“Mm. I like that.”

They lay in silence for a few more moments. Then, in a whisper so quiet he barely caught it, she said, “Thanks.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead and didn’t move them for a long while. “There’s never a rush,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere, ‘Cesca.”

She let out a soft breath. ‘Cesca. Nobody had ever called her that. She liked it.

Then, after a moment, she told him, “I love the beach. I haven’t seen the sea in a long time. Forever, it feels like.”

His thumb rubbed slow circles into her hipbone through the thin fabric of her sleep shorts. “Okay, baby,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll go.”

She nodded against his chest, and he felt it more than he saw it.

“Okay,” he repeated, this time with a little smile, a little certainty, “but for now, go to sleep.”

“Only if you keep tickling me like that,” she mumbled.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Deal.”

She melted further into him, her breathing evening out as his hand continued its gentle rhythm.

—

The sun had barely started to rise when Oscar stirred, warm and grounded beneath the Francesca’s weight. She was breathing steadily, her cheek smushed against his chest, legs tangled with his. Her hand, as always, had found the hem of his shirt in her sleep and was fisted there. Soon, all of his shirts would have pull-marks and creases in the front — he couldn’t even force himself to pretend to be bothered by the idea.

He didn’t want to move. But he had an idea.

He leaned down, brushing his nose against her hair, inhaling that sleepy mix of raspberry shampoo and his aftershave that made his heart clench. “Francesca,” he murmured.

She made a soft, displeased sound and burrowed further into him.

He kissed her temple. “Baby, wake up.”

“Mmnnno,” she groaned. “Go away.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh and nuzzled behind her ear. “Do you trust me?” He asked quietly.

Still half-asleep, she didn’t even hesitate. “‘Course I do.”

“Good.”

In a practiced motion, he sat up, pulling her with him. She slumped into his chest, blinking slowly.

“What’re you doing?” she mumbled.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed one of his hoodies from the floor and gently tugged it over her head. She whined in protest but didn’t resist, letting him guide her arms through the sleeves. It was far too big on her, hanging down past her thighs, but it would keep her warm, and that’s what mattered.

“Where do you keep your flat keys?” he asked.

She blinked up at him blearily. “My bag. Front pocket.”

He found them easily before coming back, bending down and, without warning, scooped her up into his arms.

She gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oscar!”

“I’m not giving you time to overthink,” he told her.

“This is kidnapping,” she said through a yawn. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled his scent. Then she nipped at the skin above his collarbone. “Don’t put me down.”

He snorted, not even wincing at the sharp pain of her fangs against his skin. “Not kidnapping if you don’t fight me.”

Outside, the morning air was crisp and biting. She shivered, instinctively pressing herself closer into his side, her face still tucked into the crook of his neck. He paused for just a moment, uncertainty flickering through him. Was he pushing her too far? Was this too much, too fast? But she hadn’t pulled away. Hadn’t protested. She’d only held on tighter, quiet and pliant, when he’d whispered a soft “be good” to Henry and locked the flat door behind them.

So he settled her into the passenger seat of the sleek, absurdly expensive car (one of the McLaren courtesy models, perk of the job), and buckled her in. She blinked at the dashboard, then at him.

“This is a spaceship.”

Oscar leaned down to kiss her cheek before closing her door and walking around the car to slide behind into the drivers side.

She didn’t ask questions. She wanted to. The anxiety was curling quietly in her chest, a cold thread of apprehension weaving through her ribs. But she knew asking would make it worse. Knew that the need to control every part of her day was one of the reasons she hadn’t done anything like this in years.

Before even starting the engine, he had one of his big hands on her thigh, his grip tight and grounding and exactly what she hadn’t even realised she needed.

“I trust you,” she said again, barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicked to hers, warm, steady, and he squeezed her thigh in three quick motions. “I know.”

The drive was quiet.

She kept her eyes closed for most of it, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing, the soft hum of the car, the weight of his hand on her leg. When the roads started to widen, when the buildings gave way to trees and hills, she could smell salt on the air and feel the shift in the wind through the cracked window.

Her heart beat like a drum against her ribs.

It was too much.

The world. The movement. The not-knowing.

But she didn’t panic. She let it rise. Let it crest. Let it fall.

Just kept breathing.

When he finally slowed the car, she opened her eyes. The light had shifted, gone golden — soft and hazy with the rise of early morning sun. She blinked, disoriented and heavy with sleep, as he pulled into a small gravel lot nestled against a grassy hill. And when he eased the car into park, she turned her head to look out the window and… froze.

The sea.

Endless. Expansive. Glittering beneath the sunlight.

And just like that, the ringing in her ears stopped. The ache in her chest loosened. She could hear gulls crying overhead. The steady hush of waves meeting the shore. The quiet, constant pull of tide.

“Hey,” Oscar said gently, not looking away from her. “We don’t have to get out of the car. We can just sit here. I just—”

She turned to face him fully, her eyes wide and already brimming with tears. He hesitated.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you not having seen the sea in so long,” he said softly. “Not when you clearly love it so much.”

The tears slipped free.

Francesca covered her face with both hands and sobbed.

Not loud. Not panicked.

Just quietly. Fully. Overwhelmed.

Oscar leaned across the console, wrapping an arm around her and tugging her onto his lap. She curled up into him.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out.

“Don’t be,” he whispered. “You’re okay. You’re so brave, baby. So good. I’m here.”

She clung to his hoodie like a lifeline, breathing him in.

And for the first time in years, she let herself be small in someone else’s care.

They stayed like that for a long time. Not speaking. Just existing.

When she was ready, when her breathing steadied and her hands stopped shaking, she pulled back and looked out at the water again.

“It’s so blue,” she whispered.

He smiled. “It is.”

“I forgot how it sounded.”

“Now you can remember.”

She turned to look at him, her face blotchy and red and beautiful. “You really didn’t have to do this. I- I might’ve freaked out on you. Made a scene.”

“You can make as many scenes as you want,” he said again. “But I will always try to give you what I think you need, yeah? Always.”

Francesca reached up and touched his cheek, brushing her thumb along the edge of his jaw.

“I- you know, Osc.” she whispered.

Oscar’s heart stopped. Then surged.

He leaned in, rested his forehead against hers.

“Yeah. I know.” he whispered back. “I know.”

With the sea as witness, she leaned up and brushed her lips against his jaw.

—

ONE WEEK LATER

Oscar was in Mexico.

Francesca and Katie were in her flat, the race coverage playing at a low volume on the TV as they chased Henry around the living room with a feather toy that had arrived two days ago — a surprise Amazon delivery tied with a note in Oscar’s handwriting, “for the little bastard”.

Francesca had laughed for ten minutes straight when she opened it. Katie had filmed the whole thing and, after stealing his number from Francesca’s phone, had sent it to Oscar, along with a voice note that simply said, “I don’t think it was that funny.”

Now, Henry was a blur of zoomies, paws skidding on the hardwood as he launched himself under the sofa to hide from the feathered menace. Francesca collapsed backward against the cushions, breathless and flushed. Katie flopped down beside her.

On the TV, the camera cut to a live shot of Oscar standing in the paddock. His race suit was half-zipped, arms folded casually as he chatted to his engineer, sun beating down on the brim of his cap. He was grinning at something, head tipped slightly to the side.

Francesca went quiet. Just… watching. Soaking him in through the screen like it might bring him closer.

Katie nudged her with a toe. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I just— I get it. Why they put up with long flights and stupid time zones and overpriced airport water. I’d do it. For him.”

Katie’s face softened. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know. You being here, letting him in, the fact you’re even saying that stuff out loud — that’s a lot already.”

“I know,” Francesca whispered. “I just think… he makes me brave.”

The feather toy squeaked as Henry pounced again, launching himself at Katie’s leg with the precision of a tiny, sharp-clawed assassin. She screamed, jerking her leg away and nearly spilling the tea she’d balanced on the arm of the sofa.

“Bastard!” she shouted, glaring at the cat now crouched smugly by the TV stand, tail swishing.

“Shit,” Katie murmured, genuinely impressed as she leaned forward. “He’s good, then.”

“The best,” Francesca replied without hesitation.

The footage shifted to Oscar on the podium in Japan, then in Qatar, smile boyish and eyes squinting beneath the bright lights as champagne sprayed from either side. Francesca felt her heart swell and ache at the same time.

“He’s going to win an award,” she added softly. “Rookie of the Year. From the FIA — the people who run the whole thing. He keeps trying to act like it’s not a big deal, but it is. There’s a gala and everything.”

Katie glanced over, eyebrow raised. “He tell you that?”

“I… looked it up,” Francesca admitted, shrugging with a sheepish smile. “The night he told me he might win. I couldn’t sleep, so I just kept Googling stuff. The voting, the dress code, past winners…”

“You’re obsessed.” Katie giggled.

“Not obsessed,” she said, nudging Katie with her foot. “Just… proud. And maybe a little bit obsessed.”

Katie laughed. “Okay, but like, in a really soft girlfriend way. Not a weird clipboard-and-red-string-stalker way.”

Francesca flushed. “I’m just trying to understand it all. His world. Because he makes so much space for mine.”

Katie was quiet for a moment. Then, “He’s very fucking lucky to have you.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” Francesca said quietly.

The camera cut to him again. He ducked his head.

“He doesn’t really know how to be the centre of attention. Which is crazy, considering the job he’s chosen.” Francesca laughed.

Katie tilted her head. “Sounds like he’s found the right person to help balance all that out, huh.”

Francesca didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, curled up in the corner of the sofa, the TV screen casting soft flashes of light across her face.

Then, almost to herself, “I think I want to go to the gala with him. If he gets the award.”

Katie blinked. “I— Uh. Wow. That’s… big. Seriously?”

Francesca nodded, tucking her knees closer to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. “I want to be there. I want to see him get it, hug him, tell him how proud of him I am.”

It came out calmly. Almost too calmly. Because inside, her heart was thudding like it had suddenly remembered all the reasons why that was a bad idea.

First, she’d have to travel to even get there — multiple planes, cars, etc. The venue would be huge. People would be watching. She’d have to wear something elegant, maybe heels — God, the idea of heels made her stomach flip. There’d be lights and flashing cameras and probably hounds of press. She could already feel the too-tight air in her chest, her body doing that thing where it anticipated danger before there even was any.

Katie hesitated, and Francesca braced — because she knew what was coming.

“Are you sure?” her friend asked softly. “I mean… that’s a lot, Fran.”

Francesca’s throat tightened almost immediately. She looked down at her hands, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve instead of the skin that was itching to be scratched and tugged and twisted.

“I know,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I know it’s a lot. But it’s not like it’s next week or anything. There’s time. Months, even. And—”

She paused, squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then forced herself to breathe. To make the next words come out like they were calm and considered, instead of shaky and sitting way too close to fear.

“And it’ll take a lot of therapy. Like, probably multiple sessions just to deal with the dress shopping part. And definitely a higher dose of medication than I’m on right now. But… I want to do it. Not even just for him. For me.”

Katie’s expression softened instantly — because of course it did. She loved her. Francesca knew that. But the worry didn’t leave her eyes, didn’t waver. It was still there, settled in the tight line of her mouth, the way her fingers drummed absently against her knee.

“I know,” Katie said, voice low. “And I see that. How hard you’re trying. How far you’ve come. But… you also mask it really well. You always have. And I know what it looks like when you burn out. When you go too hard and then crash so badly it takes you weeks to feel even remotely human again.”

Francesca chewed on her bottom lip.

It was the truth, and it stung. But it wasn’t unfair.

“I don’t want that for you,” Katie added gently. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this, just because you like him, or because you want to prove you can.”

Francesca looked over at the TV, at the basically-muted coverage still looping behind them. A slow-motion shot of Oscar stepping into his car, pulling on his helmet, caught in profile — calm and sharp.

“I know I’ve done that before,” she said, her voice soft. “Made myself sick just to prove something. But this… this feels different.”

Katie was quiet.

“I want to be someone who shows up, you know?” Francesca continued, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. “I want to be there when they call his name. I want to experience the joy with him.” Her hands clenched briefly, and then she forced herself to loosen them. “I don’t want to live in this safe little box forever. I want more.”

Katie’s eyes were glossy now, but she smiled too. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. God, I can’t believe those words just came out of your mouth. I’m so bloody proud of you.”

Francesca exhaled, letting herself fall sideways against Katie’s shoulder, their heads leaning together.

“You’re gonna look hot as fuck,” Katie said after a beat.

Francesca laughed — a real laugh, bubbling up unexpectedly.

She didn’t think it would ever truly go away — the debilitating fear, the constant, clawing need to be surrounded by safety and warmth. That wasn’t how agoraphobia worked. It could get better, sure. There would be progress, steps forward, days where the world felt a little less sharp around the edges. But would it ever vanish completely?

Probably not.

Still, she could learn how to live with it. How to manage the spikes of panic, the silent spirals. How to catch herself before the fall.

Oscar had shown her that it was possible — that the world didn’t have to stay small and suffocating forever. That the sea was still hers if she wanted it. That safety could exist outside the four walls of her flat.

He’d shown her what it meant to be cared for without conditions, to be seen and still held gently. If she asked for the world, he’d put it in her hands. No hesitation. No doubt.

She reached for her tea and took a sip. Her hands still trembled.

But she held it steady.

—

TWO DAYS LATER

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

gonna walk to a café

i’m scared lol

His reply came almost instantly, despite the time difference.

Oscar

u got this baby

text me when you’re there

proud of you already 🧡

She stared at the screen for a moment, clutching the phone to her chest. Then, with a shaky breath, she pulled on her coat, slid her flat keys into her pocket, and stepped out of her building.

It hit her all at once — the cold air, the stretch of sky overhead, the noise of the street. Her pulse jumped. Her brain started whispering all the familiar taunts — what if you can’t breathe? What if you freeze? What if everyone sees you fall apart?

She stopped. Planted her feet. Breathed in.

What do you see? her therapist had said once, when she’d asked how to stop dissociating when things got scary. Don’t run from the world around you. Notice it.

So Francesca noticed.

The glint of morning sun on parked cars. The little cloud her breath made in the air. A dog straining at its lead, ears perked. A crisp packet doing a sad little tumble across the pavement. A window-box full of drooping flowers that someone hadn’t remembered to water.

Her heart still raced, but her feet kept moving.

By the time she reached the café, her fingers were frozen and her stomach was doing that slow, swooping panic thing it did — but then she spotted Katie by the window, already waving.

Francesca pushed through the door. The bell jingled above her head. The warmth and scent of coffee hit her like a hug.

Katie was up in a flash, wrapping her in a real one. “You did it,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”

Francesca didn’t trust herself to speak just yet. Her eyes were hot and blurry with tears, but she nodded, and let herself lean into Katie’s warmth.

They sat by the window. Ordered muffins and flat whites, Francesca’s with oat milk.

Francesca’s hands trembled around the mug at first. But Katie didn’t mention it — just kept talking, light and breezy, about some ridiculous email thread she’d been stuck in that morning.

And slowly, Francesca started to relax. Her fingers stilled. Her chest loosened. She took a bite of her muffin and actually tasted it — lemon and poppy seed, bright and soft.

Out on the street, life moved around her. A child in a school uniform trailed a parent, kicking a pebble. A bus drove by, and the windows slowly got misty from inside. Someone laughed across the room.

And Francesca realised, quietly, achingly, that the world could still be hers, in any way she wanted it.

They didn’t stay long, maybe an hour and a half, but by the time Francesca got back to her front door, her legs felt like lead.

Katie had walked her home, not hovering but close enough that it didn’t feel like she was alone. They didn’t talk much after leaving the café — just a few quiet murmurs about Henry and whether they’d both want to have a pizza night this week — but Katie squeezed her hand before heading off.

Inside, Francesca shut the door behind her and let her back hit it, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.

Her hands were cold. Her face was flushed. Her heart was still a little loud. But…

She’d done it.

She fished out her phone and typed, thumbs slower than usual, deliberate.

—

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

i did it

it was cold. i should’ve worn gloves

but the muffin was good

It took less than a minute before Oscar replied.

Oscar

What flavour muffin did you get baby

Francesca

lemon and poppyseed

i wanted chocolate but they’d sold out

Oscar

How dare they

I’ll UberEats a chocolate muffin to the flat

So proud of you baby

Francesca

<3

—

She really didn’t mean to write the whole thing.

At first, it was just a paragraph — a single paragraph that came to her in the shower and refused to leave her alone. Then it became a scene, and then a chapter, and then, somehow, fourteen days later…

“I think I blacked out,” she said, eyes wide, cradling a mug of tea. “I opened a blank word document and now I have… 82,000 words.”

Katie just stared at her. “I— What?”

“I finished the draft. Of the thing. The book.” Francesca said slowly. “Like, the whole thing. Beginning, middle, end. There’s an actual story in there. Characters. Pacing. A climax. I have no idea how it happened.”

Katie slowly lowered the spoon she’d been stirring her coffee with, mouth parted. “Francesca. Babe. That’s… that’s bananas. You wrote a whole book in two weeks?”

“I didn’t try to,” she said, almost sheepishly. “It just kind of… poured out. I couldn’t stop. It felt like if I did, I’d forget how to do it.”

Katie got up from the kitchen table and crossed to her, putting both hands gently on her shoulders. “That’s amazing. It’s also extremely unhinged, but in a way that I deeply respect.”

Francesca laughed — properly laughed — and it felt so surprising in her own mouth that she covered it with one hand, like it might escape again if she wasn’t careful. “I think it might be crap.”

“It probably isn’t,” Katie said with a smile. “You’re just your own worst critic.”

Later on, when Katie was gone and the sun had started to set, she sent a photo to Oscar — her laptop open on the coffee table, the word count highlighted in red.

—

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

author gf vibe.

Oscar

So many words

No explanation

Francesca

i kinda finished writing the book

Oscar

I think you mean started writing it

Two weeks ago.

Francesca

i guess i found my groove

i also think i have carpal tunnel now

my hands are very sore

Oscar

You’re crazy. I can’t wait to read it, baby

—

liked by oscarpiastri, flonorris, and 64,529 others

bookishgoldie hi. posted a vid on youtube and it’s pretty special to me. go give it a watch ❤️ love ya’ll

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user64 YOU’RE WRITING A BOOK?!!!!!

user52 i really appreciate u being so open about your mental health. it helps SO MANY PEOPLE

—

Her camera was rolling, the soft ring light casting a gentle glow over Francesca’s face. She stared at the blinking red dot for a long moment, gathering herself.

“Hi,” she said, finally, her voice still a little scratchy from nerves. “Um. It’s been a while. I missed last weeks upload. Sorry about that.”

She gave a sheepish little smile, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her dressing gown had been swapped out for a black hoodie, soft and oversized — not hers, technically, but she didn’t think anyone would notice. Unless they looked close enough to see the little orange swoop on the left shoulder.

“I’ve been… working. A lot.” A pause. “And not just on my usual content. I’ve been working on myself, too. I’ve made some really big progress with my mental health. Not linear. Not easy. But… real. Lots of therapy. I kinda, like, actually leave the flat now.” Her voice caught slightly, but she kept going. “I’m still scared most of the time, but I’m learning how to deal with that in a healthy way.”

She let out a long breath, then reached down, holding up a printed stack of pages — thick, with a title page on top. “Anyway. I wrote a book.”

A beat. A smile. That dazed, giddy kind that always came when she said it aloud.

“I know. Wild. It just kind of… spilled out of me. And I’m still in shock. But it’s happening. It’s a romance, obviously.” Her smile twitched into something shyer. “I really enjoyed writing it, which is probably why I managed to do it so fast. I had some good inspiration.”

She bit her lip, trying and failing not to blush, then looked off camera briefly. “I’ll be sharing more soon,” she said, regaining her footing. “It’s still early days — editing, cover design, all the terrifying fun stuff. But it’s coming. And I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

There was a pause. Then, quieter, “Thank you for sticking with me. Even when I disappear sometimes. Even when I get scared to do this. It means more to me than you know.”

She reached out to stop the recording — then hesitated.

“Oh — and no, this hoodie isn’t mine. I stole it. No follow-up questions.”

Click.

—

Top Comments:

@litwitch420

the way you casually drop “I wrote a book” like that isn’t the most iconic thing you’ve ever done. proud of you, bestie.

@hannahsbookshelf

I don’t even care what the book is about. I’m buying ten copies. One for me, nine for the girl who couldn’t leave the house but still kept trying

@crymewithcoffee

not Francesca writing a book, going to therapy, AND soft-launching in the same video… multitasking queen.

@thisissochaotic

“i leave the flat now” I’M SOBBINGGGG you don’t understand how proud I am. been here since the ‘flop eyeliner tutorial’ days and this is the growth arc of the century.

@traumabrat98

Been battling agoraphobia for years and this gives me hope. Thank you.

@henryhasfans

I’m only here for Henry tbh but good for you I guess (jk I’m so proud of you I’m crying and I’d die for you)

@softestheartsclub

Your face when you talked about “the boy” 😭 you glowed. I don’t even need to meet him — if he made you write a whole book and start living again?? he’s a keeper.

@pidgeinajar

idk who needs to hear this but francesca wearing Someone Else’s hoodie while announcing her debut novel and mental health glow-up is PEAK soft girl renaissance

—

The front door clicked open with a soft thunk, and before Francesca could even reach it, Oscar was already inside, dropping his bag beside the shoe rack and wrapping her up in a hug so tight her feet left the ground.

“Hi,” she murmured into the side of his neck, her grin buried in his neck. “Welcome back.”

“Hi,” he said, kissing the side of her head, voice low and tired and happy. “Missed you.”

There were flowers in his hand — some daisies, a few sunflowers, wildly uncoordinated colours like he'd grabbed whatever looked brightest at the airport. A few petals had fallen off in transit. Still, they were perfect.

Francesca reached for them, heart too full. “These are tragic and I love them.”

Oscar gave her a sheepish smile. “Thought they looked happy.”

Before she could respond, Katie stepped out from the kitchen holding three glasses of Prosecco, eyebrows shooting up.

“Oh my god, you’re real,” Katie said, walking toward them with a glass of Prosecco in each hand, the third awkwardly balanced between her elbow and her ribs. They were celebrating the completion of Francesca’s first draft. “I was starting to think you were just one of Francesca’s very elaborate delusions. Like the time she thought the pigeon outside her window was trying to communicate with her through Morse code.”

“I— that was one time,” Francesca groaned, her voice muffled against Oscar’s shoulder. She didn’t move away from him, though — fingers curled into the hem of his t-shirt like muscle memory, like she needed to know he was still there. Still real.

Oscar’s arm stayed wrapped around her waist, steady and warm.

He glanced between the two women, visibly entertained. “Hi,” he said, smile crooked. “Francesca’s told me a lot about you.”

Katie handed over his glass, eyes scanning his face with barely disguised curiosity. She didn’t say anything immediately — just sipped her drink and narrowed her eyes slightly, like she was assessing a very expensive, very complicated piece of IKEA furniture.

Oscar didn’t flinch under the scrutiny, though his hand did tighten ever so slightly at Francesca’s waist.

“She better have,” Katie finally said, tone light but edged. “I’m very important to her.”

Francesca groaned again. “Katie.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Oscar said, a little too quickly, already half-grinning. “I get it. Honestly… I like knowing you two are so close.”

Katie raised a brow, as if surprised by his easy sincerity.

“I mean it,” he added, glancing down at Francesca, then back up. “You’re important to her. And I’m really glad that there’s someone else who sees her the way I do.”

Katie’s expression softened, just a bit.

“Well,” she said, after a beat, “good answer.”

Oscar smiled. “Thanks. Felt like a test.”

“Oh, it was.” Katie clinked her glass against his. “And you’re not done yet. But… you’re doing alright so far.”

Francesca laughed into his chest. “You’re both so annoying.”

“You love us,” Katie shot back, giving Francesca a quick, affectionate pat on the arm as she breezed past. “Now come on, there’s cake, and I’m not slicing it until everyone’s in the kitchen.”

Like she hadn’t just casually dropped the big L word.

Like she hadn’t just implied that.

Oh my god.

Francesca’s brain stalled, cheeks warming as she blinked rapidly up at Oscar, who, mercifully, didn’t seem to be reacting with any kind of alarm.

Instead, he watched Katie retreat into the kitchen, then leaned down to murmur near her ear, “She’s intense. I like her.”

Francesca huffed a quiet laugh, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Told you she’d be like this.”

He smiled, warm and genuine, eyes soft as they met hers. “Yeah. She loves you,” he added, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Francesca’s throat tightened unexpectedly. It hit her somewhere deep, that quiet reassurance. That he wasn’t threatened by the friendship she shared with Katie, or overwhelmed by the depth wrapped around it. That he saw the weight of it and respected it.

“I’m lucky,” she said, voice a little rough.

Oscar’s thumb brushed her knuckles. “You’re loved.”

She rose onto her toes and kissed him. Just a press of her mouth to his, gentle and real. Something in her saying thank you without needing the words.

Oscar stilled for a beat, surprised by her initiating it, maybe, and then kissed her back with a soft hum in his throat, his hand cupping the back of her neck. It was brief, sweet, but lingered in the same way that it always did with them.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were warm and her eyes a little too shiny.

Oscar’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “Hi again.”

She laughed, the sound muffled as she dropped her forehead against his chest. “Hi.”

From the kitchen, Katie’s voice rang out. “If you two are done making out, the cake is getting impatient!”

Francesca snorted into Oscar’s shirt.

He just smiled and whispered, “Come on. Let’s go celebrate.”

—

It was late by the time Katie left, the last crumbs of cake still on their dirty plates piled up in the sink. Francesca had smiled so much her cheeks were aching, and Oscar hadn’t stopped touching her all evening. Little things like his hand at the small of her back, arm around her waist, kisses on her knuckles whenever he could.

Now, the flat was quiet again. Just the two of them.

She stood in the doorway to her bedroom, brushing her teeth with one hand, the other lazily twisting the hem of Oscar’s shirt. He was already in bed, hair slightly damp from the shower he’d taken, propped up against the pillows, scrolling absently through something on his phone. Shirtless.

She watched him for a second.

Noticed the strong slope of his shoulders, the thickness of his neck, the way his chest rose and fell in that even, sleepy rhythm. He looked up when he felt her staring.

“Hi, beautiful girl.” he said.

She grinned at him around her toothbrush, cheeks pink.

As soon as she’d rinsed her mouth out in the sink, she padded over to the bed on bare feet, curling up beside him under the duvet, slotting her body into the space he immediately opened for her.

“You’re so warm,” she mumbled against his skin, her fingers curling lightly at his side, nails digging into his skin.

“So are you,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch feather-light. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, eyes half-lidded. “Just… full of cake. And happiness.”

Oscar didn’t say anything for a beat. Just looked at her, his gaze soft, reverent in the dim lamplight. “I’m so proud of you.”

She smiled, shy, teeth tugging at her bottom lip. “You brought me flowers.”

“Half-crushed ones, yeah,” he chuckled.

“They were perfect,” she whispered.

Their lips met, slow and soft. No rush, just heat, rising in degrees, like a pot of water on an open flame. Simmering, simmering.

His hand slid down to her hip, not demanding, just there, grounding. Her fingers fanned out across his chest, slow and steady.

“Is this okay?” he asked against her mouth.

She nodded, then leaned in to kiss him again, more insistently. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

He shifted them gently, giving her room to roll onto her back, then hovered above her, foreheads nearly touching. His hands explored with care; the curve of her waist, the dip just beneath her ribs. He stared at every movement his hand made, like he was trying to memorise every inch of her body.

“You tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured. “You tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to stop, though.”

He kissed her again, her mouth, her neck, the hollow beneath her ear, and her body arched instinctively into him.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her (his) shirt, resting warm and still against her bare stomach, waiting. She nodded once, more sure about this than she’d ever been about anything, and he peeled it off with the same gentleness that he reserved only for her.

When she tried to cover herself, out of habit more than fear, he caught her hands gently.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful, ‘Cesca.”

She flushed. “You always say that. Call me that. Beautiful.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He kissed his way down her chest, slow and careful, taking care to notice every little reaction she gave him. Every time her breath caught, he paused. Every time she arched up to meet him, he smiled into her skin.

Her legs parted to welcome him without needing to be asked. The weight of him above her, around her, was a certain kind of comfort. And when he finally slid into her, it wasn’t shocking or overwhelming or intrusive.

It was right.

She let out a shaky exhale, fingers digging into his shoulders, eyes fluttering closed.

Oscar stilled, forehead resting against hers. “Okay?”

She opened her eyes. Nodded.

And then he moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even really about sex. It was about them being together, like this. About breathing the same air, pressing close enough that the fear didn’t stand a chance. He held her hand the whole time, fingers interlaced, their bodies shifting in the slowest, most perfect rhythm.

She let the thrill of sensations roll over her, the heat, the fullness, the sharp pulse of her heart softening into something sweeter. Safe. Loved.

When she came, it surprised her. Gentle and deep and unlike anything she’d felt before. Her breath caught in her throat, a tear slipping down her temple as Oscar murmured her name, again and again, grounding her in the present.

He followed soon after, with a deep grunt and a tremble that echoed down to his toes. And when it was over, he didn’t move. Just kissed her. Tucked her hair back. Pressed their foreheads together.

“I love you,” he whispered, like he hadn’t meant to say it yet, but couldn’t not.

She blinked up at him, wide-eyed. Her chest ached, in the best way.

“I love you too,” she said softly, voice trembling but sure.

Later, they curled around each other, her head resting on his chest, one leg slung loosely over his. The sheets were tangled around their hips, warm with the quiet hum of leftover heat between them. His hand moved in lazy circles on her bare back, soothing and unthinking.

Francesca let herself melt into it. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat — her new favourite sound.

Her voice came soft, nearly lost in the hush of the room. “Can you take me back to the sea tomorrow morning?”

Oscar’s fingers paused for a second. Just a second. Then he resumed the gentle motion, even slower now. He tilted his head so his lips brushed her hair. “Of course I can.”

—

Oscar was sleeping, one arm draped around her waist, his breath warm and even against the back of her neck.

Francesca reached carefully for her phone on the nightstand, trying not to wake him. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second, heart still fluttering with something so tender and unreal she could barely believe it had happened.

But it had.

They’d said it.

She opened her messages, scrolled to Katie’s name.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie

we said the L word

he said it first

and i said it back

katie. i think i’m in love with this man. like properly. like forever.

—

Oscar shifted behind her, murmuring something incoherent, and nuzzled into her shoulder with a content sigh. Her heart ached in the best way.

—

Katie

SHUT THE FUCK UP

Are you still breathing

Francesca

i would follow this man into war

im a new woman. i am reborn.

we. had. SEX.

like actual sex. not metaphorical holding-hands-and-weeping sex.

REAL. NAKED. BODY-TO-BODY. SEX.

and it was so good i think i saw god.

i am speaking to you as a ghost. i have perished. i have transcended.

i am levitating in the corner of my bedroom.

Katie

I’m not afraid to block you.

…

Is he… big?

Francesca

NO. MINE. BACK OFF HARLOT.

Katie

Jesus Christ

It was that good huh

Francesca

I. Transcended.

—

Francesca’s hand was tucked securely in Oscar’s. The world was still quiet, save for the cry of gulls and the rhythmic crash of the waves.

Oscar nudged her gently. “You look happy.”

“I am,” she said honestly. “It’s like my brain is breathing. I’m not… scared.”

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you think you’d ever want to live somewhere like this? Near the water?”

She glanced sideways at him, brows raising slightly. “Like… move?”

He shrugged, but the question lingered in the air. “Maybe. Someday.”

Francesca didn’t answer right away. They kept walking. The breeze picked up, tugging her hair, and he watched as she closed her eyes for a second, just breathing in the salty sea air.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, my flat is my safety net. My bubble. But this… this doesn’t feel scary. Not with you.” She paused, then added, “I think… it would be possible. Maybe with my therapist on speed dial.”

Oscar smiled. “I could make that happen.”

She rolled her eyes fondly. “You- I mean, is that something you want? To live near the water?”

“I think it’d be nice.” He said, noncommittal, but honest.

“If I ever did leave my flat behind… it would have to be for something really, really good. Somewhere Henry would be able to call home for the rest of his life. Somewhere I could always rely on to feel secure.”

Oscar stopped walking. Tugged her closer until she was pressed against his chest.

“Baby,” he murmured.

She looked up at him, squinting against the morning light. “And I’d want to be with someone who makes me happy, as often as possible. Not always, but… often.”

He leaned down and kissed her, salt on their lips, sunlight on their skin.

“Okay,” he said, smiling against her mouth. “I’ll work on that.”

When they started walking again, her hand found his once more, thumb tracing the back of his knuckles.

Oscar was quiet. Thinking.

Not in the way that meant worry, more like… turning over puzzle pieces.

“I think you’d like Monaco,” he said eventually, voice soft and a little far-off. “It’s warm all year. Sunny. You could leave the windows open and let the air in, not just light.”

She glanced at him. “That’s a big change from London, huh.” She said, quietly.

“Maybe,” he said, not even bothering to deny it. “It’s small, too. The whole country. You wouldn’t ever feel lost in it. Everything’s within reach. You can walk almost everywhere. I know all the quiet spots.”

Francesca blinked. “You… you want me to live in Monaco?”

“I want you with me,” he said, simply. “And I want you to feel safe somewhere that we can both call home forever. I think it could be a good place for you. No pressure, obviously. Just—” He glanced at her. “I think about it sometimes. You, there. Henry too. Able to watch the water from a balcony.”

She was quiet.

“You’d be busy,” she said after a moment, her voice low. “With racing. And everything else. I’d be on my own a lot.”

Oscar didn’t pretend otherwise. He gave a small, thoughtful nod, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Yeah. But I’d come home to you. Every time. And… you wouldn’t really be alone. You’d never be far from someone you know.” He hesitated, then added, “The girls— I mean, if you wanted to know them.”

She turned her head slightly to look at him. “The girls… You mean the WAGs?”

Oscar’s nose scrunched a little, bashful. “They’re all nice. Some of them travel with us, but not all of them.”

Francesca hummed, then looked back out toward the water. A gull wheeled overhead, shrieking. The waves were starting to turn silver at the edges now, sun climbing higher.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Osc.” Her words were barely more than a whisper. “I— It excites me, though. The idea of making somewhere our home. And I do like the idea of being able to see the water from my window. Or a balcony, like you said.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t try to convince her. Just reached for her hand and tangled their fingers again. “Want to pick up pastries on the way home?” He asked.

She looked at him incredulously. “Uh. Yeah. When have you ever known me to say no to a pastry?”

He rolled his eyes at her, and then he kissed her.

Just because he could.

—

iMessage — Francesca & Katie

Francesca

hypothetically. in the future.

if one were to move to monaco. like monaco monaco. the fancy boat people place.

would that be a terrible decision or just like. a very bold rebrand.

asking for a friend (me)

also oscar told me he’d wait forever if it meant i’d be happy and i almost fainted like a victorian man seeing ankle for the first time.

Katie

When you say “in the future”

Do you mean 5 years or 5 weeks because those are very different things fran

Francesca

I HAVEN’T EVEN MET HIS FAMILY YET

he hasn’t met MY family yet

i’m still trying to mentally prepare for him being in the same room as my sister

we’re not there yet

we’re like. emotionally there. but logistically? spiritually?? maybe not. idk.

Katie

Answer my question you scoundrel.

Francesca

I DONT KNOW

maybe 5 months

maybe a year

maybe never

but also maybe i’ll wake up tomorrow and pack a suitcase and just see what happens

is this what love does??? it makes you consider international relocation???

Katie

It absolutely does.

And also you’re unwell. Deeply. Fundamentally.

But in like. A beautiful way.

Pls continue

Francesca

his eyes are so brown.

like unfairly brown.

like melted chocolate mmmmmm yummy

Katie

I’m gonna need you to calm down before you start a fire in your PHONE

What is this?? Shakespeare meets horny tumblr??

Pull yourself together girl

Francesca

i can’t

he said “baby, you’re all I want” last night and i saw god

like my brain blue-screened

if he blinks at me too lovingly again i’m going to dissolve into mist

Katie

ok nope. i'm out.

i’ve reached my francesca-in-love limit for the day

you’re talking like a victorian poet who just discovered lust and it’s deeply upsetting me

Francesca

LMAO

wait no come back

i haven’t even gotten to the part where he called me a good girl

Katie

🔇

this is me putting you on mute.

tell oscar to pay my therapy bills

Francesca

lol x

i’ll invoice him in kisses.

CHAPTER SEVEN

[knightyoomyoui]

"All I Ever Need" - PART 1 : Hell In Heaven

ft. TWICE's Yoo Jeongyeon (x Male Reader)

TYPE: Fluff, Smut, Light Angst

WORD COUNT: 3928

NOTE: Another Jeongyeon series! To the anon who is waiting for a Jeongyeon smut to come out, here it is. My plan is to divide the story into 10 chapters and update it all starting from this month. Hoping I can complete it before I quit writing at the end of 2025. Enjoy goth mommy Jeongyeon that I've never been done before.

DONATE OR REQUEST FOR COMMISSION HERE: https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui

TAGS: missionary, 69, mutual arrangement, doggystyle, anal sex, oral sex, introvert OC, rich girl jeongyeon

DESCRIPTION: Two broken souls finding unexpected refuge in each other when YN LN—a shy, self-effacing photographer—is evicted during the middle of a bad weather, he’s rescued by Yoo Jeongyeon, a wealthy and feared goth businesswoman with a hidden longing to feel vulnerable.

===START===

The rain came down hard and unceasing, a cold shroud thrown over the city's dark streets. Water collected in the crevices of the pavement and dripped from the split awnings like a persistent, melancholy breath. Behind the veil of night and rain, a single figure stood under a stammering streetlamp, indistinct. You held a tattered canvas bag and a scuffed camera case, the only belongings you had remaining. Your black hoodie was waterlogged, clinging to your gaunt body. You didn't move much, as if the rain had soaked into your skeleton and numbed your determination. The world around you dissolved—a haze of neon lights, blaring automobiles, and muffled footsteps. You'd been evicted that afternoon. You remember the landlord's final angry words, but now you hardly even hear them. It was the cold against your skin now, the burden of each unpaid rent, each missed attempt at catching up, and your sister—ay in a hospital bed, quiet, breakable, waiting. A black sleek car purred down the road alongside him, engine purred low, rain pattered on its gleaming hood. A passenger within, Yoo Jeongyeon observed. The city recognized her as untouchable—a powerful woman with a reputation as dark and uncompromising as her fashion. Tonight, however, something vulnerable in beholding you alone in the midst of the rain, with those suitcases and bags you carry, awakened something within her—a quiet despair she knew lay beneath the surface.

Wait, stop." she instructed the driver, her tone low and firm. She opened the door and got out, holding an umbrella.

"Maam, watch out!" The driver shouted.

Heels tapping on the wet pavement as she walked towards you. Looking up, a form emerged that merged with the black shadows. You glanced up, surprised. Your own eyes were deep pools of weariness, but there was no bitterness or rage—just a weary resignation of this harsh destiny in your life.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice gentler than she normally permitted herself to be. You swallowed hard. "I'll be alright, miss." you mumbled, lowering your head.

Jeongyeon stepped closer, raising the umbrella over both of you. "It's raining. You're soaking wet. Why are you carrying your stuff under this awful weather?" You shook your head. "It doesn't matter. “I won’t be ordering my driver to stop if your situation don’t matter to me,” she said softly. “You better do the same. What happened?” He glanced down at his hands, filled with nothing but callouses from the burden he always carry with him. “Got kicked out. Couldn’t pay rent.”

Jeongyeon felt disdain that you’ve suffered through. The strength of the wind and the rain alerted her that staying here outside won’t do no good for them. “Let’s continue our talk later, get into my car.”

“W-what?”

Just listen to me, I can't have you here cold and wet outside, taking the storm in just because things haven't gone well for you." Jeongyeon told her. "Now come in and we can finish our conversation at home.

Your arms were held by Jeongyeon and opted to pull you through the car as the driver helps the door. She pushes you in and she sat next to you. The car drove away from the scene. To eliminate the suffocating awkwardness and tension within, Jeongyeon cleared her throat and opted to start the conversation.

"So why did you get kicked out-

As she looked over to her side, the stranger was now sleeping peacefully, your head hanging out of the window. Jeongyeon and the driver met each other's eyes in the rearview mirror. "He must've gone through hell in order to get knocked out like this."

She continued staring at your sleeping face, and Jeongyeon felt something ignited within her curiosity.

The following day, you woke up in her mansion's guest room wrapped in plush velvet curtains and comfortable blankets, a room where the rain outside during last night must've been far away and inconsequential. Prior to rising to the bed, a small, glossy desk, a note was waiting for him:

"If you're staying, we'll talk soon about what you can do for me." - J

Eyes creased in bewilderment, you step out of her room which is situated in the second floor of her gigantic simple home. Providing your eyes with a walkthrough of the astounding exquisite pieces of furniture and artworks on the walls and ceilings, you questioned yourself whether this woman whom you met yesterday evening isn't merely a kind of a typical benevolent citizen who chanced upon your wretched condition in the rain.

At the end of the steps, you are now in what should be the living room. Three figures were observed working with the food at the kitchen, accompanied by them has the unmistakable attire, a black oversized shirt, thigh high shorts and a rumpled hair that directs the maids through the preparation.

One of the maids could have noticed you just gaping at them uncomfortably, so the woman turned around. You get the first glimpse of her appearance. Black eyeliners, not so thick make-up, a gloomy aura that symbolizes her gothic personality and taste. are what make her interesting and distinctive.

"You're awake." Jeongyeon dried her hands with a towel. " "Do you get what I'm saying on that point?" she asked as she started pouring coffee in two cups.

You shook his head. "Not really."

She exited the kitchen and walks toward you, her features became clearer to be seen by you. She's truly beautiful, her aura bellows fierce and bold, and her physique was equally as unbelievable as her facial appearance. She provided you with another cup of coffee she prepared. You and she are now sitting together in front of the dining table.

She moderated her tone softer than ever, a departure from her style. "I'm making an offer on a condition to our deal if you permit me to assist you by remaining here on my property for as long as you want."

"And that would be?"

"I desire someone to be in charge of my life—a secretary, yes, but more than that. Someone who can hold space for me when I'm not well."

You scowled, not anticipating this type of request. "Hold space?" “Be there when I’m overwhelmed. Help me find balance. Not just with my work, but with myself.” You lowered your eyes, the impact of her words weighing heavily. "I don't know if I can do that. Whatever you've been dealing with, I'm at least as bad as you are now. And, you're also rich. Why couldn't you get a psychiatrist to handle it?"

"Because what I desire, couldn't just be fulfilled by anybody, not even a psychiatrist you're talking of. I like it with… the likes of you."

"Oh, so you're into the negative meets negative for a positive result, huh?" "Guess you can do that." She smiled, taking a sip of her coffee. "What I got inside me must get treated at any time I desire it to, and I want whoever that person is to be with me whenever I ask to handle it for me. And I found you to be the… company I prefer to."

"Then you want to remain here, with me doing all these… whatever can amuse you?"

"A win-win deal for us. You get to discover your temporary refuge while I enjoy what I desire, someone to keep me company as my personal secretary whom I shall be tagging along with me."

You ponder her proposal carefully. She awaits your response, simultaneously providing you these enticing stare that makes you believe that taking her deal will give you an entry into your life that will provide you greater chance to live by it without any more trouble. Just calmness, ease, and satisfaction.

I know you're taking this seriously, but I'm not doing this like as if your life depends on it. I just want you help me as much as I help you." Jeongyeon said. "And you don't have to be perfect. You just have to try."

You gulped hard, the softness of her solace giving you comfort. "I don't want to fail you.

Jeongyeon extended her hand, touching his with an easiness which surprised you. "You won't. Because this isn't just work. It's trust. And I'm willing to trust you if you really need it."

He gave a harsh laugh. "But not that ease. You don't know me, Jeongyeon. You can't just do that just because you pity me."

"And I want to know. I do pity you, yes… but my plan of assisting you was evident. This, proposition between us. I'm doing this instead because you caught my interest, YN." she stated, catching herself off guard that caused her to freeze for a moment after uttering those words. "Why did you even turn out like that? What happened yesterday anyway? You've not been able to tell me you see because you dozed off on how much you suffered being out there.

You let out a deep sigh and ran your fingers through your hair, worrying it as you rubbed your head to relax. Lip bitten, voice hardly above a whisper. "Work's been… slow. I'm a photographer. Studio job, not a lot of money. But my sister's struggling to live—she's in the hospital. And medical bills just keep adding up." Jeongyeon's eyes softened. She was surprised at how difficult your predicament really is than she can ever think of. "I'm sorry." You shrugged, attempting to conceal the pain. "It's life. I'm used to it. Now that I already accepted that it hasn't been doing me good for a long time now." She looked at you a moment longer. "You don't look like a man used to giving up." "Looks can be deceiving." You grinned painedly. "I can measure the limit now with my fingers at how much more left I was able to hold out with all of this. But I can't, not yet. Not without taking my sister out there in good health first."

"If that's the case, then say it." Jeongyeon pressed forward, daggers flashing in her eyes to push you towards the correct option. "Say that you require this. I'm here presently, would you leave me be?"

"I have a home. A company that I ran. All that, I can offer. You don't need to be alone."

"Why would you ever do that?"

She smiled, a soft, unfamiliar one that curved her black lipstick-covered lips. "Because sometimes, the strongest people need someone to hold their hand."

Emotional conflicts, the conflict of your choices, and the desperation of survival. Your tears erupted, head bobbing in agreement. "I do. I want to try it."

Jeongyeon was delighted at his thorough admission. Her fingers running over your skin sending shudders running through your nerves. You turned your eyes back to her, greeting the now changed side of her which you were on the verge of seeing for yourself.  “You seem struggling all this time. Now that we have arranged ourselves, would you like me to demonstrate already how much we could work ourselves out?”

"Where are you leading me?

"Somewhere ideal for us to enjoy the solidarity we've always dreamed of."

She took your hand and led you up. Shoving you into her bedroom. Dark, mysterious, and radio silent, she closed her door as she attacks you to the bed. Sitting over you with her whole body, she cradled both sides of your head as she looks at you greedily. "This will be our haven for the lost, such as ourselves. Remain here with me for as long as you desire, and I am willing for you to discover where you can belong once more." "Won't you prefer that, one like me, who will take you in with open arms?" She mumbled to herself, fingers tracing at your chest.

"Y-yes…"

"And I… could let you explore what everyone always fail to learn about me. Whenever you want to. Take me with you, YN. For now, by pleasure."

She kissed your ferociously, her hands fisting your hair as she roughly makes out with you, grinding onto your crotch. A quick glance at her fiercer and hotter kavorka, her sharp predator eyes and messy strand of her short bobbed-cut hair sprawled around her face, she breathed heavily as she guided your hands through her sides.

"Escape this cruel world with me, YN. Find delight in me and show how much you need it."

Your hands extended to her breasts, which remained covered by her t-shirt. Barely made her whine. She did not want any interruption, so she left your body as she stood next to the bed, taking off her clothes to expose something marvelous she;s been concealing all along in these loose clothes.

Standing before you in her purple and black blended lingerie, she seductively approached you and crawled over your reclined body. Removing your clothes as well, it crossed your limit to tolerate this sexy view of hers. Sitting up, you yanked Jeongyeon towards you to kiss her frenziedly again.

She sat on your lap, crotch to crotch she grinds anew, your left land holding the nape of her head and the other at her lace-covered breast, squeezing.

You tossed her onto the bed. She heaved a heavy sigh as she observes you removing your lower part of clothes too. "Yes, give it to me, YN. Do it."

Your cock poked out of your briefs, Jeongyeon was amazed by its size and girth, she guessed it's an estimated 7 inches. She felt your hand pulling her waist down, her legs spread open over you. Putting aside the skimpy clothing that covers her bare pussy, you slowly rub your length against her slit before entering.

"Ugh fuck, y-you're so huge." Jeongyeon gritted her teeth as she could feel your size intruding into her innards, pushing her walls to their limits she thought. "Mean it when you fuck me. You can have me any time, YN. It's one of my means of paying you back, so don't waste it. Bring all you got."

"As you wish." You began to move as you observed Jeongyeon's face lift with strong thrusts you're imparting to her. You increased your face, starting to screw her in the same manner that she want it to be done, her limp limbs dangling around her like wings as you seal her gasping mouth with your lips again.

Trapped in your body, Jeongyeon could only push you further into her by enclosing both her arms and legs around you. Her voice breaking into all the moans she emits with the ferocity of your skin smacking against each other.

Exiting her mouth, you slammed her body by touching her lips. "Uh uh f-fuck yes, go slow and then deep. That feels so fucking good, mmh." She praises the way you stroke your cock on her wet pussy.

Take me in whatever ways you can come up with, don't hesitate before me." Jeongyeon touches your arms to indicate stopping at pleasuring her in a normal missionary position. "You can dominate me, I'm all yours YN."

"Promise me you'll b-be o-okay, Jeongyeon?

She smiled, adamant at her reaction.

"Don't mind me. I've been yearning for this so badly, the sensation of being ruined and dominated. And I want you to exert all your energy, YN."

She turns around, placing her arms and knees on the mattress, bending in front of you. "What do you think about us beginning from you taking me from behind. What do you think?" She said as she rocked her massive meaty butt shaped beautifully in her panties, luring you.

No more words required, you sniffed her butt through her underwear before pulling them down, revealing her fat skin. You buried your face in between her flesh, Jeongyeon begins to moan at your mouth gnawing through her magnificent hole. Adding to it with your hands rubbing her clit, it challenged Jeongyeon's patience to stay still at her level with all the teasing she's had so far.

"E-enough of that, fuck me hard now YN!"

Your regained rod passes smoothly through the crevice of her buttcheeks. "Where do you want me to put it in?" "You're already there, YN. Bury it up to my ass this time. Break me."

You pushed slowly in, watching her tight ring stretch to create an entrance for your enormous cock into her tight bum. Her muscles accommodate your girth well but slightly painful at its stiffness. You can very well sense that Jeongyeon is still a virgin in her precious areas. Your cock managed to be inserted, and Jeongyeon lay motionless on her position.

Give me a moment to get used to, please. I-it's my first time." She confessed. You were flabbergasted, this is the level of faith she's been placing in you and really does live up to it.

"S-sure, go ahead."

Jeongyeon whined as she can sense your heat, your size, and the subtle pulsating of your shaft within her. "O-okay, go on. Then like before, take me fast. You nodded, slowly pulling at first before pushing again to build a momentum as you begin getting into the rhythm again. With Jeongyeon getting used now to this new position, you went all out now on her ass, pounding it with strength as her skin rippling into contact with your crotch.

Her body shook with the bed. Her moans and screams louder, her hot back figure making this sex with her feels so great to watch. You still didn't show her mercy because she insisted on her, while she enhances more pleasure by fingering her cunt as you do yours.

"S-shit, I'm cumming Jeongyeon!"

"I-I'm also getting close. Do it inside, I want to feel you."

"Agh fuck… I'm gonna release it!"

Mouthing a lewd "ugh," Jeongyeon's eyes widened as you plunged your cock into her to the hilt, filling her ass with your hot cum as she squirted her juices through the sheets and some onto your thighs and knees. Throwing yourself on the bed, you assisted her in riding out your orgasms by delivering scant thrusts on her ass before departing.

You took yourselves some break first, with you holding her ass, liking how her skin slides off through the crack of her fingers. Jeongyeon purred at the sensation of her backside being touched, until she recalled something. "I haven't touched you yet. Do you like my ass that much?"

"Yes. It's so huge, sorry." You blushed and laughed. "It's my first time getting a hold of this."

"Don't be afraid, you can have it while you stay here." She smiled slyly. "But also, I can show you always that not my ass would be the only thing you'll drool for."

She pulled your shoulder down to place your body again. "How about this, why don't we do what we both want at once? I can then have your cock while you continue eating my ass and pussy. Sounds good?"

"Definitely."

Jeongyeon rotated so she can be stacked above your body in an opposite manner. Her face is now in front of your limp cock while her pussy and ass hovering at your face. “I’ll take the turn first this time.”

She takes your cock as she succulently eyed it, licking her lips and nipping at it lewdly. She releases a big gasp as her butt get pulled back so you can finally gorge on her plump pussy. "Mmh ahh~ Y-yes, lick my pussy like that, YN. I love how skilled your mouth is."

The goth woman joined you by rubbing your cock to full size once again. She could barely even wrap her hands about it. "Welcome back, you beast." She ran her tongue over your head, her smooth saliva coating your slit had your legs rigid.

Your humming made Jeongyeon shiver too, your breathing sending shocks to her pussy. A battle of delight, Jeongyeon takes her time exploring each part of your penis with her mouth while you waltz your tongue and kissed each spot on her pussy. Your hands forcefully massaging her ass once more, it may be your addiction where Jeongyeon must meet in the coming days.

Jeongyeon eventually sucks your cock into her mouth, her cheeks sucked in to apply more pressure in sucking. Both hands holding your testicles to assist your balls to create more load for her to target earlier. It did not take long as she doubled the effort by giving your shaft another effort of pumping as she provides you with a great blowjob.

Your gigantic penis wedged into the hot crevice of a short-haired goth bad girl as you devoured her out like its your final meal on planet Earth. She's there, hovering over your body, naked together, into her bedroom. It was like before you were merely having a sharing of emotions yet now, how things change so quickly with both of you now doing intimacy in an overdue sex to de-stress yourselves in this cruel world.

"Mmh fuck, you're making this so difficult for me to concentrate on your cock when you're going wild behind, sweetheart." Jeongyeon moans while wanking your cock in a rush and rubbing her ass against your face. "My pussy continues to leak due to your fingers." "Please try your best, i am feeling myself cumming again in no time."

She couldn't had to be instructed twice. Jeongyeon brings your cock back to her mouth, reciprocating your energy by bobbing her head rapidly down until her nose probes the base. You too hastened the flicking of your fingers in her cunt, slurping all the pre-cum that runs out.

Jeongyeon first, thighs clamping your head as she had you consume all of her juices to satisfy you from her seducing you since a while back. You nearly suffocated at how much honey nectar she offered for you, but it would not be a nuisance for you if you'll get knocked out with her pussy placed right on your face.

You mouthed swears and contented responses when Jeongyeon made you cum next. Limbs curled, tailbone lifted just so you can pummel your length and deepthroat this horny rich woman as you dump your another set of load down to her belly. She slowly withdrew her lips from your cock and licked all the drops remaining that your tip could not help but to drain.

"God, that was a lot." Jeongyeon wiped her mouth. "Having that much of amount everyday will surely keep me filled to the brim."

"Same can be said to you." You agreed. It made Jeongyeon blush.

"I-i've been holding it longer than you can ever think, okay? It just so happens that I get to meet you." Jeongyeon said, resting her head over your crotch while observing your hard cock slowly subside.

"But seriously, uhm… thank you for this, Jeongyeon. It was amazing, for a first time." You grinned, stroking your palm over her ass.

“I’m glad it was a great introductory for our newfound relationship, YN. Expect more for the next following days, but for now, rest and give yourself some time to sink it all in.”

Jeongyeon grabs her panties and her clothes as she dresses herself. “Because starting today, I’m going to change your life. J-just… make yourself comfortable staying by my side, and I’ll it all happen in an instant.”

She went out of her room, leaving you to ponder on all that went by and prepare yourself on the potential things that are still in the same but done differently which will ensue afterwards with this experience encountering a woman like Yoo Jeongyeon.

=== END OF PART 1 ===

[rgartz]

I wanna do angst but I'm too lazy to draw... So here's the bad ending in written form with a bit of drawings.

P. S I am not good at writing, soooo sorry if some sentence doesn't make sense or it has wrong grammer

Bad ending ((nah egg the poll, I want angst))

Panic filled corrupted pure vanilla as he realized his own mistake. He grabbed him,shook him, he tried to reverse the spell..but he couldn't...nothing was working... Until he remembered, he saw mystic flour was able to break his spell (I feel like he can see everything in cookies eyes that he puppet-tified).

That gave him hope, a small bit of hope... He had no choice...

He carried the puppetified shadow milk back to his friends... Unease fills him, as he isn't sure if his friends would help him or not... But he needs to save his dearest friend from the curse he gave.

-

At the créme republic...where he knows where his friends are, he hesitated... "Will they hate me? Will they attack me? Will they still think of me as a friend..? " He asked himself.... He looked back at shadow milk... Seeing his blank face, guilt swallows him.

Corrupted Pure Vanilla knocks at the door of the créme republic... He waits for an answer before knocking again. He hesitantly pushed the doors open.. letting out a weak cry for help... "Please... Help him..." All the ancients, redeemed beast stared in shock.

Corrupted Pure Vanilla cried for help louder this time, yelling from the top of his lungs "please help him! save him! Fix him!" He sobbed as well...

The others snapped from their shocked state and quickly helped the two. Golden cheese taking shadow milk out of corrupted pure vanilla's arms. And Hollyberry, dark cacao and white lily attempted to comfort cpv... Golden cheese knowing what to immediately do, she brings her to mystic flour to help him.

Mystic flour, holds shadow milk's face gently.. staring at his blank eyes.. she leaned on him attempting to bring him back.. but nothing happened...

Mystic flour still tried her all.. the spell wouldn't budge... She stared in despair.. unable to fix shadow milk...

Cpv on the distance.. watched.. as grief, guilt, pain, regret fills him whole... His knees collapsed... He froze in his own sorrows, regrets... Staring at puppetified shadow milk... His dearest friend... His love one... Harmed by him... Unable to reverse it..

The other ancients didn't know what to do... They just continued to comfort him... Reassuring him that they'll find a way to fix him...

-

At his castle.. where he stays... Cpv kept quiet.. silent.. not responding to anyone... Still frozen from before.. the ancients visits him from time to time...to Care for both shadow milk and him whenever they visit...

As the night comes... Cpv couldn't sleep.. he continued to stare at nothingness... Guilt and regret still consumed him from the inside out...

He stood up and walked towards where shadow milk is.. when he finally find him.. he stared at him for a bit... Admiring his beauty... Remembering his smile... Oh how that thought made him cry again...

He approached shadow milk.. staring into his eyes. Blank eyes.. Kissed his forehead.. and stepped back away... And he gave him a smile...

He......

((the first three where 3 am sketch... Man my artstyle change when I'm sleep deprived..))

Shackled branch ua by @fishymom-art

Without the wings, you cannot fly. Poor fallen angel.....

[greatestexpectationss]

Cherry Lip Gloss- Luke Castellan

Luke Castellan x Fem!Aphrodite Reader

You don’t feel like a daughter of Aphrodite today. Your hair won’t cooperate with you, it feels like none of your clothes fit right, and you’d somehow lost your favorite cherry lip gloss and had to borrow your sisters which tasted distinctly nonfruity, some vanilla something that left way too much of a taste in your mouth.

You just don’t feel like you. There's some sort of despair deep in your bones, you ignore the cause of it and trudge through the day in a haze, by them time you make it to lunch all you want to do is go back to bed and pray to the gods tomorrow is better.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Silena, your sister, asks you from her seat at lunch beside you. The rest of your siblings, true children of Aphrodite, turn their eyes and ears to listen in. Across from you and Silena is Drew, whose perfectly plucked brows furrow, “You haven’t touched your cherries,”

“You love cherries,” Jake, your brother, chimes in.

“I’m fine,” you tell them, forcing a smile. You pop a cherry in your mouth, “See?”

“No you’re not, you’ve been off all day,” Drew retorts, arms crossing as she turns to look at you. “Is this about that fight you had with Luke?”

Under the table Silena kicks her, and above it Jake elbows her.

“Drew,” he hisses, gesturing toward the rest of your siblings who all promptly turn back to their meals. 

“Sorry, but are we not gonna talk about it, seriously?”

You, in fact, weren’t gonna talk about it. Luke had been your best friend for most of your time at Camp Half-Blood, you’d met him in the Hermes Cabin before your mother had claimed you. You’d only stayed there for 3 days, but by the time you were headed to Cabin 10 and away from him, Luke was already ready to help you carry your stuff and remind you if you needed anything he was still right next door. 

You hadn’t really needed anything,. It was no shock to anyone you were Aphrodite's daughter, with your pretty smile and long shiny (y/h/c) hair. You had always had this way about you, something that lay between perfection and humanity. Confidence radiated off of you in waves, and you always smelt of fruit and cherry lipgloss.

You were fine on your own, perfectly capable of making your own life and friends for yourself in camp.

But Luke was charming, and maybe a little persistent. When you struggled to find a weapon you could actually wield, he knew your siblings would be no help, he’d approached you with two daggers in hand and told you to follow him. You were good with daggers but with Luke’s help, you were a damn force to be reckoned with. From there your friendship had blossomed and as you’d both grown up something more bubbled beneath the surface. A sort of "Will they?Might they?"

You never did, but you desperately wanted to. 

At least you did, before your fight

A few days ago, Luke had been pretty worked up about Capture the Flag. Normally, you liked him like this, all argumentative and technical, jaw and fists clenched. Mainly because you're never on the receiving end and also because a small part of you prides yourself on the ability to calm him down afterward. He's always soft with you, but when he confides in you, truly, you think he’s the best person you’ve ever met.

But this time he’s just pissing you off.

Luke, Annabeth, and a few other children of Athena worked tirelessly on a strategy for your team to beat Ares. Ares was on a winning streak and it was putting damage in all of your egos. Annabeth’s idea to put you in front of the flag had bode well with the rest of the group, everyone always underestimates you as a daughter of Aphrodite. You'd told Luke how much this irks you, in quiet moments alone, there's this stereotype, a mold Aphrodite kids are "supposed" to fit into, and you don't fit it, you just wish other people would realize it too.

Maybe that's why when Luke didn’t like the idea, when he openly protested it, it stung so much. When he Annabeth that putting you, a child of Aphrodite (he didn’t say it in so many words but still) as the last line of defense for the flag was "fatal strategic error" you'd blinked at him. Luke had talked Annabeth out of it or at least talked her into him and Chris waiting behind the tree line out of site “just in case”. 

After the meeting when it was just you and Luke, you’d fought, or more so Luke had tried to explain while you yelled at him.

“C’mon Y/N, this isn’t personal,” he’d told you after you’d ignored him the 3 minutes it took to get back to your respective cabins, he halted you in front of the Aphrodite cabin, coming to stand in front of you and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “leaving you there by yourself wasn’t a good idea, what if you needed back up?”

You’d slapped his hand away from your face. 

“No but if Annabeth had wanted to leave you there, or herself there it wouldn’t have been a doubt in your mind you’d both be fine right?” He says nothing but you know what he’s thinking, and you scoff in disbelief. 

“Don’t be like that,” Luke begged, eyes sad and soft, you almost wanted to cave when he lowered his voice and stepped closer to you, “Will you just let me explain?”

You take a step back, “What? You wanna explain that because I’m in Aphrodite I’m somehow less than you and Annabeth? Like I can’t look like this,” you gesture to your black mini skirt, camp half-blood tee, altered to be shorter and tighter, and your dainty jewelry, “and kick your ass at the same time?”

“I’m not saying–”

“Just forget it, Luke,” you’d said bitterly, “you know for the record I’m used to everyone treating me like some dizzy Aphrodite kid without a clue, I just never thought you’d be the one doing it.”

And then in the greatest storm off in Camp Half-Blood history you’d bumped his shoulder, stomped up the steps of your cabin, and slammed the door right in his cute puppy dog face. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you told your siblings. Silena scoffs while Drew and Jake roll their eyes. “Y/N, you haven’t talked to him in almost a week.”

You pop another cherry in your mouth, “Look its fine, I’m fine, everything is fine, I’m just tired and this morning was rough”

They share an unconvinced look. “You know he keeps asking about you,” Jake tells you after a moment of silence, “I think he’s worried about losing you.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you say bitterly, you take your fork and stab it into your salad.

“Hmm, I don’t know because he’s totally in love with you??” Drew deadpans, she’s kicked and nudged again. She throws her hands up in the air and sighs loudly before she grabs her trey and stands up. “Look Y/N I love you, and if you want us to totally ignore your problems we will, again because we love you. But we just want you to be happy, and I think for the most part Castellan makes you happy.”

She smiles and then leaves. Jake stands too, “Plus he’s super hot, you are not gonna find better arm candy in this camp. Trust me I’ve looked.”

That draws a laugh out of you, “I’ll keep that in mind Jake, thanks.”

Silena goes to stand up too, “Are you gonna come to archery practice today? I heard Lee and the Apollo kids are gonna show off, might be kind of cool.”

“You go ahead I think maybe I just don’t feel well,” she looks unsure, and double-checks again. You just wave her off, tell her to have fun before retreating to your cabin.

You don’t feel well, you repeated, you must be coming down with a cold, your feeling of despair and lessthanness has nothing to do with Luke, with missing him, with wanting him.

You curl up in your empty cabin, in your bunk. Your siblings call it your nook, a bunk in the corner of the cabin, the top unclaimed, but the bottom bunk is yours. It's covered in pretty floral sheets, a fuzzy blanket, and a fluffy pillow. You had hung up (or had Luke hang them up for you) a long curtain rod across the bed frame with light pink curtains, the inside of your bunk lined with pretty fairy lights. Usually, your nook is comforting, today it just makes you miss your best friend. 

The door to the Aphrodite Cabin opens and closes, you close your eyes, hoping desperately to fall asleep, and that whichever sibling walked in doesn’t realize you’re hiding in here. 

A shadow appears outside your curtains, you internally groan and bury your face deeper in your pillow,

“Y/N?” the voice asks, you recognize it right away. You think you’d know him anywhere. It’s Luke, you let him peek into your curtain, and he gives you a small smile.

“Hey,” he says. His curly hair looks stupidly good, in a way that makes you wanna run your fingers through it. It's unfair really.

“Hi.”

“You okay?”

“M’fine,” you try to say voice muffle by the pillow, his smile grows. 

“Mind if I come in?” You hesitate, you’re still reeling from his rejection of the idea that you could be of value as the last line of defense for the flag like you're some damsel that needs him to rescue her. Your ego isn’t the only thing that's wounded though. Luke hurt your feelings, all this time you thought he was the only person who saw you, all of you, and loved you for it and despite it. Never in a million years would you have imagined that your one episode of self-loathing would be triggered by his words. But, still, you miss him, and you're sad, so against your better judgment, you mutter a quiet sure and scoot over. 

He crawls in with you and lays down on his back beside you, side by side the two of you stare up at your twinkle lights. 

“You’ve kind of got it made in here don’t you?” he asks in order to break the terribly awkward silence. You mumble a quite yeah, and then you’re both silent again. It’s incredibly painful. You turn your head to look at him, and find he’s already staring at you. 

“Hey,” you say.

“Hi,” he replies. He reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, you savor the feeling of his touch, leaning into his hand. He smiles at you something sweet and sad all at once.

“I miss you,” Luke tells you, “and I’m sorry.”

“Luke–” he turns all the way to face you on his side, you follow suit even when he cuts you off.

“Just listen okay?” he pleads. 

You nod once. 

“I was worried about you,” he starts running a tired hand through his hair, your brows furrow in confusion, you open your mouth to protest, but he puts a finger to your lips, “You promised you’d listen remember?” 

You glare at him but relent as he pulls his finger away from your lips and down your arm. “Peter from Ares, all week had been talking about how he’s leading the charge for our flag, and how he couldn’t wait to get his hand on the pretty Aphrodite girl who always takes all the cherries,” it doesn’t take a genius to realize that Peter had been talking about you. He’d flirted up a wild storm with you a few weeks prior and you’d turned him down, Peter, a true Ares kid at heart, didn’t take it well. “I didn’t want you out there all alone if he came looking for you and actually found you.”

Luke’s always had a hero complex, the desire to prove himself worthy of being called a hero, no matter the cost, the pink scar on his face is a testament to that. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so fucking sweet. “I can take care of myself, Luke.”

“I know that,” he says earnestly, and you think he means it. Luke reaches for your hands and holds both of them close to his chest, he brings one to his lips and kisses your wrist. “The thing is you don’t have to. And I guess I just wanted to protect you and I went about it all wrong, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him and before you know it Luke is pulling you to his chest hugging you and kissing the top of your head. “I know you can take care of yourself, and I know you could kick anyones ass and look gorgeous doing it, you always do.” Another kiss to your head, before you’re looking up at him grinning. 

“You think I’m gorgeous?” you can’t help teasing him. Your self consciousness is melting away under his gaze, how can it not when he’s looking at you like you hung the damn moon?

This is that something else that bubbles under the surface of your friendship.

“Are you kidding?” he scoffs, moving his arm from your waist to place a hand on your cheek, stroking it with his thumb, “Look at you, of course I do.”

“Even when I’m mad at you?” You tilt your face upwards and closer to his

Luke grins, “I don’t know are you still mad at me?” You smile right back, bringing one of your hands between your faces, and pinch your index finger and thumb together only a tiny sliver of space between them. Luke knows you’re kidding by the glint in your eyes.

“Well then especially when you’re mad at me.”

You laugh and it does something funny to Luke’s chest. He looks at your lips, and the air changes. 

“Luke?”

“Yeah?” 

“Would you really have protected me if I needed it? From Paul?” you ask quietly, eyes darting to his lips drawn between his teeth. 

“From anything,” Luke swears, thumb still caressing your cheek, you want him closer, you need him closer. You could just reach up and kiss him but first you have to know, you have to make sure.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

And then he’s kissing you, like you’ve never been kissed before. You let out a squeak of surprise by the sudden pull at the back of your neck, toward him, then he’s shifting you on your back and hovering over you all the while never breaking your lips apart. 

You’re glad for that, when he slips his tongue in your mouth, you think you’d die if he stopped kissing you. You reach one perfectly manicured hand at the base of his neck and thread your fingers through the shorter strands, Luke lets out a little groan, and you grin into your kiss. Your grin is cut short by his hand on the skin of your waist where your shirt had ridden up, he caresses it there and you absolutely melt. 

This is it, you think, no one else will ever be able to kiss me again, you know you’re completely and totally screwed before you even pull away to catch your breath. 

“You taste like vanilla,” Luke says, grinning at you with the sheen of borrowed lip gloss on his lips, he brings his thumb up to wipe the reminisce of the lip gloss off of yours, “I thought you use cherry.”

“I do,” you pout, reaching up to wipe his lips the way he did yours, he kisses the inside of your lips, “I lost mine.”

Luke reaches into his shorts, and appears with not one but two new, not yet opened, cherry lipglosses, her grins as you sit up and greedily grab them from him, “I brought them as a peace offering, you know in case you didn’t want to make out.”

You laugh before pulling the little handheld mirror off the window ledge next to your bed, you apply it and already you feel more like yourself. 

You fling yourself back on top of Luke and cling to him like a Koala.

“Thank you,” you mumble into his chest. He laughs, and you can feel it in your cheek.

“Anytime sweetheart.”

You kiss him again, and this time when you pull away, it's your lips gloss that smeared on his mouth. You think you like him best like this, shiny swollen lips, tousled hair, and grinning.

[blackenedsnow]

Hey! Could I request a Shadow the hedgehog x fem reader where she’s super depressed and always has been, but she means everything to Shadow? He’s constantly trying to protect her, even from herself (self harm), because he sees so much of Maria in her. It makes him a bit obsessive, like he can’t bear to lose her. Lots of angst but maybe a hopeful ending?"

is this what i have become?

WARNING: Depression, mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts, obsessive tendencies

PAIRING: Shadow The Hedgehog x (Fem) Depressed! Reader

NOTE: Please read with care. I hope you can find some catharsis in the story, and remember that help is always available if you need it. Take care of yourselves.

SUMMARY: Shadow the Hedgehog has always been by your side, a silent protector. But the more he tries to shield you, the deeper you fall into your own despair.

It was another late evening, the room dim and quiet except for the soft hum of the outside world, which felt too far away to reach. You sat on the edge of your bed, an open book in your lap, though the words were just a blur at this point. It was hard to focus. Your mind was always drifting, weighed down by the ever-present heaviness that never seemed to lift.

Shadow was nearby, as he often was. His presence was constant, lingering like a dark guardian at the edge of your thoughts, protective yet heavy with unspoken tension. You knew why. He saw something in you—something that reminded him of her. Maria.

You’d never brought it up. You didn’t need to. It was clear in the way he looked at you, the way he stayed by your side, never leaving for too long, as though he was afraid that if he did, you’d disappear, just like she had. He wasn’t just trying to protect you; he was trying to save you.

But that was the problem. You didn’t feel like you could be saved.

The book in your lap was one you’d picked up in a vain attempt to distract yourself, to focus on something other than the numbness that had become your constant companion. You flipped another page, not really reading. One passage caught your eye, though, standing out in the blur of words:

The fragility of the species was not just a testament to evolution but a symbol of overdevelopment to the point of self-destruction.

When you closed the book, your gaze drifted toward Shadow. He stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable expression he always wore. You wondered if he thought the same of you. You often feel like those creatures—too fragile for this world, collapsing under the slightest pressure. Your body, your mind—both seem to be breaking down, unable to withstand the forces around you, yet here you were, still standing, much like the last surviving member of an endangered species, teetering on the edge of extinction.

Shadow didn’t say anything. His silence was telling. He didn’t need to speak to make his point. He was there to protect you, not to offer philosophical musings. But it made you wonder if, one day, he would see that his protection was futile—that, like those fragile creatures, you were destined to break, no matter how hard he tried to save you.

The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. You looked away, the weight of everything pressing harder against your chest. How could you explain to him that you weren’t strong like him? That the very act of existing felt like too much sometimes?

“You’re quiet tonight.” His voice cut through the stillness, low and controlled, like always. Shadow rarely broke his calm demeanor, even when the situation called for it. He didn’t need to raise his voice to make himself heard.

“I’m just tired,” you replied, though that was only half the truth.

Shadow didn’t move, his red eyes piercing through the dimness, watching you closely. “You’re always tired,” he murmured, his voice soft but edged with concern. He knew, of course. He always knew when you were struggling more than usual, but tonight, the weight was unbearable.

You stood abruptly, the book falling off your lap as you moved toward the window, needing space, needing air, but finding none. The room felt too small. You felt too trapped. It had been like this for days now—no, for years, ever since you could remember. The depression had always been there, gnawing at you from the inside, and despite Shadow’s constant presence, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were slowly crumbling away.

And then, before you realized what you were doing, your fingers found the cold handle of the blade you kept tucked away in a drawer. Your mind raced with thoughts of escape, of an end to the pain that had haunted you for so long. You were going to bring it to the other room with you, but before you could do anything, Shadow was there. He moved like a shadow himself, quick and deliberate, positioning himself between you and the door, blocking any way out.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like he was sizing up the situation. Maybe he is, you thought. Maybe he’s calculating the precise force it would take to disarm you without causing injury, or the fastest way to get the blade out of your hand.

You looked at him, tears threatening to spill, and for a moment, you wondered if Shadow—this strong, quiet being who had been through more than most could even comprehend—could understand desperation.

“Put it down,” he said, his voice calm but firm, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t need that.”

Your knuckles are changing color as you grip the handle, the steel biting into your skin as if it too understands the pain clawing inside you. Shadow’s crimson eyes don’t waver. His gaze is a heavy, constant pressure—he’s assessing, strategizing, always in control. And yet... something flickers in those eyes. Fear? No, not fear. Desperation.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he says, voice as calm and measured as ever, but there’s an underlying current, a tension he can’t quite mask. He’s trying to stay composed, but you know him better than that. He’s scared.

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought clearly,” you whisper, your voice sounding alien to your own ears. The room feels too small, like the walls are closing in. You can feel the air between you both, thick and suffocating.

You hesitated. The ache inside you screamed for release, for a way out, but Shadow’s presence, his unwavering strength, kept you grounded. He was always there, always watching, always ready to intervene. And in this moment, he was the only thing tethering you to the world.

“I’m not… like you,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I’m not strong. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

He stepped closer, his movements careful, deliberate. “You are strong,” he said quietly. “You’ve survived this long. That’s more strength than you realize.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks now. “But I’m not. I’m nothing. You… You’re strong, Shadow. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still standing. I can barely make it through a day.”

Shadow’s eyes softened in a way that made your heart ache. He didn’t often show vulnerability, but here, now, you could see the cracks beneath his stoic facade.

“I’m not as strong as you think,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “I’m not invincible. I’ve lost people I care about. I’ve failed before… But I won’t fail you. I won’t lose you.”

When you’d first met Shadow, you hadn’t understood why he was drawn to you, why he stayed, despite the darkness that clung to you. But over time, you’d realized it wasn’t about you, not really. It was about something deeper in him, something broken. You reminded him of her—Maria.

You hated that. Hated that you were a stand-in for a ghost, someone he could never save. It wasn’t fair to him, and it wasn’t fair to you.

But that didn’t stop the connection from forming, binding you two in ways neither of you could explain. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t right. But it was real, and that’s all you had.

“I’m not her,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “I’m not Maria.”

Shadow’s eyes softened, the faintest flicker of pain crossing his features. He knew that, of course he did. But knowing didn’t change the way he looked at you sometimes, like you were his last chance to fix something broken deep inside himself.

You could see the pain in his eyes, the weight of his past bearing down on him just as much as your own struggles weighed on you. He wasn’t just trying to protect you from the world—he was trying to protect you from yourself, from the darkness that had consumed so much of his life.

“Shadow… I…” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence, how to explain the turmoil inside you. It wasn’t just the depression. It was the constant feeling of being not enough, of being broken beyond repair.

“I don’t want to lose you.” he says finally, the words almost a growl, like they’re ripped from him against his will. He doesn’t say things like this—he doesn’t need to. His actions have always spoken louder than words. But now, faced with the possibility of losing you, he’s breaking his own rules.

“You don’t even like me,” you retort, your voice shaking, barely more than a whisper. “You don’t like yourself.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you can tell the words hit him. They hang in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. He’s never been good at hiding his disdain for himself, for the creature he believes himself to be. He knows he’s broken too, and maybe he is. But he’s strong. So much stronger than you.

“You’re wrong.” His voice is lower now, almost pleading. “You mean everything to me.”

He reached out, gently taking the blade from your hand, his touch firm but careful, never letting go of you. He tossed the knife aside and pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his grip strong but not suffocating. He’s not just trying to protect you—he’s holding on, desperately. Like if he lets go, even for a second, you’ll slip away, just like Maria did.

You swallow hard, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. You don’t want to hurt him. You don’t.

You buried your face in his fluffy chest, the tears coming harder now, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to cry. Allowed yourself to feel the pain that had been building up for so long.

“I won’t let you break,” he whispered, his voice low and fierce. “Not like this. You mean everything to me.” He repeated.

His words hung heavy in the air, and despite the darkness inside you, there was something in his voice that made you believe him, even if just for a moment. Maybe you weren’t as strong as him, but in his arms, you felt like you could be. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

[lordofdestructionm]

Viktor and Elsa

A secret passion?

Viktor Vasko and Elsa Bastion (formerly Arbogast) clearly share a connection. This has been clear since the Defiance flashback

This perhaps shouldn't be that much of a surprise. They are both veterans of the Great War, they have both experienced and still bear the inner scars that come with the tragedy and brutality of war and the suffering it brings.

Elsa in her capacity as a nurse, who no doubt saw all manner of mangled and broken men, and Viktor the muddy, bloody, living hell that was the front line of the trenches. It only makes sense that such people would be able to understand each other in ways others wouldn't.

Elsa has no doubt spent plenty of time treating wounded soldiers and seen the emotional anguish, and so would be able to see through that sour intimidating facade that keeps most people at arms length. While Viktor could find reassurance in the company of a kind and compasionate woman like Elsa

But many fans have found themselves wondering if there could be more to it than that.

Viktor spent some time staying at the arbogast household, and it seems in that time Elsa got to know Viktor very well, learning more about his life than even Ivy, someone that can approach Viktor much easier than most as a stand in daughter to him, and even to the extent she knows Viktor would never have agreed to let her put herself in danger

Viktor for his part may also feel more than just friendly towards her, if the face he makes when she is finally able to get through to him by phone to inform him about Ivy putting herself in danger is anything to go by.

Having been in a pit of deep despair over the memory of his far away daughter, plus the poor state of his health with compromised knees and a hole in his chest, hearing from her seems to make that normally scowling face soften

But before we all jump on that bandwagon and "Viktor x Elsa" become our new Lackadaisy otp, we have to consider the jolly British elephant in the room.

Bobby Bastion

Bobby is another war veteran and it was though their service that they met just after the war and later married.

He appears to be a very jolly and affable chap (relative to most bootleggers anyway), which may well be what drew Elsa to him in the first place. Someone who could counter her melancholy from the dark times they went through

He seems to be very aware and considerate of his wife's relative melancholy, by Elsa's own admission leaving a very lucrative funeral trade in the big city to move too a small quiet community that offered little business but gave Elsa the peace and quiet she needed (like Viktor it seems she hates "noise, noise, noise" thanks to the war).

Their involvement in bootlegging in the first place it seems was to compensate for this and provide the income to sustain this relative isolation

But despite this, perhaps their diffent mindset has become more of a barrier between them rather than something that compliments each other?

As the family illustration suggests, Bobby is relatively content and able to smell the flowers, while Elsa remains haunted. Bobby's humour also seems to have little effect on Elas's mood

Could it be that Elsa would be drawn to someone like Viktor, someone who suffers from the same trauma as her and may be more willing to admit to the pain, than a husband who despite the best of intentions is trying to just smooth over the problem? Quite possible

But even with that strong connection and bond between them, even if there is a mutual spark, does that suggest an actual affair? That's the big question here.

While arguably not handling his wife's troubles in the best way, Bobby seems to be a loving husband doing his best for his wife who he cares for deeply. Is Elsa the type of person who would cheat on her kind husband for helping in the "wrong way"?

Plus Bobby not only shows no sign of concern about Viktor staying with them and being around his wife, but, (despite his brother in laws interuption) mentions that he was very grateful for Viktor's help and actually saw him as almost "part of the family"

Is this a case of "ignorance is bliss"? Does he simply blindly trust his wife so much that the possibility doesn't even occur to him, or does he know her well enough to be certain that infidelity is something she simply would not do?

But this is all speculation at this point. What do you think?

Is poor Bobby blind to what happened under his own roof? Is it a matter of two people feeling an attraction but tragically unable to act on it due to circumstances? Or is it just an innocent matter of two wounded souls with shells and screams still ringing in their ears recognizing the scars on each other and offering some understanding?

Thanks to @ursiday whose Viktor and Elsa art got my over analysing brain juices flowing again ;)

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 19: I Know Who You Are

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter nineteen of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 14.5K (It's a behemoth and oh my stars I didn't mean to do this)

Warnings: Angst, Cursing, Angst, Drinking, ANGST, Sexual References, Talks of Pregnancy/Abortion, Some steaminess (barely), Family Problems, Self-deprecating thoughts, Awkward Situation, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the 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. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Not going to lie, this one is ANGSTY and it's dramatic... ENJOY!

Soldier Boy POV

Ben couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The words you'd said still hovered between the two of you like an anchor sinking from a ship and lodging itself in his heart to tug him under. At first he thought that he'd imagined you saying it, that he was still reeling from using his newfound powers, but the ringing in his ears was not a side effect of that.

It had been exactly 37 seconds since you said it, and in those 37 seconds Ben couldn't do anything but stare into your beautiful wide eyes and try to remember how to breathe. The look on your face was identical to the first time you told him you loved him, hands gently cupping his cheeks and making him feel like the boy who used to climb up the tree outside your window just to glimpse your smile.

But now what you said was different. What you said didn't bring warmth, it brought destruction, it broke through everything he was.

 As soon as you said it a wave of shock crashed over him, followed by another more powerful wave of guilt. It wasn't guilt for getting you pregnant or guilt because the two of you weren't careful. Ben was not upset about that. He would have loved to see you pregnant, see you glow as you wore those cute overalls and prepared for a child that he gave you. To see you smile at him every day and let him make love to you, show you how excited he was to share this with you. Show you how you were the only person he wanted a family with, the only person he ever wanted to be bound to. He had wanted to give that to you and that wasn't a lie. When you first spoke those words to him so long ago about wanting to have a family, wanting to have someone to come home to, someone who loved you, Ben had wanted to be the one to give you those things.

He would have done anything to make you happy, still would. But now he was upset with himself. Guilty that he wasn't there for you when you needed him the most, guilty that he allowed himself to stay away as long as he had, and guilty that he hadn't fought harder to get back to you.

He imagined those years without him raising a child on your own, the sleepless nights you must have had, the way you must have never had a moment of quiet-.

Ben felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into despair when he thought of the years you must have spent alone raising his child, loving his child even though he threw you away.

She loves me that much? How can I ever deserve her?

Ben still didn't breathe, noting the way Legend, Butcher, and Hughie have fallen silent where they stand behind the two of you. Even Legend had stopped smoking his blunt, something that Ben wished he could take a hit from.

I'm a dad and I-

Ben's memories of his own father came up like the rising tide, the shit his father said to him, the way his father pushed him away, the way his father was never there when he needed him to be and the way that his father always made him feel like he wasn't enough, just as your mother made you feel.

Even after all this time, I did become him, I abandoned her and then I abandoned my kid. I wasn't there when they needed me the most, I am a fuck up I- Ben swallows, the overwhelming thoughts dragging him further and further beneath the waves. How could she still want me? How can she say that I've never disappointed her when I did this?

You drop your hands from his cheeks and he misses the warmth they brought, but worse is the look in your eyes. You look scared. It was the same look you'd had on your face this morning when he woke up with you in his arms.

Ben hated that, because he knew why. He knew that you were scared to tell him this because you thought he would leave you again, that you still didn't completely believe that he was never going to leave you again, and it broke something deep inside of him that he tried to hide away for decades. He wished that he had never done those things to you, wished that he had earned back your trust already, wished that you would let him make love to you to show you how much you meant to him, but deep down he knew that he was willing to wait for you even if it took the rest of his life, he would make you trust him again.

At least she's touching me and looking me in the eye now.

But he knew that he still had a long way to go.

“Right.” Butcher clears his throat awkwardly. “Don’t forget to fill up the tank.” He tosses his keys towards you and you catch them in your hand while Ben continues to stand there.

Honestly he still wasn't sure what to say. He was stuck somewhere between guilt and shock and he wasn't sure how to make his body move. Pretty soon he would die from asphyxiation. He hadn’t taken a breath since you said it.

Butcher, Legend, and Hughie walk into the house behind them each wearing a bewildered expression. Ben had been to Legend's summer house many times in the past. He had memories of orgies and parties that went on for days, both of which you never went to, and Ben always ended up at your apartment trying to sleep it off while you sketched quietly beside him. He still couldn't understand that, how you were able to sit there with him and act like your heart wasn't breaking each time he did that.

The silence grows between you and Ben can't find the words to fill it, because he has no idea what to say, no idea how you can look at him when he did this to you, when he got you pregnant and then abandoned you like you didn't matter.

"Look I-" You stammer, looking down at the ground for a minute to take a breath before you raise your eyes to look at him. "I didn't want to tell you like this, but I can't leave her. We have the same last name and the first thing Homelander's going to do is make that connection. I mean, Legend and I made up the story about Indigo being my mom, but Rosemary she-"

Ben's entire body explodes again with emotion and shock as you utter the name Rosemary. He hadn't heard it in over eighty years, the last time was at his mother's funeral. The day that you crossed the gravesite, pulling away from your family, swaddled in another ridiculous dress that your mother picked out, and took his hand, refusing to let it go.  You were always there for him.

And then I wasn't fucking there for her.

“I just can’t leave her, not with him.” You whisper, glancing up into Ben's impassive face but he can't say anything.

How can I when she named our daughter after my mother?

“I know it’s a lot to take in. I tried to tell you this morning, but then Butcher walked in and I didn’t want to do this in front of him and- and-“ You were babbling now, a nervous habit that Ben hadn't seen you do in ages, but was now rearing its ugly head all over again. “And you don’t have to come with me-“

You were mistaking his silence for fear, mistaking his silence as him pulling away all over again. He could see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice as it trembled.

“Rosemary.” Ben whispers, your daughter's name, his daughter's name, interrupting you.  He barely breathes it, so low that he's not sure you heard him, saying the name with a reverence that he'd never used before. It was the first thing he'd said since you told him that he was a dad.

“Yes?" You look confused.

“You named her after my mom?” Ben’s eyes catch yours, deep green and open. He could feel his own heart flutter when he asked you that, heating in his chest so hot that he thinks it might melt out of it, through the bones and sinew. If that happened he would catch it and give it to you as if you already didn’t have it.

Ben can hear your heartbeat stutter when he asks you that. It was surprising, surprising that after everything that happened you still did that for him, did that to remember him.

He watches the end of your lips twitch in a smile.

“Yeah. You loved your mom. And did you think I was going to name her after my mom? Really?” You smile faintly at him with the joke.

Ben almost smiles at the thought. There wasn't any way that you wanted to remember your mother. Hell, all Ben wanted was to help you forget her, to undo the damage that she'd done to you all those years ago, because he saw how her influence still weighed on you, how everything that happened in the past still sat on your shoulders.

And he wanted to relieve that.

“I did try to tell you.” You repeat, but your smile drops.  “Honestly I also want to stop and get some clothes from my apartment  so I’m not covered in blood or rubble when I see her. It's going to be hard to explain all of this to her.”

Ben drags his eyes down your outfit again. Although this morning all he wanted was to rip it off you and study your curves with his hands, the outfit looked weathered. There was a prominent hole through the jacket and shirt, just under your left breast that Ben couldn't look away from. He knew what it meant. It was from you pushing him out of the way of Homelander. He could still feel the anger prickling beneath his skin when you again did the thing that he told you not to do. You were just so stubborn sometimes and never wanted to listen to him. Ben didn't give a single fuck that Homelander had punched him and practically choked him, the only thing he cared about was that Homelander had killed  you. There were many things that Ben fantasized about doing to Homelander when he had killed you, many he wished that he had been able to accomplish before Homelander tucked his tail and flew away like a little pussy.

He cannot be what passes for a hero these days.

Then again another side of him was incredibly turned on when you faced Homelander. He'd never admit that to you, but there was something sexy about the way you threw Homelander around like he was nothing. It had taken an extreme amount of effort for Ben not to kiss you after Homelander flew away, to take you back into the ruined house and show you just how much he liked your outfit and how much he enjoyed watching you kick Homelander's ass. Of course he'd let the anger win in the moments that followed the fight.

"Okay." Ben replies.

He sees you hesitate. “I guess I’ll see you when I get back.” You reply, with a tight smile, disappointment flashing in your eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Ben’s eyebrows furrow together. He was confused. “I’m coming with you.”

“Really?" He watches your eyes widen in surprise.

 Did she really think I'd let her go alone to do this?

"Yes? I told you that I didn't want you to go alone. Especially with that asshole flying around." Ben could feel himself frown.

"Okay."

Reader POV

The first ten minutes of the drive is deathly quiet. Ben doesn’t say anything and you fight to keep your mouth shut. The urge to fill the silence bristled beneath your skin, but you clamp your lips together.

Even when he said he wanted to come with me, he didn't acknowledge anything I said about Rosemary and-

“Are you sure she’s mine?” Ben finally asks interrupting your internal monologue.

You can’t help but laugh, gripping the steering wheel as you snort.  “Why is that the reaction all men have when a woman tells them that they’re pregnant? Is it because all men believe that women go around plotting ways to force them into a relationship? Is that a legitimate fear that you guys have? Or is it because all men think women go jumping from bed to bed having unprotected sex with whoever they can get their hands on?”

“No I just-“ Ben sighs and doesn’t finish his sentence. He’s been staring out through the windshield, watching the outside world fade into blurred colors, glancing over at you every few seconds.

“I’m sorry.” You hadn’t meant to laugh at him, but this was all just extremely awkward.

But it shouldn’t be. You can’t help but think to yourself. If Ben had ever asked me to have a kid with him before any of this I would have agreed to it no questions asked. But now I guess it's different.

“Yes she’s yours.” You sigh, but you can’t look at him.

“But how?”

“Do you really want me to explain the birds and the bees to you?”

“Y/n.” He sighs.

“Because of all the people in the world, you probably have enough experience to know exactly how babies are made and I hate to break it to you, it has nothing to do with a stork.”

 “Please don’t make a joke right now.”

“I can’t help it.” You mutter butterflies dancing the conga in your stomach. “You know how I get when I get nervous.” You could practically feel your neurons sending electrical impulses through your body, making your anxiety grow.

I really should have had that coffee this morning. Then again it might go right to my anxiety.

“Why are you nervous?” Ben asks you incredulous. He sounds surprised, like he can't understand you.

“Huh?”

“Why are you nervous? You should be fucking furious with me!"

"Ben what are you talking about?" You turn to look over at him. He looks wrecked. He's hunched in the seat, hands clenched tightly over his thighs, jaw tight.

Is he mad at me? Really? Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach to be devoured by the swarm of butterflies. I knew it. I knew he wouldn't be able to handle this-

"I did this to you and then I fucking left you. I left you when you needed me and was with those Russian fucks for forty-“ Ben’s voice breaks.

You suddenly understand. Ben wasn’t angry with you, he wasn’t pulling away, he was angry with himself. Guilty and angry because he wasn't there, because he believed that he disappointed you again.

“Ben wait a minute-“

“I should have been there every second.” He seethes, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists on top of his thighs. “I should have- FUCK.” Ben’s fist goes through the roof of the car, making the entire frame shudder.

Shit Butcher might kill us for that.

"Oh Ben-" You whisper.

“I-“ His chest begins to glow. “I said all those things, pushed you away, fucked Countess. I put you through all that shit and you still wanted to have my fucking kid? And you named her after my mom? I-"

Butcher will definitely kill us if Ben blows up his car.

You pull the car over to the side of the road, quickly unbuckling your seatbelt and reaching for Ben. "Ben please it's okay." You breathe, hands finding the sides of his face. "It's okay."

"No it's not." His chest dulls, but he turns his head away from you ashamed. "You told me that you wanted a family, that you wanted someone to come home to, someone who loved you. I wanted to give you those things, but not like this. I-" Ben's voice cracks. "I'm so sorry. I-"

"Ben." You whisper, turning his face back to yours so he's looking at you. His green eyes are dim, eyebrows pushed together, mouth turned down in a frown. And you can't help but kiss him. It's the first kiss you'd had in years. Life always seemed to get in the way of that. Whether it was Rosemary or Lou, you hadn't had a lasting relationship with someone in decades, not since Ben. The most you’d done is gone out with another artist and had dinner. It had ended in an awkward kiss that felt completely wrong to you. It didn't feel anything like this.

Kissing Ben was even more wonderful than you remember. The way he softly sighs into your mouth as he deepens the kiss, the way his hands find your waist to pull you over the center console into his lap, the way your hands automatically tangle in his thick dark hair on the back of his head, and the way your entire body melted into him. Warm tingles trace down your spine as your lips move against his, every synapse in your body electrifying, as you try your hardest to tell him how much he means to you with the kiss.

"Don't you understand." You say against his lips, stroking your fingers through his hair. "You did. You gave me a family. You gave me someone to come home to, someone who loves me. And now that she’s all grown up it gets to be you. You didn’t ruin my life. I don’t regret a single moment, even with everything that happened. I don't regret having Rosemary. You gave me what I wanted. It might not have looked the way I thought it would, but it doesn't make it any less special.”

"But I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I-" Ben sighs leaning his forehead against yours and you kiss him again, his tongue tangling with yours so devastatingly languid it seems to take your next breath.

Why did I ever deny myself this?

"Ben, you're here now, and that's all that matters to me."

"But-"

"You don't need to apologize for this Ben. What happened to you was not your fault. You couldn't control being away as long as you were-"

"I could have tried harder to escape. I could have-" He swallows, eyes wide and filled with pain. "I would have tried harder if I knew that I left you with-"

"Ben." You breathe, extracting your fingers from his hair and cupping his cheeks. "Please. I don't blame you for not being there. It was out of your control. And if-" You clear your throat with a sigh. "If you really love me as much as you say, if you've really loved me all this time, then I know you would have been there every second."

"I do. I love you." He kisses you again, breathing you in, holding you so tight against his chest as if he believes that you'll fade away in his arms. "I would have been, even if you hated having me there."

"I might have at the beginning, but now I can't imagine losing you. I can't imagine you leaving me. I don't think that I'll be able to survive this time-"

"I won't leave. I promise."

"I'm starting to believe you." Your thumbs stroke against Ben's cheeks, smiling softly at him, trying to fight the urge to cry, because your emotions are getting the best of you all over again. "Now can we please go? Or are you going to blow up Butcher's car?"

"One more Sweetheart." Ben murmurs, dragging your face back to his. "I've waited forty years for this."

"Does she know about me?" Ben says from your bedroom, over the sound of the sink.

You were standing in your bathroom, washing ash and blood from your face and picking rubble out of your hair. Honestly, you looked… weathered. The revenge outfit had a large irreparable hole that went through the blouse, not to mention you'd lost another favorite jacket and you were starting to get pissed.

Two down in a week. Maybe the vintage shop across the street from Rosemary's will have a nice selection. You reconsider. Or maybe Legend will have some clothes that he doesn't want. You smile to yourself. He certainly looks the same, must have some nice vintage clothes from the "good old days". Maybe I should be more worried about the fact that I’m more upset about ruining another jacket rather than the fact that we killed two people today.

Of course, you also needed to consider getting Ben some more clothes as well. Butcher's minimal selection was dismal, then again Ben could probably wear a garbage bag and be drop dead gorgeous.

He's the worst.

"Yeah. I told her who you were." You pull off the jacket, stroking your finger around the hole in the back of it, noticing the way the singed leather melted away from the laser. "She also knows you're back. It was-um- it was Rosemary who was texting me this morning." You momentarily feel guilty again. Rosemary was not excited to see Ben, the text messages this morning were a testament to that. And you were afraid that Ben was going to get his hopes up about seeing her.

Personally you weren't sure how he was going to approach this. Your heart just about broke when he almost exploded in the car from guilt about getting you pregnant. That was shocking, but at the same time the look of anguish on his face made you feel guilty all over again for not trying to get him sooner, for not asking more questions about his death. You knew that he was more indestructible than you. Why didn't I question that?

You reach for the bottom of the blouse, pulling it from your skin, but you look at your reflection in the mirror. There were two prominent scars, each about the size of a nickel, just under the left side of your bra. The only thing left behind from your fight with Homelander.

Ben's hand against the small of your bare back, makes you jump. It was rough and familiar, brushing against your soft skin in a way that makes you want to push back into his touch, to soak up the warmth like a cat in the sun. Proving again that your body still responded to his touch the same way it had your entire life. "Let me see." He rumbles.

"What?"

Ben turns you towards him, eyes dark as they meet yours, but then they drop to the collection of scars on your torso. "This one?" He strokes the golf-ball sized, almost perfect circle on the right lower part of your abdomen.

"Countess."

Ben's jaw tightens, but then raises his hand to the scars Homelander left then to the bullet scar just over your heart. "I hate that so many of these have to do with me."

"Well you didn't do them so you should see that as a win." You joke trying to make Ben smile, but he doesn't. "Ben we talked about this."

"I know." He pauses stroking his finger on a thin line just over your left collarbone.  It was new to him. "What’s this one?"

"Rosemary." A ghost of a smile is on my lips. "Didn't want to eat her broccoli when she was a kid, telekinetically threw a knife at me by accident."

 "She's a supe?"

"Yeah she's like us a bit. Doesn't age, she's strong, and more invulnerable, but she doesn't have any other powers unless she touches you."

"She has to touch you?"

"Yeah skin to skin contact only and only 24 hours, that's how she got telekinesis. She touched me and, well, really didn’t want to eat that broccoli-" You shrug. You were used to her powers, happy that you didn't have to watch her age, but worried about Lou. You were always worried about Lou. “But she's not a hero, she didn't want to be one. She's a nurse, works downtown in the emergency room. Though I think she's thinking about being a doctor."

"A doctor? A female doctor?” Ben’s eyebrows furrow.

Right. He basically missed the feminist movement. Note to self, make Ben watch the Barbie movie.

"Yes a female doctor. Nowadays it happens more often than you’d think.” You laugh. “She wanted to go back to school, but then her husband died and she was taking care of Lou-"

"Lou?"

You take his hand stroking your thumb over the back. “It’s not just Rosemary-“

“Please do not tell me you had fucking twins.” Ben tenses.

“No.” You snort. “Lou is our granddaughter. It's short for Lois, though Rosie never calls her that unless she's done something crazy.  She’s four, and most of the time she calls me aunty. She doesn’t know I’m her grandmother. Rosie and I, we thought it would be better if I introduced her as my cousin, not as my daughter."

“What happened to her husband?”

“Car accident. Just a few weeks after Lou was born.” Your smile drops remembering. “He was a good guy. Rosemary was head over heels for such a long time, and when he died she just crumbled completely shut down. He wasn't a supe and when she started to have a life with him I was worried about him dying. He wasn't going to live forever and he certainly wasn't indestructible. But after it happened I moved in with them for a while, helped her get through it, but it was hard."

"What about Lou?"

"What about her?"

"Is she a supe?" Ben's palm was still resting on the thin line over your collar bone and it was difficult to think with his bare skin pressed against yours.

"Not that we've noticed. Though I worry every day she will be."

"Why?"

"She's a third generation supe from our bloodline. If that gets out, who knows what'll happen. Same with Rosemary. She’s powerful and she’s only second generation from us. I’m hoping it skipped Lou.” You sigh leaning forward into his hand. "When I first found out that I was pregnant with Rosemary I was afraid that Vought would come take her away. And then when Lou was born I was so happy for Rosie, but everyday I'm scared that-" The words catch in your throat. Nothing really scared you anymore, but the thought of losing Rosie or Lou broke your heart, it was the same fear you had at the thought of losing Ben all over again.

He slides his hand up the column of your throat to cup your cheek.  “Nothing will happen to them.” Ben promises. “I won’t let it.” His gaze was locked on yours, eyes filled with steely determination. It made your heart warm to know that Ben already cares about them, that he understood how important they were to you. It also made you all the more guilty for telling Rosemary everything about Ben, afraid that it turned her against him.

But I told her the bad and the good. I told her how much he meant to me, how he touched my life, our childhoods-

Images of the moments with Ben over your lifetime, the good and the bad, the moments you loved him, the moments you hated him, the simple moments that you longed for more, and the moments where Ben gave you everything you wanted, when he was exactly what you needed, as if he understood every part of you, even the parts that you tired to hide from everyone else. The moments before you were supes when Ben and you were together and he made you forget about your mother, when he walked you home as you sang drunkenly off key, and the moments where he cheered you up when everything seemed hopeless. Ben was always there for you.

You tried to tell her that, but maybe you were too jaded to tell her, maybe you focused too much on the bad. And now that meant she might not listen to his side of the story.

He drags his finger over the scar just over your heart, the one he can't seem to forget, trailing goosebumps in it's wake, while his other hand wraps around your waist tugging you forward against his chest.

By now he was wearing the pair of jeans and dark shirt he came to your apartment in, looking just as devastatingly handsome as he always did. Probably a good thing that he didn't go to her apartment in his supe suit, you didn't want Rosemary to ask him why he was wearing it and then have to tell her that he torched the TNT Twins.

Because telling her that you personally kicked Homelander's ass and that he was now going to hunt down Rosemary and Lou seemed so much easier. Not.

Why is my life like this?

"I can't put a shirt on if you keep doing that." You whisper. Honestly you couldn't think straight either.

"Maybe that's my plan all along."

"Well see, if I never put a shirt on that means that I'll be walking around in public with everyone seeing me without one and-"

Ben's eyes narrow at the thought.

“Oh do you not like that?” You smirk.

He pins you back against the counter, the marble biting into your lower back, but you don’t have time to think about it because Ben’s lips are against yours, supple and urgent, driving every thought from your mind.

Your hands come up to grip his shoulders, fastening him tighter against you while his mouth drags over your skin down your throat to your collarbone.

“Ben we have to go-“ you whisper.

“Let me do this first.” He mutters against your skin.

“Do what?” You sigh, feeling him begin to suck a mark directly over your collarbone. “Ben-“ You try to say his name to make him stop. Showing up to Rosemary’s apartment with a hickey was the last thing you wanted. But instead of his name coming out in the harsh whisper you intended, it comes out as a moan.

Ben’s body tightens around you, gaze meeting yours. His eyes are dark pools filled with promises that make a shiver travel down your spine. “I’ve waited forty years to hear you say my name like that again.” His lips fall back to the same spot. “And I look forward to hearing it like that in the future.”

Part of you is screaming too soon! But there’s another part rattling the bars of her cage that screams more! At the top of its lungs.

Ben continues to kiss along your neck, beard scratching against the soft skin in a way that makes you sigh and move your hands up to tangle in his hair.

You can feel Ben’s smile. “That’s my girl.”

“Only yours.” You whisper before you can stop yourself causing Ben to raise his head from your collarbone.

“Damn right.”He growls.

And there goes my last shred of willpower. Fuck.

Rosemary’s apartment building sends a deep feeling of dread through your system. You were happy that you got to change, happy that Ben got to change, but now thanks to the man sitting in the front seat across from you there was a large purple mark just on your collarbone that was barely covered by the long sleeved sweater you had on.

Please let Rosemary not see it.

Ben wasn’t helping. Since your apartment he hadn’t let go of your hand. The entire ride to Rosemary’s he held it over the center console of Butcher’s car, slowly stroking the back of it with his thumb making warm tendrils creep up your arm and settle in your heart. It was just like the night after the restaurant when Ben drove you home and he showed a softer side of himself that you hadn’t seen in forty years.

In the past 48 hours Ben had been more attentive and loving than he ever had and it made you hopeful for the future, hopeful that this really was going to work.

But you  were still afraid that this was happening so fast. You weren’t expecting yourself to be so open to forgiving him, to be so ready to let him back in, to let him pick up the pieces of your heart but there he was holding duct tape with his piercing eyes and annoyingly gorgeous face.

“This is a nice apartment building.” Ben says looking up at the towering behemoth.

“She really likes it.” You shrug. “It’s close to a lot of schools and Rosie’s job. I kinda thought it was too uppity.”

“Neighborhood looks safe.” Ben gets out of the car.

“Yeah it-“ You begin to say trying to open your door but as soon as you do Ben is there opening it for you. “Oh thanks.”

“You look surprised.” He smiles.

“It’s just been a while since someone has opened a door for me.”

Ben’s smile twitches for a second. “Y/n?”

“Yes Ben.” You smooth the front of his shirt.

“How many others have there been?” He asks quietly.

You pause for a second hand still on his chest.   As ridiculous as it might seem to some people, the truth was there hadn’t been anyone else.

At first it was difficult to find time for anything eat alone that in particular. Chasing a toddler around that occasionally picked up the couch and threw it across the room with her mind was enough to keep anybody busy, not to mention that you didn’t want to leave Rosemary alone with anyone for a night. And when Rosemary finally went off the college and you started to sell your paintings you started to get more comfortable being on your own again. You’d gone out to dinner with a few men who asked you after your show shared a kiss, but nothing ever felt right.

Finally came the one night that you thought things could be different. Max was a colleague that had flirted with you every chance he got. He wasn’t bad looking, reminded you a bit of Ben and your friend Adam Winthrop growing up. Max was also an artist who came to each of your shows, talked you down from the ledge whenever you thought the work wasn’t good enough and always took you out to get a drink after a show to make you feel better. He was sweet, funny, but when you were with him something always felt different.

But one night you figured why not? So you gave in, went back with Max to his apartment, but you couldn’t go all the way. It felt wrong. You could tell how much he liked you, how much he wanted you, but you didn’t want him. And it felt wrong to use someone. To make them believe you had feelings for them only to push them away.

So you told Max the truth and he respected you, didn’t make anything weird between the two of you, acted like nothing happened.

But now standing here in front of Ben with him asking you that question apart of you wished you had found someone else.

“Why?” You ask slowly.

Ben shrugs. “I don’t know you just haven’t- I mean we haven’t talked about that and-“

“I have never asked you how many people you’ve slept with. And I really don't think this is the best time?"

“I know that you've never asked but the last time I saw you I mean-" Ben's hand gently touches your waist, stroking against the top of your favorite worn pair of jeans.

You knew exactly what he was thinking about, he was thinking about the night you shared together, when he was everything you wanted, and he made you feel special loved, when he was gentle and made love to you the way you always imagined.

And yes maybe sex was off the table for a while, but it would come up again, eventually.

"Ben, can we talk about this after we get Rosemary and Lou back to Legend's?" You whisper placing a hand on his chest before you can stop yourself. You weren't sure if you'd ever be able to stop touching him, if you'd ever be able to stand in his presence and not feel warm or happy. You never expected it to be like this again, and certainly not so soon.

Ben looks disappointed for a moment, his green eyes flashing in the brilliant sunlight as it begins to sink behind the buildings. The wind carried the smells of summer, ice cream, beer, sunscreen, and just a hint of rain, rustling through the trees on the edge of Central Park. There would be a storm soon and you hoped that you were on the road before it hit. You hated driving in the rain.

"Okay." He releases your waist and takes your hand once more. "But we are going to talk about it right?"

"I don't see why it's so important." You steer him towards the front double doors where the doorman, Rodger, stands in a green and gold suit.

"Welcome back miss." Rodger smiles and opens one of the heavy glass doors for Ben and you.

"Thank you Rodger. How's the wife?" You flash a winning smile at him, still holding on tight to Ben who walks silently next to you.

"She's doing a lot better. The treatments are going well. She seems more like herself each day." Rodger smiles wider, eyes misting a little bit.

"That's wonderful to hear. Tell her I say hello." You say continuing to the gilded elevator that sits on the other side of the large marble lobby of the apartment building.

The truth was you knew that his wife was doing better, just as you knew she was receiving her treatments. Last Christmas Rodger had broken down when he was letting you up to see Lou and Rosemary and told you that his wife was diagnosed with lung cancer and because they didn’t have the money for treatment, it would probably be her last Christmas. Rodger was one of the kindest people you knew, and you didn't want him to lose his wife, so Rosemary and you both decided to shift around the generous funds that her grandfather left you, to send an anonymous donation so Rodger's wife could get treatment.

"Of course miss."

The elevator door closes, leaving Ben and you alone again, playing a cover of "Don't Stop Believing" on the piano.

 Ben tugs you close and kisses you softly, so soft that it makes your eyes flutter while he smiles down at you. "I love you."

"What did you do?" You joke, nerves of Rosemary seeing Ben gone for a moment.

"You have such a big heart." He strokes his finger down your cheek, eyes soft as he gazes at you.

"He was going to lose his wife." You murmur. Ben was doing it again, seeing through you, understanding you even without knowing the whole story. It was like he always had a way of laying you bare, able to see your thoughts and secrets even though he wasn't a mind reader. "He loves her so much and for him to lose her like that-"

Ben hugs you closer to his chest. "I understand what that's like."

You see where his mind is, see that it's on a beach overseas, with blood soaked sand and your body lying in his arms as you draw your last breath. It hurt you to see the pain in his eyes, the loss even when you were standing right in front of him, even when you were in his arms, pressed against him in the way that always made you think that he was made for you just as the way you were made for him.

How could I ever forget how he made me feel? How wonderful it was to be with him when all you could see was the boy you grew up with?

"I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere. I promise." You kiss him gently on the tip of his nose. It was more to reassure yourself than anything else. Rosemary was not going to react well to seeing him.

Might as well rip the band aid off right now.

The hallway is quiet, carpet plush and thick beneath your shoes and Ben and you make your way to the door at the end of the hallway. The blue paint is supposed to be calming, but your anxiety spikes as you raise your free hand to knock against the front door.

Please let her be here and not be kidnapped by Homelander.

The door opens.

Rosemary is dressed for work. Her maroon scrubs are clean and neat, her dark hair pulled back in a bun, her make up soft. She looks calm, but you can see the coming storm, just as you felt the coming storm outside the building, feel the electricity against your skin before the thunderclouds rose on the horizon. As soon as her eyes meet yours they narrow.

She's pissed.

"What are you doing here? I told you that I didn't need you to watch Lou tonight. Her babysitter is coming." Rosemary glances at Ben once, frown deepening as she notices his hand holding yours. You knew she was still holding back what she wished to say, choosing rather to ignore his presence rather than tear him apart here.

"I know. I'm not here for that. We have to go." You say, not wanting to discuss the full gravity of the situation in the hallway, but Rosemary shifts to block the doorway.

"You're not coming in. Not with him." She spits the word 'him' like it's a curse and you feel Ben's body tense in surprise.

I should have prepared him for this.

"Hi I’m-" Ben begins to say, trying to smooth things over.

"I know who you are." Rosemarys eyes narrow and flick back to you. “I can’t believe you fucking forgave him.”

"I-"

"Before you say you didn't that fucking hickey on your neck says otherwise."

Your cheeks flush bright red in embarrassment, shifting the sweater to hide it again. “Rosie-“

“No no no. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Rosie-“ Ben tries to say.

"Don't you dare call me that." She snarls, face contorting in rage, burning so hot that you could practically feel the air around her raising in temperature. "You don't know me. We're not friends. And I don't care what she says, you're not my dad. You're just the asshole that fucked my mom, got her pregnant and then ripped her heart out." Rosemary spits. “Do you have any idea what you put my mother through? Do you have any idea?"

Ben's body is still tense beside you, pulled so taunt that you don't know how he hasn’t snapped "I know and I apolo-“

“You think one measly apology makes that okay? MAKES ANY OF THIS OKAY?”

“Can we please not do this in the hallway?” You sigh. The last thing you wanted was Mrs. Norbert, Rosemary's prehistoric nosy neighbor coming out into the hall with her yappy French poodle, the same one that always snapped at your ankles and at Lou when you ran into her in the lobby.

“He’s not coming in here.” Rosemary stands her ground in the doorway.

"I know that you’re angry, but I need you to put that aside right now because there are more pressing things we have to worry about.” 

"Like what?" Her eyes narrow at you. "Oh let me guess, you guys fucked again, you're pregnant and now you're going to-"

"Don't you dare speak to her that way." Ben roars trying to step in front of you,  but you put your hand up to stop him.

Rosemary might be your daughter, but to Ben she was someone who insulted you, family or no, he wasn't going to sit back and let her treat you that way.

"Ben." You say once to calm him down. The last thing you wanted was for him to go nuclear right now. "Rosemary please. I know that you're angry, but we're not here for some big reunion. This is more important than any of this. This is about keeping Lou safe."

At the mention of her daughter's name, you see Rosemary's resolve waver. Her eyes flick to Ben again, once more sizing him up. "Fine." She opens the door wider, so Ben and you can come inside the apartment.

The creative chaos of the living room soothes some of your nerves, but not all. This was going poorly. Well, worse than poorly. Rosemary could barely look at Ben let alone speak to him without looking like she'd smelled something rancid.

You knew it would be bad, but you didn't think that it would be like this.

Apart of your heart broke for Ben. You saw how he acted in the car when you told him he was a father, how upset he'd been at the thought of getting you pregnant and then abandoning you. And now Rosemary was basically making him feel like a deadbeat probably wasn't helped either.

All you hoped was that Ben wasn't focusing on what his father used to say to him about being a disappointment, hoped that he wasn't reliving the memories of everything his father shouted at him at night before Ben fled to the solace of your bedroom.

Because the truth was you weren't disappointed and certainly were not disappointed when you got pregnant. Heartbroken yes. Scared shitless, again yes. But not disappointed, you'd never say that about him or to him, not as long as you lived. You knew exactly what those words would do to him, exactly where they would transport him. And you refused to be the reason Ben was reminded of his father.

"Aunty y/n!" Lou crows as she weaves through the apartment, leaping off the teal colored couch and into your open arms. She squeezes you tightly, burying her face in your neck. To see her safe brings relief washing over you, the same feeling you felt when Rosemary opened the door, but tenfold now knowing that Homelander has not taken either or them.

And he won't ever.

"I missed you." She whispers.

"I missed you too honey." You smile down at your granddaughter. She leans back to glance at her mother who still stands at the front door, holding on to the handle like it's her last nerve. Ben is standing close to you, looking at the little girl in your arms, face impassive, but his eyes betray him, caught somewhere between shock, anger, and just a twinge of guilt.

Please don't be guilty Ben. You think to yourself, trying hard not to reach out and touch him.

"Mommy why were you yelling at aunty y/n?"  Lou looks at where Rosemary stands awkwardly by the door glaring at Ben.

"Because I didn’t tell her my friend Ben was coming." You say rubbing her back softly.

"Him?" She points at Ben.

"Yes. And don't point honey it's rude."

"Hi." Lou gives him a toothless smile and waves her chubby hand at him, her dark hair flopping away from her face as she does so.

Ben blinks at her for a moment, before his mouth begins to quirk in a half smile, shoulders still tense. But you could see that he was trying, and it meant something that he was despite Rosemary practically tearing him a new one in the hallway.

"He looks like mommy." Lou giggles cuddling into your neck to look at him.

It was the one thing that you hadn't prepared Ben for, how much he looked like Rosemary, how similar they were. You knew that somewhere deep down he was probably thinking the same thing.

Rosemary's eyes skate to Ben who stares back at her with the same intensity, but something passes in the air between them, something that you can't place.

"Yes. Yes he does sweetie. Now why don’t you go get your art kit for me, and we’ll go." You put her on the ground and Lou scampers off to her bedroom while the three of you stand there in awkward silence.

"Why do we have to go? I thought you didn’t expose yourself because you didn't go to Russia to get him." Rosemary asks. She still wouldn’t say his name. Then again you weren't expecting her to call him dad.

HA. Like that would ever happen.

Ben scoots closer to you reaching for your hand, but when Rosemary narrows her eyes at him, he pauses halfway. So you take his hand instead. "I did expose myself."

"How? Because of him?"

"Look I get that you're pissed, but I'm asking you to put it aside for one second so we can talk about this."

"Fine." Rosemary crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm listening." She still looks angry.

And you know what you're about to say is going to make her even angrier.

"We went to talk to the TNT Twins and things went south." You begin, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Why?"

"I'll explain that later. But all you need to know is that things went badly and Homelander showed up."

Rosemary's hands tighten on her biceps so tight that her knuckles turn white at the mention of Homelander. Like you Rosemary didn't have any experience with him, only that she also knew there was something off about him.

"What did you do?" She whispers.

"It's not what she did, it's more what that fucker did." Ben almost spits, his skin heating where it rests in your hand.

"Ben." You say squeezing his hand softly as a warning. He gains control. "There wasn't a choice. We got into a fight-"

Rosemary's eyes widen, inhaling sharply. And before she can stop herself, she touches your shoulder, eyes tracing your body as if looking for injuries. "Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"

"Yes Rosie I'm fine, but he knows who I am and that means-"

"He knows who we are." Her eyes flick in the direction Lou went to grab her bag. "Shit."

"You can say that again." Ben mutters.

"Give me five minutes." Rosemary looks from Ben to you for a moment. "But this doesn't change anything."

"I know. Just go. We'll wait here." You reply with a tight lipped smile.

You hoped that one day this would get easier, that Rosemary would be able to look at Ben or have a conversation with him without killing him. The three of you seemed to be practically immortal, that was a long time to hold a grudge. And you didn't want there to be a division in your family. You'd lived with one before and you didn't want to go back through that, the awkward holidays, passive aggressive letters, and tense conversations. You didn't want that for your new family.

Maybe if I show her how much Ben has changed she'll warm up to him.

"Are you okay?" You whisper.

Ben was looking around the living room with an unreadable expression, flicking through the photos on the back of the couch of Rosemary, You, and Lou to the hand drawn pictures on the refrigerator in the kitchen.

"Ben?"

"Yeah." He mutters. "I'm fine."

But you could tell he wasn't. He wasn't really focusing on anything, and even his tone of voice was strange, hollow, but before you could press him further Rosemary and Lou come back into the room.

"Here let me-" Ben steps forward to take one of the large duffle bags from Rosemary, attempting to help, but Rosemary yanks the bag out of his reach.

"No I don’t need your help. I don’t need anything from you."

"Rosemary-" You sigh.

"And she doesn’t either." Rosemary gestures to you with the bag. "Do you have any idea what you did to her? How much you hurt her? And now you think you can just waltz back in here and say 'oh I’ll fix it' like you didn’t fuck up her life?"

"Rosemary!" You shout eyes flicking to where Lou was standing with her TMNT  backpack on with wide eyes.

"No. You might not be able to say it to him. But I will. We don’t need you here. We've survived the past forty fucking years without you and we'll survive the next million!"

"Rosemary stop." You step forward this time to move between them, but Rosemary doesn't back down.

"Stop what?" She shouts. "Stop reminding you of what he did? I'm sorry, but I'm not going to just look into his eyes and forgive him like you did-"

"I DID NOT LOOK INTO HIS EYES AND FORGIVE HIM.” You snap, but then stop to take a breath. “We are working through it-"

"Uh-huh sure." Rosemary rolls her eyes. "Just stay away from Lou and from me." She moves around Ben with Lou in tow, storming through the front door of the apartment and leaving you and Ben in the living room.

Oh yeah… This is really working out for the best.

The ride to Legend's is dead silent, all three hours, broken up only once when you stop for gas, but even then Rosemary won't speak to you. She barely makes eye contact as she takes Lou to the bathroom, leaving Ben and you to stand at the car, watching the rain soak through the cracked pavement outside. But even Ben has been more quiet than usual, staring through the windshield of the car lost in thought, and you didn't ask him to fill the silence. You figured that with everything that happened over the past few hours, Ben deserved some silence.

When Lou and Rosemary got back to the car, Ben had silently taken the car keys from you and slid behind the wheel. He knew how much you hated driving in the rain.

Legend didn't require an introduction to your daughter, but it had been an awkward meeting for Butcher and Hughie who breezed through the front hallway on the way up the stairs to their bedrooms.

And finally when it was just Ben, Rosemary, Lou, and you standing at the foot of the stairs, you still had no idea what to say, or if there really was anything to say. You knew that Rosemary didn't want to talk out everything in front of Lou.

By now it was past midnight and you could see that Lou was already starting to sway on her feet. It was hours past her bedtime, but she was still in good spirits. Lou never seemed to stop smiling, she was happy all the time, excited to try new things, and it always reminded you of the way Rosemary used to be when she was a child and as an adult before she lost her husband.

"Rosemary-" You begin to say, throat tightening.

"I'm going to take Lou to bed. We can talk in the morning." She doesn't look at Ben or you, but you could tell that she was tired. She was still wearing her maroon scrubs, hadn’t changed out of them, too worried about Homelander, but her hair had pulled free of the bun and her makeup was a little more smudged under her eyes now. "Say goodnight Lou."

"Goodnight aunty y/n." Lou says tottering over to you, and you stoop down on the ground to hug her close to your chest the anxiety about Homelander prickling under your skin once more.

“Tomorrow can we paint some?” She gives you a wide toothless smile.

She'd lost one of her front teeth a few days ago, and was particularly proud of the hole it left behind. She'd been excited to meet the tooth fairy, even wrote a thank you note and drew a picture of her holding her tooth out for the fairy.

“Whatever you want sweetie.” You smile as she pulls away, brushing her dark hair from her wide eyes.

But instead of going back to where Rosie is holding out her hand for Lou, she turns and hugs Ben’s leg where he stands next to you. Her head barely reaches the top of his knee, but it doesn't dissuade her from hugging him with all her might.

Ben stiffens, unsure what to do.

“Goodnight Ben.” Lou looks up at him with the same smile she had for you.

You feel your own lips begin to pull up at the edges to see how much Lou wanted Ben to like her, how much she was trying to make him feel at home. It warmed you heart.

Ben looks stunned for a minute, eyes flicking to yours wide, and Rosie looks angry, but slowly, Ben begins to smile. “Goodnight honey.” He rumbles giving her a pat on the head, because he's still not sure exactly how to handle this.

Lou smiles pleased with herself then lets Rosemary take her away waving once from over Rosemary's shoulder at Ben as Rosemary climbs the stairs in the direction of the room that Legend saved for them.

Ben stands there watching them go for a minute, lost in thought. “She doesn’t like me.”

“Lou? She loves you. Of course there’s a lot to love.” You smile, trying to take his hand, but Ben pulls away. His rejection pricks at your heart, you couldn't tell why he was doing that, why he was pulling away from you again.

Is he angry? At me? At Rosemary? Or Is this him being angry at himself all over again?

You thought that he was doing better up until you went to Rosemary’s apartment, thought that he wasn’t as upset about leaving you in the past. But now you weren’t sure.

“There’s a lot to hate.” He mutters, his eyes won't quite meet yours and the fear of him leaving begins to creep back, shuddering through your bones like the chill of a winter wind.

“As there is with anybody-“ You try to recover from his rejection, searching his face to understand why he was acting so different.

“I want Rosie to like me. I’m her father-“ He turns to stare at you, green eyes dark, filled with an clouding of emotions that strike you straight in the heart. It wasn't happiness, it wasn't love, it was something different, something that made a lump lodge itself in the back of your throat.

“I know Ben. She just needs some time-" You begin to say, reaching for him, but Ben steps away from you again, refusing to let you comfort him.

"Why did you tell her all those things about me? Did you really hate me that much?” Ben shouts, voice reverberating up the staircase, so loud that you're sure other people can hear you.

"What are you talking about-"

"All the shit that happened between us. Everything that happened that night. Everything I did-“

"She asked me for the truth and I didn't want to lie to her-" You try to explain.

You hadn't. You wanted her to know the truth about her father, just as she knew that truth about you. You thought that she deserved that. And it wasn't like you told Rosemary when she was three. You told her everything that happened when she was twenty three and she had just started seriously dating her future husband, when she was scared because she’d never felt that way about anyone before. And it reminded you of how you felt about the boy Ben used to be.

"I wish you had. Damnit y/n I'm her father, she should like me!" He seethes, fists clenched. Ben towers over you green eyes blazing in the soft light coming from the lights that line the hallway.

And somewhere deep down you start to feel angry. It comes surging up like the roar of a crowd pricking at the back of your spine until you can’t take it anymore.

"It's been 4 fucking hours since you met her, GIVE HER TIME."

"I can't believe you did this." Ben spits glaring at you.

"Are you serious right now?" Your mouth opens in shock.

Was this just some kind of joke? Is he really mad at me for this? Does he really think that I would do something like this purposely?!

"Did you really hate me that much? Did you really feel the need to turn her against me? Make her not love me?"

"I didn't turn her against you Ben. And I didn’t make her not love you." You snap back. "Yes I was angry with you, but that didn't mean that I didn't want you with me every single second in Rosemary's life.  I didn’t want to do that alone. I shouldn’t have had to but I don't blame you for that. I’ve told you that-“

“Yeah you’re really showing that. You turned her against me. Made me some villain. Made me some monster who fucked you and then left-“

“I THOUGHT THAT’S WHAT YOU DID DIPSHIT!” You poke your finger into his chest. “Just because I’ve chosen to begin to forgive you does not mean I forgot what you did and what you said to me that night. But I’ll say this.”

He tries to open his mouth to retort, but you speak first.

“Every time something happened with Rosemary I turned to tell you and you weren’t there.

When I went into labor I wished you were there to hold my hand and tell me that everything was going to be okay, I wished that you were there smiling down at her when you held her for the first time. When she took her first steps and fell on her butt I wished you were there to swing her around and make her laugh. When I showed her how to paint for the first time I wished that you were there to see how she was covered in paint from head to toe. And I only told her those things about you because she asked and I don’t lie to my family. I’ve never lied to Rosemary and I’ve never lied to you. Ever.”

Ben stands there stuck straight each muscle clenched, wether it be in frustration or anger you don’t care. Your own anger was coming back, unlocking from the place you shoved it down when you thought you needed to be the perfect person you wanted others to see you as and not the broken girl who lived with a hole in her heart for so long.

“And yeah maybe you can be in here and pout and fucking blame me for her hating you. And maybe I shouldn’t have told her those things but I did.  I told her the good and the bad about you just as she knows the good and the bad about me. She can make her own decisions because she’s a damn adult. And don’t you dare say that I didn’t want you there every second.  Because I did. Even though you fucking ripped my heart out and stomped all over it I still wished that you could have been there for her, could have filled her life with love as much as I did.”

"But you still did it." Ben growls.

And you realize that maybe this is it, maybe that this is the one thing that pushes him away from you.

"Fine. Hate me if you want. I'm going to get a drink. Don’t  follow me." You snap before turning and stomping towards the kitchen, away from him, all the while hoping that he’ll follow after you.

But he doesn’t.

Despite wanting to grab one of the bottles of whiskey in Legend's kitchen, you restrain yourself and instead turn to the coffeemaker. It was fancier than yours, but you supposed that coffee would taste the same. You busy yourself with the steps of making the coffee to stop going over what you and Ben just yelled at one another, but your hands were still shaking.

Did he really think I didn't want him there? I mean yeah I was pissed from everything that happened, but I didn't want Rosemary to grow up without a father. I would have told him eventually that I was pregnant, I didn't want to do that alone.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee and lean back against the counter as you take a sip remembering the day you took the pregnancy test. It was more obvious than anything else, not the lack of your period but the morning sickness. You never got sick. You remembered being afraid at first, the thought of raising a child alone scared you. You weren't sure you even wanted to be a mother, because of everything yours put you through. But then you thought of Ben. Yes you hated him, but the baby might be the last part of him that existed anywhere. If you decided not to have it, Ben would really be gone and you would be alone all over again. So you decided to have Rosemary and you never regretted that decision. Especially now that she had Lou.

You roll the cup in your hands, feeling the warmth of the mug transfer into your palms.

Maybe I shouldn't have told her everything I did. But she knows everything about me. She knows that I killed Countess. She knows the good and bad about me. It felt unfair to only tell her the good about Ben, she deserves to know the truth. She's just upset. Honestly, she's also a upset with me as well for forgiving him or partially forgiving him.

You move to the kitchen table, stretching out in the worn wooden chair and place your mug down on the circular dark wood table. You wanted Rosemary to warm up to him, but at the same time you didn't want to get in between them. She needed to do this for herself and you didn't want to force them together.

You hear someone enter the kitchen. Probably Ben. But when you look up you realize that it's Butcher.

He stands just on the edge as if he's debating whether or not he wants to come in.

"Didn't realize you were still up." He raises an eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise love?"

"You realize that the V is completely out of your system right now right? And I could slowly peel your skin from your body with my mind if I wanted to?" You mirror his eyebrow raise while taking a sip of coffee.

"Eh. Worse ways to go." Butcher shrugs. "Anything stronger in here than coffee?"

"Top cabinet above the refrigerator. The good stuff is in the back. Legend usually tries to hide it from himself."

“Why?”

“Because he thinks it’s a waste to drink the good stuff when he’s really drunk and can’t appreciate it.”

“Seems fair.” Butcher finds the bottle of whiskey easily, moving to the cabinets to find a glass. “You want a cuppa?”

“I told myself I wasn’t going to-“ You pause for a moment thinking of how wonderful it would be if you could just forget for a few minutes. “But sure.”

“Coffee not working?”

“It never has.” You take the cup gratefully from his outstretched hand as Butcher folds himself into the chair next to you. It was weird to say the least. The only thing he had done was act hostile to you and now him being nice was enough to give you whiplash.

The rest of the house was completely silent, except the soft turn of pages. You figured that meant Rosie was reading one of her books to distract herself from everything that happened earlier.

I should be in there talking to her. Trying to explain all this.

But you were tired and still reeling from your fight with Ben and didn’t feel like getting into it with Rosemary for the second time today.

“So why’d you do it?” Butcher takes a big swig from the glass in front of him.

“What?”

“You lied about your powers to Vought for years. Why?”

You roll the glass between your fingers, watching the amber colored liquid slosh against the sides. “I’ll answer that if you answer my question.”

Butcher pauses. “Fine.”

“What did Homelander do to your wife?”

Butcher freezes, leaning back in his chair, one hand on his thigh curling into a fist.

"Legend told me that you had this thing for him because of it-" You continue cocking your head to the side examining Butcher's sudden tense stance.

“Not important.”

“Then I guess you won’t find out more about me.” You shrug.

After the past few days you didn't understand how you were here drinking with Butcher of all people. You still didn't completely trust him and you didn't like that he wanted to use Ben like he was his own personal nuclear bomb.

You both sit in the silence for a few minutes waiting for the other to break.

“He raped her.”

The words are heavy, expelled in a breath after Butcher drains his glass. For a minute you see his tough exterior crack, see the vulnerability in his stature, but then it's gone again. You feel your heart thud once in your chest, jaw locking. It only proved again how messed up Homelander was.

“Is she-"

"She's dead." He pours himself another full glass from the bottle of whiskey.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, starting to understand why he hated Homelander so much. Honestly if Homelander did something like that to my family I would rip him limb from limb.

For the first time since you met Butcher, you feel sorry for him, you understand where the sadness in his gaze comes from and where the tough exterior seems to mask the vulnerability underneath.

But at the same time, you refused to underestimate him.

Butcher nods once then glances over at you expectantly as if re-asking his question with only a look.

“It’s never been about the power for me. Or about proving how powerful I was to other people. I got the injection because Ben asked me to. It wasn't because I wanted to be superhuman or god-like or special. Plus I figured as soon as Vought or the government found out what I could really do then I’d never see the light of day again.”

"But how did you keep it a secret from Vought? They have so many fucking connections." He presses.

"Honestly Ben and I didn't figure it out until the 60s."

"Why is that?"

"The first time I died it wasn't a supe that killed me so there wasn't a change. But later when more supes started coming out of the woodwork, that's when we realized it. And I didn't care."

"Somehow you had to care." Butcher leans forward in his chair, looking at you like you're crazy.

"I didn't have a reason to. Ben liked the spotlight and I didn't."

“Is that why you stopped being Indigo?”

“It’s my turn to ask a question cowboy.” You tap your glass with a smile. “Who’s Ryan?” You had heard Hughie and Butcher whisper the name a few times, figured that it was another supe they were planning to merc.

He hesitates. “Homelander’s kid.”

“He has a kid?” Your mouth drops open in shock.

How does Butcher know that? Is it because he's so obsessed with Homelander that he's going to ask Ben to go after Homelander's son? No. No way. Like hell I'm gonna let this guy kill a kid.

You try to think of a reason why Vought would keep Homelander's son out of the media, a reason why they wouldn't show that the golden boy had a perfect son.

“But how I mean-“ You stop tracing Butcher's face, watching the way his eyes harden, and how his jaw locks together and you realize why Butcher knows about Homelander's kid. “Your wife.”

Butcher doesn’t answer, doesn't confirm what you've said, instead he pours more from the bottle into his glass.

Wow that’s fucked up.

“I’d say I'm sorry again, but I don’t think it’s going to help and honestly I thought my life was way more fucked up than yours. Guess not.” You take a sip from the glass in front of you. It burns pleasantly as it travels down you throat reminding you how much you missed it. “It got old quick.”

“What did?” Butcher looks up from the wooden table.

“Being a hero dealing with all that Vought shit. Plastering a smile on my face, flaunting in front of the cameras, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Ben liked it. He was always in the spotlight, the golden boy and I was too, but we’d been doing it for years and I always- I don’t know- wanted a family.”

Your mind suddenly goes back to the night you told Ben that, the night that you told him what you wanted and how today Ben professed that he wanted to be the one to give you those things, always had wanted to give you those things.

The fight you just had resurfaces in your mind, thinking of how angry he was at you for telling Rosemary the truth about him.

I made my choice. She made hers. One day I think she'll warm up to him, but until then he's just going to have to get through this.

Just because you believed that did not make it any easier. Your heart was tearing in two. You wanted Rosemary to love him the way you did, but at the same time you were scared all over again that this would all be too much for Ben, too dramatic. He didn't like drama, never seemed to.

“Really?” Butcher doesn’t look convinced by your confession.

“Yeah. Plus I was pregnant with Soldier Boy's kid. Vought was obsessed with Ben and I know that if they knew about Rosemary they wouldn't hesitate to take her away. It would have been worse if they knew what my power was. I doubt they would have let either of us vanish into thin air. But even before that I was seriously thinking about getting out-“

“And Soldier Boy fucking Countess was the final nail in the coffin eh?” Butcher's smirk makes your stomach flip flop.

You were still trying to forget that. Really trying to forget that.

“Yeah.” You grumble into the glass momentarily remembering the night at the premiere, but this time seeing them together doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. And instead it’s replaced by Ben the past few days, the one that continued to reassure you of his love, the one who continued to hold you close to him, the one that kissed you whenever he could, the one who patiently waited for you, and the one who reminded you of the boy you lost all those years ago.

Butcher watches you for a moment. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

You look at him surprised. It was the first time that Butcher seemed to actually, well, give a shit.

“Thanks. It was.” You wait a second. “So how did you meet Hughie?”

“Why is that important?”

“Because he’s nothing like you. He’s a good kid.”

“You sayin I ain’t a good person love?”

“Yes that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Butcher has the audacity to smile. “You know what I think? I think you pretend to be a good person but you’re really just a bitch who probably didn’t get enough hugs as a kid.”

You lean back in your chair feigning shock. “Is it that obvious?”

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “I don’t see how you got mixed up with Soldier Boy in the first place.”

“I did tell you.”

“What?”

“I didn’t lie about some of the things I said to you the first time we met. Ben and I grew up together. We were friends before all of this.”

“And you what? Followed him?”

“Something like that.”

Butcher sits there for a second tapping his finger on the crystal glass in his hand. Everything in Legend's home was vintage or old, the glasses included. You could remember drinking out of these same glasses years ago, on the porch behind Legend's house the day you realized you were pregnant and you told him you were leaving.

Legend didn't know, but you think deep down he did. Anyone who knew Ben couldn't dismiss how much Rosemary looked like him. Not to mention Legend knew what happened that night between the two of you.

Butcher opens his mouth, but as he does, Ben appears in the kitchen doorway. He still looks a little angry, frown prominent on his face, but his green eyes look from the glass to Butcher to you.

"That's my cue." Butcher grunts. "See you in the morning poppet." He vanishes down the hallway behind Ben leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen. It seems smaller with him standing there in the door, blocking most of it with his broad shoulders and wide stance.

"Are you going to come to bed?" He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway.

"Are you going to start yelling at me again?" You raise an eyebrow.

"I wasn’t fucking yelling." Ben grumbles. "And even if I was, you weren't exactly whispering."

"Sounded like yelling to me." You frown at him, before looking down at your glass again.

So much for an apology. Then again I probably owe him one too.

Ben’s jaw tightens. “Please come to bed.” His voice is composed, but you can still hear the tinge of his anger  seep through.

"Surprised you said please. Finally using those manners I've heard so much about." You snark before you can stop yourself.

That is not helping anything.

"Come to bed." His teeth are gritted together.

“Why?"

"Because I said so."

"You are not my dad Ben. You can't just order me around."

"Just fucking come to bed!" He snaps straightening from the door, eyes blazing.

"Why is it so important I come to bed Ben? You need me to read you a bedtime story or something? Or is it because you want to have sex? I hate to break it to you, but I don’t really feel like having sex with you right now. And I don't think I will anytime soon if we keep fucking fighting about stupid-“

“Because I can’t sleep without you there damnit! I never have been able to even when we were fucking kids!"

You pause shocked. Ben had never admitted that before. You were still trying to get used to when he admitted that he loved you how open and vulnerable he’d been, but this-

He’s frowning at you waiting for you to say something, but when you don’t. He turns and stalks back towards the stairs to descend into the basement where the bedroom the two of you were sharing was.

Guilt breaks something in your chest, because now sitting out here felt like a punishment for him and you didn't think that was right.

Damn it.

You wash out the mug in the sink  followed by the glass, but you look at the half-full bottle on the table.

Maybe I should bring it with me?

It swings from your hand as you walk down the dimly lit hallway descending into the fully furnished basement. You weren't thrilled with the room, had insisted that Legend change the sheets and spray down the room before you could sleep in there. You knew him, and knew exactly what had happened Legend's house since he had it custom built years ago.

Ben is sitting on the edge of the bed, smoking a blunt that he probably got from Butcher, who seemed to have an endless supply for Ben, much to your annoyance.

"I'm such a fucking pussy. I shouldn't have said that." He mutters more to himself than to you. His gaze is lowered on the shag carpet.

It was the first time that you'd heard him say something like that since he came back to you, something that sounded more like Soldier Boy than the boy you grew up with, sounded more like Ben's father.

"Ben." You sigh, putting the bottle on the bedside table, before you tilt his head back to look at you, hand cupping his chin. "You're not a pussy. I can't sleep without you either and there’s nothing wrong with that.  I don't want you to feel like you can't say stuff like that to me. I love you and I won't judge you for that or think less of you. I will judge you for saying stupid shit like you did earlier."

“I’m sorry.” He sighs out a breath of smoke. “I just hate that she doesn’t like me. I’m her father she should like me-“ He repeats the same idea from earlier.

“She just needs to warm up to you."

“Maybe.” Ben mutters. "Or maybe she won't."

He looks upset. But not his usually angry upset, more disappointed and you decide that’s worse. Ben was so strong and didn’t allow himself to give in to his emotions the same way everyone else did. You hated that about him, but you were the only person who knew why. Ben's father had made him believe that showing emotion made you weak, you were there a few times that he yelled at Ben, heard the horrible things that he shouted at his only son, and it broke your heart. If it was your lot in life to bring him peace, to show him love, and to teach him that it was okay to be vulnerable, you happily would bear that cross.

You gently push back on his shoulder so he’ll move his forearms where they rest on his thighs and so you can sit on his lap. Ben’s arm comes around your waist to hold you to him, while the other continues to rest between you when he takes another drag from the blunt. “Ben, I promise she will.” Your knees rest on either side of his hips as you balance on him, ignoring the urge to wrinkle your nose at the smell.

“Your family never seems to like me.”

“She’s your family too and Lou loves you.” You brush his hair back from his face and he leans forward into your touch. "She's an excellent judge of character. Pretty soon she's gonna be drawing you in the family portraits and once that happens you're in, there's nothing stopping you."

Ben's mouth twitches but he doesn’t smile. "She's cute."

“She is. And if she likes you, you’re doing something right.” You smile at him. “And my family liked you it was just my mom who thought you were the devil. My brother thought that you were okay and my dad liked you plenty. Remember he never ratted you out when you slept in my room?”

“He was a good man. We would talk sometimes.” Ben blows out a lungful of smoke and this time your nose wrinkles at the offensive smell, before you realize what he’s just admitted.

Ben notices your discomfort and flicks the blunt into the ashtray shaped like a naked woman on the bedside table.

“About what?” Your father had never mentioned any conversation with Ben or at least you didn't remember him saying anything about Ben, beside your father's usual questions as to what Ben and you were going to do that day.

“You.” Ben whispers, not meeting your eye.

“When?”

“Sometimes I’d come try to see you when you were out with Howard." Ben sighs his name. "Ended up talking with your dad.”

“Are you serious?”

He nods hands gently stroking along your waist.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you came by?”

“Didn’t think it was important Sweetheart.” Ben pauses eyes flicking up sheepishly to look at you. "I didn't want you to think that I was hanging around waiting for you to get back. I was but-" You can tell that it pains him to say it, like he didn't want to admit he cared, but the thought that he came by to check on you made you happy.

“What did you say about me?”

Ben presses his lips together.

“Ben?”

“He wanted to know how your artwork was coming along, what we had done in the past week. Stuff like that. One time he said he didn’t like Howard either.”

“What?" Your hands tighten on Ben's shoulders in shock.

“He said that he hated the way you looked whenever Howard came around and then he said if he was gonna give his permission for anyone to marry you it was going to be me.” Ben shrugs it off as if he hasn’t said the most shocking thing you’ve ever heard in your life.

Your father would ask you about Ben occasionally and only when your mother left the room. He always seemed pleased when Ben would come pick you up, one time he gave Ben some money so he could buy tickets when you both went to a carnival, but you had no idea that they had talked about Ben marrying you.

“Hold on. Did you-" You pause for a second. "Did you ask my father if you could marry me?”

“No.” Ben answers quickly.

“Well then did he say why he didn't like Howard?"

“He said he liked how happy I made you. Said that you would always be singing in your room after you saw me.” Ben smiles one of his hands curving around your hip to hold you steady on his lap. “I told him I was sorry he had to hear that. You have many talents y/n, but singing is not one of them.”

“I don’t want to hear it from you. There’s about a million tapes of you trying to sing, not to mention you trying to dance. I wanted to jump out the window when you dragged me to that Solid Gold Music Video shoot.“ You roll your eyes at him.

Ben presses a hand to his chest as if offended. “You don’t like the way I dance? Because I happen to remember a few times that we’ve danced together and you certainly seemed to be having a good time.”

“I’m a good actress.”

“Sure.” Ben snorts. “Then again I think I’m good a few other things too. Things that I wouldn’t mind showing you sometime.” His arm wraps around your waist as he pulls you into his chest, lips catching along the shadow of your jaw.

“You’re awfully sure of yourself I’ll say that.”  You laugh.

"Mhmm." The rumble of his answer seems to vibrate down your spine spreading warmth in its wake.

"Ben." You warn, as his hands begin to play with the bottom of your shirt.

"I know." He whispers raising his eyes again to look at your face with a soft smile, but you can still see a flicker of disappointment behind them.

Deep down you knew that you were getting closer to forgiving him, but it had only been two days, and everything between the two of you was still a little rocky. You wanted things to calm down again before you took that big step with Ben again. You didn't want to rush it, and you could see that Ben didn't want to either.

"How about tonight, we do something a little different." You trace your index finger over his lips, loving the soft curve beneath the pad of your fingertip.

"What do you mean?" He looks confused.

"You'll see." You murmur against his lips as you drop your mouth down to his, losing yourself in him all over again.

A/N: I know it's been a while guys and I know it's crazy to end it on another cliffhanger but... I'm sorry, not sorry? I hope y'all enjoyed this one. I'm sorry it took me a while to get it out, the writer's block is turning into a soul sucking abyss, but honestly, what's new? 😂 Hope that y'all enjoyed this one and I'm excited to hear what y'all think!

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for the series let me know:)

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

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No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find yourself trapped by Logan's anger. [reader is a mutant who can see emotions]

Characters: Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

Sequel to Cut Deep

Note: since this is my first time writing this character, I’d especially appreciate some extra feedback

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You skip training for the third day in a row. You stay in your room. You haven’t come out since you scuttled in, battered and terrified. 

You wear the same clothes as that day. Tinged in your blood and sweat, stained in his scent. Every time you close your eyes, you hear Logan’s growl, you feel him inside of you, an agonizing pounding in your guts. 

The first day was shock. A grey blue haze that kept you paralysed. Then came the grief, a deeper slate shade with wisps of white, then anger; not as black as his, weak and scared, woven into a tapestry of yellow. 

You feel Jean before she knocks. Her bliss permeates through your door and contrasts your own despair sharply. You wince in pain. It’s because of her... No, that’s not true. He did this. 

“Hey, you coming?” She asks through the door. 

You don’t move. “No. Sick.” 

She sighs and taps again, “can I see you? I’m worried.” 

“Go,” you hurl back and turn your back to the door. 

The handle jiggles. Your skull and you cradle your skull. You can feel her. 

“Stop it, Jean!” You sit up. “That’s not fair.” 

The door shifts as she leans on it, “at least I know you’re training is working. I can’t figure you out. It won’t hold if you don’t keep working.” 

“I said leave me alone,” you sneer. “I’m not feeling good.” 

“But you would feel better if you talked about it--” 

“No, I wouldn’t!” You snap and crumple back onto the bed. “You don’t know how I feel. How could you? You’re... you’re....” ...perfect. 

She’s quiet as she prods again. Her attempt makes your ears burn. You bury your head under the pillow and growl. Why can’t she leave you be? Why does she have to ruin everything? If she wasn’t leading Logan on for so long, none of this would have happened to you. 

“I know you’ll come out when you’re ready,” she says softly, her voice dampened by the pillow. “And I’ll still be here.” 

Will she? She has a wedding to plan. She’ll be too busy for you. She’ll be picking her perfect little dress and her perfect pretty flowers. 

If you were her, Logan never would’ve touched you. If you were her, you wouldn’t be hurting so bad. If you were her, you’d have people to protect you; people who care about you. You’re just another orphan with nowhere to go. You’re not here to be a part of the family, you’re here to be contained, to be another cog in Xavier’s institution. 

You feel her absence. All the pink rose-scented happiness goes with her. You remain as you have. Alone, afraid, agonized. 

It’s more than physical, more than the acid that sears your insides and the cuts in your side, the throbbing bruise in your nose. It’s that gut-scraping disgust. You’re weak. What does Jean know? You can’t be doing that well if you can’t defend yourself. 

The world comes back into focus as you sit sideways against the wall. The house is quiet. Your vision speckles in the shadowing darkness. You’re hungry. Starving. So empty you’re woozy. It wouldn’t be so bad to let time take its course. 

You make yourself get up. You listen at the door. Your scent is sickening. You reek of neglect and self-loathing. 

You creep out into the hall. There are some in the mansion that never sleep, those that stay up all night and sleep all day. You keep an ear pricked for any disturbance. 

You avoid the hallway where Mitzy hums and the lights pulse along to her melody. You veer around the longer route to the kitchen, thankful that it’s unoccupied. You take down a box of crackers and open it at the counter. You nibble without tasting, your stomach greedily and painfully churning with each crumb. 

Your eyes focus on the counter as you chew in the dark. You blink as the darkness deepens and your heart spasms as a sudden shroud of rage consumes you. You look up at the silhouette that stands in the doorway. It’s him. 

The lights flip on and cast their haze over the bloodied X-man. Logan, Wolverine, monster. He enters without a glance in your direction. He goes to the fridge and takes out a bottle of beer. 

You return the box of crackers to the cupboard and spin to flee around the other end of the island. The plume of his distaste curdles with a layer of nearly neon yellow. He’s amused. 

“You could use one yourself, huh?” He growls. 

You ignore him as you scurry around the corner of the counter. He reaches the door first; calm as he steps into your path. You lean back on your heel as he uncaps the bottle and tilts the neck toward you. He flicks away the metal lid. 

You blink at him and your lip trembles. You feel him slapping you, wrenching you around, crushing you. He snorts and pushes the glass brim to your lip and you flinch away. 

“You think you’re special?” He grits. 

You shake your head and gulp. He pulls the bottle back and swigs from it. The lines around his mouth deepen as he wipes his mouth. 

“You’re a dirty fucking weasel. Look at you.” He snarls and turns the bottle in his grip. “Disgusting.” You peek down at your clothes. The tear in your shirt gapes open where he cut you and your jeans are crooked on your hips. “What’s it, then? You like the feel of me so much, you had to keep me all over you?” 

You flick your gaze back to him and glare. Your eyes gloss over and your nose flares. He’s supposed to help his fellow mutants, not hurt them. 

“If you’re going to cry, better just get it over with,” he snips. 

You focus on the black fog around him and twist it up like a noose. You stare at his throat and gnash your teeth as you draw it tight. As he goes to take another drink, he chokes and staggers back. He spits beer onto the floor and touches his throat, his face turning red. 

His eyes bulge as he looks at you and he steadies himself enough to whip the bottle at you. It bounces off your arm as you lose control of his emotion and shield yourself. You stumble then catch yourself. You hurry past him for the door. 

He drags you bag with and arm around your waist and flings you so you bounce of the corner of the island counter. You heap onto the floor, the wind knocked from your chest as a pang thumps between your shoulder blades. You cough as his footsteps stalk towards you. 

“You really are a mongrel.” He sneers as he steps over you and kicks you onto your back. “Do you know what you are? You’re nothing but a toy.” He falls to his knees and straddles your torso. You bend your arms, pushing on his lower back without effect. “Jean isn’t training you to be one of us. She’s doing it to keep you busy. You let the weak ones out into the world, and they go around starting bullshit.” 

You turn your head back and forth as he tries to get a grip on your chin. He clamps down and your tongue pinches between your teeth. You murmur and writhe, smacking his thighs frantically. No, please. 

“You just can’t help yourself,” he lifts your head, only to slam it back down. Your vision spatters with silver stars and black blotches. 

The world doubles before you and has you senseless. He moves up your body, pinning your shoulders with his knees. You squirm as your eyes roll back. He tugs at the front of his pants as he grunts. He holds your head down as he pulls his dick out with his other hand. 

He leans on you so the tile presses into your skull. He bends and angles his tip along your lips. You seal your mouth and lock your jaw. He squeezes so his thumb jabs your temple and you whimper. 

“Open up before I break your teeth,” he snarls. 

You whine and shove his stomach. He’s immoveable. You can’t breath as he sits on your chest. You puff out, your lips peeling apart, and he jams himself inside. You twitch and gag as he thrusts down to your throat.  

His hand slides down to your throat as his other lifts from your forehead. The metallic extension of his claw cuts the air and he rests the blade against your cheek. You tremble and squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to be still. 

He rears back and slams down again. As he intrudes your throat, you gag, kicking as you claw at his jacket. He does it again and again and again. Your face smears with saliva and a sickening saltiness. Your breath clogs and your cheek swells until you’re sure your lungs will burst. 

Your mind roils to a maelstrom of horror. Shades of putrid green and repugnant yellow, laced with black grey and oceanic blues. The fear radiates from you but he only laughs between his beastly grunts. He rams further and you wretch, bile flooding around his dick, dribbling out around your lips. 

Your hand trails up his chest, pleading for mercy as you gulp and gag. He drags his claw down to your jaw and back up. You shake harder as the terror mounts with your nausea. You puff through your nose between his cruel thrusts. 

When you think you might pass out, he slides free and you gasp. He raises himself on his knees and aims his claw down, hooking it under your shirt to slice open the fabric. He pumps his dick as he tenses and a warmth spurts onto your chest. You lay plastered to the floor as he cums overs you, ribbons stretching up your neck. 

You heave in the balmy aftermath of his assault. He groans and hangs his head as he stills. He snarls then shifts. He stands, planting one foot at a time and nudges you with his toe and he steps away from you. He repels his claw and huffs. 

He goes back to the fridge and glass clinks as he takes another beer. 

“Clean up this mess,” he growls as he crushes the glass under his boots. “And yourself. The next time I find you, you better be clean.” 

He pops the cap and flings it over his shoulder as he leaves you. You sit up slowly, convulsing as you fight the revulsion coursing up your throat. You cover your mouth as you bend over your lap and suppress another wretch. 

You exhale and climb to your knees. The smell of beer hangs in the air along with the remnants of his wrath. The little black flecks like the ashes of a burnt house. 

‘Next time...’ 

Those words echo in your head as you get to your feet. You stagger over the muddle of shards and liquid and out into the hall. You don’t care if Storm throws a fit about the mess, you don’t care about any of it. If you stay, it’s just going to happen again. 

[lumnix3]

The Architect and the Muse

this is my first time writing a fic soo lmk what you think !

The control room hummed with subdued power, its sleek walls and towering monitors casting a cold, unyielding glow. On the screens, the macabre ballet of Red Light, Green Light unfolded—players moving and stopping, their lives dictated by a mechanical doll’s gaze. Death punctuated the air like gunshots, for that was exactly what they were.

At the center of it all, Hwang In-Ho sat in his throne-like chair, his tailored suit immaculate despite the undercurrent of violence in the room. His mask, as much a shield as a crown, obscured his expression, but the weight of his presence was unmistakable. Draped across his lap, you embodied an eerie grace, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along the armrest as your gaze lingered on the carnage below.

“You see her hesitate?” In-Ho’s voice was a low, commanding rumble, his gloved hand resting possessively on your hip. “Player 029. Her legs quiver before every step. Weakness will swallow her whole.”

You tilted your head slightly, lips curving into a faint smirk. “And yet, the bold ones are the real spectacle. They’re the first to break when things get… personal.”

His fingers tightened reflexively on your waist, a quiet affirmation. “And the ones who don’t break?”

“They burn,” you said, your tone as detached as it was assured. “Beautifully, I might add.”

Your eyes remained fixed on the monitors, cataloging every stutter, every falter, every flash of defiance, as your mind began to drift to where it all started..

The rain lashed against the cracked pavement of a forgotten alleyway. Hwang In-Ho, disheveled and gaunt, leaned against the wall, his suit tattered and soaked. He clutched the prize money, his victory in the games a hollow triumph that gnawed at his soul.

“You look like hell,” a voice remarked, cutting through the storm.

He glanced up sharply, and there you stood, umbrella in hand, the rain sliding off its edges as if refusing to touch you. Your sharp eyes seemed to dissect him in an instant.

“And you,” he rasped, voice raw with despair, “look like you don’t belong here.”

“Maybe,” you replied, stepping closer. “But you do. And I’m curious—what keeps someone like you standing when it’d be so much easier to fall?”

He didn’t answer, but something in your gaze held him there, a tether he didn’t know he needed. Over time, your quiet strength became his anchor, your sharp mind his counsel. When you discovered the horrors behind the games, you didn’t flinch. Instead, you stayed. You stayed, and he began to realize you weren’t just his salvation—you were his equal.

Snapping out of it, the tension in the air was a living thing. The eerie melody of "Red light, Green light" echoed across the arena, the giant doll swiveling its head with mechanical precision.

On the monitors, Player 029 hesitated again.

“Watch,” In-Ho murmured, his voice reverent. “She’s done.”

The crack of a rifle confirmed it. The player’s body hit the ground, lifeless.

You leaned back against his chest, your calm mirroring his own. His arm tightened around you, fingers brushing yours in a silent exchange.

“Some surprises,” you murmured, gesturing to another screen. A bold player—Player 067—had darted forward in defiance of the doll’s rhythm, earning gasps from her fellow competitors.

“She’ll be one to watch,” In-Ho admitted, a rare hint of admiration threading his tone.

You hummed in agreement, the faintest trace of a smile playing on your lips. “For now.”

The room dimmed, the monitors fading into standby mode as the first game drew to a bloody close. In-Ho removed his mask, revealing the sharp planes of his face. His eyes, dark and searching, found yours.

“You see things I don’t,” he murmured, his hand cupping your jaw. “I trust your eyes more than my own.”

You chuckled, a soft sound that belied the weight of your shared history. “Careful, In-Ho. You’ll spoil me with that worship.”

His gaze hardened slightly, a reminder of the feral edge that always lingered just beneath his surface. “You’re already spoiled. And I’d destroy anyone who tried to take that from you.”

You traced your finger along the edge of his jaw, your touch as much a challenge as an affirmation. “You’d better." You mutter as you draw closer to him. In-Ho's thumb brushed over your lower lip, the gesture a silent question. You answered by tilting your head forward slightly, inviting him closer. His breath was warm against your mouth, the faint scent of mint and expensive cologne mixing in the air. When he kissed you, it was with the same fierce intensity he brought to every battle, but tempered with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Your hands slid around his neck, fingers tangling in the short strands of his hair as you deepened the kiss. The world around you faded into the background, leaving only the steady rhythm of your heartbeats echoing in your ears. You felt the tension in his muscles, the way they flexed under your touch, and the heat that seemed to radiate from his very core.

In-Ho's grip tightened, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. His other hand rested on the small of your back, the pressure both reassuring and demanding. You could feel his desire, a potent force that seemed to vibrate in the air around you. It matched the thundering of your pulse, the rush of blood in your veins.

But as the final buzzer sounded, the room flooding with light and the sound of cheers and curses from the other players, you reluctantly broke the kiss. In-Ho's eyes searched yours, the question clear even without words. You nodded, and pulled away. The moment had been perfect, a secret shared between the two of you amidst the chaos of the games.

The surviving players were herded out of the arena, their terror lingering in the air like smoke. The control room was silent but for the crackle of monitors.

You rose gracefully from In-Ho’s lap, smoothing over your suit. Your voice, calm but laced with an edge, broke the quiet.

“Let’s make the second game… unforgettable.”

In-Ho smirked, his voice low and amused. “What do you have in mind?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your eyes alight with something dangerous. “Why don’t i join with you? Shake things up a little.”

His laughter was a dark, rumbling sound. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Good thing I like the heat.”

As the monitors flickered to life again, the next game revealed itself—a playground, with two giant rainbow circles on either side of the place. The room seemed to hum with anticipation, the stakes rising for both the players and the couple who controlled their fates.

In-Ho reached for your hand, his voice a whisper. “Let’s see if they can survive your game.”

Your smile was razor-sharp. “Let’s see if they can survive us.”

[dreamersworldduh]

Hello! First of all I love all your stories ♥♥♥ Well, I wanted to make a request (if it's not bothering me) although I don't know if you write about Jon Kent, but well in this case. You could write a Jon x male reader story where the reader is a son of Trigon and like him he maintains control of his father like Raven.And Jon is like the reader's "anchor" that allows him to keep Trigon prisoner and then at some point Jon is hurt which causes the reader to lose control out of anger. Which makes him attack all his teammates and enemies and Jon controls him being the cinnamon roll that he is lol. That the reader and Jon have a relationship but keep it a secret, until that moment where Jon will not care about anything, only saving his boyfriend. I hope I have not bothered you, I apologize if so.

BOUND BY DARKNESS, ANCHORED BY LOVE

• JON KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Being the son of Trigon is an unimaginable burden. Trigon, a demon lord with immense power, casts a vast shadow that affects everything. Carrying his bloodline means not only inheriting his legacy but also becoming a vessel for his darkness. This struggle feels like a curse, with a constant battle within your soul. Every day is a challenge to maintain control against Trigon's tempting influence.

Jon Kent is your anchor, helping you stay grounded amidst chaos. He sees you for who you are and not just as a representation of Trigon's terror. Jon's unwavering faith in you shows you that your choices define you, not your lineage. His presence makes the internal war more manageable, providing hope that being Trigon's son doesn't have to dictate your life. With Jon, you're not just surviving; you're truly living, and for that, you are grateful.

WARNING! Suggestive Langauge. Violence.

WORDS! 5.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! It’s not bother to write! Thank you for so much for requesting, I hope you enjoy this ✨🫶🏽

Being the son of Trigon is a burden that defies comprehension. Trigon, a demon lord of unfathomable power and celestial tyranny, is a name that echoes across dimensions, conjuring fear and despair in all who hear it. To carry his bloodline is to inherit not just his infamy but the unrelenting darkness that defines his essence. It's more than a legacy; it's a curse, a war fought within the deepest recesses of your soul. Trigon's influence is not abstract or distant—it's alive, a seething force that courses through your veins, threatening to overwhelm you at every moment. Every breath, every thought, is a battle to resist the pull of that chaos, a desperate balancing act between light and shadow, humanity and monstrosity.

Your sister, Raven, bears her own connection to Trigon, but her mastery of discipline has allowed her to channel his power with precision and control. Through years of focus, meditation, and sacrifice, she has shaped herself into a weapon wielded by her will. You, however, are a different story. Your bond to Trigon is far more volatile, your powers raw, untamed, and ferociously destructive. Unlike Raven, whose strength is tempered by resolve, your abilities are a storm—wild and furious, a force that defies containment. You are not merely powerful; you are a cataclysm, a walking paradox of creation and destruction. Your struggle is not measured in quiet moments of focus but in primal, ferocious conflict. There is no margin for error in your existence. One lapse, one moment of surrender, and the devastation would be unimaginable.

The battlefield of your mind is no less treacherous. Trigon is always there, a shadowed presence at the edges of your thoughts, his voice a chilling whisper that weaves through your consciousness. He promises dominance, tempts you with visions of power, and mocks your efforts to resist him. The mental strain is relentless, a grinding weight that erodes your resolve. Some days, the effort feels unbearable, the temptation to let go—to embrace the storm within you—almost too strong to fight. But even in the darkest depths of despair, there is one constant, one anchor that keeps you from surrendering: Jon.

Jon is more than a partner; he is your lifeline. In the chaos of your existence, he is the calm at the center of the storm, the steady hand that keeps you tethered when the world feels like it's crumbling beneath you. Where others might flinch at the raw intensity of your power, Jon never falters. He doesn't fear you, doesn't shy away from the turbulence that rages within you. His presence is unwavering, his resolve a mirror to your own. He meets your tempest with quiet strength, his patience and understanding carving out a space of peace in a life otherwise defined by conflict.

As a comrade, Jon understands the weight you bear. He fights by your side, witnessing the devastating toll your powers take on both you and the world around you. He knows the stakes of the battles you face, the enormity of the threats you must repel. But as your lover, Jon's role transcends the battlefield. He is your sanctuary, the only place where you can lower your defenses, where the constant struggle fades and you can simply be. In his eyes, you are not a harbinger of destruction or Trigon's heir. You are just you. He sees past the chaos, past the shadows, to the person you strive to hold onto. His love reminds you of the humanity you fear you've lost, grounding you in a way nothing else can.

It is because of Jon that you find the strength to stand against your father's influence. In a life consumed by darkness, he is your light, a beacon that cuts through the oppressive shadows threatening to consume you. When the fight feels insurmountable, when the weight of your existence feels like it will crush you, Jon is the reason you keep going. His belief in you, steadfast and unshakable, inspires your own belief that you can win this war—not just for the world, but for yourself.

Without him, the battle would feel like an endless, futile struggle, a war against an adversary you could never hope to defeat. But with Jon at your side, the impossible feels within reach. The darkness remains, a looming and constant presence, but it no longer feels like an inevitability. With Jon, you remember why you fight. You remember what's worth saving—not just in the world you've sworn to protect, but in yourself.

Working alongside the Justice League is no ordinary job—it's a monumental responsibility, one that demands unyielding dedication, constant vigilance, and the ability to put the fate of the world above your own personal concerns. The stakes are always unimaginably high, and any lapse in focus could mean the difference between triumph and disaster. For you, this isn't just a duty—it's a standard you hold yourself to with unwavering commitment. That's why, when you and Jon decided to take the next step in your relationship, secrecy wasn't just an option; it was a necessity. It wasn't a decision made on a whim, but one born from a shared understanding of the pressures you face as heroes and as members of the League.

Balancing a relationship against the backdrop of constant battles, cosmic crises, and a world that never stops needing saving is already challenging. Adding the Justice League's watchful eyes into the mix would only complicate things further. You know your teammates well, and you can already predict their reactions if they were to find out about your relationship. Take Clark, for instance—Jon's father, the ever-principled Superman. He would approach the revelation with his trademark combination of earnestness and protectiveness, fumbling through advice about love and responsibility while trying to reconcile his paternal instincts with his respect for you as a peer. The thought of Clark, awkwardly yet sincerely attempting to deliver a "heart-to-heart" about dating his son, is enough to make you shudder—and laugh, if only privately.

Barry, of course, would be a whirlwind of jokes and teasing before anyone else could even process the news. He'd rattle off quips at lightning speed, leaving a trail of laughter—and mild annoyance—in his wake. Hal, never one to miss an opportunity to needle someone, would chime in with smug comments and suggestive grins, probably making a crack about office romances or "following in Superman's footsteps." And then there's Bruce—stoic, inscrutable Batman. He wouldn't say much—he rarely does—but the subtle lift of his eyebrow or that infuriating, knowing smirk would speak volumes. It's easy to imagine the two of you exchanging exasperated glances while Bruce stands silently, exuding his usual air of calculated disapproval.

The women of the League wouldn't make things any easier. Diana and Zatanna, for all their wisdom and camaraderie, would dive headfirst into your private life with relentless enthusiasm. Diana's curiosity, tempered by her warm-heartedness, would lead to endless questions about your connection, your dynamic, your plans for the future. Zatanna, meanwhile, would take a more playful approach, combining genuine interest with her penchant for mischief. You can already picture her crafting magical scenarios to "test your compatibility" while Diana plots some extravagant bonding activity meant to honor your relationship. Their intentions would be well-meaning, but the thought of being the center of their collective attention is exhausting.

But it's not just the teasing and prying that concerns you. What you and Jon share thrives in the quiet moments—the stolen seconds of connection in a life otherwise dictated by chaos. It's in the subtle, shared glances exchanged during tense missions, the fleeting but meaningful words spoken during a debrief, or the rare, precious nights when the weight of the world lifts just enough for you to be alone together. These moments are fragile, like treasures hidden in plain sight, and the thought of losing them to the relentless scrutiny of the League is unbearable. If your relationship were out in the open, those moments of intimacy would be harder to protect. The jokes, the questions, the interruptions—they'd chip away at the sanctuary you've built together.

Your need for privacy isn't about shame, or mistrust, or a lack of faith in your teammates. It's about preserving something rare and sacred in a life that so often demands sacrifice. As heroes, your existence is defined by duty and obligation, by the constant call to put others above yourselves. But your relationship with Jon is different. It's yours—something untouched by the demands of the world, something that brings light and meaning to the chaos around you. It's a reminder that beneath the masks and capes, you're still human, still capable of finding beauty and solace amidst the storm.

For now, the world sees you as comrades, warriors fighting for justice in an endless battle against darkness. To the League, you and Jon are allies, partners on the battlefield. But in the moments you steal for yourselves, behind closed doors and away from prying eyes, you're something infinitely more. You're each other's anchor, a refuge when the weight of heroism becomes too much to bear. What you share isn't just love—it's a lifeline, a reason to keep fighting, a bond that reminds you why the battle is worth it.

And that bond? That's worth every ounce of secrecy, every careful glance, every hidden touch. Because in a life dictated by duty, protecting the part of your world that feels most like home is the greatest act of heroism you've ever known.

Those moments with you are Jon's anchor—the rare, fragile pockets of tranquility that defy the relentless chaos of your lives as heroes. In a world where danger seems omnipresent and the weight of responsibility never lifts, those stolen interludes with you become his sanctuary. They are his reminder of what he's fighting for, of the strength and solace he's found in you. They're more than moments of reprieve; they're the essence of what keeps him grounded, what makes it all worthwhile.

Jon cherishes the way you both manage to carve out time for each other, no matter how demanding your lives become. It's not about grand, theatrical gestures or sweeping declarations; it's the simplicity of the connection you share that means the most to him. He treasures the quiet evenings spent recovering from grueling missions, where words are few, but the companionship between you speaks volumes. The two of you might share a meal in comfortable silence, exhaustion melting into a mutual sense of solace. Those moments of quiet, unspoken understanding remind him that, in a life full of noise and chaos, peace can still be found—if only in your presence.

One of his favorite memories is the time you both sat side by side on the Watchtower, gazing out at the Earth spinning below. Your shoulders had been close enough to touch, a faint warmth radiating between you that neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. The enormity of the universe had seemed so small in that moment, dwarfed by the quiet bond you shared. No words were needed. The stillness, the weightlessness of the moment, was enough. Jon carries that memory with him, a reminder of the unshakable connection that transcends words.

It's the way you let your guard down with him, even if only for fleeting moments, that Jon holds closest to his heart. You, who bear the burden of unimaginable responsibility, allow yourself to be vulnerable with him in ways you never do with anyone else. He treasures the soft curve of your smile when you think no one is watching, the rare but melodic sound of your laughter that seems to make the air lighter, and the way your hand lingers just a moment longer in his. Those subtle, fleeting acts of intimacy—so small yet so profound—are the things Jon finds himself replaying in his mind during the toughest days. They are glimpses of a side of you that belongs to him alone, moments that feel like a gift amidst the turbulence of your shared existence.

The late-night conversations, though, are what Jon cherishes above all. Those are the times when the rest of the world falls away, leaving only the two of you in the stillness of the night. He loves the way your voice softens in those moments, unburdened by the weight of the day, and the way you share pieces of yourself that no one else gets to see. You talk about your fears, your dreams, and the quiet hopes you keep hidden from the world. In those moments, he feels as though he's seeing the most authentic version of you, unguarded and real. It's during these late-night talks, when your words are a quiet murmur in the dark, that Jon feels closer to you than he ever thought possible. Those whispered confessions, spoken in the safety of each other's presence, are more precious to him than any victory on the battlefield.

Even the smallest gestures from you linger in Jon's mind long after they pass. The way your fingers brush against his when you hand him something, leaving a fleeting spark of warmth. The way you murmur his name, soft and full of a quiet affection that sets his heart alight. The way you instinctively lean into him when you're close, as though his presence alone offers you a sense of peace. These moments may seem insignificant to others, but to Jon, they mean everything. They are proof of the bond you share, a bond that remains unshakable in the face of all the challenges you both endure.

For Jon, these moments are more than just fleeting respites from the chaos of your lives—they're everything. They're the foundation of what you've built together: a relationship rooted in trust, fortified by love, and sustained by the quiet, stolen moments you create for one another. In a life filled with battles, uncertainty, and the ever-present shadow of danger, those moments remind him of what he's fighting for. They give him strength, hope, and a reason to keep going, no matter how dark the world becomes.

With you, Jon has found more than just love. He's found a sense of belonging, a home in a world that often feels fractured and unforgiving. And in those rare, precious moments of peace, he knows he has found something extraordinary—something worth protecting at all costs.

The room is quiet, wrapped in a fragile cocoon of warmth and stillness—a rare sanctuary in your chaotic lives. The television hums softly in the background, its flickering light casting muted shadows across the walls. Whatever show is playing has long since been forgotten, its dialogue fading into white noise as you both savor the fleeting comfort of simply being together. You're curled against Jon, your back pressed to his chest, his strong arms draped around you in an embrace that feels at once protective and tender. His warmth seeps into you, a grounding presence in a world that so often feels unstable.

Your head rests against his collarbone, and his fingers trail lazily along your arm, tracing aimless patterns that send pleasant shivers through your skin. It's in moments like these that the weight of the world feels lighter, the relentless demands of heroism pushed to the periphery. Here, in the safety of his embrace, there are no battles to fight, no masks to wear, no shadows threatening to swallow you whole. It's just the two of you, a rare and precious quiet that you both cling to.

Jon's lips brush against the curve of your neck, feather-light at first, as if testing the waters. When you lean into him, a small gesture of encouragement, he doesn't hesitate. His kisses grow more deliberate, his lips pressing firmly against your skin, lingering with an intensity that sends heat coursing through you. One of his hands slips to your waist, his grip tightening as he pulls you closer, while the other moves to rest against your chest. The tenderness of his touch contrasts with the raw, magnetic pull of his lips on your neck, and you can feel the world outside this room slipping further away.

The TV becomes nothing more than a distant hum, the glow of the screen forgotten as your senses focus entirely on him. His breath is warm against your skin, and you tilt your head instinctively, offering him better access. He takes it, his teeth grazing your neck in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, followed by a gentle, soothing kiss that makes your heart race. His touch is electric, grounding you while simultaneously making you feel as though you're floating.

And then it happens—a faint, pulsing glow catches your attention from the corner of your eye. At first, you try to ignore it, unwilling to let anything intrude on this rare, precious moment. But as the glow intensifies, flickering like a heartbeat, a cold dread creeps into your chest. You glance down and see it: the pendant. Its cursed, crimson light spills into the room, its glow erratic and insistent, a dark reminder of the power tethered to your very existence.

The air shifts almost instantly. The warmth of the room is replaced by a chill that seeps into your bones, the moment of intimacy fractured by the suffocating presence of the darkness you can never quite escape. The pendant's light grows brighter, its ominous flicker casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. You can feel it, like a cold hand gripping your heart—the stirrings of Trigon's influence, clawing its way to the surface.

Jon notices the change immediately. His lips still against your neck, and his arms tighten around you, protective and grounding. "What is it?" he asks, his voice soft but edged with concern. His hands, once playful and tender, now hold you with a steady firmness, as though ready to catch you should the darkness drag you under.

You don't answer right away. Your gaze is locked on the pendant, its glow pulsing in time with the faint, malevolent presence stirring within you. It's not the first time this has happened, and you know exactly what it means. Trigon's essence—his shadow—is awakening, drawn to the vulnerability of the moment, eager to remind you that it's always there, lurking just beneath the surface.

Your chest tightens as you feel the beginnings of his presence creeping into your mind, a dark whisper that threatens to pull you under. It's like a tide rising, insidious and unstoppable, and you can already sense the fight it will take to push it back. Gritting your teeth, you focus on the warmth of Jon's embrace, willing yourself to resist. Not now. Not here. Not with him.

Jon's voice cuts through the haze, calm but firm. "Hey," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. "I'm here. You're okay. We're okay."

His words anchor you, pulling you back from the edge. You take a shaky breath, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the solid warmth of his body against yours. Slowly, the glow of the pendant begins to fade, its pulsing light dimming until it's no more than a faint, ominous flicker. The air grows lighter, though the shadow of Trigon's influence still lingers, an ever-present reminder of the battle you can never truly escape.

Leaning back into Jon, you finally find your voice. "It's him," you whisper, your tone heavy with exhaustion. "Trigon... he's stirring."

Jon's hand moves to cover yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture of quiet strength. "Then we'll deal with it," he says resolutely, his voice steady despite the shadow of unease that hangs over you both. "Together."

Though the moment of peace has been stolen, the intimacy shattered by the relentless intrusion of the darkness you carry, Jon's unwavering presence remains. His arms around you, his voice grounding you, remind you that you're not alone in this fight. Closing your eyes, you let his words and his touch steady you as you prepare yourself for the battle ahead—the one within, and the one that will inevitably come.

Your bond forged is in love and trust but sometimes tested by the overwhelming fear of losing each other. That instinct is as natural as breathing, yet in the heat of battle, it often borders on overzealous. Neither of you can help it; keeping the other safe isn't just a priority—it's a necessity. That protectiveness was on full display during a recent mission with the Justice League, one that escalated into chaos faster than either of you could have anticipated.

It began with Felix Faust, the ever-ambitious sorcerer, whose reckless pursuit of power led him to tear open an unauthorized portal to a volatile magical dimension. This wasn't a minor disruption in the fabric of reality; it was a gaping wound, spewing malevolent creatures and destabilizing the surrounding area with chaotic energy. The portal's influence threatened to spiral out of control, drawing more and more destruction with every second it remained open. The Justice League was stretched thin, battling the endless onslaught of creatures that poured from the rift, but the real danger lay in the portal itself. If it wasn't sealed soon, it would consume everything in its path.

That's when Raven and Zatanna called out to you, their voices cutting through the chaos. They needed your help. Their combined magical prowess wasn't enough to close the tear, and they needed a third to stabilize the spell. You didn't hesitate for a second. You knew what was at stake, and your unique connection to magic made you the perfect choice to assist. But Jon's reaction was immediate, his protectiveness flaring to the surface as soon as he realized what stepping into the heart of the rift would mean for you.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with unease as he placed a firm hand on your shoulder. His piercing blue eyes searched yours for any trace of doubt, his concern evident in the tightness of his jaw and the tension in his posture.

You nodded confidently, offering him what you hoped was a reassuring smile. "Raven and Zatanna need me," you said, your tone resolute. "This is the only way."

Jon didn't move, his hand lingering as though he could physically anchor you to him. "If anything happens—"

"Jon," you interrupted gently, your fingers brushing his. "I'll be fine. I promise."

You could see the war in his eyes, the conflict between trusting your abilities and the gnawing fear of letting you step into such danger. But eventually, he gave a reluctant nod, his hand dropping away as you turned toward Raven and Zatanna. You could still feel the weight of his gaze as you moved toward the swirling chaos of the portal, the air around it charged with unstable magic.

The closer you got to the tear, the heavier the atmosphere became. The energy radiating from the portal was oppressive, a chaotic blend of light and shadow that threatened to pull everything into its maw. Raven and Zatanna were already in position, their voices a steady rhythm of incantations as they worked to contain the rift. You joined them without hesitation, summoning your own power to weave into theirs. Together, the three of you created a fragile balance, a barrier against the portal's expansion.

Jon was supposed to be focusing on the battle, helping the League fend off the endless creatures that poured from the rift. But his focus kept drifting back to you. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to be at your side, to shield you from the unpredictable surges of magical energy that flared around you. He trusted you—he trusted your strength and your skill—but that didn't silence the fear gnawing at the edges of his mind. Between every punch, every blast of heat vision, his eyes flicked toward you, his heart racing each time the energy from the portal crackled too close.

Your protectiveness wasn't any less fierce. Even as you concentrated on the delicate spellwork, your gaze darted to Jon whenever you had a spare second. Watching him fight the monstrous creatures that spilled out of the rift filled you with equal parts pride and anxiety. He was a force of nature, his movements precise and powerful, but every time a creature lunged at him, your breath caught in your throat. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to focus. The portal had to be closed, or none of you would make it out alive.

The strain of the spell began to take its toll, the three of you struggling to keep the chaotic energy in check. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and your arms trembled under the weight of the magic you were channeling. Through it all, you felt Jon's presence in the periphery, his protective instincts a constant undercurrent even when he was meters away. It was as if the bond between you transcended the battlefield, his silent promise to watch over you steadying your resolve.

Just when the portal's energy flared dangerously, a creature broke past the League's defenses, hurtling toward Raven and Zatanna. You acted without thinking, summoning a burst of raw magic to intercept the creature before it could disrupt the spell. The backlash from your magic sent a wave of energy rippling outward, momentarily destabilizing the rift..

Everything seemed to be under control—until Felix Faust turned his dark magic directly on you, Raven, and Zatanna.

You felt the shift before you saw it, the air growing oppressive, thick with malevolent energy that seemed to coil and writhe like a living thing. Faust's magic lashed out in a torrent of chaotic force, black tendrils streaking through the air, aimed directly at the three of you. The onslaught was relentless, designed to shatter your concentration and disrupt the delicate balance required to seal the portal.

Without hesitation, you raised a shimmering barrier of protective light around Raven and Zatanna. The shield absorbed the brunt of Faust's attack, but the force of it reverberated through your entire body like a series of thunderclaps. You gritted your teeth, pushing back against the overwhelming energy, even as you felt the strain begin to sap your strength.

"Keep working!" you shouted, your voice sharp and resolute, cutting through the chaos. Raven and Zatanna exchanged a quick glance before nodding, their chants never faltering as they refocused on stabilizing the rift.

The barrier held, but barely. Each impact sent cracks spiderwebbing through its surface, the shimmering light flickering under the pressure. Faust's dark magic was relentless, a tempest of hatred and destruction, and it demanded everything you had just to keep it at bay. You knew it was a gamble; diverting your focus from the portal to defend against Faust's assault was dangerous, but letting his magic reach Raven and Zatanna was not an option.

Across the battlefield, Jon noticed the sudden shift in energy. His sharp eyes found you instantly, his expression darkening with concern as he saw the way your barrier strained under the force of Faust's attacks. He was locked in combat with the monstrous creatures pouring from the portal, but his focus kept drifting back to you. Each glance fueled his urgency, his strikes growing faster, harder, as he fought to clear a path to your side.

But before Jon could reach you, a streak of malevolent energy shot across the battlefield, slamming into him with unrelenting force. The blast knocked him off his feet, and he hit the ground hard, a sharp, agonizing cry tearing from his throat.

The sound sliced through you like a blade, wrenching your attention away from Faust. Your eyes snapped to Jon, and the sight of him sprawled on the ground, his body wracked with pain, shattered something inside you. Your grip on the barrier faltered, and for a moment, everything went still.

Then the rage came.

It erupted from the deepest recesses of your soul, raw and uncontrollable, a tidal wave of fury that surged past the barriers you'd spent a lifetime building. The infernal power of Trigon, always lurking beneath the surface, seized its opportunity. You felt it surge through your veins, molten and all-consuming, igniting every nerve in your body.

Your skin flushed an unnatural red, glowing with an ominous, fiery light as veins of molten energy spread across your body. Your eyes multiplied, each one blazing with otherworldly intensity. The pendant around your neck, the cursed vessel of your father's power, pulsed violently, its crimson glow flooding the battlefield with eerie light.

The transformation unleashed a fiery manifestation of your rage—a phoenix of living flame that exploded into existence around you. Its wings unfurled, scorching the ground beneath them as it let out a piercing, unearthly screech. The battlefield seemed to shrink in its presence, all eyes drawn to the inferno rising from within you.

Felix Faust faltered, his confidence evaporating as he stared at the infernal spectacle before him. You turned your blazing gaze on him, your voice low and guttural, laced with barely restrained wrath. "You'll regret that."

The phoenix surged forward, its flames consuming everything in its path. Faust's spells disintegrated in the heat, his defenses crumbling as he scrambled to retaliate. But it was no use. You overwhelmed him with a fury he couldn't match, and within moments, he was on his knees, powerless and terrified.

But the victory brought no relief. The flames didn't wane; instead, they surged outward, unchecked and all-consuming. They devoured everything in their path, their relentless hunger fed by the raw fury coursing through you and the insidious whisper of Trigon's influence. His voice curled through your mind like smoke, a low, serpentine hiss that twisted your anger into something darker, more destructive.

Why hold back? This power is yours. Let it consume them. Let it consume everything.

Your heart pounded as the lines between yourself and Trigon blurred, the boundary of your own will and his malevolence fracturing under the weight of your unleashed rage. The fiery phoenix that had erupted from you seemed to grow larger, more feral, its flames casting an unholy glow across the battlefield. It screeched, its cry a harbinger of ruin, as it lashed out indiscriminately.

Raven was the first to step forward, her expression steady but her movements cautious. Her voice, calm but urgent, cut through the chaos. "This isn't you. You have to stop."

For a moment, her words seemed distant, muffled beneath the deafening roar of the flames and the insidious pull of your father's power. The rational part of you—the part that still clung to who you were—tried to grasp her voice, but the intoxicating pull of destruction drowned it out.

The Justice League wasn't far behind. They moved in unison, encircling you with precision, their intent clear: containment. Batman's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, a tone meant to cut through any chaos. "Stand down!"

But you didn't hear him. Or rather, you didn't care. The phoenix-form responded instinctively to their approach, its flames flaring brighter, hotter, as it lashed out at anyone who dared come close. Superman and Wonder Woman led the charge, their combined strength barely enough to withstand the inferno. The League's efforts, coordinated and powerful, were falling short against the primal, unrelenting fury of Trigon's unleashed influence.

Somewhere in the chaos, a glimmer of who you were fought back, screaming to regain control. But the voice of your father was louder, more persistent, more persuasive.

They fear you. They want to cage you. Show them what you are capable of.

Then, through the cacophony of destruction, a single voice reached you.

"Stop!"

It was Jon. His voice rang clear, cutting through the haze of rage and fire like a beacon. Despite his injuries, he pushed himself upright, staggering but resolute. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he moved toward you, ignoring the searing heat of the flames and the warning shouts of his teammates. His eyes, unwavering and focused, locked onto yours.

"It's me," he said, his voice firm but gentle, steady in a way that only he could manage. "Look at me."

Something in his tone, in his presence, sliced through the chaos gripping your mind. For a fleeting moment, the flames flickered, and the roar of the phoenix softened. His gaze held you, filled not with fear or judgment, but with something deeper—love, trust, and unshakable belief in you.

"You're stronger than this," he continued, his steps carrying him closer despite the heat and the danger. "You're not him. You're you. Come back to me."

The phoenix screeched again, a sound of defiance, but its flames faltered. Jon's words, like an anchor, pulled you back from the brink. You could feel the weight of Trigon's influence loosening, the suffocating grip of his power receding as you fought to reclaim control.

Slowly, painfully, you wrestled with the fury, with the darkness. Your skin began to return to its natural hue, the molten glow fading with each passing second. The extra eyes that had marked Trigon's influence vanished, and the phoenix, once feral and consuming, began to dissipate, its flames flickering into embers. The pendant around your neck, the cursed vessel of his power, dimmed to a faint, ominous thrum.

Your legs gave out beneath you, exhaustion and the weight of what you'd done crashing down all at once. But Jon was there, his arms steady and sure as he caught you. He sank to the ground with you, holding you close as the ash settled and the battlefield fell silent. His voice, a quiet murmur in your ear, was the only sound.

"I've got you," he said softly, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. "You're okay. I'm here."

The League stood down, their wary gazes softening as they saw you collapse into Jon's embrace. Raven approached cautiously, kneeling beside you. Her eyes, filled with both relief and understanding, met yours. "You fought it," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You won."

But you didn't feel victorious. The memory of the flames, of the destruction you had almost unleashed on your allies, lingered like a shadow in your mind. The fear of how close you had come to losing yourself clung to you, heavy and unshakable.

Yet when you looked at Jon, his face etched with concern and his eyes still unwavering in their faith, you found a flicker of hope. His presence reminded you of what you were fighting for—why you had to keep fighting.

As long as he was by your side, you knew you'd always have a reason to resist the darkness. And with him, you could believe that you were more than Trigon's heir. You were you. And that was enough.

[swanincrisis]

Untold Weight - Pinocchio x f!Reader

After the events that happened at Arche Abbey, Pinocchio is left to think about all that has happened. The thoughts that run around in his head are not very pleasant.

Set after the Rise of P ending

- warnings: sad pino at the beginning - word count: 1.6k

AU where Antonia lives

It’s been a few days since Pinocchio returned from the Isle of Alchemists with Sophia, and ever since, unease seemed to settle over him like a shadow. He’d shared everything with you—every trial he faced, from his battles against countless enemies to his fight with Laxasia, and even his confrontation with Simon. His silver hair, gleaming softly in the moonlight, a sort of proof of setting Sophia free and her being with him until the very end. She was happy now, radiantly so, and yet…something lingered.

He told you about Geppetto. About the Nameless Puppet. About Carlo. About his own heart.

When he returned, it was you he sought out first.

He found you in the library of Hotel Krat. There were no words, only action. He wrapped you in an embrace so tight, so full of sorrow, it felt like he was holding onto you for dear life, afraid you might slip through his fingers just like his maker.

He didn’t know what to think. His father—his creator, the man he had idolized and obeyed without question, had spoken such hateful words. Yet, he had shed tears for him.

Tears for a monster of a man.

And still, those final words haunted him.

"I’m sorry, son."

They echoed in his mind, turning over and over like the mechanisms in his chest. The more he thought about them, the more he believed they weren’t meant for him at all, but for Carlo.

Everyone at the hotel noticed the shift in him. Some more than others. It was Antonia who noticed first.

She called for him one day. Life at the hotel had started to mend—rooms restored, halls repaired, the echoes of despair replaced by the tentative whispers of hope.

He sat on a stool by the piano in the library, his elbows resting on his knees, his silver hair falling like a curtain to hide his face. Across from him, Antonia sat in her wheelchair, her gaze warm with quiet understanding.

He told her everything.

Antonia, who had loved Geppetto and Carlo so dearly, found her heart twisting in ways she hadn’t expected. She had never imagined this of Geppetto, the man she once held in such high esteem. Carlo was gone, but her love for the boy remained steadfast. Yet, in the time she had come to know Pinocchio, her affection for him had grown just as strong. In many ways, she saw him as a son.

But there was another weight Pinocchio carried, one he couldn’t voice so easily.

He worried about what you might think of him now.

His father’s words had cut deep, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t silence them. He was just a puppet. Nothing more.

But oh, if only he could see himself through your eyes.

Antonia saw it too.

“Oh, dear child. That girl holds you so very dear—more than you probably know. Don’t think I didn’t notice how she looks at you, from the very first day you arrived here. I may have been ill, but I wasn’t blind,” she said with a soft chuckle. “Talk to her and see for yourself. She has a pure heart, and she loves you truly. She would never discard you, just because you’re not made of flesh and blood.”

Her words stayed with him, echoing in his mind, until finally, he found the courage to come to your door.

You had been worried sick. For days, he had barely spoken to anyone, least of all you.

When you opened the door, his gaze remained fixed on the floor, unable to meet yours. You could see the weight he carried, feel it in the air between you. You knew what had happened—everyone did. You couldn’t claim to understand his pain. You didn’t, and you never would.

But you had resolved to be there for him, through it all.

He stood before you in his simple white shirt and dark pants, a picture of vulnerability. You stepped closer, your hands reaching up to cradle his freckled cheeks, gently lifting his face so you could meet his eyes.

His eyes shimmered—not with the polished quality of their craftsmanship, but with unshed tears.

“Pino, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

It was a silly question. You knew what was wrong.

He said nothing, only wrapped his arms around you. Carefully, always carefully with his Legion arm. He buried his face in your shoulder, silent tears soaking into your shirt.

Your heart ached. You held him close, your fingers threading through his silver hair, offering comfort in the only way you could. For a while, the room was quiet, save for the soft ticking of his mechanisms and the steady beat of his heart. Then, finally, you spoke.

“You are enough.”

He froze. For a moment, even his gears seemed to halt. Slowly, he pulled back, his face a mix of surprise and something else—something raw.

“…What?”

“You are enough, Pinocchio.”

And just like that, he broke.

He kissed you with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs, his lips pressing against yours with a fervor that felt like a plea and a promise all at once. His hands moved with a careful kind of desperation—one resting on your back, pulling you closer, as if he could fuse you together and never let go. The other found its way into your hair, his fingers threading through the strands as though seeking solace in their softness.

It was not a kiss of hesitation or doubt—it was everything he couldn’t put into words. His fears, his sorrows, his love for you—all of it poured out in a torrent, raw and unrestrained.

For a moment, you were stunned, caught off guard by the sheer weight of his emotion. But then, like the tide rushing to meet the shore, you responded without hesitation.

Your hands found their place, one on his cheek and the other curling around his neck, pulling him even closer. The heat of the moment wrapped around you both like a cocoon, shielding you from the outside world. You kissed him back with everything you had, pouring every ounce of love, every whispered promise, and every silent vow into the connection between you.

His lips moved against yours with a mix of urgency and tenderness, as though trying to memorize every detail of this moment. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and you felt a soft, shaky sigh escape him. The hand in your hair tightened just a fraction, his thumb brushing against your temple in a touch so reverent it made your heart ache.

Your senses were overwhelmed by him—the faint metallic tang of his scent, the warmth of his touch, the rhythmic ticking of his mechanisms mingling with the steady beat of his heart. It was a symphony of contrasts, both human and mechanic, and it was him.

When you finally broke apart, it wasn’t from a lack of desire but the need for air. His forehead pressed against yours, his silver hair falling between you like a shimmering curtain. His breaths came in soft, uneven gasps, mingling with yours in the quiet space between you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You simply looked at each other, his glossy eyes searching yours as if trying to confirm that this was real, that you were here, and that you loved him as fiercely as he loved you.

And you did.

Without a word, your thumb brushed against his freckled cheek, a silent reassurance that you weren’t going anywhere. His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, and in that instant, you knew. No matter the hardships you faced, no matter the doubts that plagued him, you would face them by his side.

---

An hour later, you lay together on your bed. Pinocchio rested his head on your chest, his arms wrapped securely around your torso. The steady rhythm of your heartbeat was his anchor, grounding him in a world that often felt too overwhelming.

Your fingers played idly with strands of his silver hair, curling them around your fingertips as you stared at the ceiling.

For Pinocchio, this moment felt like heaven.

The thought came to him suddenly, yet it rooted itself deeply.

He thought of Julian, the gentleman who had entrusted him with his wife’s most cherished possession. Their wedding ring. His words rang in his head.

"Please remember the love Melody and I shared. Who knows? Maybe you'll find true love one day, too."

He thought of Polendina and the love he so clearly felt for Antonia—a love so pure and steadfast it seemed to transcend everything.

And then, he thought of you.

He adored you. Completely and utterly.

“I want to marry you,” he said, breaking the silence.

Your fingers stilled. Your heart skipped a beat, and he felt it beneath his ear.

“I…what?”

“I want you to be my wife,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly.

Now he lifted his head, propping himself up on his arms. His silver hair framed his face, strands brushing your cheeks like a veil between you and the rest of the world. Your face burned crimson, and he chuckled softly, a flicker of mischief breaking through his seriousness.

“You’re not…proposing to me right now, are you?”

He faltered, guilt flashing across his face as he began to sit up. But before he could pull away, you grabbed his face, pressing a kiss to his freckled forehead and tucking a few silver strands behind his ear.

“I’m not complaining,” you said with a soft smile. “And I want you to be my husband as well”

For a moment, he looked as though he might short circuit entirely.

Little did you know, the residents of Hotel Krat had already begun planning your wedding long before either of you realized you wanted one.

Heyy so school started and I'm not okay with that

Anyways I finished ng+ and immediately started ng+2 and my brain slapped me with this idea

I put my whole nervous system and brain power into that kissing scene I hope it's alright-

Also that ending was so random I felt the need to add that

[dr9com9ge-ix]

More cleaned up Sprunki designs! And specific info tied to these- under the cut

Sky

15 He/him

- Quiet, A bit aloof. Pretty curious however. Does not emote much.

- Jevin’s adopted son, found in a cradle in a seemingly abandoned home.

- Has asked for literally one thing and one thing only for his birthday, Teddy bears. Jevin has made some of them whenever he couldn’t find one.

- Quite independent, knows how to cook on a paraffin stove.

- Has never owned a phone due to him and Jevin never being in places with them before.

- Watches movies on Gray’s laptop- Likes dramas the most, finds them funny most of the time.

Jevin

57 He/him

- looks ominous but is actually pretty shy and polite, keeps to himself mostly. Also forgets to emote.

- Used to have some form of terrible insomnia and nightmares until he found his religion worshipping the “Darkness”. Thanks this deity daily for curing his lifelong issue. Sleeps quite soundly now.

- Showed up to town suddenly one day with his son in a caravan as they had been travelling for quite some time- Finally deciding to stay in this town when they arrived.

- Adopted Sky when he couldn’t find his biological parents or anyone where he found him.

- Has no idea how to use computers or phones as he’s lived in places with lower tech (pre-industrial).

Grey

21 He/they

- A shy anxious doormat, makes a low “mmmmmmm” sound when uncomfortable.

- Came from the same city as Wenda (Did not know her until they both came to town.)

- Has interests in filmmaking and studying cinematography, having alot of avant garde movies he likes on his laptop.

- Thinks he’s not good at video games but just picks like really difficult ones.

- Works at the local movie theater, is unfortunately co-workers with Wenda. Is too scared to tell her to leave him alone.

- Befriended Sky when he couldn’t decide what movie to see, gave the kid a list of recommendations in a usb. Then realized Sky didn’t own any devices to watch them so lets him use their laptop.

- Their tail is prehensile and he often wraps it around himself to self-hug.

Wenda

22 She/her

- Loud and kind of rude, Thinks she’s being funny when she makes rude comments. This has often lead to the other sprunkis avoiding her.

- Is kind of judgemental and has little to no filter.

- Very nosy, will stick her head into everyone’s business.

- Quite strong despite her tall wiry frame, has startled Grey with how much she can lift.

- Jealous of how well other people get along with each other as she does truly want friends but does not understand that she needs to work on herself.

- Bothers Grey the most much to his despair because she thinks he’s a friendless loser and can stick to him.

- Has an unsettling smile and a bad habit of gritting and grinding her teeth.

Pinki

30 She/her

- Bubbly and loves to talk! Will talk for hours if permitted. Can be a bit easily distracted at times though.

- Dives into tons of hobbies, definitely will give lots of tips and tricks about them.

- Worked as an architect in her old city and also does here too. Also does volunteer work on the weekend.

- Has a ton of different outfits for different occasions and has likely made some for others.

- Is dating Oren and has been on his streams. Is surprisingly good at FPS games though prefers messing with character creators.

- Into musicals and sings/hums while she does things.

[princesssarisa]

Recently, and partly for personal reasons, I've been thinking of Jo's grieving process after Beth's death in Little Women.

Namely the fact that just before Beth dies, Jo seems to have beautifully come to terms with the pending loss, but afterwards, she regresses into despair.

In Jo's poem My Beth, and in her conversation with Beth after the latter reads it, she says she realizes that she's not really losing Beth, because Beth's memory and influence will always be with her, making her a better person, and because she has faith that Beth will be watching over her in heaven. The last paragraphs of "The Valley of the Shadow" seem to set up Beth's death as sad, but not a soul-crushing tragedy, because the family has already done so much preliminary mourning, because they're relieved that her suffering is over, and because they have their precious memories of her and their religious faith to comfort them.

But then after Beth actually dies, Jo does fall into deep, soul-crushing grief and depression, which includes struggling with her religious faith, and it takes her a lot of work – through talks her parents, through her writing, and eventually by finding love with Friedrich – to finally emerge from the abyss.

I guess it shows that you're never really prepared for a loved one's death, even if you think you are.

But I suppose it's not just about Beth. It's that with Beth's death, all of the same-age companions Jo grew up with are gone. That's why the chapter of her depression is called "All Alone." Meg is married, Amy and Laurie are in Europe, and Jo may have lost Laurie's friendship (she hasn't, but she doesn't know that yet) since she rejected his marriage proposal. If they were still with her, then Beth's death might not have been so shattering. I suppose that's the book's essential, bittersweet message about growing up: siblings and friends drift apart as they all build their own separate lives (and as some die young, which was more common in the 1800s), but new relationships, i.e. spouses and children, fill the void.

(A slightly depressing message for those of us who genuinely don't want to get married or have children. As much as I like Friedrich, I almost would have liked to see an ending where Jo stays a "literary spinster," not because I think it would have been more feminist, but just because it would have shown her finding happiness with her surviving family and friends. It would emphasize that she doesn't "lose" them after all, and show that you don't need to "replace" those relationships with romance or else be lonely forever.)

But I don't think it's just about that either. Beth's death also leaves Jo without a fulfilling purpose in life. Since her writing career failed in New York after she gave up sensation stories, she made caring for Beth her life's purpose, so with Beth gone, she's aimless. She thinks she has no choice left but to "take Beth's place," as Beth urged her to do, and live a quiet, domestic life of keeping house for her parents. But while Jo does those household duties well for a while, and learns their value, she isn't content with them. It was a lovely life for Beth, but it isn't who Jo is. So beyond Jo's grief and loneliness, another cause of her depression is that she's unfulfilled. This explains why writing again, and finding literary success, is such an important part of her healing process, and why she finds her ultimate joy in the very active, un-quiet life of running a boarding school for boys.

For personal reasons, I've been feeling uneasy lately about Jo's backward swing from acceptance to depression between "The Valley of the Shadow" and "All Alone." It does feel slightly as if Alcott was saying "You may think you're ready to accept a loved one's passing, but when it actually happens it will break you." But it does help to remember that the situation is more complex than that.

@littlewomenpodcast, @thatscarletflycatcher, @fandomsarefamily1966

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

How about a request for Ena? The reader is a cat-terpillar, which is to say, they're a big long fluffy entity, with a lot of limbs, essentially a caterpillar cat. They're big and soft and sweet, and very chill, meandering through life at a nice slow tempo. The personality of a nice warm mug of chamomile tea, or hot cocoa with mini marshmallows.

It would be nice to have a fic with them comforting Webseries!Ena after a rough day. Whatever format works best for you!

"Nyah...what a lovely day this is." With a small hum, you rested your chin on top of your two uppermost paws, curling up underneath the warm sun.

The weather was particularly nice today, with not a single rain rock floating in the sky, nor was there a storm cloud hanging around to dampen the atmosphere. But even if it did rain and thunder, it still wouldn't bother you in the slightest, as it's simply part of life.

Having wet fur and general feelings of discomfort weren't ideal, although you didn't worry, knowing that the sun will eventually shine down on you with its warmth once again. So what would be the use in stressing about things outside your control?

Unfortunately, the blue and yellow polygonal lady who was tracing shapes in the dirt beside you begged to differ, as she kept looking up at the clouds every now and then. It's like she was afraid it'll suddenly crack into pieces and fall onto her head.

"You think so? I disagwee." Her blue half mumbled, attracting your attention as you saw her bringing her knees to her chest. "My day's been awful from stawrt to finish..."

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that, Ena." You look down at her.

Even though you had only met her a little while ago, she's comfortable enough to stay in your presence and even keep you company, which was always nice. Being a large cat-terpillar, many people were often scared of you until they discovered your personality greatly contrasts all appearances. You're sweet, kind, and mellow towards everyone you meet.

Ena was no different despite knowing about her species and the reputation they hold. She seemed lost, and so you invited her to sit and relax with you. Just to help her calm down before she got panic-striken.

Yet despite your best efforts, she still looked deeply saddened by something else. So much so that even her cheerful yellow half was frowning as she gazed up at you. "Tell me, kind stranger..perhaps you have a remedy for this predicament I'm in?" She leaned against your body, knowing you didn't mind your personal space being invaded.

Her way of speaking was most unique. A bit complex, but you understood that what she wanted was simple. "Meow..of course. Did you wanna talk, or-?"

"I don't know what I want anymowre!!" She instantly flipped into her sadder state, putting her head in her hands. "I just....feel like disappearwing!! Don't waste your bweath on someone as worthless as me! I'm mowre useful as a scwatching post! So go ahead and tear me apawrt!! Come on!! DO IT!!!"

You didn't do anything, instead letting a few moments pass before speaking. "Maybe...you'd like a hug instead?"

"....actually...yes." She sniffled, quieting down a little. "That sounds like a better idea...."

But when she tried to fully embrace you, she hit a roadblock: she had no idea where to put her arms.

No matter how far away they moved from her body, nowhere felt quite right. And while you were able to wrap a few pairs of your own arms around her torso, she couldn't do the same and felt the crushing weight of despair and stupidity washing over her.

Then the static waterworks began.

"Ohh, what's wrong with me??! I can't even hug you wright!! I really am useless!!" Burying her face into your neck, she just hiccupped and sobbed, her fingers clutching at your fur like a lifeline.

Normally, she'd be glitching and spinning out of control. But somehow you managed to help her physical form remain stable. A simple hug is all it took, and it's all that she needed in order to finally let that sadness out. So you just hushed her softly, not alarmed by her sudden and violent mood shifts in the slightest.

It's something she couldn't control, just like how you couldn't control your size or "scary" feline features. Why should you judge her for that when she never judged you?

"You aren't useless, my dear. There's no "right" way to hug someone. You have the intention, and that's enough. I don't get many of these, so....I appreciate this." A purr rumbled in your throat.

"Huh? Y-You...You bawely get hugs??!" Ena looked up at you, her white half displaying an utterly distraught expression. "But you're...you're so nice! What's wrong with other people??? Do they think you're too big to love or something?!!!! WHAT KIND OF CRUEL WORLD IS THIS??!!" Her more masculine voice screamed in outrage.

"That's a first..maybe I am "too big to love". But it's alright. I'm not worried about those other people. Just you right neow." You held her closely again, letting her cry some more. "Thank you for being so caring and considerate, Ena. You're a wonderful friend."

"Friend...? But...we've only met five minutes ago..."

"Have we really? Because it seems like we've known each other for longer." Patting her head, you smiled as her colors turned back to their normal tones. But you weren't going to let her go unless she did so first....and the poor girl was still clinging to you like you're the world's softest pillow.

Whatever she must've went through before meeting you had to have been terrible, but she did blubber something about a rude entity and tripping over a pebble.

You didn't interrupt once, allowing her to talk.

At that point, she suddenly remembered that she was on her way to an auction when she got lost and winded up on a serious of unfortunate misadventures leading to your location.

But maybe she was destined to find you and get these sad feelings off her chest.

Even so, you didn't like seeing her so troubled over missing the event. And that's when you came up with an idea after she dried her tears. "I think I know where that is. I was gonna go..but changed my mind. I don't like crowds too much. But now I have a reason to change it again."

"Wha...What do you mean?"

"I can provide you with transportation there so you don't lose your way again. Don't worry. For friends, it's free of charge." You wink, seeing her cheering up right away. "Only thing is that...we might get there a little late. I never like rushing to things."

"Oh I'm not worried about that! Auction Day is an all-day event!! How could I refuse such a generous service?" Her yellow side laughed, immediately climbing onto your back. But as soon as she got settled, she suddenly looked apprehensive, tilting her head. "Is this alright? I'm not too heavy?"

"Nope. You're as light as a polygonal feather." You chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll be safe up there, Ena."

"This is much appreciated, friend. But erm...you mind going slow? I tend to get motion sickness."

"That's fine by me. Now let's be on our way."

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (20)

Word count: 3.1K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Guys, I so hope you like this chapter! It was a pleasure to write :)

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

“You are the most frustrating thing in the world,” you said to the burner phone standing silently on the tabletop. Only one person called or messaged on the phone and it had stayed quiet for a whole week. The longer it remained silent, the sadder you became. Sam’s desperation to prove his innocence must have turned into frustration and then anger. After all, he’d done everything right and had still been accused of something heinous by you. Anger would be natural. But you were scared that maybe the anger was turning into apathy now. Sam’s silence was proof.

Abby’s mother had fallen ill, and with a tight hug, she had bid you goodbye for the weekend. You felt lonelier than ever in the house. No Abby, no Jack, and no Han to wait for you at the pier when you lit a lamp. But most of all, no Sam.

The terror that had gripped you since first seeing Nick had dissipated some, but you were still afraid that he might turn up in the mansion and you would have to face him again. So, you spent most of your days in Martha’s kitchen, reading Wordsworth and his sad poetry.

However, after a week of skulking around the house like a phantom, you decided to open the forbidden connecting door to Sam’s room. Maybe seeing his pictures, trophies and books would bring some solace. The room looked as benign as the last time you had seen it, on the day before the gallery opening. The pictures were all there on Sam’s nightstand, now with a thin film of dust over them. Sam had locked the room from outside when he’d left, so no staff could get in, not a soul… except you. 

The sheets on his bed were perfectly made and you wondered if this is how he treated all the hotel rooms in the world, too, leaving them just as he had found them as if he’d never been there. But these sheets had held him close in nights, wrapping their silk around his body in a way you could only dream of. Quietly, you lifted a well-made corner and slipped underneath, hoping to envelop yourself in some trace of him. The sheets did not smell of him anymore. Despite all your efforts, the room did not seem like his at all with him gone. You remembered the line from your story of Eros and Psyche. When Psyche lost her trust in her husband, Eros, left in anger and despair… All love and beauty seemed to evaporate from the world in its entirety. 

You curled up on your side, twisting in the sheets, feeling Psyche’s frustration in every bone. Everything had been going smoothly, but you had let doubt corrupt your head and now Sam was gone. As you twisted on the bed, your hand touched something rough beneath the sheet. You sat up, discarding the sheets completely and reached out to find an envelope. You turned it around to see your name etched on top in Sam’s elegant handwriting.

You nearly tore the envelope in your hurry to get the contents out. Inside was a letter addressed to you.

Y/N,

I wanted to come clean. I wanted to tell you everything, but I’d be damned if I overstepped my boundaries and crossed the line of your consent. Not again. But if you are reading this, it means you’ve chosen to come to my room, and climbed into my bed of your own volition. It means that your consent was involved.

So, let me tell you how you ended up here in my bed, in this moment. Let me tell you everything from the very beginning.

Jo’s pie was still fresh on the table when we set out to find her, and that’s where we found it three days later when we returned. Dean took one look at it and his knees gave out. We’ve been through some tough times, Dean and I, but never had I seen him so scared in my entire life. When they found Jo’s body, Dean drove his car into a cliffside three days later. You probably don’t know this, but he loves that car and it came back wrecked, but still less wrecked than him. You told me about the days when your dad returned home between tours and he had this haunted look in his eyes, the look of witnessing death, causing it… seeing the people you love suddenly die. I might have looked that way, too.  Jo was like a sister to me growing up and she was dead, and Dean wasn’t just my brother, he was my whole world. Slowly, but surely, I was watching him waste away right in front of my eyes.

I didn’t see my mother die– another person who died because of me; died for me– but I was old enough to watch my father slowly kill himself. He’d return from these long trips and I would run to him, but he never spared me a glance. After all, I was the reason his wife wasn’t with him. He’d loved that woman more than anything in the world. I believe Dean reminded him of all the good times he’d shared with his wife, but I was a reminder of the peace he’d lost. If she hadn’t run in to save me from the fire, she’d be alive and breathing with him. No, he wasn’t outright cruel, but slowly as he drowned himself in whiskey, the whiskey truly drowned him. Dean found him like that in his study one night, without a heartbeat, but a drink still in his hand.

Dean became just like that in the months after Jo’s death, always clutching a bottle, eyes red and out of his mind. I can’t count the number of times I’d picked him up from bars with bloody knuckles and a bruised face, and I felt helpless watching my brother go the same way as my father, wishing, just wishing I could go back in time to stop Jo from leaving alone. One day my life had been good, not perfect, but good, and the next day it had been dragged to hell.

The first time I saw a light in Dean’s eyes was when the sheriff, Jody Mills, came back with some definitive proof. Before Jo, two other bodies had been recovered from Lincoln lake. And though they bore signs of more heinous abuse, the MO appeared to be the same, similar disappearances, similar disposal. There had been other disappearances as well, but no trace of the bodies and more than half of those could be traced directly to the estate. It was easy to put together the story… a human trafficking ring was active in the area. 

I saw my brother go from the edge of destruction to grasping at the threads of hope for justice. He threw himself into Jody’s investigation with this feverish energy. But no matter how hard he tried, or anybody tried, eventually, we all hit roadblocks. No one could get on top of the ring, and it got worse when Jody found out that even her superiors in the police were involved. She didn’t have any pull with federal law enforcement. Not then anyway. I was just starting to worry that I would lose my brother all over again when Jody came up with the plan… with this plan.

The plan was easy enough and by now I’m sure you know most of it, though, I didn’t think it would work. No one who has seen us growing up would believe I could throw him out, but Dean had a solution to that as well. ‘Just replace all staff’ he’d said. At first, I went along just in desperation to save Dean from the abyss he was in danger of falling into. Finding out who did this to Jo had become his life’s mission. I couldn’t take it away from him without losing him, too, but I didn’t really believe he and Jody would manage to implement it. But then there came a day when I had to make the decision, to be in or out.

I’d have died before letting Dean down, but that night he made me promise that I would go along. He had already transferred all his property and estate rights save for the shares, but that night he begged me to say yes… to do this abhorrent thing of paying money to own a human being. He justified it with fancy words… said I’d be saving a girl from life in hell, but I knew it for the depraved act it truly was. I don’t remember the things I said to my brother that night or the wreckage I left of the door and furniture, but in the end, I had to give in. How could I not? 

And so, before the day break Dean left, and the very next day, I assumed power of the board and estate. The first to go was Dean’s portrait from the gallery, and then every last item that could be associated with him was purged from this God-forsaken house. I moved in a week later and then within a month, the staff was replaced. Being cold and detached from them was hardly even work once Dean left. I was heartbroken enough to shut myself within me. But still, selfishly, I couldn’t let go of Jack and Martha, I was scared that I would be lost to even myself without them. After all, do you even exist if no one around you knows you?

So far the plan was working, but then suddenly it worked too well. The whispers that we had planted were taking root now. The word that I was looking to buy finally reached the right ears and one day, a man accosted me outside the office, offering the deal. He handed me a card with a location and asked me to be there at eleven the next morning. There, he had a photo book ready for me to pick from. Up until then, I had never hated myself more. To even look at the pictures, as if I was some kind of God to choose which one to save… which of these women was eligible to be rescued from this prison, and put into a different one. My prison wouldn’t have the torture of this one, but a place where she would be dragged to without her own free will would be a prison nonetheless.

I had to choose. One. I closed my eyes, gulped and vowing to come back for the rest after this one, I opened that photo book. And there you were on the 5th page. I stopped there and did not flip further. The man said you were not up for sale, that you were Boss’s favourite. I doubled the price, he wouldn’t agree still, I tripled the price. He made a call, and when I offered to pay five times the amount, the man on the other end of the line must have agreed because we sealed the deal. I got to keep the photo.

And Y/N, this is what I don’t get… I could have decided to keep flipping through those horrifying pictures and picked another, but once I saw you, there was no one else. Something about the look in your eyes… At least that’s what I told myself as I signed the cheque and asked to keep the picture. But the truth was, I didn’t want another man to ever look at your picture again. I’ve never looked at it again, myself. I came back and nearly burnt it, but then decided against it. You’ll find it in a brown diary on the top of the cupboard. Do what you please with it, only you should have that right.

You accused me of not looking you in the eye because I thought less of you, but how could I? After what I had done, I could barely stand to meet my own eyes in the mirror. I keep telling myself it’s the look in your eyes in the picture that made me stop, but what if I confessed that I liked the fall of your hair. In that moment I could nearly imagine the feel of your skin, your lips. How am I any better than all those men? How could I ever face you after that? How could I stand next to you on a podium and not want to die from the guilt of it all? How could I even breathe the same air? So, yes, Y/N, I didn’t meet your eyes. At the wedding, I didn’t look at you, didn’t touch your skin, because you deserved better than a depraved person like me even existing in the same room as you.

There’s one other thing I never told you. The night after the wedding, I opened the connecting door. I had to tell you the truth, fall at your feet and apologise profusely for the dastardly act, so my conscience could know some peace. The guilt of what I had done wouldn’t let me be, and when I did push that handle, I found you curled up on the floor, clutching your body. That’s when I knew that as long as I lived, I would never forgive myself for it, never hate myself more than I did in that moment. I vowed to never open the door again. Every night following that one, I would pace to the door, stand inches away, grazing the handle but never opening it. The routine reminded me of Pandora’s story. How in the end after unleashing all kinds of pain on the world, her box only held hope. Hope remained. Opening the door felt like that, it felt like giving up the little hope that someday you might forgive me.

Meeting your eyes in the dining hall that first time might be the bravest thing I’ve ever done, Y/N. It took all the courage in the world to hand you that portfolio, when I don’t even deserve to touch the sheets on which you drew. But each time you looked at me, smiled, or said yes to my beseeching efforts to take you around the property knowing you’d had several tours already, I let that hope bloom and when you agreed to be my friend, I vowed to never be untruthful to you. Ever.

So, no, I didn’t know you had already met Dean, that he was your friend. I hope you believe me.

From the very first attempt to speak with you, my only wish has been to gain your trust. Not to elicit information, but to become worthy of your faith, to be the confidant you confided in of your own free will and not out of a trick. I can see how wrong I was. I am sorry.

You’ve barged out on me twice now and locked yourself behind the door. But you shouldn’t have to put yourself in prison again and again. This letter might be a prelude to proving that Dean and I never colluded against you, but we’ve both had our interests in play. You’re the only party here that’s entirely faultless. You shall not be bound to a prison again. I will not allow it. And if the only way of setting you free from the bars of your room is for me to be out of sight, then that’s no price to pay at all. 

I won’t be back for a couple of weeks, and even when I am, I’ll make sure to be out of your way. 

I made you a promise, Y/N, that you will be safe in this house. That promise stands, even if it’s me you seek safety from. I may not be what you need. But I am still a man of my word. 

You WILL be safe.

-Sam

A drop fell on Sam’s name at the end and you hurriedly shirked the paper before any more drops ruined the letter. Rapidly, blinking at the wetness on your lashes, you rushed to Sam’s cupboard, throwing the doors open. Blindly, you patted the topmost drawer and found the leather-bound diary. The picture was wedged right in the middle. You stared at your own nearly naked form, kneeling with your knees splayed wide, torso bent forward and eyes staring into the camera. With a shock you realised, you barely recognised the face. 

The girl in the picture did not look anything like you. She had primmed eyebrows and a thin,  perfect face full of make-up. Her wide eyes held not an invitation, but almost a challenge: Come find out for yourself. 

Is that what Sam saw?

You moved to the mirror in Sam’s room to check your face, with fuller, unkempt eyebrows and hair that had long outgrown the coiffed cut. The skin didn’t have the perfect complexion but held faint splashes from where the sun had touched it. There were also the hints of wrinkles at the corner of your eyes– laugh lines.

Thinking back, everything seemed abundantly clear as to why Sam’s footsteps had always sounded so close to the door. You had assumed a cupboard or a desk there, but all those nights it was just him hovering, torn between guilt and self-hate. Why when you’d had the workers move his things to your room before the renovation, Sam had panicked about who touched his things, because he was scared of someone seeing the picture you now held in your hands.

Now that it was in your hands, you didn’t know what to do with it any more than Sam did. You should be feeling pity for that girl, chaffing her bare knees on the floor, but all you felt was a strange hatred. She was your past, but she would be your future, too. The imperfect but happy girl in the mirror would soon become a memory.

One week had passed and with one more week to go until Sam returned, you vowed to the girl in the mirror, that as long as she was your present, you would do everything in your power to keep her happy.

As far as Sam was concerned, he’d had his chance to get his truth out. It was your turn now.

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

A/N 2: I LOVED writing this chapter! The nuances of Sam's admission and the delicate nature of his emotions were just so damn satisfying to put into words! What did you think?

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[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; “Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids”. tw: panic attack, past trauma. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kara hears the heavy hatch doors slam shut behind them and collapses at the pitch-black bottom of the stairs with a despairing keen, and they’re all alone again, they’re alone, everyone’s left them, everyone will always leave them, always send them away, never let them stay even if it means– 

And then there’s the quietest little click, and artificial light blooms from the single glass vial that’s hanging from the ceiling, and Kara realizes–Ma’s standing under the vial of light, holding a beaded metal string attached to it, and Pa’s crouching down behind her and Kal to lay a hand on her back, making those hissing noises again and again, and the crashing . . . 

She can still hear the crashing, but . . . but it’s not so . . . it’s muffled, now, and more distant, and . . . and . . . 

It’s–a room. There’s . . . a pair of chairs, and no windows or doors besides the hatch behind them, just smooth liquid-stone floors and walls, and shelves full of . . . provisions, it looks like, and some rolled-up blankets wrapped in the odd clear material that looks like glass but isn’t, and two more one-lensed metal cylinders like the one Ma had inside, along with more boxes of those fat white wax cylinders and other things that look like they might be . . . emergency supplies, maybe, and . . . 

And Ma and Pa are here. 

Ma and Pa didn’t leave them. 

Kara bursts into tears all over again and curls down in on herself; wraps herself around Kal completely, and he cries into her chest where the crest of El doesn’t sit anymore, and she cries all over him. The crashing keeps going, but not loud enough to be too painful or disorienting anymore, and she can only barely hear the wind and rain except for where it’s hitting the heavy metal doors of the hatch. 

“Et-suh aw-rite, dee-eer,” Ma says softly, coming over and leaning down to hold her hands out to her, and Kara cries even harder. Ma’s voice is just as flat as ever, even with the quiet echo of it against the liquid-stone walls, but she’s never been so grateful to hear it. 

She throws the arm that isn’t holding Kal around Ma’s back before she can stop herself, before she can hold herself back from such an embarrassment of a display, and Ma just sinks down to her knees right in front of her and wraps her own arms around her and Kal in return, and so does Pa. 

“Thuh-air thuh-air, Ka-Lair,” Pa says, low and soothing, or at least Kara thinks “soothing” is what that tone means, from the aliens. “Jes thunn-darr, bay-bee gurr. Dunn bee scuh air-duh. Wurr suh ay-fuh dhow eer, yuh?”

Kara doesn’t know what he’s saying–“thunn-darr” was a word she remembers he’d said before, when this was still starting, though she still doesn’t know what it means, and . . . and maybe this is how weather is normally scheduled on this planet? Or at least in this area? Because of . . . the farms, maybe, or . . . ?  

And Kara–Kara realizes . . . Ma and Pa . . . Ma and Pa weren’t acting like it hurt when they heard the crashing. And all these supplies–they had all these same supplies set out in the kitchen all ready to be used right there, and seemed in no rush to leave the house or anything like that at all. They were already 

. . . did they only bring them down here because of her and Kal, not . . . ? 

Is it–do they have some sort of a neural implant to filter out the volume, maybe? Or some genetic modification or adaptation? Or maybe the crashing just doesn't sound so loud to ears that are used to flat alien voices? Maybe the crashing is–maybe it is something normal, here. Maybe it just–maybe whatever it is just happens, sometimes. Maybe the aliens’ weather modulators are less sophisticated than Krypton’s were and just make sounds like that, same as all the aliens’ transport vehicles are so noisy and shuddery. 

Ma and Pa only look worried about them, is the thing. Just them. Nothing else. They're only hugging them; not at all concerned with checking on each other, and clearly not worried about anything in the room or even themselves personally. Whatever's happening outside, they're used to it and don't think it's dangerous at all. 

That is . . . so embarrassing, Kara thinks, trying not to cringe as she shifts back out of Ma's arms and sniffs wetly; scrubs a rough fist across her eyes as Kal fusses unhappily in her lap. It’s shameful and indecent and pathetic, to cry and shriek and panic like that in front of anyone. It’d be shameful to act like that in front of a member of their family register, even. Ma and Pa have been so kind, so much kinder than they ever needed to be, and she's repaying that by getting scared of some perfectly normal thing they're both used to and not even concerned about as a threat? 

That's so–she doesn't even know how she'll show her face in front of their pretty little yellow sun when it comes back, after doubting it like that. After thinking it could've abandoned them like that. She hopes it’ll understand, but she still feels like an idiot; still feels like an embarrassment. 

What would her parents think of her, panicking over nothing and shaming their house and only upsetting Kal worse when she was supposed to be protecting him? What would their family think of her? 

Ma and Pa must think she’s being ridiculous. Must think she’s useless. Must think–