#the best sequel ever I’m not arguing

[pretendfan]

I hate editing, I want to post this Mickey Altieri story so bad but I want it to be good, I need to get it right…

So now I’m just distracting myself and hey quick question: how long is too long a time spent staring at the same gif? Why does he look so fucking hot here I swear I just ovulated🤣💦

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part three | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture. mentions of past sexual abuse, detailed descriptions of needles. chapter word count: 12,525 words.

-

B E F O R E

“Happy fourteenth birthday.”

Felix looks up from his work.   He underperformed in training today and landed himself a punishment.  His good record spared him anything too painful, but he has been assigned cleaning duty.  Taking apart, cleaning, and reassembling weapons is not difficult work – he could do it in his sleep – but it is tedious.

Tedium is its own kind of torture, especially these days with his mind in a state of tumult.  He has grown closer to Chris with each passing day.  Felix knows they are not meant to think of each other as friends, just fellow soldiers, but that is the word Felix uses.

My friend.

That is who stands over Felix now.  Chris is smiling and holding something wrapped in what looks like a kitchen napkin.  Felix blinks at it, then furrows his brow.

“Huh?”  Felix says.  “It’s not my birthday.”

“Could be!” Chris says. 

Felix supposes Chris has a point.  Felix does not actually know his own birthday because he bounced around foster care before he found himself in Miroh’s program.  If his birthday was recorded anywhere, no one told him what it was.  So it could be his birthday.  The odds are not great but not impossible.

“Um,” Felix says, because no one has ever wished him a happy – or happy possible – birthday.  He guesses the best reply is, “Thanks?”

“It’s not a trick, man,” Chris says, smiling.  He laughs at Felix, though it doesn’t feel cruel, and ruffles his hair before shoving the little wrapped item at him.  “Here,” Chris says.  “Got it especially for you.”

Felix unfolds the napkin and finds a cookie.  It’s not the kind of food that is served at the regiment because their diet is so strict.  Food is a sustenance and not a pleasure.

“Wow,” Felix says.  It is a genuine surprise.  Chris had to go out of his way to get this. 

Felix feels embarrassed.  He still struggles to cope with feeling in general.  He almost yearns for a simpler, more naïve time, when he didn’t have to think or feel, just trust and follow.  Now he is a flustered knot of embarrassment because Chris is giving him presents just because Felix mentioned he had never received one.  It was an off-handed remark a few days ago, that he didn’t know his birthday and had never received a present but that it didn’t matter because he didn’t deserve it.

And he didn’t, he doesn’t, deserve any of it.  Not a birthday wish or a thoughtful gift or Chris’s friendship.  Felix has so much blood on his hands and he doesn’t how much of it is innocent.  He never counted his kills like some other agents, stupid kids bragging to seem bigger and more powerful than their circumstances.   Felix never did it for glory.  He knew his place.  Now he doesn’t count them because it doesn’t matter.  It all comes back to him when he closes his eyes.  He remembers what they were wearing, what they said before they died, the things they begged to a naïve, indifferent child.

He doesn’t count them because he doesn’t need a number to know it’s too much and he will never be able to take it back.  He doesn’t deserve birthdays and friendships and Chris.  He never will.

He doesn’t say this out loud.  He knows Chris will argue with him, belligerent in his kindness and reassurance.  Felix won’t listen in turn.  The conversation would be useless.  Rather than bother, Felix asks, “Where did you get it?” 

“Hey, I know I’m trouble,” Chris says, still smiling, “but I got connections too, you know?” 

Felix guesses he means Miroh’s daughter as she is the only agent with outside connections.  They seem to have a tenuous understanding because she and Chris get in the most trouble.  Chris, because he still bristles at commands and steps out of line.  Her, because she’s Miroh’s daughter and held to a higher standard than the rest of them.

Chris can befriend almost anyone, garnering admiration in his peers if nothing else.  His rebellious streak means no one wants visible association with him, but in the quietest of corners there is a whispered respect for the First Guard.  He is as notorious as he is skilled and he has a natural leadership.

Felix supposes it is not outside the realm of possibility that even Miroh’s daughter would consider Chris a friend – but only somewhere even quieter than most.

Felix does not consider Miroh’s daughter a friend and he doubts he ever will.  Her proximity to Miroh makes her an even bigger liability than Chris.  Felix would never get close to someone like that, born into their position and too close to power for his liking.

“Miroh’s daughter, you mean,” Felix says.

Felix might keep his musings close to his heart, but that doesn’t mean Chris can’t read them anyway.  Chris is a soldier by instinct if not choice.  He is always one step ahead.  It’s like he is inside Felix’s head.  He seems to know what Felix will do before Felix does.

“Yeah,” Chris says.  He rubs the back of his neck, breathing deeply.  He looks almost sheepish, as if admitting he knows better.  “She’s not that bad when you get to know her.  Really.”

Felix is certain he looks unconvinced.  It makes Chris laugh.

“You look worried,” Chris says. 

“I do worry about you,” Felix says.  He looks down at the cookie in his hand.  It is hard to say out loud, but he manages a weak, “You’re my friend.”

Chris is suspiciously quiet.  When Felix looks up, Chris has a determination to his countenance. 

“Find me when you’re done here,” Chris says.  “I wanna show you something.”

Felix, as usual, does as he is told.  When his punishment ends, he tracks Chris to the barracks where the older boy is patiently waiting.  He claps Felix on the shoulder but otherwise doesn’t stop to greet him.  He is a little skittish as he leads Felix to their mysterious destination.

It is not so extraordinary in the end.  Nothing around here is.  Everything is cold chrome and sleek silver, one room much like the next, branded by Miroh as surely as its occupants.

Chris knocks out a ventilation panel then leads Felix to what looks like an unused crawl space, forgotten and collecting dust.

“Welcome to my office,” Chris jokes, still with that nervous laughter.  It is putting Felix on edge.

“Is everything all right?” Felix asks.

“Well, no, Felix,” Chris says.  “It isn’t.  You know that now, don’t you?”

A couple years of shared assignments between the best and second best, the rebellious and the reluctant.  A couple years of watching Miroh bludgeon his way through the world.  A couple years of regret.

A couple years of friendship to change everything.

“Yeah,” Felix says.  It is all he needs to say.

“Sit,” Chris says.  There is a corner of the room that has been cleared of dust, this part of the hideaway evidently well-used.  “Let’s talk.” 

Whatever conversation Felix expects to have, it is not the one he gets.  He sits and watches Chris, watches him breathe and measure his words.   Chris is usually confident in what he has to say, even when staring down a barrel of a gun.  This is more than disconcerting.

“I’ve been talking to some others in the program,” Chris says.  “We’re all growing up.  I’ll be eighteen soon.  If we’re already strong, we’re just gonna get stronger.  Miroh has complete control over us.  I’m scared that if we don’t do something about it soon, then everything is going to get worse.  A lot, lot worse.”

“Do something,” Felix says, his mind going a mile a minute.  “What do you mean?  Who else have you told about this?”

“People I consider friends,” Chris says.  He puts a hand on Felix’s shoulder.  “People like you, Felix.”

He thinks of the cookie in his pocket.  His heart punches up with alarm. 

“Miroh’s daughter?”  Felix asks and this time he knows for certain his thoughts are very clear.  He says her name – not even her name, her position, the daughter and heir of the very thing Chris wants to fight – and he says it with the obvious inflection of what-the-fuck-are-you-thinking? 

“She’s a friend,” Chris says in a voice he usually reserves for an enemy.  It startles Felix into silence.  Seeing that, Chris smiles, trying to lighten the mood.  “You don’t have to trust her,” Chris says.  “Just trust me.  Felix, I want to get us out, all of us.  I don’t want that man or any other man like him to hurt anyone else.  Not kids, not adults, not anyone.  I won’t put you in more danger, I swear.  That’s the opposite of what I want.  I’m gonna protect you, okay?  I’m gonna protect all of you.  When the time comes to take a stand, I just want you to be ready.  If something happens, if it all goes wrong…”

Felix looks at him, alarm and worry plain on his young face.  Chris squeezes his shoulder again.

“If…” Chris swallows then continues, “If it is all goes wrong, I’ll pay the price alone.  But I’d rather die trying to save all of you than live another day hurting innocent people for Miroh.”

“Chris—” Felix starts, an argument on his tongue.

“Don’t,” Chris says firmly.  “If there was anything worth dying for, Felix, then it’s this.  I’m gonna get you out.  I’m gonna get you all out.  I swear.  Just be ready for when I say.  Just trust me.  Just be my friend.”

Felix spends a week after that in a state of restless turmoil.  He sleeps poorly and fights worse and even spends a night in the Cell for his mistakes. 

He doesn’t know what to think about Chris and his intentions.  It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.   But if it worked…

It wouldn’t take the blood off Felix’s hands, but it would be a start to something better.  Felix has little thought for his own fate, undeserving as he is, but he thinks about Chris.  Chris, the First Guard, who has been here the longest, who has watched the most people die, who has been punished the worst.

Chris deserves better.

Felix believes in Chris.  He believes if Chris made an effort, then he would have what it takes to make a difference.  Felix knows Chris is capable. He could do what he sets out to do.

It is not Chris that Felix worries about.

Felix observes Miroh’s daughter, studying her more closely than ever before.  Felix trusts Chris’s general discretion but he worries Chris has a blind spot concerning her.  They are the only two in their age category and they share a small barrack, the forced proximity undoubtedly creating a semblance of intimacy.  Chris might trust her but Felix is not so biased.  All he sees is Miroh. 

Felix watches her.  She doesn’t spend much time with Chris in public, her only close relationship with Seo Changbin.  They are a bit notorious together.  Felix would not call them the best fighters but they are tricky.  He is pretty sure they throw their fights with each other and embellish more than necessary.  Both like a good skull crash, more brutal than efficient.  The trickery and brutality makes Felix more wary of her.

At the same time, her obvious friendship with Changbin shows she can care about someone else.  The pair throw a mean punch but always patch each other up after.

Chris catches Felix watching them.  They are having a go in the ring, punching and flipping, grinning when they think no one is watching.  They have smiles just for each other.

“You look really deep in thought, mate,” Chris says, laughing.  He hands Felix a water bottle while toweling down his own sweaty neck.

“Huh?” Felix finally breaks his concentration.  He takes the water and smiles one of his instinctive but fake smiles – the kind he uses on a mission, when he is trying to convince an adversary that he is an innocent, unassuming kid.

Chris sees through it, of course.  He lifts an eyebrow at Felix then follows his line of sight to the ring.

“What?” Chris says, laughing again.  His own ears turn a little red as he teases, “You got a crush on her or something?”

“Ew, shut up,” Felix says, throwing his own towel at him.  He feels flushed despite the fact it is vehemently untrue.  He is not used to being provoked with that line of teasing.  “No,” he says certainly.  “I have no feelings for anyone.  But I think they might.”

“Huh?”  Chris looks between Felix and the ring.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at them,” Felix says.  “They’re a little too close, don’t you think?” 

Presently, Miroh’s daughter has Changbin pinned to the mat.  She is on top of him and whispering something that makes them both snicker.

Chris stares at them.  After a beat of contemplative silence, he laughs.  Felix recognizes the fake sound, the same disarming humour Felix uses when conning someone.   

“Yeah,” Chris says.  “Hey, I’ll be right back, yeah?”  

Felix watches Chris amble over.  He says something to the duo and Changbin retaliates with some non-descript shouting and flailing.  Miroh’s daughter rolls her eyes.  She grabs Chris by the collar and yanks him into a fight. 

The rest of the day progresses without much fuss or bother.  Miroh has no jobs for them today so the schedule is just training and recuperation. 

Felix manages to avoid punishment today.  He tries expelling his anxiety in a fight but it does not fully work.  Felix has come to realize he is not very good at letting go.  Belief, emotion, the good, the bad: all of gets clutched in his fists and held to his heart.

Fighting tires him but it is not a satisfying tired, of exerted muscles and a pumping heart.  He feels weary and everything everywhere is so loud, the chrome and steel of the Miroh facilities like an echoing dome.  It cycles all that noise in an agonizing reverberation.  It feels inescapable.  He goes to the barracks which are smaller but it makes the claustrophobia worse.

Laying in his bunk, rubbing his temples, Felix dreams of a quiet room of his own.

It is then he remembers Chris’s hideaway.  Chris miraculously dodged punishment today so he retreated to the barracks a while ago.  Felix doesn’t want to disturb him but he figures Chris won’t mind him using the hideaway on his own if he’s careful.

They are permitted access to the training room for the few hours between work and mandatory repose.  The hideaway is en route so it is easy for Felix to stealthily retrace his steps without raising suspicion.  He disappears in the security blind spot the way Chris showed him.  

Felix is in the tunnel when he hears a noise.  He worries he was followed despite being so careful, but then he realizes the noise is ahead of him, not behind him. 

He freezes in the crawl tunnel, trying to discern the sound.  It doesn’t sound like talking, more like… breathing?  Heavy breathing. 

Then he hears a laugh that he recognizes as Chris.  And he is not alone.  The other noise is a sigh, a lighter, more feminine sound.

Oh.

Apparently, Chris’s hideaway is not just for talking to friends.  The sound of kissing and sighing is more friendly than his conversation with Felix, that’s for sure.

Felix is frozen for a minute, too stunned and embarrassed to think of moving.  He has to shuffle backwards to escape because he can’t turn in that part of the crawl space.  If this was a mission, he could do it, but this is personal.  He doesn’t want to get caught but it’s not because it will compromise any job; it’s because it will be awkward.

He scuffs his shoe in his backwards shuffle.  It clangs, a subtle sound, but one that makes him wince.

It goes quiet around the corner.  Felix knows he was heard and there is no time to escape.  Seconds later, a frantic looking Chris is in the tunnel, red-faced with a line of sweat on his brow.  His uniform is clearly dishevelled and Felix gets even more embarrassed.

Those feelings need somewhere to go.  It comes out of him in a burst of frustration.

“What are you doing?” Felix demands, his voice breaking. 

“Nothing!” Chris says, clearly a knee-jerk reaction.  Then he takes a breath and says, “Look, I can explain—”

“It’s not Miroh’s daughter,” Felix says.  He can’t even pose it as a question because he refuses to believe Chris could genuinely be that reckless and stupid.  Befriending her is one thing – a stupid thing – but fooling around with the daughter of the powerful man who owns them is begging for tragedy. 

“I’m not stupid,” Chris says. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Felix says.  “Whoever it is, you need to stop.” 

“Look—”

“Seriously, Chris!”

“Felix—”

“It’s not worth it!”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Chris snaps.  “You’re not normal and you don’t understand what it means to care about someone like that.”

It is obviously thoughtless, blurted in the head of the moment.  It hurts anyway. Felix wonders if Chris can see the pain on his face because Chris looks immediately remorseful. 

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that—” Chris starts.

“It’s fine,” Felix says.  “You’re right.”

“Felix—”

Felix pushes backwards and leaves without waiting for any protest.  He does not stop, marching all the way back to this bunk.  Anger and embarrassment have finally dissipated by the time he returns.  It has been replaced with determination.

Chris is the best, but he has been compromised whether he wants to acknowledge it or not. He feels too much, for everyone and everything, and it will get him in even more trouble than he is already in.  if he retaliates with thoughtless provocation when it’s just Felix confronting him, then what will he do when it’s Miroh and the stakes are even higher?

Chris said he would protect them all. He swore to succeed at any cost, including his own life.  There is no one swearing the same for him.  No one has ever protected him. 

Felix is the second best.  He has never left a job unfinished and for that he is not deserving of the protection Chris is offering.

It won’t clean the blood on his hands, but if Felix can save a life worth more than his own, then maybe it will start to justify all of this, all of him.

Chris was right.  Felix is not normal.  But he was wrong say that Felix doesn’t know what it means to care about someone.  Because of Chris, Felix knows how to care.  He knows what he has to do.

Chris can try and save them all.

Felix is going to save Chris. 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Miroh’s main facility has fallen.

It sounds so dramatic for something so anticlimactic, like you are describing the collapse of a kingdom and not the shutdown of his main office operation. 

It feels like an apocalyptic demise. 

You and Chan fight your way out of the building, taking on the people who fight in your name.  Your father’s name.  Miroh.

Miroh is dead.  Irrefutably broken, little more than a heap of meat on the tarmac.  With him gone and the only named heir on the run – you – this facility will shut down to maintain security. 

Miroh ran a meticulously compartmentalized business. There is protocol for everything so even if one part of his operation fell, the rest could continue unimpeded.  Miroh tried to establish a legacy that could rival old money like his enemy, going so far as to predict his own demise.  Miroh has long braced for the eventuality of his end, so he made sure his business could fracture and run without him.

He did everything in his power to make you just like him, a little broken fracture of himself to ensure that legacy.  But then he could not actually face what he created.  He could not actually let go.  He was the only one with the perspective and power and he had to keep it that way. 

Miroh would not have accounted for your rebellion, not for the sake of someone else.  For a friend.

Flashes of the last twenty four hours play in your mind.  You can hardly pinpoint the change in yourself.  It feels like this was somehow inevitable, despite how much you would have balked at the idea before.  But now it is all that matters.  It’s all that makes sense in this chaos.

You have to find your friend.  This facility will be empty in a matter of hours, but there are others.   Changbin is in one of them.  You have no idea where to start.

One thing at a time, you tell yourself.  Before you can ruminate on anything behind or in front of you, you need to fight.  You do not have time for introspection or planning.  You need to get away.  Away from this place, away from your dead father.

Away from his soldier, the First Guard, Bang Chan, who for some reason is helping you escape.

You don’t know why.  You seriously doubt your barely coherent pleading broke the conditioning and literal torture that made him into this thing. 

You don’t have time to find out.  At the first opportunity, you break away, leaving him with a handful of operatives to fight.  It should keep them all occupied while you escape. 

You do not want to risk trapping yourself in an enclosed space, so you do not venture to the parking garage where the company vehicles are stored.  Some of them will be programmed and bugged.  You feel bad targeting a civilian, but stealing one of their cars is the safest bet.   There are some administrative employees who complete menial tasks for the company, those with next to no clearance level.  They park their personal cars around the facility.  You pick one that is easy to reconfigure without a key to boot. 

Minutes later, you are driving for an exit.  Your whole body is aching but you push through it.  There will be time to recuperate when you are in the clear. 

Sirens wail and alarms blare, every security measure in action.  Your escape is certainly not a clean one but it doesn’t matter.  You just need to get away.

If you can get off the facility grounds, you can lose any adversaries in the back country roads.  The route to the facility was intentionally designed to be a convoluted labyrinth, making it difficult for enemies to approach without giving the facility ample preparation time.  You know the paths better than anyone.  You can get away.

A soldier marches right into the middle of your escape path. 

It is too brazen for a regular agent.  They would not be so stupid to try that, knowing you would just barrel into them. 

You speed closer and recognize the First Guard.  Chan is unflinching as ever, standing in the middle of the road as if he intends to stop your car with his body.   He is strong but not that strong.  You know that.  But he looks like an inhuman phantom, looming there in his combat gear and mask, unphased and unharmed despite the hour of nonstop violence.   

But that’s not the reason you stop.  You think about him in that van.  You could only see his eyes but they were expressive, the tilt of his head inquisitive. 

You slam on the brakes.  The car stops inches from his body but he doesn’t even blink.  

Your heart is racing, breath bursting in gasps.  He strolls around the car as if he was just waiting for his ride. 

Soldiering instinct propels your hands.  You draw a gun as he opens the passenger-side door.  He bends down and looks at you, his brow quirked with a silent question.  Your hand shakes and he is too good not to notice.  You know that, but a regular person would never guess because he does not take his eyes off yours. 

He disarms you, faster than a blink.   He drops into the passenger seat, then slams the door and shoves the gun in its storage compartment.

You stare at him.  Your gaze follows the line of his stark profile.  His hairline is a little sweaty but he doesn’t look out of breath.   

You don’t know what to think. 

This is the longest you have been in his company since you were kids in training.  Your memory of him is insubstantial, having spent little to no time with him personally.   But it hardly matters what he was.   Now he’s a soldier above all soldiers, a shadow filling this small civilian car.  He’s not the biggest man in the world but he’s overwhelming all the same, partially because of his uniform and partially because of his posture.  He feels too big for this little human space.  His knee hits the gear shift, his thighs bulky in the small seat, his shoulders broad where he leans back. 

He looks across the car and meets your eyes.  You think about how many people have met this gaze, maybe in a moment just like this, sitting across from Miroh’s asset in a little civilian vehicle before he put a bullet between their eyes or snapped their neck.  You have seen the results of his missions even if you were not involved in them.  The statistics and numbers speak for themselves.  Those eyes have seen more death than life and right now they are resolutely focussed on you. 

You jump when he lifts his hand.  He says nothing but turns the rearview mirror in your direction.  You reluctantly peel your gaze away from him.  You see what he sees: a vehicle in rapid pursuit of your own.

“Shit,” you say.  You shove the mirror back into place.  Your hands collide for a split second. 

You can’t linger on the weirdness of this moment, that the First Guard is your ally, sitting in the passenger seat and helping you escape.

You drive.  The other vehicle chases you down.  You get past the easy security measures, blowing past gates and guards.  When you approach the last gate, Chan rolls down the window and twists his body.  He pulls the stashed gun and aims somewhere.  Your eyes are on the road so you don’t see exactly what he does, but the gate slams shut between you and the pursuing vehicle, trapping them on the other side.    

Then it is just you, him, and the road. 

He puts the gun away.  He sits back.  He rolls up the window.  He makes it seem like a routine, still unphased while your heart pounds with adrenaline. 

You do not look at him.  You do not speak.  You focus on escape, taking a convoluted path through the countryside just in case.  When the facility is far, far behind you, you take a back road and pull into a shadowed space between some trees. 

You slam to a stop, shift the gear to park, but keep the engine running.  You clutch the steering so hard, you imagine it cracking beneath the force of your grip. 

Chan still does not speak.  The last time he spoke was on that rooftop.  What now? 

A damn good question. 

You look at him.  He is not sitting the way you would expect a machine of a man to be sitting.  You would have thought the First Guard would sit straight-backed and braced for confrontation, but his slouch is almost insouciant. He sits with his knees apart, his body slanted where his elbow rests on the door.   One gloved hand strums the door and the other is draped over his thigh.  He looks at you without any expression you can interpret. 

You are tired.  Your body hurts.  Your father is dead and the operation is changing and your only friend is suffering and you can’t do anything about any of it.  This morning you held a modicum of control over your life – or you thought you did – and now everything has spiralled. 

You know logically that Chan is a victim of Miroh, but right now it does not matter.  He is an infuriating figure of composure, not to mention your father’s greatest weapon, and that combination snaps the elastic thread of your patience, already stretched to its limits.

“Take off the fucking mask,” you say. 

He stares at you, his expression still unreadable.  You are tempted to reach across and rip the mask off his face.  You would definitely not succeed, no match for his reflexes on a good day, but logic is inconsequential in the face of your emotions. 

He doesn’t test you.  He stares for another moment then raises one gloved hand.  He unhooks the mask and peels it off.  He runs the other hand over his face and through his hair.   

You are not sure what you were expecting.  The same brown eyes stare back at you, lined with a smudged shadow to look as dark and intimidating as possible.  His brows are thick and dark, his hair as black, sweat loosening the slick style so a single curly tuft falls over his forehead. 

You follow the slope of his nose down to his mouth.  His mouth is closed and he is not smiling.  He has full lips, almost too pretty for what he is.  Glancing at that mouth on that too-pretty face, you picture a dimple smiled.  The memory is almost a blur, a smear of an image over his face.  You blink and it’s gone, his stoic face staring back at you. 

“What is it?” he says.  His voice is like the rest of him, too big in this small space.   You swear it shakes the car and the earth under it, though that is ridiculous.  It’s just a voice.  He’s just a man. 

Except he’s not.  He’s something else, something that should not have done what he did.  You have a million questions.  You need those answers before you can continue but it all jumbles together in your head.  It’s all too much, the flashes of today, of the past, of an uncertain future full of even more violence.

You finally turn off the engine and get out of the car.  You have no intention of going anywhere, but you need space. 

You pace in a long line, breathing in and out, using every trick in the book to ease your racing heart.  After a minute, you hear the passenger door open.  You look over your shoulder at Chan.

You can’t help the instinctive reaction to measure him like an adversary.  It doesn’t help he has pummelled you twice in the last few months, not to mention his horrid reputation in an already horrid place.  It would be stupid not to brace yourself. 

He approaches you cautiously.  He has the gall to raise a hand like you are the wild thing and he is the tamer. 

“Easy,” he says.  His voice is not so booming out here.  Other than the dark combat uniform, he almost looks normal, his whole face open to you, eyes narrowed with intense focus. 

It makes you breathe harder, the exhale shaky.  He notices because he tries to placate you. 

He smiles. 

It is forced and unpracticed, but there are those dimples, just like you thought.  You would have been less startled if he bared his teeth like an animal.  The smile unnerves you, undoing all the calming work of your exercises. 

“It’s all right,” he says in a frighteningly gentle voice.  He tilts his head as he looks at you.  “It’s just me, yeah?”

Just him.  Like that should comfort you.  You suppose you can marginally see things from his perspective, that maybe he has proved himself.  After all, he helped you escape.  It is obvious he is not doing this for your father or he would not have let you kill him.  This is not part of a grand plan.  There is no strategy.  It’s all over. 

It’s just you and him.

It does not comfort you the way he evidently thinks it should.  Now is the time to ask those million questions, but you are beyond words.  You are a live wire and that pitiful attempt at a truce ignites a flare of angry sparks. 

You were built to fight.  It punches out of you.  Literally.

Chan is faster than you.  He dodges your swing with ease, fast as an electric current himself. 

“Hey now,” he says, holding out both hands.  “Don’t—”

You know you can’t win this fight.  You know it’s stupid to try.  But each swing flies out of you, instinctive as breathing.  He catches every blow, bats your hands out of the way, but he doesn’t swing back.  His refusal to fight infuriates you.  It makes you feel as helpless as you are. 

An aggravated cry spills out of you, a strain behind your eyes as you take another swing. 

“Stop it,” he snaps, his smile gone. 

He finally goes on the offense, catching your hands and pinning them down.  There is a moment of struggle before you feel the driver door at your backside, his body caging you in.   You rear up against him but he holds you down, hip to hip, hand to hand. 

“I said stop it,” he says.  “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you ask, voice breaking.  “What the fuck are you doing?” 

Your chest is pressed against his, moving with your breath while he stands like an ungiving wall.  You glare at him and he stares back.  His brow furrows in seeming confusion.  He closes both eyes and breathes out, a steadying breath. 

You thought seeing him lose composure would make you feel better, but you feel worse, more unnerved than before. 

He looks at you, a muscle in his jaw feathering when he clenches it.  You stare at it as he releases you.

“You must know I can’t trust you,” you say. 

You make the mistake of lifting your hands to shove him away.  You do not intend to punch him again, the worst of that aggression gone, but he doesn’t know that.  You suppose you can’t blame him for his instincts after your demonstration. 

When you lift your hands, he grabs your wrists.  Swiftly and effortlessly, he pins your hands by your head.

“Oh,” he says.  His eyebrows lift and his face is far more expressive than you expected.  “I’m the one who can’t be trusted, right?” 

“Excuse me?” you snap. 

“I’m doing my job, yeah,” he says.  “Yesterday you were running jobs for Daddy and today you shot him dead.  Wanna talk about erratic behaviour?  Wanna talk about who’s unpredictable?  About who can trust who here?” 

Your mouth parts with a useless, breathless rebuttal, stammering and empty.  You didn’t expect that many words from him, not when he has been a silent shadow for so long.  Never mind the easy, casual speech, every colloquialism and the taunting hurl of daddy.  It makes you think of that scathing, troublesome boy he once was, as sharp with his tongue as everything else.  But he is not that boy.  You know for a fact he was broken.  He has done all those jobs for Miroh without causing any strife in the operation.  He is a weapon and nothing more.  He exists to follow orders. 

Until today.  Until you. 

“So?” you finally say, because what else can you say? 

“So?” he repeats. 

“So.”  You have those million questions, but there is only one that really matters.  “What are we?  Soldiers without a general? Because right now it seems like we’re two people who have no reason to trust each other and no reason to work together.” 

Your gazes are locked and you measure each other.  Not that you are much of a threat to him.  He has you pinned with very little effort.  If you were at your fighting best, you like to think it would be a little challenge, but right now you stand no chance against him.  

But he doesn’t want to hurt you or he would have done it already. 

He drops your hands.  He doesn’t step away, still regarding you with that scrutinous eye, but it is a menial demonstration of trust. 

You drop your arms.  You stare back at him, refusing to show the depth of your weakness.  You think his body might be keeping yours upright, your legs so weak.  You do everything in your power to keep your wild emotions in check, to keep the tears in the back of your eyes.  You breathe deeply. 

“I’ll help you find your friend,” Chan says, the last thing you expect him to say.  You can only watch as he sighs and speaks.  “You were my last mission,” he says. “Miroh told me to bring you in.  I did.  He wanted me to watch you.  I am.  He wanted me to be your—”  He laughs but it is not a happy sound, dry and devoid of pleasure.  “Your bodyguard, I guess.”  He shakes his head.  “Consider this me following orders,” he says.  “That’s what I do, yeah?  I follow orders.  And I don’t leave a job unfinished.  Ever.” 

“And Miroh?” you say tentatively.  “The fact I killed him?”

He shrugs dramatically, hands open in surrender. 

“Miroh didn’t make me his bodyguard,” Chan says.  “He made me yours.” 

It is such preposterously simple logic that you laugh, a disbelieving bark of a sound.  You look around at nothing, like the answer to your ridiculous circumstance is in the trees or the road.  

When you look at Chan, he is still looking at you, his brow quirked inquisitively. 

“Well?” he says.  “Is that enough?  Can we work together to finish this last job?” 

“Your job,” you say slowly.  You meet his eyes.  “So that’s what I am to you?”

It’s meant to be an easy question with a reassuring answer.  He is a soldier.  You are his job.  He will do what you ask.  It’s as simple as that. 

He tilts his head as he looks at you.  His contemplation is too heavy.  It was a simple question for a simple soldier who should speak no language outside of missions and reports. 

His gaze is searing and it makes your heart skip a startled beat. 

“Yes,” he says.  He speaks the word like it’s exhausting to say out loud.  It lands with a thud on an exhale.  “My job.”

His forearm is planted by your head.  His other hand grips your bicep.  He is keeping you in place with his hips and thighs.  You can feel the tension in his body. 

You have no idea why you do what you do.  It comes from the same place as those desperate punches.  You know it’s useless, you know nothing will come of it, but you ride the propulsion of adrenaline.  Your body, on the brink of desperation, has been pushed to its utmost capabilities in the last couple hours.  What does it want?  What do you want?

What did you ever really want?

You kiss him. 

It shocks you both.  Unlike the punch, he does not know how to retaliate.  He stands there, breathing into your mouth.  He is neither encouraging nor withdrawing. 

You stop quickly and wipe your mouth.  Mortification sets in. 

None of this is like you.  You blame stress.  Your body is confused and hurt.  You need recuperation.  Whether you like it or not, you need comfort too.  It is a deep internal call, only human.  But you won’t be getting that from the solid, inhuman wall around you. 

You push at that wall and it finally gives.  Chan steps back.  You doubt a punch would have moved him so easily as that kiss. 

“Ignore that,” you say.  “Adrenaline.  I’m still – not right.”

He just stares, once more a silent shadow.  You breathe out in a huff. 

“Okay,” you say.  “And we’re back to the staring.  At least I know you’re still working.”

You turn to open the car door, effectively ending the tense exchange.  Chan walks away.  He silently circles the car to reach the passenger door.  You look at his face, once more stoic and expressionless.  He doesn’t look at you, dropping into the vehicle without another glance or sound. 

You close your eyes.  You take another deep breath of fresh air.

Maybe this is good.  Maybe Chan is the ally you need right now.  Someone level, someone only concerned with mission parameters.  Someone who will not become compromised because of emotion. 

Because you are very compromised. 

You are not thinking clearly.  You need a plan and some water and rest. 

You get in the car.  You start the engine.  You don’t speak another word.

-

You drive for hours, wanting distance between you and the destruction.

The silence in the car is piercing, your head aching after the first hour.  The little space acts like an echo chamber for your tumultuous thoughts.  You keep replaying the day, every death and cry.  You think about your security team strewn across those stairs, just another casualty in Miroh’s game.  You think about your father, the unplanned murder but the utter lack of regret in your heart.

You think about Changbin.  Your reckless side wants to look for him right now.  You cannot stand to waste another second.  Based on your father’s words, he could be anywhere, subject to any number of horrors.  But despite the whirlwind tempest of your mind, there is a soldier inside you and she is more pragmatic.  You are in no condition to fight.  Even if you knew Changbin’s exact location, you would be no use to him.  You need to rest, formulate a legitimate plan, then attack. 

You can’t afford to make any mistakes.  Better than anyone, you know the forces you are up against. 

You pull into a highway fill-up station at dusk.  The car needs fuel and so do you.  There is a little shop near the fuel pumps, the place deserted other than the bored cashier behind the counter. 

There was some cash in the glove box, enough for necessities.  You will inevitably need to steal or manipulate, but you prefer to lay low tonight.  You were careful to avoid traffic cameras and security tv as you exited the previous city.   By the time the car is reported and Miroh’s operation works out your connection, you will be off the grid. 

You turn off the engine and reach for the wallet.  Chan snatches it first. 

“What are you doing?” is spoken in unison. 

“I’m going to buy us some fucking water and food,” you say. 

“Are you?  Really?”  He gives you a pointed up-and-down look.  “You gonna do that looking like you just played cannonball with a cement wall?” 

You have not gotten a good look at yourself, just a flash in the rearview mirror, but he is probably right.  You feel like utter shit so you must look it too. 

“Well, you can’t go in there either,” you say.  Even without the mask, he is clearly in an unusual uniform.  A bored clerk will remember a terrifying soldier in combat clothes marching through his shop. 

Chan flashes you a dimpled smile, frighteningly charming.   

“Sure I can,” he says.  “Just have to blend in.” 

Your eyes widen as he discards both gloves then opens the neck of his shirt.  You stare as he efficiently strips off his top layers. 

If he looked powerful in the uniform, he looks as just as intimidating without it.  He doesn’t boast gargantuan proportions but he doesn’t need it.  There is lethal strength to the rolling musculature of his sturdy body. 

You shouldn’t care.  Soldiers strip all the time, long assignments and shared compartments making it an inevitability.   But Chan is not just another soldier.  In your head, he is that living shadow, covered all the way up to his eyes in the Miroh black and blue.  Seeing all that skin is a startling reminder of the man under the mask. 

You find Chan watching you, amused.  That stupid eyebrow is quirked again. 

“What?” you snap. 

“Nothing,” he replies.  “Be right back.  Don’t miss me too bad.”

You roll your eyes, slumping in your seat as he gets out of the car.  You have half a mind to drive away but you are pretty sure he would find a way to manifest at your destination anyway. 

You watch as he enters the shop in a nonchalant stroll, wearing just his pants and boots.  He waves at the cashier and says something that makes him laugh. 

To his credit, Chan looks like a regular guy on a hot day, casually perusing a gas station shop.  He makes small talk with the cashier and they laugh some more. 

You knew Chan was a good soldier but you didn’t expect him to be such a good agent too.  He is probably better at the civilian act than you.  You are standoffish and opt for a quiet demeanour, blending in through invisibility rather than a persona. 

Chan walks in and out, the cashier unaware of the nature of his customer.  You return to the road with a full of tank of gas and some sustenance. 

“Are you going to put your shirt back on?” you ask. 

He gives you a side-eye as he shrugs the outermost layer back on.  He doesn’t do it up.  You refuse to act like a glimpse of his bare chest means anything to you. 

Except it does.  When he sits there with his knee against the console and his skin showing and a tuft of hair over his forehead, he looks like a person.  He is a person, one who has been subject to some of the worst horrors of Miroh’s operation. 

There is no denying Chan is a complicated figure, unwillingly complicit in atrocities.  He acts like a normal person with a fully cognizant mind, but you just witnessed for yourself how easily he can fake that.  You do not know how much of the real Bang Chan is actually inside him. 

“Chan,” you say after a long time.  The sun has almost fully set, the sky in its navy gloaming. 

“Yeah?” he says. 

There are no words that suffice.  You could give an entire speech and it would be virtually meaningless.

“I’m sorry,” you say, leaving the breadth of the apology up to his interpretation.  You keep your eyes on the endless miles of highway that stretch ahead.  There is a long journey in front of you.  There is a longer road behind you. 

The car is illuminated with golden light from passing cars and overhead lamps.  It flashes over his face in the deepening darkness. 

“Don’t be,” Chan says.  He crosses his arms in a protective position, looking out his window though there is nothing to see but the highway and passing cars.  “None of this was your fault,” he says.  

You laugh, a similar humourless sound to his earlier laughter. 

“That’s not entirely true,” you say, thinking of all the missions you deliberately ran for Miroh.  You thought you could make it mean something.  You were just like your father, believing the ends would justify the means.   You never tortured Chan yourself, but you were part of the operation that kept him in chains.  There was nothing you could do to save him, but you certainly never tried. 

He looks at you.  You hear him move, the crinkle of his clothes, the water bottle he twists in his grip. 

“I don’t blame you, you know,” he says.  “Seriously.  Today was crazy.  Everything’s crazy.  You’re not responsible for it.” 

“I’m not not responsible,” you say.  “My team is dead.  My friend is gone.  My dad – well, you can’t say I didn’t do that.”

“He had that one coming,” Chan says, his laugh a little more real.  “No offense, but your dad kinda sucked.”

You find yourself laughing more genuinely too. 

“Yeah,” you say.  “I think we can agree on that.” 

You fall into silence but it is more comfortable than before.  There has been an undeniable tension since the moment he climbed in this car, looking at you with questioning confusion as you pointed a gun at him.  You were panicking but he must have been equally bewildered.  To him, you were a mission.  He lives by his orders. 

“I should apologize to you,” he says.

You look at him with obvious surprise.  He meets your gaze, his expression sincere if not a little chagrined.  His dimples show with a faint smile but it is not very happy. 

“I’ve been an ass,” he says.  “Today was – well.”  He runs a hand through his hair. 

“Trust me,” you say.  You try to lighten the mood with your tone.  “I’m a Miroh.  You will never have to apologize to me for as long as you live.”

He doesn’t laugh or even force that pretend sound.  He stares ahead, his gaze sorrowful and faraway. 

“Sorry, that was—” you begin. 

He forces a smile and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says.  “Truce?”

Smiling feels awkward and your injuries probably make you a terrifying sight.  But he accepts it, nodding at you.  The car does not feel like such a claustrophobic space after that.  The air is clear as it can be, considering who you are.

Neither of you has an identity right now.  You were tethered to the same monstrosity and now it is gone.  Everything is different.

You are too tired for another late-night heart-to-heart.  It is time for rest. 

-

There is enough cash for a cheap motel room.  You find a quiet inn off the highway, sequestered beyond trees and countryside fields.  You finally look at yourself properly in the bathroom mirror.  You decide Chan’s earlier remarks were a severe understatement.  You look like a battleground more than a soldier. 

You injures will repair themselves with time, but it is a grisly sight.  You shower for now.  The soap and water helps. 

You don the same shirt and underwear.  New clothes will be a necessity.  You mentally plan tomorrow, everything you will need to accrue before you formulate an attack.  You have already mentally plotted the closest facilities, but you will need to verify their function and security protocol before striking. 

You are mentally strategize as you exit the bathroom.  You are distracted, thinking nothing of the fact you are wearing underwear and a shirt. 

Chan already showered because you insisted, knowing you would take longer with your injuries.  He is sitting on one of the single beds, sorting through his weapons. There is the gun you stole from Miroh plus his own array of armaments, things so well hidden you did not realize he even had them.  They are laid out on the bed.  He sits at the foot in his combat pants and nothing else, his dark hair damp and face bare. 

You stroll past him, feeling his eyes as they lift from a gun to your bare legs.  Now that you have scrubbed the worst of the brutality from your body, you feel like something of a person again.  His flicker of attention ignites an undeniable spark in your belly.  At first, it startles you, because the First Guard is the absolute last person you should ever think of like that.

But then you look at him.  He has turned his eyes back to his work, saying nothing as he reloads the gun with second-nature efficiency.  He is holding a weapon but, despite his conditioning, he is just a man. 

You are a grounded person.  You keep your head down and go about your tasks with confident certainty.  He is here, you are here, it has been a long day, and it is not unusual for soldiers to seek comfort before the dawn of a new fight.  Comfort is as important in healing and recuperation as anything else. 

You sit on your own bed and look at him. He is effortlessly attractive with his dark hair and dark eyes, the sloping muscle of his firm body.  You trace his chest and abdomen with your eyes.  He does not lift his gaze, his attention on the gun.

“Do you want to fuck?” you ask.

Bang Chan is the best soldier in the force.  You are pretty sure he has never fumbled a weapon quite so spectacularly.  It clatters to the floor and he kicks it under your bed.

“What!” he says.  He doesn’t look at you as he retrieves the gun, laughing a comically nervous giggle.  “Um… what?” he asks again.  Before you can answer, he shakes his head. “That’s uh, wait.  Um.  No.  Bad idea, right?  I mean—”

“It’s just a suggestion,” you say, not really offended. “It’s been a long day.  It doesn’t mean anything.  We’re both adults here.”

As you say it, you consider his circumstances.  Chan has spent his entire life in the house of Miroh.  He is not innocent but he might be inexperienced.  This man has killed dozens of people and worked dozens of dangerous operations.  His body is built for violence, not pleasure, and certainly not his own. 

You find yourself blurting, “Have you ever…?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, brow furrowing with annoyance. 

“All right, all right, just asking,” you say.  You decide not to push the topic because it clearly makes him uncomfortable.  You just cleared the air and you don’t want to muddy it again. 

You change the topic swiftly.  You make some empty remark about the weather as you turn on the small television.  It’s an old contraption, buzzing with static as it flickers to life.    

Chan resumes his work.  He puts his head down to concentrate. 

Your gaze inevitably strays to him. 

His hair dries curly.  It feels like an unusual thing to know about the First Guard.  He looks so much younger with a clean face. 

You jump when that face lifts.  He looks at you. 

“It wasn’t… you know…” There is a hunch to his shoulders, his eyes dropping to his work.  “I just did it on missions, ya know?” 

“Did it,” you say.  “On missions.”  It doesn’t register right away, partly because you are tired and partly because you did not expect him to continue this conversation.  “You mean sex?” you ask.  “You had sex on missions?” 

“I had sex for missions,” he corrects, eyes on the weapon he is disassembling.  He is acting like the conversation is meaningless, his attention divided, but you know his task does not require that degree of concentration.  He could take that thing apart in perfect darkness. 

“For missions,” you repeat.  “What, like a honeypot type scheme?  You?” 

It seems ridiculous at first.  You picture the First Guard smashing through windows and tackling you in stairwells.  There is nothing seductive about that raw violence.   But then you look at the man in front of you, young and handsome, the one who so easily charmed that cashier while pretending he was someone else.  You picture him in a suit and tie, maybe a t-shirt and jeans.  He would be devastating with the right preparation. 

Chan is the best.  Maybe it shouldn’t surprise you he would excel regardless of the scheme. 

“Something like that,” he says.  He finally loads the magazine.  “It wasn’t so bad, though.  Seriously.”  He twirls the gun with an effortless flourish.  The grip finds his palm like the pistol is a part of him.  “Trust me.  My body was used for worse things.  You get that too, yeah?” 

You suppose you relate well enough.  You were raised in the same program, put through the same grueling regimen.  You have done things and you are not proud of them all.   Your circumstances are not the same, though.   You are each uniquely situated in your positions, even if you started in the same place. 

We’re all that’s left.

Changbin’s voice in your head causes your mind to drift. 

“What about you?” Chan asks, drawing you back to the conversation. 

“Me?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” he says.  “You.”   

The First Guard is asking you about your sex life.  You woke this morning in a safe house and put on combat gear, ready for another mundane day of field work.  Somewhere in the middle of that was a cascade of violence.  Now Bang Chan is asking about your sexual proclivities.  If you weren’t so exhausted, you would laugh. 

“I mean, nothing special,” you say, sufficing for the boring truth.  “Mostly just this.  Sex doesn’t really mean anything to me.  It’s like exercise.  Long nights on a job.  You know.  Fellow soldiers on a mission.  Sometimes a civilian hook-up.” 

You can’t parse the expression on his face.  His gaze is somewhat judgemental, or maybe it is just scrutinizing, intensely focussed.  It bristles your nerves.  Your tone is more derisive when you say, “I’m not a romantic.”  You hold his intense stare in your own.  “Sex is just a bodily function to me.  Sometimes the body needs the release or the pleasure or whatever, so I satisfy it and move on.  That’s who I am.  I work.  I get the job done.  That’s what I have always done.”

What you always did.  You are not sure how to describe yourself anymore.  You nonetheless punctuate that definitive statement.  You assume that is the end of the conversation. 

Then Chan asks, “So there’s… no one… for you?” 

If he was any other soldier, you would think he was angling for flirtation, but he just turned down your very blatant offer. You do not know why he has any motivation to ask such personal and irrelevant questions. 

It is not worth the argument.  You conclude with a simple, “No.” 

He nods, rocking his whole body with the force of his too-casual gesture.  The tips of his ears are red, though your gaze does not stay there.  You are quickly distracted by his bicep.  He lifts an arm to rub the back of his neck, muscles softly rippling.  His brazen questioning coupled with his awkward shyness is incongruous. 

You think it is unlikely you will ever understand this man.  He has been taken apart and put back together too many times.  Fragments of him seem to fire all at once and in great contradiction. 

“What about Changbin?” he asks.  “He must be pretty special to you.  Ya know, for you to have done all this for him.” 

You are simultaneously struck by repulsion and sentiment.   Changbin is very special and you regret not realizing it sooner.  He has always been at your side, taking hits to protect you well before he became your bodyguard.  He is the person who kept you smiling.  You understood each other on a different level.  His friendship was a rare gift and you took it for granted.  Now you would do anything to have it back. 

But also…

It’s Changbin.  Ew.  You are an only child but you feel a brotherly affection for him.  Picturing him in any other context is nauseating.  It just feels wrong. 

You have such a visceral reaction of disgust that Chan laughs.  He puts up his hands as if in surrender. 

“Sorry, sorry, my bad,” he says.  “Just friends, then?” 

“Yes,” you say.  “Though there’s nothing just about it.” 

You have replayed that rooftop exchange a hundred times, torturing yourself with every possible outcome.   If only you did this, if only he did that.  You rearrange every second, trying to find a version with a different ending.    

You wonder how he will react when he finds out what you did.  Aha, murder princess living up to her name! he might say.  The old man should have seen it coming.  I knew you could it, but of course I did. I’m so much smarter and better looking than everyone else here. 

You smile at the idea but it fades quickly. 

Changbin was with you last night.  He was sitting within arm’s reach, his scar under your fingertips.  Now he could be anywhere and it’s all your fault.  Not just because of the rooftop mistakes, but because of every mistake you made before that.

You exhale.  Your shoulders shake.  Chan watches you close a fist around a pillow.   

“You all right?” he asks. 

“I’m ending it,” you say. 

“Sorry, what?”

“I always thought Miroh was an inevitability.”  You are speaking out loud but mostly to yourself.  Your gaze is fixed on some distant point, your mind and heart miles away.  “But he wasn’t,” you say.  “No more soldiers.  No more experiments.  No more bribes and theft and terror.  My father is dead and I am going to do what I should have done a long time ago.  I am going to make sure his work dies with him.”

You look at Chan.  A day ago, you both existed for Miroh.  Now you are two people planning to dismantle an empire from a motel room and a stolen car.     

“Do you have a problem with that?” you ask. 

A part of you is braced for the worst, that he will reject it, that he will revert to some kind of conditioned programming and drag you back to a facility for condemnation. 

Even while you think it, you know it won’t happen.  The eyes staring back at you are as clear as your own. 

“I’m just the bodyguard,” Chan says.  “I go wherever you go.  Always.”

You feel invigorated to start now, but you are tired beneath the burst of adrenaline.   You need to let your body heal.   

The room is dark and you doze in the light of the television. After a couple hours, you roll over and find Chan is still awake.  He is laying on his bed, arms crossed and eyes open.  He is watching the shopping channel, ad after ad after ad, with far more intensity than it merits.   His mind must be somewhere else.  You can only imagine what he is thinking about. 

You wonder how much he knows about himself.  He responded to your half-coherent treasonous pleading.  Does he remember hating Miroh?  Or is he truly only helping you because of mission parameters? 

It is easy to forget when he is a bare-faced, curly-haired young man slouching in a motel bed, but Bang Chan is lethally competent.  He knew all of Miroh’s innermost schemes.  It will come in handy now, but it makes him an irrevocably dark character, whether it was willing or not. 

You wonder how much Changbin would trust him. 

Wait.

You were so distracted with your plans, you did not question a moment in your conversation. 

Chan mentioned Changbin. 

You never told Chan the identity of your friend.  When you were pleading with him, you just called him a friend. 

Maybe Chan heard you talking to your father.  Maybe he knows about your relationships because that was his job.  Maybe he just guessed because Changbin volunteered himself in the ring. 

Maybe Bang Chan remembers more than he is letting on. 

-

You fall asleep to the soft drone of the television.  Your mind is walking in circles and you dream of similar rings.  Nightmares of chrome cages and steel traps, a suffocating helplessness squeezing your ribcage. 

In your dreams, the room fills with smoke, a charcoal smog that chokes you as quickly as the compression on your chest.  You look down but you can’t see your body, only feel it.  Your invisible body struggles against invisible bindings.  You gasp for breath.

Your father appears.  It is him holding you down, a heavy hand in the middle of your chest.  You cry out.  You want to move but your body is trapped.

You close your eyes.  When you open them, Changbin is there.  He is still a teenager.  His head is bleeding – why is his head bleeding? – but he wipes the blood as if it’s nothing more than sweat, all his focus on you. 

Of course it is.  He’s your friend.  He’s here to save you.  How did you not see it before?  It’s like you have been moving through the world in a fog, the same grey smoke that envelopes you now.  His face is the only clear image, gawky with youth but alive and real.

The weight is lifted off your chest.  Black spots swarm your vision as you suck in a lungful of air. 

When you look again, Changbin is grown.  He looks like he did a day ago, dark bangs in his eyes, stocky build ready for a fight. 

“I’m not leaving here without you.”

Not leaving here.

Not leaving here.

Not leaving here. 

His voices dances around you.  You are trapped in your body, a screaming, shrieking force, watching through dead eyes as the world spins.  People pass but they don’t hear you.  You try to reach for someone but your body doesn’t respond to your thoughts. 

A labyrinthine stretch of road unfurls then disappears.  You are standing in the infirmary at the main facility.  You stare at yourself, the younger version of you.  You are already dead behind the eyes, resigned to your situation.  There are masked doctors around you.  A tray full of needles.  You watch as the long point penetrates your skin.  You’re just a child, arm so small in comparison. 

Your child face contorts with pain, an expression your adult face cannot mimic because you cannot control your face. 

You remember the pain, even if you cannot cry.  It was like nothing you had ever felt.  The pain meant it was working. The medicant was only administered to you when it had been thoroughly tested.  The first injection killed every subject except one.  The second program was a success. 

The children were writhing in pain for weeks, screaming and crying, begging for parents that never came.  Yours did, looming over your bedside, touching your feverish forehead and speaking through the fog of pain. 

An investment, Miroh called it.  You’ll thank me one day. 

Changbin is there.  He is a child too.  They put a needle in his skinny arm.  He winces but he doesn’t cry.   He isn’t scared of the needles or the pain, but he isn’t eager either.  He is just there, his head down. 

You blink and he is grown.  The needle is still in his arm, only it is not an injection but an extraction.  You watch the fullness of his face wither.  They are taking too much.  He becomes a child again, screaming in pain.  

The same pain moves inside you. 

No, worse. 

Worse. 

You never could have imagined a worse pain.  It courses through your whole body, peeling apart your insides while you lay there, helpless, watching.   

Your father stands over you.  You’ll thank me one day.  

He disappears.  For a flickering moment, you see Bang Chan.  Curly-haired, dimpled cheeks.  He stutters and shakes like a bad film projection.  His face contorts, changes.  Wide dark eyes stare at you, his face covered in rain – water – tears?  Pouring down his cheeks, mouth open and a mute cry in the grey. 

You want to touch him but you cannot move.  His face flickers again.  You feel a tiny, infinitesimal twitch in your pinky. 

Then he disappears altogether.  Your father is there.  He grabs you by the shoulders and slams you down, straight through the earth, holding you there in the darkness where no one can find you and you cannot move. 

“Hey—” comes a voice, somehow reaching you in the depths of that pit.  “Hey, hey, hey, wake up.” 

In your dream, your father shoves you. 

In reality, you are thrashing in a motel bed. 

It takes a minute to realize you are awake, that everything was just a terrible dream.  Your adrenaline is a white hot heat in your chest, your voice a strangled shriek as you clamour around the twisting sheets. 

“Hey, it’s all right,” Chan says.  “You’re just dreaming, whoa, easy, c’mon…  It’s all good.  Easy now.  Breathe for me, okay?” 

It feels like your first breath in years.  It goes down shaky, your vision blurry.  You realize Chan is holding your wrist, lightly but carefully.  You blink up at him.  He turned on the bedside light at some point.  Half his face is lit in gold as he looks at you with concern.  It is such a strange expression to see on him.  These were the same eyes glaring at you over that uniform mask.  Now that brow is pinched with worry, his own breath a staggered thing. 

“You all right?” he asks. 

You are sitting upright.  You look at your wrist in his hand. 

“Did I try to punch you again?” you ask. 

“You missed,” he says, smiling.  Then he shakes his head and says more seriously, “It was my fault.  You were yelling in your sleep so I woke you up.  I guess it was too fast or something.  Just, you know, I don’t think the walls are very thick here.”

“Right,” you say.  Your heart is still stampeding.  “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he says.  “You… you good…?” 

“Yeah,” you say.  You are too weary for patience, so sarcasm spills out of you.  “Peachy.” 

He opens his mouth but you don’t wait to hear it.  You slide out of bed and land on shaky legs.  Your whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat.  You want to shower, wash away the nightmare and the terror. 

You are a light sleeper.  You never dream like that. It is a testament to your exhaustion that you fell into such a deep sleep. 

You tell yourself it was a dream, but your reassurances don’t work.  Because it wasn’t really a dream, was it? It was flashes of real moments, real faces, real pain. 

You stand under steady stream of hot water.  You watch as the heat and the torrent opens a few scrapes, the water at your feet turning red.  You think of Changbin with a needle in his arm, all that red pouring out of him.  Standing there, helpless to do anything, like you are right now. 

You have no idea where he is.  You look at the scar on your palm and think of him in the moonlight, him in the ring, him at your side.  A smile, a joke, a reassurance.  A hand in yours, a promise. 

He knew you better than you know yourself.  He predicted this exact crisis of identity. 

When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be…  When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…

He drew that line across his palm.  You picture a chasm of a wound, gaping and red, rushing red at your feet. 

Just remember me, he said.  I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh.  I’m your soldier, not his.

True to his word, a man of principle to the end, he is bleeding for you right now. 

In all your years of training, fighting, and soldiership, of missions and schemes, tricks and plots, you have always kept composure.  Now it all weighs on you at once, every single second of your life, and it’s too much.  

When was the last time you cried?  You can’t even remember.  It pours out of you now, big ugly gasping sobs that spill into the shower.  You sit down where the water is pooling in pink.  You wrap your arms around your legs and draw them up to your chest like a child. 

You do not know how long you sit there, crying until it feels like there is no more water left in your body.  It must be a long time because the water runs from hot to lukewarm.  It feels strange to heave dry sobs with the shower still pouring down on you.  

The water abruptly stops.  You lift your head.

Chan stands there.  He doesn’t look at you directly, his expression solemn, but he turns off the water and gets you a towel.  

It feels surreal.  Bang Chan is moving around a small motel bathroom, helping you like he has helped you all day.  You stare at him with scrunched, sore eyes, your throat too strained to speak.  You drop your legs and let him wrap the towel around you.  Your heart kicks with momentary fright when he scoops you up, an effortless sweep. 

No one has ever done something like this for you.  You wouldn’t have let them, even if they tried. 

You need it.  You never realized how much you needed it.  You are certain you will feel embarrassed in the morning, but right now you put your arms around his neck and cling for dear life. 

He says nothing.  He hooks an arm around your back and the other under your legs.  He carries you back into the room and lays you in your bed, adjusting the towel for your modesty before pulling the blankets over you. 

You continue to sputter and hiccup, looking at him as he moves.  You wonder if he looks like this on a mission, determined and swift. 

No.  The First Guard wouldn’t fix the pillows under your head.  He wouldn’t tuck the blankets around you. 

Bang Chan stands over you, wearing nothing but his combat pants, no weapons or masks or piercing stares.  He has curly dark hair and a soft face.  When you touch his bare shoulder, he looks at you with a heart-shattering amount of tenderness.  You didn’t know anyone could look at somebody that way, never mind him, never mind at you. 

There’s a person inside him.  There’s a person inside you.  You don’t know who either of those people are, but you want to know.  You need to know. 

You curl your hand into a fist and feel the scar on your palm.  A day ago, none of this would have mattered, but you know why it matters now. 

“We have to find him,” you say.  Your rasping voice is barely above a whisper. 

Chan slowly cups his hand over yours, his palm to your knuckles, holding your touch against his shoulder.  He squeezes your fingers.  He nods.

“We will,” he says. 

“You’ll help me?” you say. 

“Yeah.” His own voice is a rasp, skirting the edge of emotion too.  He swallows it down and smiles at you.  “Like I said.  I go wherever you go.  Always.” 

He sits with you in the soft golden light of that small bedside lamp.  You do not think you can sleep again, but then exhaustion settles over you. 

You are on the cusp of sleep when he touches your forehead.  Your eyes meet briefly.  It wakes you with a heart flutter, similar to a dream that drops you into reality.  It is the heart-racing thump of a sudden fall.  The kind that feels so real, more like a memory than a dream. 

[sunflower-lilac42]

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗶𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗻𝗲 ; 𝘵𝘻11 ୨୧

➪ summary: jack shows up at his sister's apartment and he can't help what he says. which leaves luke flying out to apologize and them flying back to make sure jack's okay

➪ warnings: arguing, reader has issues with arguments/yelling, jack's a dick, name-calling (slut, whore), crying, lots of crying, slight mentions to the reader dying, reader thinks he brothers hate her, feelings of no one caring, jack hates himself during this, um i think that's it

➪ word count: 4.8k

➪ file type: fic - reupload; sequel to the secret's out

➪ sunny's notes: i think this is another one of my favorite fics. it might be the tiniest bit messy but i still love it and i want you guys to have the part two you deserve. um yeah i did realize how much quinn is very not apart of this fic but like, i was having a moment i guess when i wrote this. don't worry, quinn appreciate is to be coming soon

© sunflower-lilac42 ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

part one || tz11 masterlist || nhl masterlist || new taglist || navigation

She wasn’t expecting that. Maybe if she looked at her phone she would have a little bit more of a warning but she didn’t. She and Trevor exchanged wide glances, trying to figure out their next move. Lia looked between them, “I can tell them to fuck off if I need to. I got this.”

“I’m going to have to face them at some point. Might as well do it now.”

She pushed the covers off of her and stood up, making her way to follow Lia when Trevor stopped her, “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” She would soon regret those words. 

She made her way into the foyer of their apartment, opening the door that Lia had previously closed. She looked between all three brothers, drifting her eyes to make eye contact at the various heights of the three. At first glance, they seemed perfectly fine. But to her, and Trevor, they looked pissed.

They all did this weird thing when they got angry or frustrated, y/n included. They stood with their hands in their pockets as their faces settled into a glare. They stood shoulder-width apart and stood eerily still. They could be a statue with how still they stood. Now it sounds and looks normal, but to anyone who knows them, it isn’t. They would all stand that way when at least one was mad.

Knowing that, when she saw them she shrunk into herself. Her eyes flickered to the ground and she stayed silent. Trevor stood off to the side and out of sight, not wanting to make matters worse for her. Luke was the least mad, he understood why they hid it and honestly was supportive of the couple. He had no reason to doubt their relationship.

At this point, Luke was the one who was most worried about her. He knew how she could tend to always do what everyone wanted her to do. She hated making people upset and hated disappointing people, especially her family. She stepped back and allowed the three to walk in, proceeding to stand in the living room.

Jack looked around and spotted Trevor, “Oh of course you’re here.”

Another thing she hated was fights. It meant that someone had done something wrong and when she was involved, it meant that she did something wrong. On top of that, the sound of fighting had always been triggered from a young age. No matter who it was, why they were shouting, where they were, it always hurt her. She couldn’t remember what made her feel this way but her parents always told her she got into a fight with her brothers and ever since then she hated it. 

“Don’t be mad at-”

“Don’t be mad? You’re fucking my best friend of course I’m mad!”

“Justice for Cole, for real,” Lia murmured as she walked into her room, having no energy to deal with the situation, despite her previous words.

Y/n flinched at his words, she really didn’t think he would be this mad. Jack redirected his attention to the boy standing in the corner, “And you? Putting your fucking hands on my sister?! Come on, dude.”

Quinn and Luke stood behind Jack, allowing him to blow off some steam. They wouldn’t let things get too out of hand. Jack continued to ramble about how betrayed he felt by both Trevor and y/n, only some words sticking out to the two of them. At this point, she was pretty sure he was getting angrier than calmer. 

“You just had to go and ruin everything, didn’t you?” His eyes fell on his sister and everyone gaped at him.

Trevor pushed himself off the wall and made his way over to stand next to her, “Don’t do that, Jack. It was both of our decisions. Not just her.”

“Can’t fight your own battles anymore?” 

Y/n was in shock at how he was acting. He had every right to be mad but he didn’t have to say what he was going to, what he had been saying. Though, as much as she was surprised by it, she knew she deserved it. She thought she deserved every negative thing that came her way and this was no exception. She allowed Jack to yell at her, slowly shrinking into herself as Trevor stepped in front of her.

“No wonder relationships never worked out for you. Wonder how long you’re gonna keep him around. Should’ve known you’d go after any guy that pays attention to you. Don’t know why everyone was saying I would be the slut of the family.” He ran a hand harshly through his hair.

That made her eyes tear up, it was a low blow, and everyone in the room knew it. She had never had the best track record with relationships, she was always scared of her brothers finding out that she broke them off before they had a chance to notice. There was one time when they found out that they hated him and hated the fact that she hid it from them. They got too protective and demanded she break up with him but she was going to anyway so she didn’t fight back.

Luke tried to interject after he said that, noticing the way she was practically crying. Jack silenced him by holding a finger up. Jack’s gaze once again flickered between the two before finally landing on Trevor, “You’re a dick you know that. Can’t keep a girl for the fucking life of you, can’t keep it in your pants. Well, I guess neither can she, can you y/n?”

She raised her head to look at him, eyes watering as one lone tear fell down her cheek. Jack’s mind was clouded, he couldn’t think about anything but the anger he felt. It clouded his judgment, laced his voice, and triggered his words, that’s all he could focus on. He would never speak to her like this but when the article came out and more and more people started to agree with it, he couldn’t see past the frustration. 

“I mean are you even my friend anymore? What kind of friend hooks up with their friend’s sister?”

“Of course, I’m still your friend Jack, but-”

“But what? You thought with your dick instead of your head?”

“Jesus, Jack can you calm the fuck down? I get you’re mad I do, but you don’t need to say that kind of shit. Especially to y/n.”

“You know you’re gonna have to choose right? Between me and her.”

“Okay.”

Y/n looked up at her boyfriend with worry, he had just said all of these nice things about her and their relationship. It’s not that she didn’t trust Trevor to pick her, it’s just that with all the guys that she chose her brothers over, she thought this was finally karma. But Trevor’s lips turned into a smirk, “I choose her.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, matching Jack’s eyes, “You what?”

“You heard me. I love her and frankly, I’m not willing to be friends with a little bitch who yells at their sister because she finally found someone who she loved and who loved her back. And someone who’s got a bigger ego than their dick.”

If things weren’t silent before they sure were now. Trevor cocked an eyebrow as Jack stood there in silence. Not even two minutes later Jack was storming out of the apartment with his two brothers following after him. When Luke reached the door he looked back at his sister and went to take a step back but Jack called out his name and he disappeared down the hallway.

Trevor watched as y/n stumbled backward and caught her in his arms, slowly sinking to the floor like he had done earlier when he arrived. He shushed her as the words “I hate them” tumbled out of her mouth over and over again. He placed a kiss on her forehead as tears dampened his sweatshirt, “I got you, baby. I got you. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

Over the next week or so, y/n heavily debated what she wanted to do. If she wanted to go home to her parents, go home to Trevor’s new apartment that he had bought for them, stay away in London to hide from her problems, or move to an entirely new country where no one could find her. However, none of these seemed like plausible, realistic options. 

Jack’s words clouded her mind, should’ve known you’d have gone after any guy that paid any attention to you, you’re a slut you know that, god forbid you let me have my own friends, you ruin everything. She would never be able to forget those words. 

It hurt, knowing that her brothers didn’t want her as much as everyone else did. It was bad enough that she got spammed comments about her being a slut or a whore or a traitor (sure that last one wasn’t as mean as the others), but to hear it from her own brother, her twin brother. Nothing compares to that feeling and nothing will ever compare to that feeling. 

She beat herself up every day about it, going as far as to try and break up with Trevor. But, Trevor was having none of it. He wasn’t going to let some self-centered jerk come and ruin all that they had worked for, and fought for, even if that self-centered jerk was her brother. Her happiness was what mattered to him and it was all that was going to matter to him. 

It was five days after Jack and co. invaded her apartment. She and Trevor were on her bed, underneath the covers. She hadn’t really talked, still trying to let the events of the past week sink in. Everything seemed to happen so suddenly, and abruptly, that no one gave her time to think about anything. It was like the Universe was punishing her for finally doing something for her and not for someone else. 

“Baby?”

She looked over at him, eyes slightly becoming bigger as she hummed, “Hmm?”

“I asked what you wanted to watch.”

“Oh, I don’t care. You pick.”

Trevor frowned, “What’s wrong? I mean I know what’s wrong but like. What’s wrong?”

“Do you think they still love me?”

“Who?”

“My brothers.”

Trevor thought it was physically impossible for his heart to break anymore. He knew how much y/n adored her brothers, they were her role models, they were the ones who made sure she was at school on time, they were the ones who read books to her when they were little, they were the ones who bugged the ever-loving crap out of her, they were the ones who did everything for her. 

He pulled her into a hug before pulling away and cupping her cheeks, “They love you with their whole hearts, y/n. I promise you on everything I believe in.”

“Then why does it feel like they do? Like I could die and they wouldn’t care?” Her voice cracked as she spoke, suddenly becoming flustered and finding it harder to breathe.

Trevor couldn’t contain his tears any longer especially as he looked at the look on her face. He pulled her into his arms, practically shoving her head into his chest as he cried with her. Y/n felt his few tears drop down onto her head but didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything as she cried herself to sleep.

They both fell asleep not long after that, Trevor following in her footsteps. Lia had come in to check on them about an hour after and they were still asleep. She walked out of the room and saw a figure in the living room, “How’d you get in here?!”

The figure turned around and Lia mildly calmed down, “Luke?”

Luke gave Lia his ever so charming, but awkward, half grin, “Hi.”

“Okay, this still doesn’t answer my question. How’d you get in here?”

Luke pulled a key out of his coat pocket, “Y/n gave me a copy when she was drunk and I never gave it back.”

Lia audibly “oh’d” at the words and was about to shrug it off until she turned around, “Why are you here?”

His smile crumbled, becoming more awkward, “I wanted to apologize to y/n/n. I know I wasn’t much help on Saturday but I regret it. I regret it so much. She’s my big sister, of course, I love her. And I know how much Trevor makes her happy and I just want her to be happy. There’s nothing, no one, that would change that. She deserves it more than anyone.”

“Really?”

Luke’s eyes moved to find the voice and when they laid upon her figure, his eyes teared up, “More than anything.”

Luke adored her, ever since he was born. He was the one person who always thought she was right no matter what. He thought that she could do no wrong. Y/n was the one who gave Luke advice on everything, the one who read him bedtime stories even when she barely knew how to read, the one who gave him shit for failing miserably at talking to a girl. 

He hugged her, grateful that she gave him the time to apologize instead of throwing him out like he thought she, or Trevor, would’ve. After Luke’s surprise visit, the four sat down and ate dinner. As much as y/n tried to hold back from asking the question, it was burning in the back of her mind, “Is Jack still mad?”

Trevor stopped eating, a piece of food shoved into the side of his mouth. He looked up at her but didn't raise his chin. He moved his gaze from his girlfriend to the boy sitting next to her as he waited for his response. Luke himself had been in the middle of drinking when she asked, and he swallowed nervously, “No.”

“No?”

“He’s, um, been locked in his room all week, I can hear him crying through the walls. I don’t think he’s really eaten anything.”

Y/n frowned, “I should-”

“Nah, let him wallow in self-pity a little more. He rarely ever gets to do it.”

“But if he’s not eating, Luke, that’s a problem.”

That seemed to click into Luke’s brain, “Oh shit.”

Luke fumbled for his phone all of a sudden becoming a more worried younger brother. Y/n watched in anticipation as his phone rang with Jack’s contact splayed across it. She forgot that she stole their phones and created matching contact posters for all of them and she realized that they never changed it, or at least Luke hadn’t. It was the same layout for all of them, a collage of pictures together, some funny and some meaningful. And at the center of each of them was the same picture when they were little. They were at one of the boys’ hockey games and y/n sat in Quinn’s lap with her pigtails in and her custom jersey, one that was definitely way too big for her, with all three of their names on it. 

It had been a long day when that picture was taken but you couldn’t tell. All of them were sporting huge grins and everyone was trying to hold y/n up because the three knew that she could and would collapse at any moment. Quinn’s arms were wrapped around her waist, Jack held onto one of her arms and Luke’s slightly smaller hand grabbed at y/n’s. Just after Ellen snapped the picture, she did indeed fall asleep in Quinn’s lap, who then carried her to the car as Jim grabbed his bag (because he refused to give either of his parents his younger sister). 

She missed those days, the days when everything was just simple. Where they were just four little kids, where the boys were just three brothers who loved to play hockey, where no one knew about them (well, cared about them), where she could just be a girl with three brothers. She missed the days when they were too young to know about these kinds of emotions. 

Jack’s voice brought her out of her memories, he sounded as if he hadn’t spoken in days (which he hadn’t), but also sounded as if he had just got done crying, “What?”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Is this all you called me for? Aren’t you literally in the next room?”

“Yeah about that…”

“He’s with me.” 

Jack was caught off guard. He sat up a little straighter, his tears stopped, and he rushed to pull himself together even though no one else was in the same room let alone the same apartment as him. His voice was hesitant as he spoke, “Y/n/n?”

“Hi, Jacky.”

The nickname sent a rush of sadness through him, he missed her and he knew he didn’t deserve to. He had been an ass and that was an understatement. His rage took over his judgment and he took it out on her and Trevor. At this point, he wasn’t mad anymore, at least at them. He would never forget the look on her face when he left. He’d seen that look about 5 times in his life and he was never the cause of it, he never wanted to be the cause of it.

He knew he shouldn’t have said what he said, he knew he shouldn’t have even gone to London while he was mad. He wanted all of it to be over, to hide away and never see her face again because he didn’t want to face the reality of which he screwed up. 

He kept repeating “I’m sorry” over and over again, all four of them listening intently and waiting for it to stop. Lia excused herself and she heard Jack sniffle, she knew this was a family, and Trevor, matter and not so much a matter that involved her.

When she left, Jack completely broke down. His sobs were loud against their ears, they could hear his breathing pick up, it was scary how much it sounded like y/n when she broke down, “Jack please calm down. You’re going to overwork yourself.”

However, Jack couldn’t. His mind plagued him with the idea that she was mad at him (which she wasn’t, but rather upset), that she was going to yell at him and call him names, and that she was going to stop talking to him forever. 

Luke was grateful that he called Quinn before he left. He had made Quinn take a few days off to go see Jack knowing that he was going to be leaving. He didn’t want to leave him alone despite being mad at him for the way he treated their sister, especially when he was like this. 

“Jack.”

It was common for y/n to take on the role of an older sister, despite being the second youngest of the family. There was something that was always comforting about her words and her hugs that made everyone fall in love with her and made it so they opened up to her easily.

“I’m so sorry y/n/n. I love you so much and Trevor and you guys are so good together. I’m sorry I said what I said and I’m sorry I called you that. You’re not. I know you break up with everyone because of us and I hate that. I- I-'' He couldn’t breathe and she knew that. Call it twin telepathy if you please, but to them? It was just a known fact.

“Breathe Jack. It’s okay. We’re not mad at you, I promise.” 

“Well…”

Y/n glared at her boyfriend who immediately shut up and sunk back into his chair. Luke stepped in while y/n went to scold Trevor, “Hey Quinn’s going to be there soon, okay? Let him in when he knocks.”

“What- why?”

“Because we’re worried about you, Jack.”

“Why? I deserve it.”

Y/n whipped her head to the phone, “No you don’t. Don’t you ever say that again. I know what you said was out of line, believe me. But you are my brother, okay? And I love you now and forever. And that is never going to change.”

They could hear the knocking coming from the other end of the phone. Then they heard Jack shuffling and when he opened the door, they could hear his sobs. They were harsh, violent, and loud. Unbeknownst to the three in London, Jack practically fell into his older brother’s arms when he saw him. Quinn then picked up the fallen phone and said he would call black later, leaving the three in silence.

Trevor looked up at his girlfriend, seeing the worried look plastered on her face. He immediately stood up and wrapped his arm around her shoulder before bringing her into his chest, “He’s okay, baby. I promise.”

Her sniffles were audible but barely. Trevor thought to himself before kissing the side of her head, “Go pack. We’re going to New Jersey.” 

He tapped her butt and she looked up at him with wide eyes, “What?”

“Yep, come on. I know you and you won’t stop bugging yourself about it until you see him.”

“Okay.:

Luke looked between the two, “Hey just because I said I was okay with it, doesn’t mean I want to see it.”

Y/n giggled and she wiped her eyes rid of tears, “That’s your problem, I guess.”

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

They were lucky enough to get on the flight quickly. They were supposed to get to New Jersey at 9 Eastern time, so hopefully Jack would be okay by the time they got there. They were practically sprinting through the airport, Trevor dragging his and her suitcases behind him as Luke dragged his own. Y/n in all honestly felt as if they were in the scene from Home Alone except with fewer kids and a little more time. 

When they got on the plane, they sat next to each other uncomfortably due to the lack of space, “I can’t believe we’re sitting in these seats.”

Y/n looked at Trevor with a deadpan face, “Dude are you shitting me? We booked these tickets like an hour ago.”

“Did you just dude me?”

“Did you expect anything less from her?”

“No one asked you.”

Y/n looked forward and rolled her eyes before making eye contact with one of the flight attendants, “Men am I right?”

The girl nodded her head and even gave y/n an extra set of earplugs. Trevor and Luke would not stop fighting the whole way to New Jersey it felt like, making little jabs at one another, all while y/n sat in the middle of them and blasting her music up to a “healthy” volume. One time Trevor looked over at her and hit her arm to get her input, “Don’t hit my sister.”

“Would you two actually shut the fuck up?”

The two held their hands up in surrender before slouching down in their seats like they were scolded by their mom. They crossed their arms across their chests and both held pouts, “You guys are children.”

The two didn’t say anything but an older lady came up and looked at the girl, “Thank you.”

Y/n looked up with a small smile on her face, “For what?”

“For shutting these two up.”

“Oh, it’s no problem ma’am.”

“Are you guys siblings?”

Y/n pointed to Luke first, “He is, this one over here is my boyfriend.”

“Well, you two better listen to what she says. Especially you, young man. You might lose her if you don’t.”

Trevor now turned so he was facing the older woman, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She smiled and then walked away back to her seat. Trevor then reached for y/n’s hand and brought it into his lap, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Ugh.” 

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

Eight hours later, the three were back to running through the airport to get to their Uber. Yet, this time it wasn’t as urgent. They were jogging at best, trying to get there quickly but also not wanting to exert more energy than they had to.

They sat in the back of the car all crammed together as they watched out their respective windows. Sometimes Trevor or Luke would nudge y/n and show what they thought was oh so interesting to them. It usually turned out to be a weird-looking tree or a dog, which she couldn’t really complain about. 

When the car pulled up to the apartments, y/n thanked the driver before running up the stairs with Luke and Trevor following behind her. She knocked harshly on the door and waited for someone to answer. Quinn opened the door, “What are you guys doing here?”

“Where is he?”

“In his room, he’s sleeping.”

She pushed past him and navigated her way through the apartment and to Jack’s room. When she pressed on the door and opened it slightly, she teared up. His eyes and cheeks were puffy and red, dried tears were covering them. His hair was greasy and messy from the amount of times he had run his fingers through it. 

She sat on the edge of the bed and shook him awake carefully, “Jack.”

Jack stirred a little, opening his eyes in a daze. It had been days since he was able to sleep properly. When his eyes adjusted and focused he saw her sitting there, looking just like how she always did when something went wrong. He sat up quickly but scooted back so his back was against the headboard, “What’re you doing here?”

“Making sure you’re okay.”

“Why? I don’t-”

“Don’t say it, please. I understand why you were mad, I’d be mad too.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have called you a slut.”

She inhaled harshly, “You’re right. You shouldn’t have, but I understand why you did. And I’m not mad at you Jack. Sure, I’m a little hurt, but that hurt will go away with time and be replaced with other memories.”

Jack gave her a look as she stood up, cocking his head to the side. She stared back, “Well are you going to hug me or am I going to have to hug myself?”

He was quick to stand up and hug her, basking in her infamous hugs, “I love you.”

“I love you too, you dork.”

A moment passed and then they pulled away from each other. Y/n was the one to speak, telling him that he was going to have to eat soon. When he protested, she responded,  “Come on, Hughes siblings movie night featuring Zegras. And we’ll all eat together.” 

“Okay.”

When they walked out of the bedroom, the three were sitting on the couch watching whatever hockey game was on TV. 

“No hockey. We’re watching a movie.”

“Don’t say it.”

“We’re watching Descendants”

The boys groaned and she pouted, “Meanies.”

“We love you, but Descendants? Again? How old are you again? 22?”

“Don’t give me that shit, Mr. “Oh there’s nothing else on, let's watch Mighty Ducks for the 100th time.”

Jack looked at her offended, “Hey, Mighty Ducks is a classic. Trevor, help me out here.”

Trevor shook his head violently, “No way dude. I was already scolded for being too loud on the plane.”

“You got scolded?”

“Your sister’s scary!”

Y/n gave the two a look, “Oh I see. ‘I choose her’ my fucking ass.”

“Woah, too soon.”

“Descendants or I’m going back to London.”

The boys groaned out a fine and made room for her on the couch, “Jack what do you want for food?”

The other three let out protests, asking why he got to choose, “Um when was the last time you three ate?”

They sat in silence, “Exactly.”

Halfway into the movie, the food arrived and y/n got up to grab it. When she got back she handed out everyone’s food and listened as they sang Did I Mention? She smiled to herself as she heard them singing, joining in herself, “I gotta know which way to go, come on, give me a sign. You gotta show me that you’re only ever gonna be mine.”

When she sat back down, she sat next to Trevor who continued to sing into her ear as if he had written the song to her. She started blushing and as the song ended he kissed her on the cheek. They stared at each other and then she felt a wrapper hit her head, “Hey!”

“No kissing in my apartment.”

Y/n only stuck her tongue out before continuing to eat her food, comfortably resting under Trevor’s arm.

𝗠𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗲𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗧𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ୨୧

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[vodika-vibes]

Just One Date

Summary: You're a Military Doctor attached to the 212, and you've come to consider Commander Cody as a friend. Turns out, that he sees you a little bit more.

Pairing: Commander Cody x F!Reader

Word Count: 1333

Warnings: Cody makes suggestive jokes, and gets whacked with pillows and has a hand slapped over his mouth for it.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: HAPPY 2224 Day! I came up with this idea at 5:30 this morning when I originally woke up and when I remembered what today was. There might, possibly, be a sequel where the date actually happens. It depends on people's reactions to this one.

You’ve been a civilian employee to the GAR since you were old enough to enlist. The military wasn’t exactly your “dream” career, but it got you away from your incredibly toxic family, and it paid you to go to medical school.

And, really, at the time the odds of there actually being a war was slim to non-existent.

Jokes on you, the war started 6 months after you graduated and you found yourself bouncing from military base to military base, before finally getting assigned to The Negotiator, under General Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody.

The Commander is everything you’ve ever wanted in a Senior Officer, respectful and professional when the situation calls for it, but more than happy to share jokes with you when you’re not working.

The General, however, is a walking migraine.

At this point, you’re beginning to think that your job would be easier if you were assigned to literally any other battalion.

“General Kenobi,” You say as you pinch the bridge of your nose, “Did you, perhaps, skip your basic first aid lessons as a child?”

Helix, working on Commander Cody at the bed behind you, doesn’t bother to muffle his laughter, but you tune him out with the ease of long practice, instead pinning your General with an accusing glare.

“Well,” General Kenobi rubs his chin thoughtfully, “I was a very busy padawan-”

“So, perhaps, you skipped the basic first aid classes that say when you get stabbed, do not remove the stabbing implement?” You interrupt.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I skipped the lessons-” He demures.

“And your reasoning for ignoring Commander Cody’s very reasonable order to not remove the knife from your thigh?” You ask.

“...uh…I was in shock?”

You smile. It’s a nice smile, and you’re pleased to see General Kenobi slump on the hospital bed, “Well, since you ignored your Commander’s very reasonable, and correct, order. You’re going to spend the next three days in a bacta tank.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to use bacta tanks as a punishment.” General Kenobi says thoughtfully.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to argue with me.” You counter with a roll of your eyes. “Relax, General. It’s not a punishment. You’re more injured than you look. And maybe you can get some sleep if I drug you enough.”

General Kenobi sputters, “Commander! Are you hearing this?”

“Hm? What? I’m not listening.” Cody says with a sly smirk.

“Well, there you have it. The Commander’s on my side.” You say brightly, as you spin to grab a syringe of the sedative that was especially formulated for Jedi. “Good night, General.”

“This is mutiny,” General Kenobi says with a frown.

“Yes, yes. I know.” You inject the liquid into his IV, “We’ll see you in a couple of days.” The older man slowly drifts off to sleep, and you pass the General over to the men who can get him into a bacta tank easier than you.

And then you spin on your heel and move over to Commander Cody, who’s laying on his hospital bed very peacefully, a small grin playing on his lips. “What’s wrong with you?” You ask, as you grab his file and scan it.

“Well, I was blown up, mesh’la.” Commander Cody says blandly.

“Well, that was silly of you. Why would you do something like that?”

“I woke up this morning and thought, ‘how can I make my medics pull their hair out today?’ and decided that getting blown up was the best way to go about it.”

You smother your laugh and glance at him, “One of these days Helix is actually going to kill you.”

“But you’ll protect me won’t you?”

“Of course.” You wink at him, “Everyone knows I’m the scary one.” You scan his record for a moment, and then favor him with a smile, “Aside from some bumps and bruises, you look totally fine.”

He grins at you, “So you like how I look, do you?”

You sigh, “Commander, that joke got old within a week of working with any of you.”

Cody just laughs and sits up, “Come on, Doc. I won’t tell. We both know that I’m the most handsome.”

“One of these days,” You counter as you set your hands on your hips, “I’m going to buy a box of chocolates and address it to ‘the most handsome man in the 212’ just to see who wins.”

“Aww, mesh’la, you don’t have to buy me chocolates.”

“Ooh, someone’s cocky.”

“You have no idea.” He flashes a boyish grin, “I could show you, if you like.”

You squint at him, “What?”

“Just how cocky I am.” Cody clarifies with a sly grin.

Your jaw drops and your face burns, before you grab the thin pillow and smack him with it, “Behave!”

Cody laughs, as he fends off the pillow, “What? I just repeated what you said. It’s not my fault that your brain lives in the gutter.”

“Rude. Rude!” You huff, “I changed my mind, I’m not going to protect you from Helix. RIP Commander Cody. I knew you well.”

“C’mon mesh’la,” He teases, “Having a dirty mind is a boon. Well, I think. Especially if it’s dirty about me.” Cody reaches out and lightly grips your hips, tugging you closer.

You scowl at him, though it’s really more of a pout, “You know, there are almost 2 million men identical to you-”

“Yeah, yeah. But you don’t have dirty thoughts about them.” Cody replies confidently.

“You’re so sure of that?”

“Yup.”

You shake your head, “Come on, Commander. You’re hardly a mind-reader.”

“I don’t have to be. I see how you look at me.” He says with a smirk.

“And how do I look at you?” You ask sarcastically.

Cody’s smirk grows into an amused grin, “Like you wanna drag me into a supply closet and ri-” You slam your hands over his mouth.

“Okay! Thank you!” You yelp, your face burning. “Why do people think you’re the mature one?” You bemoan.

“Because I play the part well,” He says smugly, his voice muffled by your hand. 

“Can I remove my hand or are you still going to try and embarrass me?” You ask.

“I like it when you get all embarrassed, it’s cute.” Cody replies before he pulls your hands away from his mouth, and then presses them to the bed next to him without releasing them.

“Hm, you seem to have forgotten to release my hands.” You say dryly.

“I didn’t forget. I did it on purpose.” He says, his dark eyes scanning your face.

“And why would you do that?”

“Go on a date with me.” Cody says.

You blink at him, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“One date,” He clarifies, “That’s all I’m asking for.”

“Commander-”

“Cody.” He interrupts, his gaze serious, “One night. Let me show you how good we could be together.”

You avert your gaze for a second, and you know that he can feel your heart racing with how he’s holding your hands still. “Commander, we’re not going to be returning to Coruscant for several months-”

“Cody, and I don’t care. I can woo you even on the Negotiator. Give me a chance.”

“And if we don’t go well together at the end of the night? What then?”

“We’re going to be great,” Cody counters, “But, if,” He rolls his eyes, “For some reason, we don’t work out, then nothing will change.”

“Com-”

He tugs your wrists so that you topple against him, “Cody. My name isn’t that hard, is it?”

“...Cody.” You finally say with a sigh, though there’s a small smile playing on your lips, “I suppose, since you’re so eager, I can agree to a single night.”

“There's going to be more than one.” Cody says confidently. 

You hum thoughtfully, “Prove it.”

He grins at you boyishly, “I can do that. I already have the whole thing planned.”

“...How?” You ask, exasperated.

“I’m very good at what I do.” He replies smugly.

[rhosyn-du]

Alternative Education - Dreamling

Square/Prompt: A3 - Dubious Consent for @dreamlingbingo, although the consent ended up much less dubious than I originally planned. But the spanking is arguably dubcon, so I’m counting it anyway

Rating: Explicit

Ship: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: human AU, age gap, tutor/student relationship, tutor!Hob, student!Dream, spanking, face slapping, blowjobs, hand jobs, face fucking, hair pulling, unnegotiated kink, messy af power dynamics

Link on AO3

Summary: Most days, tutoring Dream Aeternum is the easiest money Hob has ever made. If Hob spends maybe a bit more time than is advisable imagining how good Dream would sound begging for his cock, well, that’s between Hob and his right hand.

Inspired by this post. Huge thanks to @gabessquishytum and 🪽 anon for the inspiration for this fic and the sequels that make up half my planned bingo fills. This AU has eaten my brain in the best way.

Thank you @karalynlovescake for the beta and tagging help!

Most days, tutoring Dream Aeternum is the easiest money Hob has ever made. Dream is clever, with a cutting wit and a skill for weaving words that Hob is frankly a bit envious of, and when he’s not being a prickly asshole about one thing or another, Hob actually enjoys his company. Plus, Dream’s parents pay him well enough that he doesn’t need to take on any other regular clients this term, just the occasional one-off to supplement his income—nothing less than a godsend when Hob needs those extra hours if he has any hope of finishing his dissertation on time.

It doesn't hurt that Dream is beautiful. As in, model beautiful. Love songs and fucking sonnets beautiful. The kind of beautiful that, if he were a couple years older and not Hob’s tutee (or hell, just one of the two; Hob’s not a saint), would have Hob angling to take him to bed, or at least to the men’s for a quick fumble. But Hob is a professional—or at least a guy who would really like to keep this job—so if he spends maybe a bit more time than is advisable imagining how things might have gone if they’d met under different circumstances, thinking about how good Dream would sound begging for Hob’s cock in that low, liquid-sex voice of his, well, that’s between Hob and his right hand.

Most days, Dream’s tutoring sessions are nothing more than Hob keeping Dream company for a couple hours, and maybe trying to coax a smile out of him when he’s in one of his more sullen moods. Dream doesn’t need a tutor, but from everything Hob’s seen, he could sure as hell use a friend, and Hob is more than happy to be that when Dream will let him, fucked up as it might be that he’s getting paid to be there.

Then, there are days like today, when Hob is sure he earns every fucking penny Dream’s parents pay him.

“It’s a stupid assignment, and I won’t do it.”

Hob sighs. They’ve been through this a dozen times already. “It doesn’t matter if it’s stupid.” It is. Hob can’t even argue the point. How Dream’s teacher even got his post with such an appalling misunderstanding of classical literature is beyond him. “It’s the assignment you were given, so it’s the assignment you need to turn in. You’re lucky Mr. Choronzon is giving you the chance to redo it instead of just failing you for turning in something that didn’t meet his requirements the first time.”

“The essay I turned in was good,” Dream protests. “You know it was. You read it.”

“It was,” Hob agrees. There are people in his graduate seminars who couldn’t give that nuanced a take on Ovid. “But it still wasn’t the assignment.”

“The assignment,” Dream snarls, “is stupid.”

Hob folds his arms and leans against one of the ostentatious posts that adorns the foot of Dream’s bed, grateful at least that they’re in Dream’s room today rather than the study, where one of Dream’s siblings might try to weigh in and inevitably make things much worse.

“You said that already.”

“It isn’t fair,” Dream tries. Also, not for the first time.

“No, it’s not. But that’s how things are sometimes. Shit’s unfair and it sucks for a bit and you deal with it, and then you get to move on to the parts that don’t suck.” Hob runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Dream, you could be half done with the thing already if you hadn’t wasted the past hour whining about it like a kid who doesn’t want to eat his greens.”

Dream’s eyes flash with indignation, and he tilts his chin up so he can glare down his nose at Hob. “I am not a child.”

“Then stop fucking acting like one!” Hob knows it’s the wrong thing to say even as the words leave his mouth, but he’s too annoyed, too utterly done with this conversation to stop them.

Dream’s lips curl back in a sneer and his eyes narrow to angry slits, a sure sign that he’s started to spiral into a full-blown tantrum. “And what will you do about it if I refuse to bend to your oh-so-exacting standards for mature behavior, Hob Gadling?”

He takes a step forward, directly into Hob’s personal space. It’s a tactic Hob’s seen him use before, though never with him. It’s meant to make him uncomfortable, to give Dream the upper hand.

Hob refuses to let it.

“Will you put me in time-out?” Dream taunts, close enough that Hob can feel the warmth of his breath. “Put me over your knee and then send me to bed without my supper?”

Now that's an image. Hob shakes his head, firmly filing that thought away for later.

“Would serve you right if I did put you over my knee,” he says blandly. “You could do with a good spanking.”

Dream scoffs. “You wouldn’t dare.”

It’s the certainty in his voice that does it. The kind that only comes from a lifetime of wealth and privilege and people bending over backward to cater to your whims. A lifetime quite unlike Hob’s own, and one that means Dream hasn’t the faintest idea how much Hob would dare.

It’s almost comically easy to get a hand around Dream’s wrist and pull him down onto the bed, element of surprise and more back-alley brawls than Hob would admit to out loud giving him the edge he needs to ensure that when Dream lands with a startled cry, it’s roughly across Hob’s lap.

Hob intends for it to be quick. Just a few swats to make a point before Dream wriggles out of his grasp.

That’s not how it goes.

The instant Hob’s hand connects with Dream’s backside, Dream stops struggling. He lets out a strangled, almost desperate sound and then goes completely boneless in Hob’s grasp.

Hob pauses. Then, curiosity piqued, delivers another sharp smack.

This time, the sound Dream makes can’t be mistaken for anything other than a moan, muffled as it might be by the bedding.

Hob sucks in a sharp breath, suddenly and painfully aroused.

He should stop this. If he were to continue, if anyone were to find out...

But. Hob wants. And he isn’t the sort of man to deny himself something he wants when the universe is kind enough to drop it—soft and pliant and plucked straight out of his filthiest fantasies—in his lap.

So he brings his hand down again. And again. And again until Dream is clutching at the duvet beneath them and half-sobbing every time Hob’s palm connects.

Hob’s hand is aching by the time he stops, and Dream is a gasping, trembling mess across his lap. He rests his hand on the small of Dream’s back, waiting.

Slowly, Dream’s trembling eases, and his hands release their death-grip on the duvet. He lets out a long, shuddering breath.

Hob chuckles. “Feeling better, then?”

Dream flinches like the words are a physical blow, and then he’s scrambling to his feet, face flushed, glaring in Hob’s general direction without meeting his eyes. “You’ve made your point."

“Yeah?” Hob challenges. “You’re ready to write your essay, then?”

Dream’s eyes snap up, outrage winning out over embarrassment. “I told you, I will not.”

The outrage probably shouldn’t turn Hob on as much as it does. “That’s the problem with enjoying something that’s supposed to be a punishment. Doesn’t tend to be very effective.”

“You dare to suggest that I enjoyed—”

“I can see how much you enjoyed it,” Hob interrupts, looking pointedly at the outline of Dream’s erection, clearly visible beneath his black skinny jeans.

“Do not mock me,” Dream snarls.

Hob takes pity on him, spreading his legs so his own arousal is clearly visible. “I didn’t say you’re the only one who did.”

Dream stares. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again. A pink tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Hob makes a decision.

“Come here,” he says softly.

Dream does, eyes only lifting from the bulge in Hob’s pants as he moves into the space between his legs.

“I think,” Hob continues, reaching out to slide a hand up Dream’s chest and hook it around his neck, “maybe you need a different sort of motivation, yeah?”

“Is that what you think?” The words are haughty as ever, but Dream makes no move to pull away, and his pupils are blown so wide it would be easy to mistake his eyes for black instead of blue.

“It is.” Hob’s grin takes on a feral edge as he feels Dream’s pulse jump beneath his thumb. “On your knees for me, pretty thing.”

It takes only the faintest pressure on the back of Dream’s neck before he’s sinking to his knees with far more grace than Hob would have expected. He looks up at Hob through dark lashes, an unmistakable challenge in his eyes.

“You ever sucked cock before?” Hob asks.

Dream scowls. “I’m not a virgin.”

“Good to know,” Hob says, tracing the sharp line of Dream’s jaw with his fingers, “but not what I asked.”

“Once.”

Hob figures that’s as much answer as he’ll get, but Dream keeps talking.

“Mother insisted that my eighteenth birthday warranted a family dinner, despite the fact that not one of us wanted to be there. When Father sent his PA to let us know he wouldn’t be attending, nearly an hour after dinner was set to start, Mother threw a fit, and I decided I’d rather spend my birthday blowing Father’s PA in the study than listening to my mother’s histrionics.”

Hob is fairly certain his eyebrows have nearly disappeared into his hairline by the time Dream finishes speaking, and he has to swallow twice before asking, “Did you enjoy it?”

“He was very gentle”—the way Dream’s lip curls when he says the word makes it clear it’s not a compliment, and Hob can’t help the way his fingers tighten on Dream’s jaw in response—“and he didn’t last two minutes.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hob croons, moving his free hand to unfasten his pants, “that is a tragedy.”

Dream watches, eyes heavy-lidded and lips parted, as Hob frees his cock and gives it a few lazy pumps, and then he's leaning in and wrapping those pretty pink lips round Hob's dick like he's absolutely starving for it. Hob lets out a startled groan, and Dream smirks up at him from around his cock.

Hob has the briefest moment of worry that he's not going to last two minutes, and then Dream tries to take just a bit too much, jerking back instinctively as he triggers his gag reflex.

“Easy, pet,” Hob murmurs.

Dream ignores him, sinking back down on Hob’s cock without giving himself any time to recover and immediately choking again.

“Hey,” Hob says, easing Dream back with a firm hand on his jaw. “Much as I appreciate the enthusiasm, you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep going like that.”

Dream wrenches out of his grasp and glares up at him. “I thought I made it clear I don’t need you to be gentle.”

“And I’ve got no interest in being gentle with you.” Hob reaches for him again. “Just—”

Dream reacts like an angry cat, snarling and very nearly managing to sink his teeth into Hob’s hand, but Hob’s reflexes kick in just in time to save him from a nasty bite, and Hob uses the momentum to deliver a sharp slap across Dream’s face.

Dream gapes at him, his expression a complicated mix of shock and indignation and raw desire. It’s a good look on him. Hob takes advantage of that shock to get a hand in Dream’s hair, giving it a sharp tug and watching in satisfaction as tears brim in those impossibly blue eyes.

“If you hurt yourself,” Hob explains, preventing any objection Dream might want to make by shoving his cock roughly back into Dream’s mouth, “then I’ll have to wait for you to heal before I do this again.”

He punctuates his point by rolling his hips, fucking into Dream’s mouth until his cock hits the back of his throat This time when Dream gags, Hob’s hand in his hair keeps him from pulling away, holding him in place until the tears gathering in his eyes start to roll down his face. It might just be the most gorgeous thing Hob has ever seen.

“But if you can learn a little patience,” he continues, pulling back enough that Dream can suck in a desperate breath through his nose, “and let me teach you to do it right, then I can fuck your throat as often as a little cockslut like you needs, yeah?”

Dream lets out a desperate sob, and the feel of it around his cock is nearly enough to break Hob’s resolve, for him to just take without any care for whether Dream might enjoy it, except...

“I want to, pretty thing.” I want you, he doesn’t say.

Tears still leak from Dream’s eyes, but his expression is open and wanting as he takes another, shaky breath and relaxes into Hob’s grip.

“There’s a good love.” Dream makes a soft, contented sound as Hob slides his cock in just a bit deeper. “Can you relax your jaw for me, too? Yeah, just like that.”

Dream turns out to be as quick a study in this as he is in any subject he puts his mind to, letting Hob guide him with rough hands and soft words as Hob fucks his mouth in slow, shallow thrusts. Hob is glad to have the distraction of telling Dream what to do, otherwise he’s not sure he’d last much longer than that idiot PA.

As it is, it only takes a handful of minutes before Hob’s instruction becomes a broken string of curses and praise as he loses himself in the eager heat of Dream’s mouth and the sight of Dream’s fucked-red lips stretched around Hob's cock, and the beautiful, needy sounds Dream makes every time he manages to take Hob just a little deeper. Hob only just manages to get a warning out before he’s coming into that perfect mouth, Dream half-choking again trying to swallow it all and somehow still managing to look smug about it even as a line of come escapes his lips and drips down his chin.

“Aren’t you just a beautiful mess,” Hob says, catching the drip with his thumb and smearing it across Dream’s cheek as Dream works him through the aftershocks of the best orgasm he’s had in ages.

Dream gives a considering hum and makes a show of releasing Hob’s cock, opening his mouth so Hob can watch the slow drag of it against Dream’s tongue.

Hob lets out a growl and slides off the bed, straddling Dream’s thighs and licking the taste of himself out of Dream’s mouth. Dream kisses him back with every bit of the enthusiasm he’d shown for sucking Hob’s cock, eager hands sliding beneath Hob’s shirt and dragging him close, shamelessly rutting his cock against Hob’s ass.

The angle is terrible for it, and it isn’t long before Dream is whining pitifully into Hob’s mouth, wriggling his hips in a vain attempt to get more friction.

“I’ve got you, pet,” Hob says, working his hand between them to pop the button on Dream’s jeans.

“Yes,” Dream gasps, sounding absolutely wrecked. “Hob, please—ah!” His words bleed into an inarticulate cry as Hob wraps a hand around his prick, jerking him off with practiced ease.

They’re too close for Hob to properly see Dream’s face, so he contents himself with drinking every sound Dream makes from his mouth, greedy for every gasp and whimper, and when Dream comes with a wild sob, he swallows that sound too, letting Dream pant into his mouth until he’s fully spent.

They stay like that for several long moments, Hob leaning back against the foot of the bed, Dream slumped against him, breathing each other’s breath.

Eventually, Dream straightens and, before Hob can say anything, lifts Hob’s come-covered hand to his mouth and starts licking it clean with slow, deliberate swipes of his tongue.

“Oh,” Hob breathes.

“I wouldn’t want,” Dream says between licks, “to have points docked for failing to clean up my mess.”

Hob huffs out a laugh. “I don’t think anyone’s ever questioned your fastidiousness.”

Dream hums in agreement as he sucks the last of Hob’s fingers clean. “But I wouldn’t want you to think I don’t appreciate your instruction, or that I’m not taking it seriously.” And then he curls himself against Hob’s body, nestling his face into the crook of Hob’s neck. “Patience has never come easily to me, but. I will try.”

It takes Hob several seconds to parse out what Dream is talking about—not the least because he’s also processing the shock of Dream cuddling him—and when he does, he feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. He’d meant what he said, but he hadn’t really believed Dream might want him to mean it.

“Can teach you patience, too,” he says, bringing his arms up to cradle Dream against him. Fuck. This is such a bad idea, and Hob just...can’t be bothered to care. “There are so many things I can teach you, pet.”

“I have no doubt. Although, I’m uncertain how this is supposed to motivate me to write that ridiculous essay. Not that I’m complaining about your methods.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Hob tells him. “I already know you’ll have it done before our next session.”

“Do you,” Dream says flatly.

“I do,” Hob agrees. “Because if you do, I’ll spank your ass proper pink for you.”

Dream sucks in a sharp breath.

“And if you do it well, I’ll fuck you ‘til you cry after.”

There’s a long moment of silence in which Hob thinks he can nearly hear Dream’s internal debate.

“Perhaps,” Dream allows finally.

It’s enough for Hob to know he’s won. And if he’s wrong, well, he’s got a few days to think up a fitting punishment.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Some Kind of Disaster - Preview

Gally (TMR) x Fem!Reader

Concept: You saw Gally take a spear through the chest, and you are more than shocked to find him alive and well, in front of your eyes.

Preview Word Count: 970

If you like this preview, follow my writing blog @sundrop-writes and turn on notifications there as the full fic will be posted there sometime within the next few months when I have the time and energy to edit it. I may or may not make a TMR taglist, I'm not sure??

A/N: This is based entirely on the movie version of Gally, as I haven't read the books and don't plan on doing so. The title comes from an All Time Low song of the same name - which I would highly recommend listening to in order to get the vibes for this fic. Also apparently this is the same concept as a dozen other Gally fics, but I don't really care right now - because I got inspired to do it and it's entirely self indulgent, and this is my take on the concept lmao. I am currently on hiatus, but I've been working on fics as a form of stress relief during this time - but I haven't been editing fics. This fic will be posted after its edited sometime within the next month or two. (And there is already a sequel in the works, shhh.) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, and feedback is much appreciated!

Warnings: the full fic will be smut, but this is more of a tease of that; the reader character uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; spoilers for the films if you haven't seen them; arguing that turns into kissing; Gally has a self-deprecating/insecure inner monologue; mentions of Newt x Reader (it's one-sided in this fic, but may be something more later on ;)); Gally being possessive, Gally being rough (but the reader likes it); mention of Gally masturbating to thoughts of the reader; implications of Gally being taller than the reader (which I think is likely for most people cause Will Poulter is pretty fuckin tall); technically virginity loss (but it's not a big focus of the fic) - it's more about two people naturally enjoying their first time together (and I wrote this the same way I would write a first time in a relationship with two slightly more experienced characters) - and also nothing majorly sexual comes up in this part; this section: heated kissing with intentions towards sex, and that's pretty much it.

...

“Look, I’m sorry I’m not like them, okay?”

He spat out these words bitterly when you didn’t speak, and this left you confused. “I’m sorry I’m not some dumb brave hero guy-” 

You reached out and roughly shoved the middle of his chest again. Unknowingly, this aggravated the healed scar where the spear had gone through him, sending a dull ache through him at having the tender pink skin so roughly prodded without his chest armor on this time. 

“You’re so stupid!” You barked back, utterly insulted by his words. 

He thought this was par for the course, that you would begin hurling more insults before storming out. He thought that you would tell him his supposed ‘death’ had been the best thing that had ever happened to you, and the longing looks Newt had given you were truly something more. 

“God, you’re so-!” 

You choked on your own words and tears welled up in your eyes, and you took a sharp breath before you continued. 

“You are that dumb brave hero guy!” You yelled back, speaking like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Gally gaped at you, and you continued. 

“What do you think all that was?” You gestured vaguely behind yourself, obviously speaking about the events earlier in the day - when he had rushed into heavy bomb fire to drag you and the others to safety. “That was the dumbest hero guy thing I have ever seen.” You said, putting a stain of emphasis on the word ‘dumb’, pinching his own phrasing for it right in the ass. 

“That was nothing, I just did that because you were in danger, and-” 

“And that’s exactly what Thomas would have done.” You replied, quickly cutting him off. “You’re every bit as good as him. You are.” 

There was a tense moment where you stared him down, deep contemplation knit across his features while you waited for him to agree with you. 

“I wasn’t when you left the Maze.” He added on, quiet guilt floating through his voice. “I wasn’t brave then. I was a coward. I couldn’t be what you needed-” 

“You have always been what I need, Gally. When will you get that through your thick shank skull?” 

You were done rehashing the past. 

You were done contemplating the details of what could have been. It hit you truly then - all that mattered to you now was the fact that Gally, your Gally was in front of you, somehow alive and well. And though it was something you never could have predicted, you wouldn’t let such a beautiful thing slip through your fingers. 

You reached out and grabbed the front of his sweatshirt, pulling him forward roughly. At the end of that jerking motion, he was met with your lips, and he sunk into the kiss without a second thought, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh that shouldn’t have suited him so well. Adding to that softness as he reached up to gently cup your cheeks while you gnawed at him with a feral passion. 

This is exactly what he had been waiting for. This was the reunion he had wanted all along. 

In a moment, the touch, your desperate grip on the front of his shirt, the way you ran your teeth along his bottom lip, edging toward something more - it triggered something within him. A possessive streak over you that had long been dormant; something once fueled by rage and jealousy and fear over the bad things that might happen to you if he wasn’t constantly looking over your shoulder. Now, it came from something much deeper. 

That immature love he had felt for you that had only grown and matured during your time apart, adding to a hungry passion for you now that he had you back in his arms - now that he could feel the heat of your skin, smell you, hear the whimpering patter of your breath and know that you were so damn real. (Not just another falsehood of his imagination with the details poorly filled in that he tried to soothe himself with, while he had a hand on his cock.) 

He was the one who charged at you this time, shoving you backwards and walking tightly with you, crowding you back until you hit a wall. You hadn’t truly taken in your surroundings, and if you had half a mind to, you would have noticed that this was some kind of dingy store room - used for scavenged spare parts for the vehicles and old guns that needed to be repaired in order to be put into use. 

But your brain didn’t take any of that in when your back made contact with the wall, Gally still kissing you fiercely, making you downright dizzy. You didn’t have time to think when one of his hands took a possessive hold on your thigh, hiking your leg up around his hip while his presence loomed over you, like the perfect protective wall you always felt that he was. He continued the heated liplock for a moment before he pulled away for air, and then, a particular query couldn’t be contained within you. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked, half-teasing, still holding your death grip on his shirt. 

There was a particular hum between your thighs - something hot and beating and alive, a calling that demanded to be answered. You knew that you would be devastated if Gally stopped too soon or didn’t rise to that call. So you had to know what his intentions were now to prepare yourself for the potential disappointment. 

“Showing you how much I missed you.” He answered firmly, entirely certain, leaning in to capture your mouth again - pressing his whole body tightly against yours now. 

It sent a thrill through you - knowing that he would answer that call and thensome.

[sweetprfct]

Midnight Rain

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: The glitz and glamour of Hollywood isn't always what it seems. When Joe had started working with you in a movie, he had started wondering as to why you, the famous Hollywood starlet, has been acting out lately. Was there some dark secret behind all the angry spoiled façade? And why was he so fascinated about it?

Author's Note: Okay, part four. As I mentioned before starting this series, this fic could get dark and the part has finally arrived. So, just take this as a warning. Anyway, comments are always welcome! 🫶🏼

Disclaimer: 18+, mention of suicide, mention of SH.

Wordcount: 3.9K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Your bedroom doors muffled the screams that you were yelling at Skyler the next morning. It was the Paris premiere of your movie, and the rest of your team were sitting in your living room, waiting for you to stop acting out. An awkward silence blanketed the living room as everyone in your team exchanged looks. They have been sitting in the living room for about an hour now and the premiere starts in two hours and until now, you were still inside your room just screaming your lungs out. The screaming and acting out wasn’t new to your team anymore. At this point, they were used to it but the fact that you were going to be late for your own movie premiere was making everyone anxious.

“Why would they write this?!” You yelled at Skyler, who was already stressed. “You know it’s not true! I didn’t even want a sequel for this movie!”

You paced back and forth in front of Skyler. Your hair was in a messy ponytail, you were still in your robe, and you were sure that you didn’t even want to go to this premiere. All hell would break loose first before you would go out there and show your face. Not after this article. Not after everyone had already looked at you like you were a tarnished woman for the past two years. 

“Can you please calm down?” Skyler’s voice was soft. “You think I’m not trying my best to fix this? It’s just a rumor. They don’t have evidence for this.”

You scoffed, shaking your head and paused in your tracks. You glared at Skyler, your eyes full of hurt.

“No evidence.” You murmured, letting out a scoff. “That’s what you always say.”

“Well, there isn't.” Skyler stated sternly.

You shook your head repeatedly, disbelief at her answer. “And you expect me to go out there on the red carpet and pose for pictures with him? This is fucking bullshit, Skyler!”

Skyler let out a scoff, frustrated and angry as she threw her tablet on your bed. She took a step closer to you, grabbing you by the arm to stop you in your tracks before you could start pacing again.

“Then, what do you want to do, huh?!” Skyler raised her voice, her eyes widened in anger. “You want to go and run off again? Just like what you did a few months ago?! Go ahead!” She pulled your arm violently as you winced in pain. “Let’s see if there’s still a career waiting for you when you come back because I’m done! I’m done trying to understand you and I’m certainly done trying to help you!” 

Skyler let go of your arm, leaving fingerprint marks on them. Your nostrils flared, and your eyes filled with anger. The fire inside of you was blazing as your chest started heaving. You couldn’t help but bark out a sarcastic laugh from Skyler’s warning. 

“You never helped me!” You exclaimed, feeling the tears welled up in your eyes. “I told you what was happening and what did you tell me?! You told me to take this movie offer instead! Not once you ever believed what I told you!”

“There was no evidence for us to accuse him!” Skyler argued.

You shook your head, letting out a deep breath. You couldn’t believe that she was still standing by the same statement. 

“That’s the thing right, Skyler?” You felt a tear rolled down your cheek. “There’s always no evidence when it comes to your perspective, but what about my words? What about what I have experienced?”

Skyler rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic! We all know you’re just acting like this to get attention.”

You let out a deep breath as more tears streamed down your face. You could feel your heart shatter in pieces, your body feeling more and more numb as you heard what Skyler just told you. She was the one person that was with you since you started this career and the fact that she was saying this to you right now, you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe the fact that you thought she was someone you could trust. You couldn’t believe that you ever thought she was more than just your manager and that she was also your friend. 

You swallowed the emotions that were coming up in your throat. “You know…” You whispered, looking down on the floor. “It was fine if we couldn’t accuse him, but you could have at least believed me.” 

Skyler stood there in front of you, quiet for a moment. She shook her head and grabbed the tablet from your bed. 

“After what you have been acting, how could I believe you?” Skyler replied.

You pursed your lips, nodding your head at Skyler. More anger was starting to come up in your emotions and you knew this time, no one was stopping for it to come out. Not even you could stop it yourself. Turning the door handle of your bedroom, you saw everyone’s eyes turned to you as soon as you walked out. You looked like a mess with your red, puffy eyes and the tears that were currently streaming down your face. Everyone exchanged looks as you studied each of their faces in the room.

“Honey, are you okay?” Cameron asked, breaking the silence. 

“You’re all fired.” You murmured. 

Silence blanketed the room as everyone just stared at you, stunned. You felt Skyler’s presence behind you, and you could tell she was shaking her head. You didn’t have to turn around to know how she was reacting right now. 

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?!” You exclaimed. “You’re all fired!”

Everyone got up from where they were sitting slowly, reluctant if you were actually being serious. You shifted your eyes towards the makeup brushes that were sitting on the table. You grabbed one of them and started throwing it at everyone as you sobbed. 

“Get out!” You yelled. “I said get out! Get out all of you!!!”

Your vision and mind blurred. You didn’t know what you were grabbing anymore, but you were just lashing out at everyone as they all quickly ran out the door. You were grabbing towels, dresses, makeup brushes, lipsticks, hair brushes and whatever else that you could just grab and launched all of it at everyone until they were all out of the door. Your tears were streaming down your face as you continued to just throw everything until your whole suite was a mess. 

Until your energy was gone. 

You pulled the curtains on your windows and screamed in anger as you kept throwing everything on the floor until there was nothing left. Until everything was broken and ripped. Until you had let out all your anger, and you had slid your back against the wall and sat on the floor, sobbing your eyes out. You brought your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. 

You just wanted to die.

“Have you heard from her team?” Joe asked Alex in his hotel suite. 

They just finished getting him ready, but Joe’s attention had been on the article that was on his tablet. He heard about the news first thing this morning and ever since then, he kept asking Alex how you were doing. He kept asking if he heard anything from you or your team. He knew this was going to affect you so much, and he certainly knew the article wasn’t true. 

Alex shook his head at Joe, “Just focus on today’s premiere, Joe. She has her team to deal with this damage.” 

Alex’s assistant entered the room and immediately, Joe and Alex turned to face him. Joe was anxious, and he hoped that he had some news about you.

“She’s not coming.” Alex’s assistant said. “She fired everyone, apparently.”

Joe let his first instinct lead him as he immediately got up from the sofa, his eyes full of worry. Alex snapped his head towards Joe, shaking his head and giving him a warning look. 

“What did I just say?” Alex said, raising his brows at Joe.

“Alex, she needs someone.” Joe argued. 

“And that someone is not you.” Alex argued. “Don’t dip into her business. This could destroy your own reputation.”

“I get it. I get that none of you care, but I do. She’s my friend.” Joe retorted back. “If she needs me, then I’m gonna be there for her.”

“Joe.” Alex gave him a glare. 

Joe made his way towards the door and looked over his shoulder for a moment. 

“I’m sorry, Alex, but I made a promise. Many people have already destroyed their promises to her. I’m not gonna be one of them.” 

Just like that, Joe opened the door and walked out of his suite. His legs led him towards the elevators, and he immediately pressed the button to your floor. His foot tapped anxiously as he waited for the elevator to stop. As soon as the elevator doors opened, he sped walked down the hall and towards your room. The door was ajar, and he could hear your small sobs coming through the door. Knocking softly, he pushed the door open and found the room into a complete mess. Dresses, makeup brushes, pillows and anything he could think of were sprawled all over the floor. Lamps were on the floor, and the curtains on your windows were all ripped. 

His eyes studied the room until he found you on the corner with your knees to your chest. You laid your head against your knees, and your eyes were staring into the empty nothingness in front of you. A tear rolled down your cheek, and you felt nothing but just hollow on the inside. 

Joe slowly walked up to you, knelt down in front of you and set a hand on your arm.

“Hey.” His voice was soft.

Right before he could even say anything or do anything else, you unwrap your arms from your legs and immediately crash your body against his. You sobbed on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Joe whispered, embracing you tightly. “I’m right here.”

Joe could feel your body trembling in his arms as you buried your face on his shoulder. He sat on the floor, pulling you close in his arms as you sobbed every single emotion you were feeling. You sobbed on his shoulder until your tears were left to dry. You sobbed until there was nothing left but just your beating heart and petrified body. Joe could feel all your pain through your sobs, and he wished he could do something about it. He wished he could take it away even just an ounce of it. 

He hated seeing you like this.

He certainly hated the fact that you were in so much pain. More pain than he never even realized before. 

“What happened? What’s going on?” Joe asked, his voice almost a whisper the moment you slowly let go from his arms. 

You sniffed and wiped your nose with the back of your hand as you shook your head, slowly closing your eyes. 

“No one understands… No one will.” You wept.

Joe moved closer to you, his hand holding yours. “Try me. Help me help you understand.”

Slowly, you fluttered your eyes open, gazing up at Joe. He looked so worried about you, and you hated how you could make him feel like this. You hated that you kept hurting everyone around you because of your own personal problems. The warm sincere energy that he has was radiating off of him as he squeezed your hand softly and waited until you were ready to talk.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy.” You said, tears welling up in your eyes. 

Joe took your face between his hands, wiping the tears that rolled down your cheeks. His chocolate button eyes staring into yours. 

“There’s nothing for you to say or do to make me think that you’re crazy.” Joe stated. “Whatever it is, I’m here. No matter what.”

Your lips trembled in fear as you took a deep breath. You were so scared. Joe was the only person that started to understand and be there for you, and you didn’t want to lose him. You didn’t want him to look at you differently, but he said you were friends. He said friends guide each other and accept each other, right? 

“About a year and a half ago…” You wiped your tears, exhaling a sharp breath. “Skyler offered me this audition for a movie. It was supposed to be big. She said it would add greatly into the list of movies I already did.”

You could feel all the emotions washing over you as you looked away for a moment, another tear rolled down your cheek as Joe wiped it away. 

“I went to the audition.” You continued. “Director said I was great and to come back for a callback and when I did, he…” 

Tears streamed down your face again as you looked down on your lap and squeezed Joe’s hand. You sobbed quietly as you repeatedly shook your head. Memories of what happened then replayed back in your mind, and you just wanted to vomit. You felt disgusting, and you felt disgusted with yourself. Joe knitted his brows together as he pulled you in his arms. He could feel the anger rushing in his veins. He didn’t need to hear what you had to say because he knew exactly what happened, and he was disgusted by everyone who kept treating you like this. 

“He trapped me in his office, and he wanted me to…” You said through your sobs as Joe wiped the tears on your face.

“Shh…” Joe cooed, embracing you in his arms. “You don’t have to continue…”

He now knew the pain that you have been holding inside of you for so long and suddenly, everything made sense in his mind. Suddenly, the puzzle pieces had come together. 

“I want to…” You said. “I want to be honest with you.”

Joe pulled away for a moment, his eyes staring into yours. “What happened?”

“He tried… to touch me. Tried to take my clothes off. Luckily, I was able to escape.”

Joe took a deep breath as he brushed away the strands of hair away from your face. He could feel his heart breaking as you continued to talk. He could see every pain that you have been keeping through your eyes and all he wanted to do was take it all away. 

“I told Skyler about it.” You wiped the remaining tears on your face and gazed down on your lap. “Told her everything that happened, and she didn’t believe me. She said it’s fine if I didn’t get the role because she has this other movie for me, and you were going to be in it. That you were a rising star, so it’s going to be fine. Not once did she ask if I was okay or if there’s something we could do about it.”

“I’m so sorry.” That was all Joe could manage.

What else could he say? What could he do to take away all of this? The fact that he couldn’t do anything about it made him feel useless. Although, that wasn’t the big problem in his mind. The problem was that none of the people that you trusted believed you. None of them did anything to help you. They left you in the dark corner and had the audacity to complain when you felt angry about it. It made Joe angry about all of it. 

The incident with your panic attack yesterday was just the tip of the iceberg. No one truly cared about what happened to you. You were screaming this whole time for help, and they all blocked it out. The frustration and anger injected through Joe’s veins as he held you in his arms. 

“After that, I…” You sighed, shaking your head. “I just didn’t want to be alive anymore. I didn’t want to do anything. I feel so… I feel so numb. I feel like I was crazy for acting like that. They made me feel like I was being dramatic about it.”

“Hey, listen to me.” Joe cupped your face between his hands, his eyes staring deeply into yours. “You’re not being dramatic. You were a victim, and they should have said or did something. What happened to you was not okay. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you are crazy because you’re not, okay?” 

Exhaling a sharp breath, Joe sat there for a moment as you tried to gather yourself together. Wiping the remaining tears that were on your face, you played with your fingers anxiously for a moment. Joe had finally broken down the wall that you have put up and all this time, he didn’t expect for someone to be in so much pain on the other side of it. He didn’t know that you were slowly dying on the other side, and no one was there to try and get you out of it. 

In the silence that blanketed the room, Joe promised himself that he would never let you go back in there again. He promised himself that he was going to take you far far away from that room that you have trapped yourself in. 

He promised himself that he would set you free, and you would be happy. 

“You know, I was so angry?” You gazed up at him, breaking the silence. “I’m so angry about everything. I kept asking myself why? What did I do for him to think that was okay?” 

You gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, shaking your head as you tried to hold in the tears that won’t stop coming. 

“Everytime I look at my team, I know they’re judging me. They look at me like I’m so dirty, and I just wanted to lash out because they tell me they care about me but the truth is, they never did.” You scoffed. “My friends left me. They told me that I’m being too much and to just get it over with because he technically didn’t touch me.”

“That’s not right. You were a victim, and they should have helped you.” Joe shook his head, reeling you into his arms once again. “C’mere.”

Taking a deep shaky breath, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he hugged you tightly. You were afraid that you were going to crumble in his arms if you continued to talk more about it at this moment. His warm and safe arms were the only thing that you were holding onto at this point. The fear that washed over you about Joe seeing you differently after he knew the truth had faded away. 

He was still here.

He stayed.

He didn’t leave and most certainly, he listened to what you had to say without any judgment. Pressing your face on his neck, you fluttered your eyes close, inhaling his scent and letting your body finally relax in his arms. Joe’s mind, however, kept pondering with different thoughts. It kept dwelling over the fact that he was angry at the people that were supposed to support you. They were supposed to be the one who should be there for you. Instead, they ignored you. He still couldn’t believe that. His mind then wandered back the other night when you had gotten angry at him for touching you. 

Now, everything made sense. 

As he felt your body relax in his arms, he gazed down at you as his fingers softly stroke your hair. Your breathing was back to a steady pace, and he could tell that you were exhausted. Getting up from the floor, he carried you in his arms and walked towards your bedroom. He sets you gently on the bed and grabs the comforter to tuck you in. 

“Please, stay.” You quickly took his hand in yours, fluttering your eyes open. 

Joe nodded his head, walking around the other side of the bed and laid himself next to you. He tried to keep his hands to himself as he laid there and gazed up at the ceiling. He wanted you to rest. He was still in his suit, and he had no idea what his team was thinking right now about the both of you skipping this premiere. Though, that wasn’t his priority at the moment. He wanted you to be okay. He wanted you to feel safe. 

You turned your body to face him as you moved closer to him. Joe saw the look in your eyes as he wrapped an arm around you, and you laid your head on his chest.

“I ran away after that, you know?” You murmured.

“Where did you go?”

“Switzerland.”

Joe let out a soft hum as he softly caressed your arm. “Switzerland is nice.”

You nodded your head, closing your eyes slowly. “Especially in the Winter. The Christmas Market is nice.”

Joe smiled softly as he gazed down at you, who looked so peaceful for the first time in his arms. He softly stroked your hair and said, “I believe you, you know.”

Fluttering your eyes open, you gazed up at him and a small reassuring smile tugged on your lips. 

“I know.” You murmured. 

“I still don’t understand why you keep calling me John though.” Joe teased, making the both of you chuckle softly.

The air in the room suddenly lightened as you suppressed a soft laugh and shook your head as to how ridiculous it was. 

“Part of the act, I guess.” You said. 

Joe slowly sat on your bed, letting yourself do the same. His eyes studied yours before he gently cupped your face with his hand and his thumb gently caressed your soft butterfly skin. 

“You don’t have to act around me. I like the real you. Actually, I’m so fascinated by the real you.” 

Leaning against his touch, you let out a deep breath and said, “What if you only think that and you eventually regret it?”

“Never.” Joe reassured you. 

“Y…You don’t know the real me.” You said, staring into his eyes. 

Joe cleared his throat, hanging his head low for a moment before he let out an embarrassed laugh and said, “I have been…um… googling and watching your old interviews.”

You raised your brows, tilting your head at Joe, “Why?”

“Like I said… I was fascinated. I was… interested.” 

Joe’s warm smile made a knot in your stomach, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. It was a safe feeling. A feeling of being understood. You didn’t realize that someone could be like this to you. You couldn’t understand why because what did you even do to deserve someone like Joe in your life? How could someone care so much and take their time to actually get to know you? To get to know the real you that you have been hiding. How could someone have that much patience and understanding? 

Taking your hand in his, Joe squeezed it softly. 

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Joe reassured you. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, squeezing his hands softly. 

Reeling you in his arms, Joe embraced you tightly and as you buried your face on his shoulder, your mind had started pinwheeling again. Though, they weren’t overthinking thoughts this time. This time, you couldn’t help but think that for the first time ever, you felt understood and protected. For the first time, that warm good feeling washed over you, and you felt at peace.

In Joe’s presence and arms, you felt lighter. 

*********

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @munsonluvrr @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name @readergf @ladamari68 @1paire2vans @d4rk4ng3l86 @paleidiot @josephquinnsfreckles @readergf

[andromeda-nova-writing]

Impressions

Wriothesley x Fem! Reader

Summary: With Wriothesley not wanting his photo one may wonder about the kind of Impression that he wants to leave upon people. Or maybe just question if he may be a bit Kamera shy and finding any valid excuse to avoid his photo being taken. What’s seen in a photo can lead to many thoughts about the person within. Why not try to make it something good?

Words: 2,404

AN: A kind of sequel to the sticker fic. It stands on its own pretty well though. It's a miracle I had so much of the fic done in time for his birthday.

Y/N made her way towards Wriothesley and Sigewinne after watching Charlotte, Lumine, and Paimon leaving Fortress of Meropide. “Sigewinne, the rest of the medications you asked for have been finished up.” She reported. Even though the flood didn’t destroy Fontaine, some things had gotten lost in the waters and there were people in the Fortress who did require certain medications daily. It was best to get things back to normal as soon as possible after the disaster had been mostly averted.

Wriothesley looked over to her with a sense of relief washing over him. “See there’s work to be done, no need to continue this conversation.”

Y/N looked down at Sigewinne. “Do tell what I’ve interrupted.”

“His Grace still refuses an interview with Charlotte. Specifically having his photo taken.” She explained.

“There’s no need for attention to be placed upon me. I just want credit to be given to those who deserve it more than me.” He continued the same argument and reason he gave to everyone.

She rolled her eyes. “Sigewinne, I think I’m beginning to agree with my mother that our dear Duke, His Grace, Warden of the Fortress of Meropide, Wriothesley is afraid of the kamera.”

The two girls laughed over her teasing. Wriothesley had rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over her joke. He considered walking away to just end it before any more teasing could go forward. But then again her words were actually quite telling.

“You talk about me to your mother? Didn’t think I made such a big impression on you that warranted that.”

“It is precisely because there are no photos of you that she asks questions. And don’t be so full of yourself Ri. I talk about everyone in my life to my mother. You can feel important if you ever meet her.”

“Y/N’s mother is quite lovely. She’s always so curious about everyone and everything.” Sigewinne explained the lunch the three of them had a few weeks ago. “She creates the most adorable stickers. I still have to frame the portrait she drew of me.”

“It’s just a napkin drawing. Don’t think too much of it. She just can’t keep her hands still and you happened to capture her eye.”

Wriothesley could not believe what he was hearing as the two kept their conversation going without him. Was her mother in on the great stickering week he had gone through? How many of the stickers had he peeled off were created by that lady?

“I’ll see what I can do about you seeing her again then for a proper portrait. And if no times line up, maybe I can borrow her kamera to get a good reference photo for her.” Y/N leaned down just a bit and covered the side of her mouth with her hand. She did even not attempt to lower her voice. “Then we can try and sneak a photo of our kamera shy Duke.”

The two of them were laughing once again. Why were the only times Y/N used any of his titles it was a sorry attempt at professionalism or just to tease him? He grabbed Y/N’s arm pulling her up so she was no longer leaning down. 

“See Sigewinne, he continues to manhandle me. You’ve known him the longest. Tell him how to treat a lady.” Y/N complained. 

Sigewinne continued her laughter. Wriothesley was way too in love to do anything that would hurt Y/N. The two of them made a very cute couple, well if they ever got together.

“If you have time to tease me and joke around, then you can come help organize some files in my office since Sigewinne has no work for you.”

“I have plenty of work to do for her.” She argued attempting to pull her arm away. He didn’t budge. His grip was firm yet gentle enough to not cause her any pain.

“Actually that’s all I needed for you at the moment. Ottnit and I can cover the rest.” With how busy it had been there had been no way Wriothesley had been taking enough time to rest. And Sigewinne trusted that he wouldn’t actually put Y/N to work inside his office or work himself.

“Oh, the betrayal. Ottnit is officially my favorite between the three of you down here.” That was a lie. She’d never pick a favorite.

“Just don’t forget to take a break you two. I don’t want to interrupt your time to remind either of you.” Sigewinne began her walk back to the infirmary before Y/N had a chance to comment on what she had said.

“Wriothesley.” She whined as she was gently being pulled away towards his office. “People will talk. I thought you didn’t care for that.”

“You must be people then if you are already discussing about me with your mother.” He laughed as they made their way into his office.

“Only because of your actions. I don’t know how it got to her but she thinks you can’t keep your hands off of me.” She only spoke the next part once the door was closed behind them. “She thinks you’re courting me. And since you rarely make appearances outside the Fortress of Meropide, my mother wants a photo of you before she truly believes that rumor or listens to me.” It didn’t help that part of Y/N wanted that rumor to be true as well. Even then it wasn’t like she could find the time to admit it aloud just what she wanted.

They made their way up the stairs. “I don’t know why you need a photo of me if we aren’t actually a couple.” He let go of her arm once they reached the top.

Y/N frowned, looking around and seeing his office was spotless. Liar. Not a single thing was out of place. There wasn’t even a stack of papers on his desk. “Is it wrong of me to still want to show her a photo of my friend? The only photos I’ve managed to find of you are mid-fight in the Pankration Ring. I can’t show those to her.”

Wriothesley walked over to a bookshelf with his tea collection looking through it to find what suited Y/N’s tastes the most. “It’s a photo that has my face in it. Sounds like it counts.” 

"I am not showing my mom a photo of you shirtless, sweaty, and punching someone during a boxing match. She may be quite the easygoing person but I think she'd have my head on a platter if that was her first impression of you." 

"Vanilla Chai or Orange Cinnamon?" They were her favorites but he wasn’t sure which one she'd be more in the mood for. "You want a good first impression of me for her? I'm a Duke. Shouldn't that be good enough?" It was usually good enough for people who had no need to have any idea how he was as a Warden.

Y/N moved over to his desk and began messing with the gramophone playing the record he had on there last. If she was to have tea then she'd have music as well. "Earl Grey if you don't mind. I actually enjoyed it a lot last time you offered it." The sound of his music was lovely to her ears. "And no your title is not a good enough impression for her. Where do you think I got my dislike of titles from?"

"Well bring her down to the Fortress one day. We can all have lunch together." He offered up the idea as he began to steep the tea for them. "If it's that important to you that I make a good impression on her, I'm sure a lunch here would help."

Y/N sighed and shook her head. "I want her to meet you Ri not the Warden of this Fortress. She can meet that side of you at a later date.” Realistic it was a side that she hoped her Mother would never truly have to meet. “She should meet my friend. The one who could put away two pots of tea and is covered in stickers and loves songs you could easily find yourself slow dancing to." 

“Is that how you view me?”

“You’re also a bit cocky, love to gossip more than you would ever admit and you find too much fun in watching people guess if you are joking around or being serious.” She sat down on the couch in his office. 

“Well, now I’m not giving you your favorite mug.”

Y/N’s laughter filled the room. “You’re so mean. You should be happy I’ve only brought up the good things about you to my mother. I want her to like you.”

“You shouldn’t worry about it too much. Watch Sigewinne find out and she’ll be worried about you for the entire week.”

“I have to worry about it. You’re such a mystery to so much of Fontaine and have way too many rumors floating around you. I don’t want my mother to believe rumors about you.”

Wriothesley began pouring the tea out in the two mugs for them. “If I agree to let you take a picture of me, can we drop this?”

“Under what conditions? I know there’s more than just me dropping this.” She sat straight up excitedly waiting for her mug to be handed to her. He still had her favorite mug out for her. 

“Just be in the photo with me.” 

“Admit you are kamera shy.”

Wriothesley rolled his eyes before handing Y/N her favorite mug and taking a seat on the couch next to her. His mug was placed on the coffee table in front of them. “All because I don’t care to have my photo taken doesn’t mean I’m afraid of the kamera. I just don’t think there’s ever been a good reason that requires a photo of me.”

“So you must find this a good enough reason then.”

“You were going to try and get a photo of me regardless.” With how sneaky she was about handing off more stickers to Sigewinne, Y/N would have an easy chance of taking the photo. Knowing his luck with the woman, he would notice while she laughing over a photo where a stray sticker had wandered towards his face.

She frowned. “What do you take me for? I was only joking earlier. You should know I respect your privacy.”

He shook his head. “I just meant you would keep begging me every time you showed up here. As funny as that would be, I don’t want you to waste your time.”

Y/N laughed. “Do you really think I would be caught begging you for a picture? I could easily convince you into it if I wanted.”

“And how would you do that?”

“Have I not just convinced you?” She drank her tea hiding the smile that crept onto her face.

He sighed realizing he had no way out of her question. “Remind me why I enjoy your company.”

She shrugged. “How am I supposed to know if you never told me? You know Ri, this would be the perfect time to tell me. I’m all ears.” Y/N placed her mug on the coffee table. She scooted closer towards him and looked him in the eyes. There was an attempt at looking like the most innocent person who definitely would never tease him. 

Wriothesley rolled his eyes. “Suddenly I forgot. Whoops,” he spoke with a shrug before reaching down so he could finally enjoy his drink that should have cooled off enough.

She crossed her arms before falling back onto the couch. “You’re an ass.” She told him almost singing it along with the music that played.

“I thought that was just my charming personality. The part you wanted to introduce to your mother.” He began teasing her.

“Don't make me regret telling you that,” she sighed. 

“Which part?”

“The second part. I've never called your personality charming.”

“You sounded charmed when you were describing me moments ago. And considering what you said, I should feel important that you want me to meet her.” He threw her words right back at her. “If you would have regretted it, I don’t think you would have brought it up.”

“If I can reveal all of that to you however indirectly-”

“Seemed pretty direct to me.” He interrupted. His smile was met with a glare. He shrugged a small apology for interrupting her.

“If I can reveal all of that to you indirectly,” she started once again. “I would hope you would understand I’d only regret it if things didn’t go the way I hope they would.” And the most she would hope for now is just a cherished friendship. Even then a cherished friendship was something she could happily live with.

Wriothesley placed his mug back down on the coffee table. “You really do worry too much.” He finally gave in to the thoughts that plagued the back of his mind for many months. He placed the gentlest kiss upon her cheek. “I really don't think you were worried about what your mother would think about me as much as you say it aloud.” He knew her long enough to know when she actually was worried and he couldn’t find any of it within her voice.

Y/N felt frozen. Yes, they flirted back and forth, she was used to that. But she didn't think they would ever act upon anything. She wasn’t even sure if their flirting was serious or just a thing they did jokingly.  “Wriothesley?” She spoke quietly in her shock. Never did she think such an action would steal her thoughts away. It was the last thing she expected but his action was something she welcomed to happen again. 

“Yes?” He leaned back away from her giving her space to process what had happened between them.

“Are you serious?” She began to wonder when their flirting changed from jokes into something different. Had it become serious without her even noticing?

“Only if you had been.” He had been. Playing with someone else’s heart would have been cruel. To love someone platonically, familially, and romantically was something he took seriously. He’d been through enough to know you don’t play with anyone’s heart. A heart is something that should be treated with the utmost care.

“I should be more worried about what she thinks. I'm gonna need her to like you now.”

[tragicbeauty1991]

So I know I’m extremely late to the party, but I FINALLY got around to watching Wish now that it’s up on Disney+ and…I genuinely don’t understand why it got so much hate?? Sure, maybe it wasn’t on par with things like The Lion King or Frozen in terms of the lasting effect it’ll have on pop culture but it was still a good, fun film with original characters and plot and catchy songs. While I can see where some of the complaints are coming from, I feel like ultimately most of them blow the issues out of proportion. As for my personal thoughts on the film…

- The songs were good overall. Maybe not as memorable as some of my favorite ‘90s Disney jams, but topping Phil Collins and Elton John is admittedly hard to do. Ariana DeBose and Chris Pine were great, though. I honestly had no idea Chris Pine could sing so well. “At All Costs” was by far my favorite song of the entire film. I would have loved to see it as a love duet rather than singing to the wishes but regardless, it’s beautiful. “This is the Thanks I Get” got a lot of flak, but honestly, I thought it was catchy and fun—rather reminiscent of Gaston’s pub song about himself.

- Speaking of Magnifico… More backstory, please! I would love for a sequel to do what they did with Frozen and explain all the things that were not fully developed in the first film. I want to know details on what happened to Magnifico’s family… But man, oh man… Was I EVER happy to get a “real villain” again with more of a classic Disney feel—dramatic, over the top, a little unhinged…and just FUN. I think the reason so many people seem to be having a problem with him is that they don’t quite know how to categorize him, though, before his ultimate downward spiral after being possessed by the book. (I think after that point, no one would argue about him being a villain.) But before…while he’s definitely narcissistic and has a temper…he’s not straight-up evil. There’s a big difference in being a bit of a jerk and being someone who makes you legitimately fear for your life. In fact, we have several heroic characters in the Disney canon who at least start out their story in a similar vein. Prince Naveen, Peter Pan, and Emperor Kuzco, for example, are all full of themselves and entitled…but they ultimately choose to do the right thing when it comes down to people they care about. That is to say, Magnifico’s less than ideal character traits we see early on in the film shouldn’t automatically qualify him as a villain. He could frankly go either way. And then when he does “go dark” it’s ONE stupid decision on his part (going for the book) that ruins any chance he had of being like the aforementioned characters. Personally, I like the complexity…and the tragedy of what it means for Queen Amaya. Which reminds me…

- Yes, a villain power couple would have been fun. But honestly, I think I like this better. Partly because of the angst potential here. For all his faults, Amaya DOES genuinely love him, and watching him slowly lose his mind and himself to the power-hungry monster he becomes has to be absolutely heartbreaking for her. Also…maybe it’s just because I identify with Amaya here. I have been in a bad relationship where I did truly love the other person and thought they loved me…but ultimately, they seemed to love themselves more. And I made excuse after excuse for his behavior for a long time because I couldn’t see what he was doing to me…didn’t want to see it…because I loved him. People say Amaya had to have known sooner that something rotten was going on but I don’t know that she ever allowed herself to think anything other than the best of him. Amaya has a good heart…and sometimes those people see the best in others even when it isn’t there. What I really would have loved is to have Amaya and Magnifico sing a short reprise of “At All Costs” in which Amaya is asking, “Really? You’ll hoard all these wishes for your own selfish reasons even at the cost of losing your people’s love? Of losing me?” And Magnifico is just…stoically resolute. That would have hurt but it would have been so good!

- Similarly, I don’t get the complaint about Star. I wouldn’t mind seeing Star Boy like he was in the concept art and having a romance with Asha. But also…Star is ADORABLE, okay?? He may not speak but he has so much personality. Makes me think of like…Pascal in Tangled or even Tinkerbell.

- I know a lot of people complained about there being too many references to other Disney films but this just seems like a silly argument to me. Disney has always liked to leave little Easter eggs in their films and have some fun with crossovers. I am thinking of the Genie imitating Pinocchio and pulling Sebastian out of nowhere in Aladdin. Hidden characters in the background of other films like Flynn and Rapunzel showing up in Arendelle. Hidden Mickeys. And of course shows that were all about a Disney multi-verse that sort of pokes fun at itself like Once Upon a Time, House of Mouse, and even Ralph Breaks the Internet. With this being a special anniversary film, of course we ought to expect more nods to other films and Disney animation history. I thought it was cute. Especially Magnifico’s jab at Asha’s little moving drawing. (“Is that a talent?”) Made me literally laugh out loud.

- I think the one complaint I do agree with at least in part is the, “But Magnifico was right, though??” Some dreams shouldn’t come true. Especially if it’s a wish you’re making when you’re 18. There are definitely things I wished for at 18 that I am glad I did not get in hindsight. Sometimes what we wish for isn’t what’s best for us or others. And while Asha’s wishes are selfless and for others…she seems to assume that everyone else will also have equally harmless, selfless wishes. It’s sweet but perhaps a bit naive. Also…Asha has good intentions but it is rather funny and frustrating as the adult to watch this teenager come in and try to upset the whole system thinking she knows better than the person who has been running the kingdom for years. That said… Asha isn’t totally wrong either. The wishes do ultimately belong to the people who made them and it’s better even if it’s painful to have a dream in your heart than to be lacking purpose. It may be easier to forget the wishes entirely but certainly not healthier. Ironically, if only these two could have worked together, they actually would have made a great team.

Overall, I liked the film. And I think if I was still a child myself, I would have enjoyed it even more.

[destinygoldenstar]

The Evil Arin theory is brilliant.

All the build up is there. The masks being introduced as a form of corruption, Arin’s inferiority complex being on display more and more to a breaking point, the dragons themselves saying he’s not good enough, the confirmation with Ras, and so on.

It would be a plot twist that’d leave everyone floored. And it would make Arin Lloyd’s Morro. A student he failed. A student he put too high on a pedestal that he was only setting him up for failure. It would leave Sora devastated as well and a victim of whatever Lloyd does next with his teachings after that, in paranoia she’d end up like Arin if he’s not careful.

BUT,

Too bad I highly doubt LEGO is ever gonna do that.

I want to be wrong. I want to be shocked. But I don’t think it’s gonna happen. At most maybe we’d get like, one scene of Arin tempted to put on the mask, maybe even do it, then with the power of love and friendship, FIXED.

That’s what I think is gonna happen anyway.

Arin’s one of the main characters of the sequel show. There’s just no way Ninjago would pull in Arcane on us and reveal a plot twist like that. Even if it sounds incredibly fitting.

Even if we all love the idea of that plot twist as a ‘protag fakeout’, or even ‘nah you’re routing for the bad guy’s actually’. As Ninjago never did that before. (You can argue Morro, but that was a possession situation and not Lloyds choice) Someone you THOUGHT was the new main character is actually having an origin story to become a full on VILLAIN, bonus if was an overarching villain throughout the show, is, well, INSANE. And a very bold move. And in my opinion, the season is very dark and intense already, but doing that twist at all, with all the well written build up they’re already doing, would make Dragons Rising THE best Ninjago product and get the show trending a lot more than it already is now.

But, again, this is Ninjago we’re talking about, a kids show which usually likes to gloss over dark traumas like that, so naturally they aren’t going to do it.

So I’m expecting it to not happen.

[rorywritesjunk]

Down in the dark where the waves won’t go, I’m bound to find my way.

Sunny and Buggy disagree over the next steps of their life together leading to them spending time apart.

Rating: PG-13 to be safe for swearing and arguing. Warning: Each chapter will have a specific warning. Epilogue!!! Happy ending!!! AAAA!! Word Count: 2,111 A/N: The direct sequel to "No locked upon land...", the fic that started it all. I do not use "You" in this as now that Sunny is an established OC I decided not to go that route. The ending!! Happy!! Also I'm of the belief that you never remember every person you've ever met in your life. You may cross paths multiple times and not realize it. Hence how I chose to end this. Thank you for reading this! It was fun and painful and great to write!

Title comes from "Sailing Song" by S.J. Tucker

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Epilogue Taglist: @hey-august @lostfirefly @ane5e

Epilogue

It was weird sleeping in but Buggy insisted on it the night before. He said he would get the baby up and even make breakfast (she wasn't too sure on that part) but that she deserved to sleep in. The last year had been hard on them, from the fights to their brief separation to Sunny telling Buggy she was pregnant. She never saw him fall to pieces so quickly before until that moment. 

He had been shocked into silence for just a few minutes before he shrieked and rushed to go tell the crew, leaving Sunny behind in the pantry. She could hear the excited cheers from the crew. Apparently they were just as excited as their captain.

“Shh, shh, why are you fussing? You're not supposed to fuss when daddy carries you! It's not flashy!”

She cracked an eye open and looked over towards the door. Buggy held Gold against his chest while carrying a tray of food with his hands out in front of him. The baby was fussy even though Buggy was trying his best to calm him.

“Gold, buddy, come on, Mama's sleeping and you're gonna wake her up.” He huffed softly as he tried his best to soothe him. “I already changed you and you didn't want the mush she made you last night, so what do you want?”

She grinned and burrowed herself under the covers. She'd let him suffer a bit more. He didn't have to carry a baby for 9 months or spend over 30 hours in labor. All he did was cry when the baby was finally born and he finally saw his son with his little fluffy blonde hair and little red nose.

“Goldie, kiddo, you're killing me here.” Buggy whined. Sunny sighed and finally rolled over to face them, only to burst out laughing at the sight of her husband covered in flour, eggs, and she was pretty sure there was some jam in his hair. He glared at her as he set the tray on the bed and passed her the baby. Gold’s eyes lit up and he was happy to snuggle in her arms. She kissed him on the forehead and smiled. 

“You okay there, Buggy?”

“I cooked you breakfast!” He told her. “The skillet was too hot and I burned my fingers, and then the water boiled over when I made your tea. The eggs spilled onto the two of us so I had to change Gold again and then he sneezed as I had a scoop of flour and it got everywhere.”

Sunny distracted herself by looking at the tray of food and tried not to erupt into giggles. The piece of toast seemed to have a little hand print in the jam. She looked back at Buggy as he scooted himself into bed beside her and took a bite of the toast.

“Honey, you have jam in your hair.” She pointed out. He groaned and slumped against her as Gold watched his daddy curiously. “There's a little hand print in the jam…”

“He grabbed my hair at one point.” Buggy whined. “I didn't realize he had sticky fingers! Babe, I just washed my hair!”

She kissed the top of Buggy’s head and smiled. “You're a good dad.”

He lifted his head up just enough to look into her eyes as he pouted at her. Dealing with a sticky baby from time to time was something Buggy still couldn't handle. Everything else? Whatever, he could deal with diapers and spit up, but for some reason anything sticky like jam had Buggy wanting to have a meltdown over it. 

“Can I go wash my hair?” He whined softly.

“Yes, honey.” She told him as he started to get up. “Thank you for breakfast and for getting the baby ready.”

Buggy looked at her funny and shrugged. “I'm his dad, it's my job to look after him.”

“Yea-”

“I don't care what your family thinks should happen. He's my kid, I am going to raise him. It's not all on you, babe.” Buggy told her as he went to look at himself in the mirror. Maybe he didn't need to wash all of his hair, just that section of it. “The idea that I'm babysitting my own kid is shit and if your aunts and uncles say anything then I'll say something back!”

Sunny doubted he would say anything but she wouldn't discourage him. She loved him even more now after seeing him take care of Gold. Buggy almost always had his son in his arms or near him when he was working. The only time Sunny saw the baby was when it was feeding time. 

“I love you, Buggy.” She told him as he tried to wash the sticky jam out of his hair. He looked back at her curiously before grinning widely at her.

“How could you not?” He asked as he winked at her. “I'm the greatest husband and dad in all the sea, babe!”

~*~

He didn't mean to get lost again.

Buggy had only taken a few steps away from the first mate to look at something when a crowd walked by and he was by himself. Where did Rayleigh end up? This was his second time getting separated from the crew on an outing. If Buggy was lost again, he'd get a talking to and won't be allowed to step off the ship ever again. He tried to look around but the first mate was nowhere to be seen.

Buggy tried not to panic but it was a little hard not to. 

He stuck his hand in his pocket, gripping the pretty bracelet he had found a few weeks ago. He didn't quite remember how he found it but it was one of his favorite things. The weight in his pocket was a comforting reminder of what he was striving for in his pirate journey: find as much treasure as possible.

“Are you lost?”

Buggy’s head jerked around to see a girl who looked about his age. She was smiling at him but he wasn't sure why. Was being lost amusing to her?!

“No, I'm not lost!” He insisted as he straightened up. “Why would you just ask someone that?!”

“You just looked lost.” She told him with a shrug. “I'm Sunny, my Mama's right over there. You can stay with us until your mom or dad show up if you want!”

Buggy stared at her. She just… offered to have him stay with her not knowing who he was when he could be some scary, dangerous pirate. He was about to say something to her, call her stupid for that, but a woman walked up, her blonde hair in a ponytail, arms covered in tattoos, startling Buggy into keeping his mouth shut. She looked more like a pirate than someone's mother.

“Sunny, what's going on?”

“He's lost, mama!”

“I-I’m not lost!” Buggy squeaked, not taking his eyes off the pirate. She cocked her head to the side before crouching down in front of him, looking him over curiously. He tried to look like he wasn't nervous but… he was for some reason. His captain was the strongest but this lady looked like she could be just as strong. 

“Oh? Well, you can hang out with us until someone comes looking for you.” She smiled. “I'm Windy. We were about to get a snack. What's your name, honey?”

He couldn't help but stare at her. The way she smiled and called him honey was… familiar and comforting to him for some reason. He glanced at Sunny. She was smiling at him as well and he felt himself relax just a bit. Maybe he could stick around with them until Rayleigh showed up.

“B-Buggy.”

“Buggy? That's a cute name.” Windy said as she smiled at him. “Let's get you kids a snack while we look for your adult, Buggy. How does that sound?”

He shouldn't talk to strangers. The crew told him and Shanks not to, but he did feel safe around these two. He wasn't sure why but they didn't seem to be a threat. There was a familiarity in that smile and how she called him honey, but he couldn't place where. He swallowed heavily and nodded. He could stay with them until he found Rayleigh.

~

To keep him from getting separated from them, Sunny held his hand the entire time. Buggy allowed her, saying nothing as his cheeks burned as they sat on a bench while Windy went to get them both a snack. The little girl looked at him and smiled brightly. He looked away.

“I bet Mister Rayleigh will find you.” She told him. “If not, you can stay with us.”

“I can find my way back to the ship if I have to!” Buggy shot back. “This place is just big, okay?”

Sunny tilted her head to the side and smiled. He hated that she kept doing that. Why were these two being so nice and helpful? Did they want something in return? He huffed softly and looked back at her. She gave his hand a squeeze and looked back at the people milling about the area

Windy came back a few minutes later, handing them both a tasty piece of fruit before standing beside her daughter and keeping an eye out for Rayleigh. She met the first mate once before, back when she was a member of the Cook Pirates, so spotting him wouldn't be too hard.

She glanced at the kids. Sunny was asking Buggy questions about living on a ship, being a pirate, all kinds of things, even asking what was the best treasure he found so far. The boy was answering back, an air of arrogance about him as he talked about rescuing the captain one time from a nasty pirate crew and how he found a treasure chest that was almost bigger than the ship! Sunny’s eyes were sparkling as she listened and Windy was happy to see her daughter making friends with someone. 

The snacks were enjoyed and the kids were chatting when Rayleigh made an appearance. His face was a mix of anger and relief as he crossed his arms and looked at Buggy. The boy straightened up and looked back at him, wondering what the punishment was, but Windy patted him on the head.

“Rayleigh, it’s been a while!” She laughed. “My daughter found your boy and was close to adopting him into our family. Better keep an eye on him or she’ll kidnap him.”

“Maybe he'll learn not to wander off.” Rayleigh grumbled as the kids stood up. “Let's head back, Buggy. Tell them thank you.”

Buggy looked over at Sunny and Windy. The pirate seemed amused while Sunny looked disappointed about him leaving. They just met, they weren't friends or anything, so why was she looking like she wanted to cry? He scratched the back of his head and glanced up at Rayleigh for reassurance. He sighed and looked back at them.

“Thank you for looking after me.”

“Any time, Buggy!” Windy chuckled. “It was nice meeting you. I bet you're going to be a famous pirate someday.”

Buggy puffed out his chest and looked smug about that. Rayleigh put his hand on Buggy’s head and directed him to Sunny. The little girl just gave him a sad smile and waved at him as the boy glanced up at his guardian again. What was he supposed to say to her? He just thanked them! 

“Thank… you for helping me, Sunny?” It was more of a question, but he wasn't sure. Her eyes lit up and her smile got bigger. Buggy forced himself to look away again because he didn't want to look at her any more. She had a pretty smile.

“You're welcome, Buggy!” She replied happily. “I hope we can stay friends!”

He didn't really know how, they wouldn't see each other again, but he just shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets, toying with the bracelet he found for a moment. It was pretty, but he didn't remember how he got it, so maybe… 

He could offload it on her. It wasn't worth anything, he was pretty sure about that, so he pulled out the bracelet and reached for Sunny’s hand. She looked at him curiously as he put it in her hand. He said nothing, stared at her for a moment, then turned and hurried off before Rayleigh turned to follow. Windy just chuckled softly as Sunny looked it over and put the bracelet in her pocket. 

He was kinda weird but Sunny thought he was nice. Maybe she'd see him again.

[reflection-s-of-stars]

Remember the sweat in our palms

For @aanthonyvb for @drinkwithme-exchange !!! Sorry it’s so late + short, I wrote this in like an hour for adhd reasons that I may or may not be projecting onto Jehan. Kinda a sequel to last year’s fic, or like a modern au of something similar :)

The back room of the Café Musain is a great place to meet with your friends in the winter and talk about anything and everything, from monarchies to modern art. The main room is a great place to walk in and get a glass of water in the summer, and the tables outside are a great place to watch the leaves turn and flutter in the fall.

But in May and June, the best place for a couple of stressed-as-hell philosophy majors to study for their Roman Studies final is the place next door, a quiet little bookstore that none of Enjolras’s friends ever think twice to visit.

“What’s that thing Professor Garnier said about Cicero?”

“He’s the most widespread-”

“Yep. Remember now. Thanks.”

It’s cool in here. The AC is way better here than at the café. Enjolras briefly wonders why he doesn’t come here more often, where it’s cool and quiet and full of books. Books and Jehan, who may or may not be even more stressed than he is, but Jehan is quiet enough to blend into the rest of the store.

A couple of peaceful hours pass in the company of Seneca and the study guide.

“Are you worried about it?”

Enjolras places his book down.

“Worried about what, Jehan?”

“The test. The essay. Everything.”

He isn’t worried. He doesn’t get worried about tests. Enjolras knows his strengths, and he works well alone and great under pressure. The material isn’t an obstacle, he can argue (and has argued) with their teacher about Marcus Aurelius. There’s honestly very little for him to worry about.

“Not really.”

“No,” says Jehan, looking away. “Me neither.”

“Are you sure? I thought you hated finals.”

That’s true and they both know it. Pressure is as bad for Jehan as it is good for Enjolras. Time crunches are his kryptonite, and the closer the deadlines get the worse it’ll definitely be.

“I think this one’ll be okay, to be honest,” he says, and sighs. “I think the more I say it, the more likely it is to be true.”

“I think Bossuet says that a lot.”

Jehan lets his head down with a thunk into the wooden table, and it immediately occurs to Enjolras that he probably shouldn’t have said that.

“I’m going to fail.”

“No, you’re going to do fine, you know what to do on the essay-”

“No, I’m going to fail.”

“You read all the material-”

“Yeah, I’m going to fail.”

“Jehan, I didn’t even read all the material.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Yes, I did. But you did too.”

“God, I’m going to fail.”

The store is quiet and cool. Enjolras can almost feel the red flush of Jehan’s face, reaching down his neck and threatening to draw tears from his eyes. He knows when he’s messed up, and he’s messed up just now, and nothing is going to-

DING

Jehan’s phone, face-up on the table, shows a text from Grantaire.

R u next door

DING

U and E

DING

Wanna come to cafe M

Normally he wouldn’t say yes to any invitation from Grantaire, but it’s been a long day and Enjolras is ready to make things right.

“Jehan.”

“No, you’re right, there’s no point in-”

“Look at your phone,” says Enjolras, grabbing his bag. “Let’s head out.”

Jehan lifts his head with a groan, smiles, and slams his book shut.

The Café Musain is a great place to take a study break.

[lonesome-witching]

Forever Starts Now

I was asked to do a sequel to Forever With You this time including the wedding. So here it is. Thank you for the prompt. It was lovely to write.

It does feel weird to not advertise myself in this bit. But prompts reopen this Friday, May 26th. Until then you can always check out my previous prompts or my ao3.

“I will admit, I had pictured your wedding differently.” 

Nancy looked up from where she was pulling at her white gown. It probably shouldn’t have been white. 

“Please mom, not this again.” She sighed as her eyes locked with her mother’s. 

“No, no. I’m not complaining.” Karen stepped further into the room. “You look good. Happy.” 

Nancy forced out a laugh. “Shocking because I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack.” 

“Second thoughts?” 

“No.” Nancy shook her head. “I want to marry her. I love her. But… God, it feels so… so final. Like once I walk down the aisle there is no going back anymore.” 

“Would that be an issue?” 

Nancy wasn’t entirely sure if her mom was trying to talk her out of this or not. “Not for me. I can’t even believe how lucky I am that she wants to spend her life with me but mom,... What if… She-” She took a breath. “She deserves better than me. I’m such a mess and what if one day she realizes that she doesn’t want to clean up after me anymore. I have all this trauma that follows me wherever I go and I keep dragging her into it. Just the other day I kept her up till 5 am, just because I was afraid to go to sleep. And she does it. She does whatever I need her to do every single time but someday she might get tired of it and then… it’ll hurt so much more if I go through with this.” 

“Sweetie.” Karen pulled her daughter into a hug. “How long have you and Robin been together?” 

“7 years.” 

“Exac- 7 years? Nancy! You told me you didn’t start dating until your junior year of college.” Karen exclaimed, pulling back. 

“That might have been a lie. But seriously mom, you didn’t suspect anything? Me and Robin were roommates.” 

“Well, 7 years then. In that time has Robin ever made any move to leave you?” 

Nancy considered the question seriously. She went over every single fight they had had. How they had argued when Robin forgot to do the dishes right after moving into their small Boston apartment together. How Nancy had lashed out when they went to a gay bar and Robin accidentally flirted with another girl several years ago. How Robin had shouted at her when Nancy pulled up her walls or gave her the silent treatment. 

But Robin had secretly done the dishes while Nancy went to the supermarket. And Robin had held her hands and assured her that she was just trying to be nice and that there was no one she could ever love like she loved Nancy. And Robin might have shouted at her but her words had always been kind and she’d spent her nights holding Nancy’s crying form. She had never run out, slammed the door behind her, went to sleep in the middle of an argument. Things that couldn’t be said about Nancy herself who preferred to run before she’d get hurt. 

“She never has.” Nancy admitted, almost ashamed of giving the idea any thought at all.

“Instead she asked you to marry her. She didn’t do that on a whim. She waited 7 years to be sure that this was the best for both of you. She knows what she’s in for and she wants to be with you every day of her life. I might not know everything about your relationship but I do know that Robin isn’t the type to run out when it gets difficult.”

“Nancy! Your wedding is starting in T minus 2 minutes. Please tell me you are ready?” Dustin yelled from the hallway. 

“Time to go.” Karen smiled at her daughter as she pulled her out of the dressing room. 

The first thing Nancy noticed wasn’t the bright bouquets of flowers her mom had picked out, despite what she had said when they were preparing the place. The first thing she noticed was Robin’s bright smile, lighting up the room. That same smile she was greeted with when she came home after a long day of fighting the patriarchy. It was an anchor, keeping her stable. It always made it easy to take the next step. If she could have she’d run to Robin, fall into her arms. She didn’t though. She stayed in check. Noticing how Steve leaned toward his best friend to whisper something in her ear that somehow made Robin smile even brighter. Nancy would ask about it later. Later when they’d be sharing their bridal suit that her own parents had insisted they’d take. 

She stopped walking when she reached Robin. “You look beautiful.” She whispered the second Nancy was in earshot. 

Just like the very first time Robin had said those words, Nancy blushed a soft shade of pink. 

“Today we are joined together to unite these two beautiful women into their holy matrimony.” Murray began his speech. Robin was snickering beside her. “Please tell me you have prepared your own vows.” 

“We have.” Nancy nodded with a smile. 

He motioned for them to start. Nancy could feel her hands starting to sweat. She could only imagine how nervous Robin must be. But when she looked up, Robin seemed as calm as ever, nodding in understanding and clearing her throat. 

“Hello, Nance.” Robin started. 

“Hi.” Nancy replied automatically. 

“Throughout these past few years you’ve changed my life. I remember being 17 and feeling like my whole life was one big error, feeling like I’d never truly be happy. And then you waltzed into my life, smooth as ever, staring me down as if I had just broken into your home and you were getting ready to shoot me. And I instantly fell in love. All it took was one look, one ‘who are you?’” Robin imitated Nancy’s voice as best she could, which wasn’t very well. “And I was hooked. So hooked I was frightened to talk to you for like a year. But then we became friends and I found an understanding in you that wasn’t just unexpected but it was so desperately needed. Since then a lot has changed. Somehow I have gotten you to fall in love with me. It must be the incessant rambling, I’m sure.”

Nancy laughed softly. 

“We went to college together. We moved in together. We build a home and we build a life. And Nancy Wheeler, it is better than anything I could have wished for. I love waking up next to you, whether it’s at 10 am, 6 am or 3am. I love holding you through our shared nights. I love spending hours debating which movie to watch just for you to fall asleep during the opening credits. I love when you complain about work almost as much as when you talk about it with pride. I love reading the first drafts of your articles. I love spending my time with you. And frankly, I can’t wait to keep doing it. I can’t wait to wake up next to you every single day of my life. Because most of all Nancy, I love you. And I vow to keep loving you till the day I die.” 

Nancy couldn’t help but blink away the tears that were forming in her eyes. “Is it my turn now?” She asked, her voice barely audible. 

“Yes.” 

“God Robin, I love you.” She breathed. “I can’t-” Her voice faltered. The instant those two words escaped her mouth, Robin’s smile vanished. 

“We don’t have to. Just say the word and we’ll pretend this never happened.” Robin had lowered her voice to a whisper. 

“Robin, I- I do want this.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, staring into those kind blue eyes that had never been more unsure. “This world isn’t kind to people like us. It isn’t kind to women in general. But Robin, when I get home and see your smile I don’t care about any of that. You make the rest of the world disappear and there is nothing I want more than to stand here with you today and declare how much I love you because Robin, my heart aches when I’m away from you and I’m convinced it shouldn’t continue doing that after being together for this long. I wish the world was different. I wish we could sign that stupid document that would bind us together legally. I wish I could take you to the office Christmas parties instead of having to pretend I’m still waiting for the right man. But you know what, fuck all of that. What we have is between us. And that’s all it has to be. And I vow to cherish every moment we get to spend together. And when one day in the near or far future the world eases up on us like you so believe, I vow to marry you again.” 

“Murray?” Robin said without looking away from Nancy. “Please tell me this is the part where I get to kiss the bride. Because I don’t know how long I can contain myself.” 

“No, no. First it’s the rings. Robin- Wait what is your middle name?” 

“No middle names.” Nancy and Robin replied in unison. 

“Okay. Robin Buckley, do you take Nancy Wheeler as your wife?” Murray asked.

“I do.” She said as Nancy slid a thin gold band around her left ring finger. 

“And do you, Nancy Wheeler, take Robin Buckley as your wife?” 

“I do.” Robin pushed the ring on Nancy’s finger with a soft sigh.

“Then by the power invested in me by your good faith, I pronounce you wife and wife. You may kiss the bride.” 

Robin closed the gap between them, pressing her lips against Nancy’s.

[babymetaldoll]

"Broken" (Spencer Reid x fem!reader)

A/N: my dearest friend @all-tings-gubler sent me this pic and told me how much it made her think of Spencer and reader from my series Do I wanna Know. So I wrote her a little blurb about them <3 Hope you enjoy it!!

Word count: 1.5K

Pairing: Spencer Reid x (platonic) reader

Summary: Spencer daydreams of a life with his best friend.

Warnings: None, just fluff. Maybe Spencer feeling too much sorry for himself.

Wanna know how this ends for Spencer and his friend? Read my series here! it's awesome! and also, there is a sequel coming soon!!

Masterlist

I have been on medical leave for the last five days, and the pain is already driving me insane. I’ve refused to take any painkiller after I got shot in the leg during a case, due to my past with Dilaudid. So in the last week, I’ve learned a completely new definition of the concept of pain.

I’ve been locked in my apartment reading, doing crosswords and puzzles, basically killing time and trying not to go insane. I crave work, but most of all, I need to feel useful again. I haven’t been alone, though. My best friend and colleague (Y/N) moved in with me for a few days to help me around the house. That makes everything worse. She is my best friend, my rock, my everything. I love her. I am in love with her. But I haven’t told her. The entire opposite, as a matter of fact, I’ve denied this feeling and ran away from it for over four years now.

Four years.

I love her, and here I am, pretending she is nothing but my friend. Life is pain, Spencer Reid. This leg is just a reminder.

- “Here honey, I made you some tea”- I hear her whisper as she walks towards me and leaves a warm cup of herbal tea on the table next to my couch, where I’ve been pretending to read for the last hour. In real life, my head has been registering everything she has been doing around the house. She did laundry and baked some cookies. A part of my brain keeps making me think she is my wife, my girlfriend, or my lover. My significant other, taking care of me. But that is not real. She is my friend. Just my friend. Stop it, Spencer, you are pathetic!

-“Thank you”- I whisper and smile at her as she stares at me, waiting for a reply.

-“I was thinking after your tea, we could go out for a little while. Maybe go to the park.”- she smiles and I just stare at her, not knowing what to answer. I don’t wanna go out, I don’t wanna move, every movement hurts. But then again, how can I say no to her?

-“I… I’m not…”

-“Come on, you have been locked here for five days already. You need some vitamin D. You don’t even have to walk, we can take the wheelchair.”

-“No! I’m not handicapped!”- my voice might have come a little harder than I intended, and I blame my ego for that. I don’t want her to see me in a wheelchair. Ever.

-“I know you are not, honey. I’m just saying you could use it today to go out.”

-“I don’t need it. I can walk on my own.” (Y/N) stares at me in silence for a moment, analyzing my face and her options, I guess.

She doesn’t push me anymore. Instead, she walks to the kitchen and brings a bowl with some homemade cookies. My favorite oatmeal cookies, as a matter of fact. I grab one and watch her smiling as she sits by my side and takes her copy of Wuthering Heights. We both just stay in silence for a while. I sip my tea and keep pretending to read, flipping the pages every few seconds. But I really can’t concentrate right now. Maybe staying at the apartment the entire time is not really a good idea. Maybe going out could be actually beneficial for my mental health.

-“Fine”- I whisper after a few minutes and she raises her eyes from her book, smiling- “But no wheelchair.”

-“Deal! but if you are in pain, you have to tell me right away.” I nod and sip my cup of tea again, watching her move from the couch and back to the kitchen, announcing it’s cold and we could bring some coffee and snacks to the park. I argue and tell her we can buy some, but she says it’s not necessary. She baked cookies, and coffee will only take a few minutes to brew. Meanwhile, I carefully take my crutches and walk to my room slowly to grab a sweater and put on my shoes.

-“Do you wanna take your book to the park?”- I hear her asking from the living room, and her voice is so happy and eager, I can’t help but agree.

Walking down the three floors is a nightmare. But still, I try my best not to show how much this hurts. Instead, I focus on (Y/N)’s hand on my arm as she helps me. The warmth of her touch and her soft whispers of encouragement, telling me I’m doing great, are all I need right now to make it to the first floor, even with a bullet wound in my leg.

-“Was that too hard, honey?”- she asks me the second we reach the sidewalk. I shake my head and smile a little, just to reassure her I am ok.

I hold onto my crutches tight as we make our way to the park. (Y/N) is holding a bag with food, coffee, and books. I hate these crutches ‘cos they physically stop me from holding her hand. Not that I do that a lot, but at least I wished I had the chance.

We sat on a bench in the park, near a dog playground. I start rambling facts about dogs for a while, sharing facts and stories with my best friends. She takes a bag of cookies from the bag and we share them over the conversation.

-“Would you like to have a dog, honey?”- (Y/N) asks me and sips her coffee.

-“I don’t know. I guess. You know I’ve never had one.”

-“I still can’t believe that! We all had dogs growing up”- I smile at her and she blushes, maybe a little embarrassed, because she knows what happened to me when I was a kid and why I couldn’t have a dog. I had to take care of my mother as I grew up, and I couldn’t add more pressure to that situation.

-“I might give you one for Christmas this year.”- she adds and sticks out her tongue to me.

-“You are gonna be the one taking care of it if you do, chipmunk.”- I joke and she just laughs.

-“I know. But I love dogs, so I wouldn’t mind.”

We fall silent for a few minutes. I sip my coffee and focus my eyes on the dogs playing. I get lost in my mind after a few minutes, imagining a parallel reality, where me and (Y/N) are married and we are spending our Saturday at the park, walking our dog. We are sitting at this very same bench, looking at it playing with other dogs. Maybe (Y/N) is pregnant, and we are expecting our first kid. Her hands would rub her round belly lovingly. I would wrap an arm around her as I read a book, feeling her resting her head on my shoulder. I would kiss the top of her head every once in a while, because I know if I ever do that once, I won’t ever be able to stop. If I ever kiss her lips, I won’t have the will to move away from her ever again. I would be doomed. I sigh and keep my eyes glued to the horizon as (Y/N) keeps reading and drinking her coffee. If we were married, we would keep coming back to this park, maybe with our kids. Our dog would be older now, so it would sit by our side and watch our babies playing. They would be as gorgeous as (Y/N). I imagine a little girl and a baby boy playing on the grass by our side. I would show them bugs and teach them everything about nature and animals. (Y/N) would bring little juice boxes for them, and we would share a little picnic.

That future seems as sweet as impossible. I don’t even wanna run the odds on that. I just wanna enjoy the idea of us being a family, even if I know that would never ever happen. Just the dream of those kids calling me dad is enough to make me happy.

-“Look at you, you're smiling. I missed that”- (Y/N) says and giggles as she stares at me. Of course, I never realized I was in fact ginning as I stared at the dogs, daydreaming of our fictional future together.

-“Yes. I just was…”- I pause and turn to her. Her eyes are shining as she stares at me, waiting for my answer. I simply chuckle and shake my head. I can’t tell her what is making me feel happy right now, instead, I just say:

-“I’m just enjoying being here. Thank you for convincing me to get out of the house.”

-“Anytime you want, honey.”- she says and returns to her book. I sigh and grab the one on my lap. Right, no dog, no kids, no wife. But at least I have her in my life.

Taglist General

@spenxerslut @ash19871962 @all-tings-diego @babebenhardy

@archer561 @muffin-cup @alfonsais @cynbx @louderfortheback

Taglist Spencer

@calm-and-doctor @malboroniights @lovejules888

Taglist DIWK

@tvandfanfic @big-galaxy-chaos @shilohpug @eternalharry @tvandfanfic @fandomtrash2405 @eyakoroleva @nani-2305

[beyoursbb]

€uro Tra$h Series: Dipped in $ugar (Part 2)

Pairing: Billy Butcher x You (Reader) || Rating: Explicit || Word Count: 3.3k || Link to Part 1 and Link to Part 3 - final (Timeline for this work is Season 1 btw)

Summary: Billy comes back from work with The Boys. He can't say what he was up to, but makes sure your wait for him is worth it. 

Author’s Note: Really happy to post this sequel as I appreciated the love and feedback Part 1 got. Would like to know how this work compares to Part 1 (I feel like I let this one go more lol, tried to make the smut a little hotter, and be intentional with pacing the story) and hear any writing advice in general. I’m excited and enjoying getting back into it!

Warnings: same as before — sugar daddy / daddy kink (use of the name daddy 2 times), age gap (implied, not specified), swearing, protected p in v, tiny bit of choking and degrading reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up startled. The sound of several deep, booming male voices arguing outside the room reverberated through the door. You hardly had time to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes before the latch unlocked and Billy came striding in followed noisily by three other men all talking at once. You lifted your head and instinctively covered your arms around your frontside even though you were completely clothed. 

“Jesus, fuck!” one of the men exclaimed, just as startled. “Butcher, who the hell—”

The sound of a heavy, blunt metal object clattering onto the table cut off the question and made you flinch as Billy stared at your rigid figure laying on the bed. 

“ ‘m sorry, sweetheart, thought you would’ve left by now,” he said.

Your eyes flitted between him, the group of strangers frozen in place on the motel’s sage green carpet, and the large semi-automatic rifle laying next to your half eaten dinner. You forced yourself to take a shaky breath as you noticed Butcher’s battered physique — in fact — you realized all of them were in pretty bad shape: clothes tattered, arms cut and bruised, faces caked in sweat, grime, and dried blood. Each had at least one handgun tucked into the waistband of his pants. 

“I’m going to get us another room,” the tall, skinny man announced awkwardly. “Come with me, Frenchie.” The shortest man nodded, took a moment to shift his gaze between you and Billy, then back to meet your eyes in a gentle glance as if he wanted to say something, but instead, he darted out quickly. 

“Un-fucking-believable. This where you  been fucking off to, Butcher?” the man who was left asked, glaring at Billy. “How fucking old is she, by the way?”

“She’s a fucking consenting adult so mind your fucking business,” Billy shot back.

“I would, if your business, like maybe the fucking plan tonight, didn’t always end up fucked up.”

Billy had been staring off at the far end of the room, but now turned toward his associate. He took one, slow, menacing step forward, squaring up chest to chest with the man, who was honestly built like a truck. Billy was obviously huge, but this guy’s biceps alone were bigger than your head. Billy’s gray eyes were piercing and stone cold, which you’d never seen before. They never broke contact with the pair of brown eyes across from him. You held your breath waiting for the first swing that never came. 

Billy’s voice was low and sounded angry, yet also eerily calm when he spoke. 

“You lot are the ones who called me for help. The fucking plan tonight was me doing my fucking best to clean up your mess. So I can fuck off where ever I want with whoever I want because I’m not the one who needs a fucking babysitter. Next time you get in trouble when you go off on your own, MM, call Janine’s nanny.”

The man’s jaw was clenched so tight as he glared at Billy, you thought it would pop. After the longest silent minute you ever had to sit through passed, he shook his head, turning to you. “I’m sorry we scared you. I’m just pissed at this asshole.” With a final angry scowl thrown in Billy’s direction, the last mystery guy pivoted to exit. 

As abruptly as the room had been filled, it had emptied. The distance between Billy and you felt like miles in that small, cramped room, alone. You checked the time on the digital clock on the nightstand and did the mental math of how many hours you’d been asleep. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, but from your estimate, you calculated Billy had been gone for five hours. Whether you wanted to find out what happened in those five hours, you weren't sure. 

You didn’t move a muscle, and neither did he as he sat against the table, arms crossed over his chest with one hand holding his bearded chin. His body was tense, his face hardened and unreadable. His eyes stared out in front of him, deep in thought. The silence hung heavy like the humid summer air in a New York City alleyway.

You felt confused, but mostly scared. Your heart was pounding in your ears from shock, your breathing was shallow and uneven as if you were recovering from a run, and the tension held throughout your body, culminating in your chest, was almost painful. Yet you couldn’t tell if you were scared of him or for him. It leaned toward the latter.

“That was work?” Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.

Billy straightened up slowly, making eye contact with you for the first time since he’d returned. 

“ ‘Fraid so, luv.” 

That already sounded like the end of the conversation. 

Billy moved to sit at the foot of the bed and started undressing, kicking off his shoes first. You scooted up so you were sitting against the pillows again and hugged your knees into your chest. It was cold because the air conditioning had been running when you accidentally fell asleep, but you didn’t want to get under the covers in case that crossed a line. 

You didn’t normally stay the night and sleep with Billy; actually, it had only happened once, when he hit you up on such a whim, you both arrived at the hotel at the same time. The front desk staff only gave a couple weird looks when you two checked in, but Billy being his usual, completely unfazed self helped you ignore any awkwardness you felt. He had appeared a bit disheveled that night, but it was nothing compared to how he seemed right now. You didn’t even have sex; all he did was sleep next to you, one arm wrapped around your waist. He stirred slightly every time you reached for the TV remote or shifted to a more comfortable position, but in the morning when he unceremoniously handed you your payment, he mentioned it was the best sleep he’d gotten in a long while. 

“How’d you get here?” Billy asked as he took the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head. 

Your voice was a little stronger, but still quiet. “I drove.”

He nodded absentmindedly. “Offer still stands. You don’t needa stay.”

“It’s okay. It’s late. I’d rather not drive at this time.” 

He stood to remove his jeans. 

“Unless you rather I go,” you added, quickly. Maybe he wanted to be alone after whatever the hell he went through with his coworkers. 

“Don’t matter to me,” he replied plainly, shrugging and bending his arms at the elbow, palms facing up as he walked to the bathroom. 

This time, Billy stayed in there longer, which made you feel like the amount of time spent waiting with your fifty burning questions you assumed he wouldn’t answer anyways was more than twenty minutes. He went straight for the bed when he came out and untucked the covers on his side to crawl under right next to you. The mattress springs creaked under his weight as he sank in slowly on his back, trying not to wince. After his second shower of the night, he had patched himself up with several bandaids and medical tape wrapped around a couple fingers and his left wrist.

Before you had the chance to stand and wash up in the bathroom yourself, Billy rested his hand against your thigh down by your knee. You immediately relaxed the muscles you didn’t notice were still tense. 

“I know you probably have a million questions. I can’t answer ‘em.”

You looked at him understandingly, as if it was totally acceptable to be kept in the dark in regards to the whereabouts of a man whose BFG-50 was still pointing in your general direction, but at least he was straightforward. 

“You were never meant to know,” he added. 

Now that made you furrow your brows. Know what? You literally didn’t know anything about his life because he’s never told you anything. You and Billy were not close. Your irregular meetings meant you didn’t have a connection built with him like you did with other sugar daddies you saw frequently. Sure, you were madly attracted to him, borderline obsessed, but you were far from friends sharing secrets. The nature of your arrangement was always business, and said business was the epitome of “get that bread, get that head, then leave.” It was work you enjoyed, but the opportunity for meaningful conversation was severely limited. 

Billy’s hand slid up your leg and you stiffened again. He slowed, but kept traveling up past your hip to the middle of your back, turning his body onto his side closer to you, his other hand wrapping around your stomach, until you realized he was simply pulling you into a hug. You tucked yourself under his bearded chin and inhaled his scent off his bare chest, his fuzzy hairs tickling your nose.

Now that his adrenaline levels were down, his naturally rough voice was a tad softer. “You shouldn’t be scared of me.”

He spoke in a way that made you think he was not saying to stop your emotions, but externally processing the full realization of how the guys’ surprise entrance and his argument with his buddy affected you.

“Not scared of you,” you explained. “I was concerned for you.”

Billy’s chest rumbled with a chuckle. “Earlier you thought MM might’ve killed me right then and there? Not a chance, darlin’.”

You shook your head. Being witness to angry men sizing each other up can be terrifying, yes, but you hesitated telling him the truth about how you were still unsettled by their bounty-hunters-who-got-badly-beat look. 

“You're stiff as a board, luv,” he commented, gently separating you both and bringing one hand to lift your chin to look at him. It was true, you still hadn’t fully relaxed at any point since he’d been back.

Except at this moment — when his lips connected to yours. And you melted. 

It was probably the most tender kiss Billy had ever given you, but it didn’t stay that way for long. His tongue started it first, slowly going deeper into your mouth every time he took a breath, but it was your hands that gripped him tighter until your legs became tangled and your hips grinded together. You loved a makeout session that forced you to lose all your senses to where you could only handle hearing, taste, and touch. With your eyes closed, your sight disappears, and since your nose has to concentrate on helping your lungs obtain oxygen, you’re not really focused on smelling. But the sound, taste, and feeling of Billy in your arms is enough to overwhelm you. The longer you go at it, the heavier both of your breathing becomes, interspersed with short gasps and moans, the sloppier your taste buds get in exploring every centimeter of the other’s mouth, and the more desperate your hands are to tug, squeeze, and mold to the shape of your partner’s best assets. 

You didn’t usually take your time kissing either, maybe because you typically met on a time crunch, or you were just extremely horny around each other, so you tended to skip to the main event pretty quickly. But you got the sense that because of the night’s earlier situation, Billy wanted to slow down to make sure your head was in an okay space before proceeding, or not. You appreciated that; it was a gentlemanly move. You made sure he knew you were ready for more by rolling on top of him, straddling his hips, and grinding down against his hardening cock, all while keeping your fingers interlocked behind his neck and your lips mashed onto his. Billy responded eagerly, his fingertips gliding across the soft, smooth skin of your back, and creeping underneath your shirt to unhook your bra. He didn’t even bother to remove any of your top layers before feeling up your chest. You refrained from any wanton noises while he kneaded your breasts, but you did bite his lower lip a little extra hard when he teased your nipples. 

When you finally separated, the shift of your bodies made you well aware of the wetness in your underwear, and you were practically panting, your hands still roaming his torso because they couldn't decide whether to grip his muscular back, shoulders, or arms. 

“The other offer from earlier,” Billy said, his hands sliding down to your ass, giving it a squeeze, “also still stands.”

Catching your breath, you were so nervous of sounding utterly gone already without even being naked, all you could do was nod.

“That a yes? Want me to fuck you ‘til you’re screaming my name, princess?”

“God yes,” you almost moaned. “Please, Daddy.” 

You were pretty sure he could hear the urgency in your voice, but you made it crystal clear how badly you needed him by cupping the imprint of his dick through his boxers. Billy grunted in response, and in less than two seconds, he flipped you both over and discarded your leggings and panties carelessly out of the way. Now you were both playing with each other — you stroking his length while any number of his fingers rubbed your clit and teased your folds. 

“It’s more than wet down here, luv; you’re soaked,” he chuckled against your neck, his hot breath hitting your ear. 

It made you shiver, but at the same time, you were burning up, so you whipped off your shirt and bra. He wasted no time diving in to suck one of your nipples to a hardened peak. When he did the same to its twin, you finally gave in to the loud moan that had been gathering in your throat. Billy released his mouth with a pop and gazed down at you. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he said, his eyes hungrily raking over your nude figure before he stood to finally take off his one article of clothing and retrieve a condom.

“That cock block of a call was bloody inconvenient,” Billy muttered as he rolled on the latex and lined himself up to your entrance. “Can’t wait to feel this sweet fucking pussy.”

His last word was punctuated by him sliding in fast and deep. Even though you watched him disappear inside you, you were still caught by surprise, evident in your eyes rolling back into your skull while your mouth formed a silent “O.”

Billy was so goddamn huge and he knew it. 

“Somethin’ tells me your other daddies ain’t cuttin’ it,” he smirked. He didn’t give you any time to adjust, just grabbed your hips and set the tenacious tempo he wanted.

“They don’t fuck me like this,” you admitted through heavy breaths, reaching to bring him closer. Your hands settled on his lower back and he leaned forward, his arms moving to either side of your head to prop himself up above you. 

“Like what?” 

You knew what he wanted you to say. Like I’m a slut. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction so soon, even if it was true and you loved it. Your ability to form a coherent response was waning rapidly from his hips pounding into you anyways. The rhythmic slapping of his skin against yours made your brain go numb. 

“Like what, darlin’?” Billy repeated. His right thumb swiped against your lower lip, ready to press into your mouth, while he pulled out and stopped, barely leaving his tip in you. The sudden emptiness brought you out of your daze. You opened your half lidded eyes to find his dark pupils peering down at you. 

“Like—like you use me.”

“‘Course I do; what else are ya for?” he snarled. 

His hand trailed down, fingers surrounding your neck, squeezing it just enough to hold you down to resume his relentless pace, sinking in deeper and deeper with every thrust. 

All your sugar daddies “used” you so to speak, and you obviously used them for money. But with Billy, it never felt like you were fulfilling an obligation to the bit. It was almost natural to sink into the mindset of being nothing but a tool for his pleasure. It was easy because there was something so, so hot about laying spread open for him, allowing him to fuck you any way he wanted, and not caring how rough he was. Knowing you would be left to find bruises and deal with sore legs for the next few days after taking his cock excited you in the most feral, animalistic way. 

You let your body go limp and closed your eyes to focus on the sensation of Billy’s dick continuing to stretch you out while he growled more filth disguised as praise in your ear. You were so distracted by his voice urging you to be a good little slut and let your wet cunt come all over his cock because you sounded so pretty moaning his name, you didn’t notice him lick two of his fingers and send them down between your bodies. If you weren't already laying down, the zap of pleasure that shot straight through your stomach from him circling your clit would have made your knees buckle. You were almost embarrassed at how fast your pussy clenched, though you knew it was just a compliment to Billy. 

“Don’t be shy, luv,” he chided, as if he was reading your mind. 

You gasped as your climax continued to build with each delicious stroke of his hips. The friction was like fire against your nerves, so close to setting your whole body ablaze. Billy was breathing hard now too, sweat beading at his brow. The thumping of the bed against the wall had long been ignored, but now was completely drowned out by Billy’s grunts and groans of how good you felt around him. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Like your cunt was made to fit my cock.”

That elicited a loud, unrestrained moan from you. “Daddy,” you whimpered. It was futile to try to hold out longer. Your body craved release. “I’m gona—fuck.” 

Your body seized and your mind went blank as pure ecstasy washed over you. The chant of his name filled the space and you wrapped your legs around his waist, sending him impossibly deeper. Billy groaned feeling your pussy contract around him, his climax following close behind. With a last couple thrusts, he shuddered to a stop as he milked himself dry. 

Chest to chest, with Billy’s head resting next to yours on the pillow, you slowly came down from your high, unintentionally clenching his softening length as your breathing steadied. 

He gave your sweaty forehead a quick peck as he rose up, removing his hand from your throat. You had honestly forgotten it was there, so engrossed in how your lower half had been responding to him. Billy carefully slipped out of you and took care of the condom while you adjusted the bed sheets.

Then he approached you with his wallet and held out two bills. “For staying the night,” he offered. 

You shook your head while waving them off with a flip of your hand, not even looking at the number on them. You hadn’t checked the original amount he left in the envelope on the nightstand, but you figured he probably already paid more than what would be equivalent to the actual amount of hours you spent interacting. 

“Special deal; cuddles are free, tonight only,” you smiled softly. 

Billy returned a small, amused smile. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Oh, I’m very comfortable,” you sighed, opening up the blankets to let him under, and settling into the crook of his arm. 

“Good, darlin’,” he replied with a yawn, his warm body pressed against yours, lulling you to sleep.

[orangerosebush]

I’ve been super fascinated abt something you said a while back abt artemis’ need for control and how it relates to his loved ones, where he feels if they just let him dictate everything for them it would be easier/for the best/etc (please forgive me if I’m remembering wrong!!) But I found that a super interesting analysis and I was curious if you think that would’ve been something he had observed/inherited from Artemis Sr?

Although I do think Artemis Sr's desire to protect his family is connected to the guilt/grief we see in the original series (as well as the paranoia/anger we see toward the People in the sequel series), the way that desire translates into patterns of behavior differs between Artemis and Artemis Sr. Like, it's the difference between thinking you can keep someone safe if you could just put them in a snowglobe and never let the real world come close enough to touch, versus thinking you can keep someone safe if you could convince someone it was their idea to never stray beyond your side.

In canon, Butler doesn't ever really indulge in that side of himself, as he's been trained to shove the personal down in favor of whatever the Fowl-Butler contract conscripts him to help with. But a similar thread to the one I describe with Artemis Sr. and love's ability to pluck at his worst impulses runs through Butler. For example, Butler mentions he'd be willing to leave the fairies out to dry when Artemis offhandedly mentions that the situation with Minerva might require endangering himself. Similarly, we also have Butler consider punitively breaking his contract with Artemis when Artemis puts Juliet's life in danger in TAC.

When Artemis wants something from his loved ones, he's very circuitous in realizing that desire. He often doesn't directly confront or try to strong-arm, but rather lies or acts discretely. I would argue that Artemis is most like Angeline in this sense -- they can both be remarkably calculating. Though of course, I say this with some caution, as I have found some historical attempts to discuss that side of Angeline to veer into misogyny and ableism. Neither Angeline nor Artemis are vapid, shrill, or frivolous in their manipulativeness. They're both traumatized characters who use their intellect (and the affection that others have for them!) to get their loved ones to behave in the ways that are "for the best" -- and neither really gets why that side of them makes others bristle (though both Artemis and Angeline hardly enjoy being on the receiving end of one another in this respect).

This is a bit of an aside, but in writing this, I realized the extent to which, arguably, Artemis appeals to emotion in the manipulation of his loved ones more often than he relies on his immense intellect.

tldr I love thinking through the mechanics of the worst and cruellest tendencies of these characters