#the way they are protective of her even back then. even when they don't even know her. they are so intertwined nothing else matters

[bi-writes]

anatomy of us | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

we cannot change who we are at our core.

type: limited series, part 1 (6.4k) in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

Whenever she woke up marked the last day of the rest of your life. One moment, the world inside of your head was unnervingly quiet. The next, someone else was there, whispering in the dark, taking over.

You aren't proud of her. No, you hate her. There is no one you hate more, you don't think, because she lets the direction of the fucking wind distract her from what really matters. She paints her environment in a soft, glazed picture, and she tries to hold up her canvas and convince you that her reality is real. But then you blink, and you get flashes of how dull the sky really is and the dirt that stains your shoes, and you know that she's just a liar.

A controlling, desperate thief.

When you heard her voice for the first time, you begged your reflection in the mirror to just kill you already.

If you were an alpha, maybe you could've just drawn away into yourself and lived a quiet life in the middle of nowhere. If you were a beta, perhaps the weight of nothing would've given you a little more freedom to do the things you wanted to do.

But no. You're an omega. Nature's servant. A natural follower. Destined for nothing except to open your legs and say, "yes, alpha, all for you," because if you are anything but complacent, you're unwanted and a waste of your very being.

Your eyes stung when you took your first little pill. They rattled in different colors in a little orange bottle, and it felt like sand as it dissolved under your tongue. Even though it makes you sick, you take them anyways. Even though the pills change colors and shape and efficacy because you buy them from someone different every time, you take them because it makes your omega shut the fuck up finally.

You bury her. And you won't let her out.

The truth of it is that you're only fighting yourself. Your omega, she is you, isn't she? She's a part of you, she makes up your very genetic makeup, and to hate her is to hate yourself. But nature is cruel–it gave you years of freedom. Years to know what life was like without her, when she was dormant, asleep, just waiting for you to finally wake up.

Then your very self locked the cage. Your fingers claw at the bars, but it's no use. It's your very own punishment. So in turn, you bury her, too, silencing her cries, quieting what she wants most in the world, because it isn't fair, fuck you, you whiny bitch.

She's a pathetic puppy; and you are more than happy to step on her fucking neck.

Your aim is off today. The sound is muffled through the earphones you wear, but they've never thrown off your balance before. When you lean over the railing and squint at the target papers towards the back, you can see the bullet holes just a few inches off center.

You're never off-center.

"Getting rusty on me, Kit?"

You turn around, setting the gun down, and you smile wide when you see a familiar face. You pull the headphones off, putting them aside before making your way towards her.

Kate Laswell is surprised when you throw your arms around her and hug her tight. She smells good; she smells like chocolate, dark chocolate, something bittersweet. She's got that edge to it that they all do, something a little heady and all-encompassing, but she's the only alpha that you've ever found comfort being near. You see her nose scrunch a little when she embraces you back.

You must stink like synthetics. You care, only because you hate to make her nose sting this way. It's never been meant for her. At times, you thought maybe you could do a little convincing; maybe if you batted your lashes enough, she’d take pity on you, hide you away in some CIA shack with her deep on a Montana farm and play house. You’d cook, and she’d protect, and you’d be perfect little alpha and omega until the end of your days.

But Kate doesn’t like baggage. Not even the sweet kind, and especially not the kind that makes it even more difficult to make the hard decisions.

Kate isn’t a soldier. She makes choices based on the greater good, the lesser evil. She doesn’t get to be selfish. She doesn’t have that luxury.

When you pull away, she looks down at you strangely. She looks tired. Her dark hair is in a mess of a braid tucked under a cap, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. Her attempt of a smile emphasizes the lines around her eyes. You open your mouth to tell her something, but she shakes her head.

"I'm not here as a friend," she says softly, and you frown a little.

"Aren't...haven't we always been friends?" You ask, and Kate lets out a shaky sigh, nodding her head behind her.

"We need to talk. C'mon."

You retrieve the gun and holster it, fastening it into your thigh holster before you follow her. She has a car waiting outside, a big, black SUV with the door already open for her. When you get inside, she knocks on the divider, and the car immediately starts moving. You brace yourself against the side of the car as it speeds off, reaching for a seatbelt.

"Jesus, Kate, what's going on? I-I have training later, I can't–"

"You're not...going back to base," she says evenly. You frown a little, leaning back in your seat, and you put your hands in your lap as you try and get a read on her. Even exhausted, Kate is hard to decipher. She has a stone-cold expression, calm and unbothered, and you curse her CIA training for making her impossible to understand, to even get a glimpse of what she might say next. Her face makes you anxious, and the scent in the car that changes puts you on edge.

"Okay," you scoff a little. "Then where am I going?"

Kate sniffs a little, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't break eye contact with you when she says, "Wheels up in 30. I have an assignment for you." She reaches under the seat, pulling out a manila folder, setting it down beside you. When you pick it up and flip it open, you narrow your eyes.

"I'm..." You shrug your shoulders, "I'm not really CIA. You don't give me orders."

"As of one hour ago, you're mine. And this...this is your duty."

Your eyes blur as you skim the text on the pages. You flip through the papers flimsily, getting more and more irritated until you throw it at her, your chest rising and falling fast as you pant, barely able to see her through your tears.

Program. UK. Field assignment. Mate. All the keywords to make your stomach curl and your autonomy shrink in front of your very eyes.

"Kate, don't do this," you beg her softly. You soften your voice, and you let your omega drip syrup into it. You want to see her eyes dilate–you want to make her protectiveness kick in just enough that she might just appease you. It’s desperate, and you know it’s wrong, but you do it anyways, you have to. "Please don't do this. Please. You fucking promised me, you promised–"

"You need to understand that I don't have a lot of fucking choices," she says sharply. She pities you, that much you can tell. She looks pained, but it doesn’t matter how pained she might feel because it isn’t happening to her. It’s happening to you, and she put you on that base so that it wouldn’t happen to you, and she tricked you into getting into this car, and now it’s her–

"Kate, I'll do anything, please," you gasp. You reach over and grab her hands, tugging her towards you. "You know. You know what...w-what I've been through, what this all is, you know...please. Please..."

You promised me. You gave me your word.

"I can't–"

But the CIA can’t be trusted for shit.

"I'll be yours," you try, squeezing her palms. Appease. Beg. Bare your neck. Give her what she really craves. "Just claim me yourself, a-and...and we don't have to do this, w-we can...I-I can go back to–"

Her face contorts, offended, disgusted. You try and swallow down the sting of her rejection, but you cannot help yourself. You would do anything to not be subjected to this fate, to the fate she promised she'd save you from. The only alpha you have ever trusted, and she's pulling away from you, bit by bit.

"I could never do that to you," she interrupts, shaking her head. "I couldn't."

"But you'll do this instead?"

"It's the lesser evil," she says finally, pushing your hands back. It aches. Despite you never leaning towards her, it is still an alpha turning their nose up at you, and the thing inside of you cries at the feeling; she begs you to do more, but you swallow her down, fingers itching for another pill just so you can really squash her singing. "And in my world, that is the best I can hope for."

"It's punishment!" You cry, and she reaches over, cupping your cheeks, pulling you close. You scrunch your face at her touch. Her hands are cold, and they do not welcome you. "A-And for what? For being something that I can't change?!"

"It's mercy," she whispers. Her thumbs stroke your cheeks in soft circles. "I can't protect you anymore, do you understand? They don't want you there, and I can’t take you with me. Even taking meds, even spraying yourself to shit, they don't want you, and I can't protect you if they send you away, do you understand me?" You start to cry, closing your eyes, and you hear the familiar voice in your head preening. She's desperate, slipping through the cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try and force her backwards. You’re panicking, and maybe she’s trying to help, but you hate her. "I have to get you out of there, and this is the only way."

"Please..."

"I can't protect you," she says gently. "But he can. And he'll be good to you. I promise, this...this I can promise."

You rip yourself away from her, curling into yourself as you scoot away from her as far as possible. You press yourself against the door, tucking your knees into your chest. Whatever passes by outside is a blur, and your brain doesn’t register any of it. The only thing in your head is betrayal, traitor, those sick, stupid bastard alphas, all of them–

"Fuck your promises," you whimper, and when she reaches out for you again, you flinch, burying your face into your hands.

Kate is a liar. She never keeps her promises; that’s her job, it is what she does. The CIA is nothing if they aren’t incredible liars–it’s what they’re known for, and Kate takes to it like a fish to water. As far as you are concerned, she lured you in with bait, and now she's shut the door on a trap. It is lined with padding, soft, delicate, but it still holds you back, it still keeps you still and stagnant and forever chained to an existence that you detest more than anything. She used you; it was in her best interest to keep an omega under her thumb, to do with you as she pleased when she needed one, and you suppose once you are taken, she will find another to do the same with. She will give another desperate one like you false hope, and when she needs another omega to keep someone else complacent and willing, she will offer them up with her signature on paper–just like that.

She tries to touch your hand before you board the plane. She tries to meet your eyes, get your attention, anything. You cower when she reaches out, and when she steps backwards, you walk on.

You never look behind yourself. Not even when you sit, and not even as the ramp closes shut.

Fighting is futile when you are who you are. It's unexpected. It's frowned upon. You are made up of something that is intended to be docile, to be big-eyed and soft. If you were a dog, they would want you to roll over and bare your belly and forget how to do anything but obey, but that is not the kind of thing that you ever wanted to be, even when you were small, even before you knew what you really were.

You hate what you are. You medicate yourself to the point of being incoherent, you bare your teeth and aggravate the submissive nature you inherit to deter any kind of match. You make yourself undesirable, not just in your physical nature but in the very essence of yourself.

You want to start over, as something else, or you want to never have been at all. You hate this place, you want them to cast you out, you want to be left to your own devices because dying alone and unwanted is better than submission; it;s better than the imprisonment that your kind subjects themselves to, willing or not.

It sickens you. You watch your own kind fall to their knees, close their mouths, and allow their very being to disappear just to make another satiated. Happy. Their entire lives, reduced to being someone else's waiting hand, someone else's property. It's sad, it's pathetic, it rocks you to the very center of yourself, and you demand more of it, you reject this life and the voice in your head that fights with you every single day of it.

She hates you, too, your omega. She claws at your insides and begs for something to drink, but you dry her out. You don't allow her to even breach the surface of the wasteland you've suffocated her with. She is naïve; she doesn't know what is good for her, she doesn't know that you are saving her from a life of constant torture. She screams for you to let her out, but you take another pill and force her back into the dark.

Or at least you did. You haven't taken a pill in days. They won't let you, even when you asked, even when you began to beg. You promised to be good if they just appeased you. You promised to be quiet if they just slipped it under your tongue, even if they injected it into your very veins, anything, just please, please, I don't want to–

Everything is surreal. You feel like you're seeing everything in color. What used to be dull and uninteresting now sparkles in your very eyes, it glows under the sun. Everything is sharper and less blurry. Sounds are clearer. You can hear the wind more loudly in your ears and feel it under the soles of your shoes. But what dizzies you the most is your sense of smell.

Everything before had been so bland. You have been under the effects of suppressors for so long that you don't think food has ever smelled so bad and so good (eggs make you gag now, and the crisps they give you make your mouth water).

They keep you confined in a small room. You are not allowed in the presence of any alphas; you can smell them passing by the door, but whenever the stink of one of them lingers, there's loud voices, lots of heavy boots. A beta comes to collect you to do a daily workout and to shower, and then you are back in your room, your meals delivered on a tight schedule (and the food, after a few days of your tray being barely picked at, gets so much better–it's better quality than you've seen on any military base, and when you asked, all they said was "lieutenant's orders").

Today is different. Today, along with your breakfast, a large black hoodie is folded underneath the tray that they leave on the end of your bed. You set the food aside, picking up the hoodie, and when you unravel it, you spread it out, gawking at the size of it. Whoever this hoodie belongs to is more bear, more beast, than human. An enormous thing, but when you pick it up, you immediately pick up on its strong scent.

You press the front of it to your nose. Your eyes flutter shut, and you sink into the bed a little as you take a deep breath of it. Warm, but gritty, like charcoal. Cigarettes. Military-issue soap. Clean. Eucalyptus. Fire. Something with depth, something with teeth. You don't realize what's happening to you until it's too late.

Alpha. It smells undoubtedly like alpha, and you're certain by the size of it that it belongs to one. You nuzzle your face into it a little, instinctively, and you don't even register your omega knocking, peering through the door that's been cracked open for her.

She squeals with delight. She's getting dizzy, drunk, and you feel a soft noise in your chest bubble as she pets the back of your mind, keening at the introduction of it. She’s giggling. You can feel her tugging at your insides, whispering in your ear–See? I told you. I told you that you’d like it.

They smell strong. They smell capable. They smell pure.

When you put the hoodie down, your legs are pressed together, shaking from how hard your thighs are squeezed. When you relax, you refrain from the need to touch yourself, but you failed before you even started. You can feel how wet you are; your panties must be soaked, and you feel yourself pulsing with some sort of distinct urge to give in, give in, give in.

It's unnerving, the lack of control you have. Your omega has always been a few feet underwater, but she's breaching the surface now, her lips gasping for air.

You try to push her back.

Stay down.

When the clock strikes for dinner, you aren't surprised by the knock. But you are surprised that when the door opens, there isn't a beta in uniform holding your tray. Instead, you cover your nose a little, blinking harshly as a large man comes into the room. He's got a strange beard and a floppy hat, and when he smiles, he reminds you of a teddy bear. You can tell just by his physique what he is, but his eyes are kinder than you're used to.

You will yourself not to trust them. You trusted kind eyes before, and now you’re locked in a prison of your own making.

"'ello," he introduces himself, holding out his hand. "'m Captain John Price. 's nice to meet you."

You glare at him, not saying a word. When he figures you won't shake his hand, he just nods. He lets his hand drop, hooking his thumbs into his tact vest, and he rests at ease.

"I've come to collect you," he says lowly. "It's time."

You pick up your tray of food from behind you and hurl it towards him. He ducks just in time, moving one shoulder backwards as the metal hits the wall behind him and clatters to the floor in a splattered mess. John shakes his head a little, scratching the back of his neck, and he clicks his tongue. You’re unnerved and a little pissed off when a hint of a grin flickers over his face.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes. "Yeah...you'll do."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Let's go," John snaps. "Won't ask again."

When he reaches for you, you swipe the fork from the bed, stepping close and sticking the little prongs up against his chin. You aren’t satisfied until you can feel his scratchy beard against it, piercing the skin just enough.

"If you touch me, I'll shove this right up your chin through your goddamn nose," you threaten, and John’s nostrils flare, his hands going up flat beside his head.

"Easy," he murmurs, and you feel like he’s talking to a skittish mare. "Just need to guide you, that's all."

"Well, I don't want to go anywhere."

"If you don't do this, I have to send you back," John explains. "And Kate made it very clear that is supposed to be my last resort. And you don't want to go back."

"Anything is better than this," you hiss, and he narrows his eyes.

"Not this. What they do to unruly omegas..." He leans forward, snarling a little. "Ones like you. Ones that bite. And scratch. They don't deal with them. They'll sedate you and use you as training practice. And while Kate might have a heart big enough to keep you outta that place, I don't have it. So get your arse moving. Now."

You put your hand down, dropping the fork, letting it clatter to the floor. He grips you by the collar of your shirt, urging you forward, and all the hairs stand up on the back of your neck as he gets dangerously close to scruffing you. It's enough of a threat that you immediately relax, your own body betraying your emotions as it tries to make itself smaller. To appease. To submit.

"This can't wait any longer," John mutters. "Has to happen today."

Your lip trembles.

"What has to happen today?" You ask.

"You're meeting your mate," he says. You know that was the answer, but you had to ask it anyways. You think of the hoodie you received all those hours ago. The smell of him, complete intoxication. "Simon."

Simon.

"Sounds like an asshole," you snap, irritated, and John chuckles a little.

"Mmm. He is. You'll adore 'im."

You flinch at the flickering fluorescent lights as he leads you down a narrow hallway. When you pass other soldiers, John puts you in front of him, glaring and baring his teeth a little. You're confused by this sudden display of aggression on your behalf, but when you spot the looks in others’ eyes, you're grateful for it nonetheless.

You know your scent is strong; piercing the walls around you, displaying your displeasure, discomfort, fear so plainly. It's an awful thing to not be able to hide how you feel, to not feel like you have any control over how you present to others, but you have no practice masking any of it. You have been drowning your omega for so long that you didn't realize the strength of her building up behind the synthetic walls you had built. She's livid, angry, permeating the spaces in your mind that you thought were solid and now are broken and hollow inside.

You stop in front of an unmarked door. John looks over you, eyeing the jacket you wear.

"Take tha' off," he says lowly. You frown, stepping back, but he nods again. "Take it off. You'll get it back, just give it to me."

You shrug your jacket off gently, handing it to him. John holds out his hand for yours, and when you cautiously give it to him, he rubs the fabric against your wrists to soak it in your scent before disappearing behind the door. You wait outside, pressing your ear to the metal, but you hear nothing but low mumbles. You do hear a heavy gait, big feet moving around that don't belong to Captain Price, and you close your eyes as you try and see if you can hear his voice.

You don't.

The door is opened just slightly, John cocking his head to the side.

"He wants to see you."

You raise a brow.

"Your mutt?" You ask smartly, and John scoffs a little, kicking the door open wide finally. Behind it, you can see a small little office situated. Dozens of file cabinets, a stained wooden desk, a peeling leather chair. There are papers everywhere, a disorganized mess and walls filled with medals, plaques, letters, pictures of faceless men. And standing beside the desk, towering over it with his head nearly hitting the ceiling is a bear.

A fucking bear.

He's so tall. Over six feet of hulking man, big shoulders taking up too much space. You can tell just by looking at him that he has to duck his head and move his body sideways to get through the doorway you're standing in. He has big hands and thick thighs, and your lips part when you realize his thigh holster has been released as much as possible just to still fit snugly around him. He's wearing dark jeans and a thick black hoodie, and he looks even bigger with a strapped tact vest that holds numerous little gadgets, weapons (fuck, he looks like he can kill you with the pencil laying haphazard beside him).

You can't see his face. He covers it with a mask, a snug covering tucked under his hoodie with the plastic front plate of a skull sewn to its front. He's holding your jacket in one hand, the other clenched in a tight fist as you step through the door.

"Is this your dog, Captain?" You ask finally. Simon doesn't speak. He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you, taking in the way you look from the tips of your combat boots all the way up over your head. His gaze lingers on your middle, the wideness of your hips and the curve of your body.

John crosses his arms over his chest.

"Suppose so," John shrugs, rolling his eyes a little. You blink, finally making eye contact with Simon. His eyes are dark and beady. He's intense, just as his scent had been. Your omega warms your throat and screams in your ear.

Grab him. Latch onto him. Don’t let him go. Do you see him? Look at him–

"Does it bark?" You wonder, glaring. Simon unclenches his fist, rolling his fingers out a little. They twitch beside his leg. His face twitches a little, too, you can see the mask move just slightly.

"When he wants to."

"Does it bite?"

John snorts. "Mmm. Afraid so." He opens the door behind him. "Don't kill each other. If I don't see her for supper, Simon, I'll hold you to it."

When you are alone, Simon still remains silent. He hasn't moved from his spot by the desk, still in a strange staring contest with you as you stand there trying to read him. Like Kate, he's impossible; this time, you don't even have the luxury of looking over his face, although you suspect even without the mask, he must have mastered some kind of expression of nothingness. He seems like the kind of brute to give nothing away. Not even his displeasure.

"Hope you're good on a leash," you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest. "I like to go on walks."

His face moves under the mask again. Finally, he moves. He unravels your jacket in his hand, holding it open for you to put on again. You eye him strangely before coming closer to fit your arms into it.

When you turn your back to him, you realize how much of his shadow you're tucked under. When he drops the fabric back on your shoulders, you still as he leans over one side of you, bending. Without thinking, your head tilts to the side, giving him more space into the side of your neck. You do it without even thinking. Your omega bleeds through you, and you feel her warmth everywhere now, making you move, but you let her this time.

Your scent gland pulses there under your ear. He can see it, hear it practically, rushing like the blood in his ears. You close your eyes when you feel him come closer, the cotton of his mask just barely grazing your neck as he takes a deep breath.

The growl he lets out shakes you to your core. Your pupils get blown wide at the sound, and your head flops back slow, exposing more of your neck. He uses the opportunity to bend just that much more, until the front of his mask is pressed against the gland, and he can breathe you in, right at the source.

He's snarling under the mask. You can hear his teeth knock together, his tongue wetting his lips. You shiver, leaning into him, your hand raising up to caress the back of his neck as he nuzzles his nose there, taking another deep breath. You step back enough that he presses up against you from behind. You can feel his pelvis right against your ass, and you arch your back just enough to fit him right where he belongs. A gloved hand catches you at your waist, and you put your free hand on the desk in front of you until his cock is right there between your ass.

Your omega is panting. She's clawing, right there at the edge, fighting against quicksand as she's desperate to meet him. The feeling of him, the scent of him so close, it's an aphrodisiac, potent, suffocating. Something warm is wrapping around you, sliding along your skin, tickling your toes. It's between your thighs, in your mouth, wetting your tongue. You're not sure what this feeling is, but it's thrilling.

He's purring. Big, rumbling sounds coming from deep in his chest. More animal than man as his tongue comes out under the mask, and you can feel him lick a nice stripe over the raised, warm skin under your ear. Your omega is being pulled to the forefront. She’s like a magnet to him. The closer he gets, the stronger she bites into you. Your mouth drops open when his hand falls between your thighs, gripping onto you and pulling you up against him in one, slow grind. You can feel the length of him, fucking enormous, and you’re leaking into your cargos as his fingers squeeze the fat of your thigh.

"Fuck–okay!" You pull away abruptly, turning to face him. You put your hands on his chest and push him back a little. He doesn’t move at your touch, but your voice startles him enough that he moves his hands up and away from you. He straightens up, blinking away the haze in his eyes, and you swallow hard. "T-Too much..."

He huffs, moving forward to bury his face into your neck again, but you step back, putting a hand on his chest firmer this time. You have stepped out of the cloud that surrounds him, but you can still taste it, and it’s pulling you back, and you’re losing control.

"Simon," you say his name gently, and he stops, his face scrunching a little under the mask before he stands back up again. "If I have to be your mate...we need to set some boundaries." He blinks, saying nothing. "Like...a-asking for permission."

You can tell by the way his mask twitches that he doesn't usually ask for permission. He wants, and he receives.

Typical.

“What?” You ask, scoffing. “You don’t talk?”

He doesn’t move. You crane your neck to look up at him a little better, and you smooth your hands lower on his chest. You can’t help but appreciate what you feel. He’s wearing a tactical vest, but you can still feel the deep breaths he’s taking, the strong, fatty muscle under your palms. He is the epitome of sheer strength and undeniable ability. Your omega draws your hands back up his chest, over his pecs that pull taut, and they wind up around his neck as you stand up on your toes and lean into the curve of his jaw. You put your nose to it, barely. Simon moves his hands down, cupping you under your ass and picking up your weight with not even a grunt until you can press your face deep into him.

Fuck, it’s like a drug. It’s addictive. His scent impales you. He smells like war. Like chaos and smoke, and your mouth starts to water as you keep breathing him in. You pull back just enough, blinking up at him. You look a little dizzy and intoxicated, and he squeezes your ass to hold you steady as he puts you back onto your feet.

“Uhm…” You sniffle a little, holding onto him. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you keep yourself upright like this. “I didn’t wanna be here. I don’t…I don’t want this. I never did.” You blink away tears, but he sees them when you draw your eyes back up to his. “T-They made me. It hurts.”

“Wot hurts?”

His voice scares you when you finally hear it. Your lip shakes, and when you blink again, your tears fall down your face. Simon snarls when he sees them, reaching up with hands too rough and wiping them off your face, but they keep coming.

“I’ve never been o-off my meds–” You gasp, and your breaths start to come in panicked and too fast. “Everything hurts. T-The lights are too bright, everything hurts my nose, the sheets are too itchy, and I-I can’t breathe–”

Simon moves away from you immediately. He closes a fist and pounds the lightswitch, and only the yellow glow of the lamp on his desk illuminates the room. You curl into yourself, hugging your own arms, and Simon comes back to stand in front of you, narrowing his eyes.

“I did not want you either.”

“That’s just grand, this is perfect,” you hiccup, and Simon grunts.

“But I have orders.”

“You act like your Captain is just debriefing you for a fucking mission,” You snap, glaring at him. “I’m a fucking person. I know your kind may not see us that way, but I am. I’m not a mission. I’m not something for you to win or to conquer, you fucking asshole!”

When you raise a hand to hit him, he catches your wrist before it lands. He squeezes just enough to hold you at arm’s length, and you lean forward and spit on him instead. It wets the mouth of his mask, and he nearly loses himself as his eyes flash with something dark. He looks away from you for a moment to collect himself. When he turns back, he uses his other hand to cup the back of your head, silencing you.

“You listen ‘ere, omega–” The way he says your title makes the fight in you shrink. Your omega squeaks, ducking her head, that bubble of submission pilling in your throat as he holds you so close to your naked scent gland. “Dunno wot anyone told you, but I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” He ducks his head, pulling you closer, and you freeze when he presses his masked mouth at the base of your pulsing scent gland. It wafts into his nose, dilating his pupils, and he snarls. “And when you inevitably lose control of yourself–you already fuckin’ are, you reek of it–I’m goin’ to sink my teeth right ‘ere, and then it won’t fuckin’ matter ‘ow you feel.”

Your eyes blur with angry tears. You gasp, your breaths hitching, and Simon seems to feed off of your fear, your misery. If he wasn’t wearing a mask, you imagine he’d be licking your tears for a chance to taste your sadness. The worst part of it all is that your omega adores it. She’s been aching for so long for this kind of authority. For that edge to tickle her right under her chin where she likes it. The whiff of alpha that she’s getting is driving her out of control, and you don’t know how make her quiet down. She’s so loud in your head, banging against the walls–give it to him, give it to him, give it to him.

“You’re a fucking monster,” you whisper, glaring up at him. It’s no use–you will never scare him. Simon is what scares other alphas into submission. In one paw, he could crush your windpipe if he wanted to, with just a squeeze. Simon hums, and you imagine him smiling under that mask, some kind of vicious grin that you would love to smack off of him.

“Tha’s right, swee’eart,” Simon mutters. “I am. ‘n now you belong t’me. Everything that you are–” He smooths his hand down your neck. You seize when his hand slides over the curve of your waist until it cups under your ass and forces you up against him. “‘s mine. Your omega–’s mine. Your mouth–mine. Your arse–mine. That cunt that’s going to take my knot like a good little omega should–mine. So y’r gonna get y’r things, and y’r gonna move them into my quarters, and then we’re gonna go get supper, and y’r gonna shut y’r fuckin’ mouth.”

“I hate you. You’re the biggest son of a bitch I have ever met in my entire life, you are exactly the kind of asshole I knew you would be, you are no different than I thought. You’re a terrible, awful, horrible–”

“I can smell you,” Simon snaps. “Don’t try to be fuckin’ smart with me, I can smell how wet your cunt is, so why don’t you just be a good girl and do as I say?”

You bare your teeth a little, and Simon sticks a gloved thumb into your mouth. Without thinking, you relax. You suck it into your mouth and sigh, and Simon rubs his thumb against your tongue, shutting you up nice and well. He traces your teeth with it, and you start to cry. You cry because you don’t know why you can’t fight. Your grip his forearm, but your nails won’t dig. Your feet are planted to the ground, and you can’t move. Your mouth sucks, and he pushes, and you’re frozen here.

He knows what to do. Doesn’t he taste so good?

He seems to like your teary eyes. The big, fat tears. His eyes crinkle, and you know he’s smiling, and you wish you could rip that expression off his face, but all that stares back at you is death. Simon growls, and every bit of resistance in you fails. Slow, like molasses, your knees buckle, and he catches you. He pets your mouth, and when he leans in and presses his mouth to your ear, all you can do is cry.

“That’s it. Good kitty.”

NEXT

[vampiresbloodx]

Arcane imagine.

arcane characters react to you confessing your feelings to them.

characters included: Mel medarda, Caitlyn, vi, jinx, sevika

warnings: mutual pinning, yearning, fluff, slight angst, happy ending, implied smut, flirting, kissing, yeah .

Mel medarda;

You've been crushing on Mel for the longest time, you don't even know when it started, as you two have known each other for a while now, you both were kinda friends, you were never really sure, but you always felt so close to her

She had felt the same, she liked sticking by your side, hearing about your day, your projects, what you are thinking, anything, she loved listening to you talk

It was the one thing that made her day better, and seeing your face of course

It happened so suddenly, these feelings you'd never expect just came to you, Mel was just there, and you fell in love

Not that anyone could blame you, really, she's a goddess

you always wondered why on earth she'd spend time with you, someone so beautiful, so perfect, that you can't help but always admire, no matter the time and place

When you're anxious, you think of Mel, she makes everything better

When you're alone, you think of Mel

When you're with mel, you think of her

When you spot a pretty flower, you think of Mel

One time, you unintentionally picked a couple of flowers, making them look all pretty as you practically skipped your way to where Mel would be. But she wasn't alone, jayce was there, another boy she was working with

You thought they looked close, and you started to back away from them, your heart sinking, you felt your throat get tight, god, you felt so stupid, of course she would like a man like jayce, why would she ever like you? You were always just going to be her friend

Later that same day, it had turned to night, you spent the rest of the day in bed, ignoring everything and everyone, you were hurt, confused, annoyed with yourself

You just wanted it all to go away

When you heard a knock at your door, and your eyes widened, you looked up, you were about to tell them to go away, whoever it was, that's when you heard a familiar voice

"hey, it's me."

It was Mel's.

You wanted so badly to ignore her, for her to just walk away, but you knew she wasn't going to do that, you closed your eyes and signed, eventually getting up as you walked towards the door and opened it for her

"what do you want? I'm trying to sleep..." You said, hating how you sounded speaking to her. You watched the way Mel frowned, how she looked so worried, her hand reached out and you flinched, she didn't show how much that saddend her.

"you didn't join me for dinner, I was worried. I had came to check on you, oh! I should tell you on what Jayce and I have been up to so far-"

You shook your head, turning away as your back faced her, "I don't wanna hear about him."

That was all Mel needed to hear.

She smiled, stepping closer to you as she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in, you tried to protect but nothing came out and she wasn't letting you go anyways

There was no point

"tell me what's wrong, I know what you're like when you try and push others away, don't do that to me, please" she murmured, her voice soft and calming in your ears as you stared at the ground

you felt your eyes water

"I like you, Mel" you sniffled, you were ready for her to leave, for your friendship to be over. "I've always liked you Mel, more than how friends should like one another, I just I was so scared. But then I saw you with Jayce, and I got jealous, I grew distant, because I couldn't face you, I couldn't look at you in the eyes the same, knowing that he can be better for you than I could ever be."

For a moment, you didn't hear anything, you still heard her breathing from behind you as your heart thumped loudly in your chest.

Then she forced you to turn around and look into her eyes as her hand grabbed your chin, "you mean more to me than anyone could ever be, Why would you think such things?, you're more than my friend, you're my love, my laughter, my everything, this is all I ever wanted to hear from you" Mel said, she smiled so brightly, she looked gorgeous, you wanted to kiss her

You caressed her cheek with her hand, "can... Can I?" You were hesitant to ask, she chuckled, crashing her lips against yours, you melted into the kiss, wanting to stay here forever and ever, she tasted like strawberries and honey, you never wanted to get rid of that taste

Caitlyn;

Caitlyn knew there was something off about you the moment you stopped talking to her as much like you usually would

She found it strange, so unlike you, she looked forward to seeing you whenever she could and hear your voice

But as of lately, she's been alone and missing a certain someone, you

She's been talking to Jayce and wondering what to do and how she can help you if there is anything going on, she'd want to help, she was your friend, your best friend even

So it hurt her when you suddenly stopped hanging out with her

She couldn't stop thinking about you, if she had done anything to cause this, she was freaking herself out

She had even gone to Viktor and ask for his advice, he was sort of helpful, but it wasn't like he was cupid and had the best advice for crushing on your friend

Caitlyn missed you, a lot

She went to your place to find you, surprisingly, you weren't there, she looked at the library, she didn't see you, eventually, she did find you, sitting outside by a tree, you looked so pretty, she couldn't help but admire, she ran up to you, excited, she needed to be around you again

"Cait?..." You said, looking surprised, she wasn't sure why you would be, she didn't say anything and just hugged you tightly

You hugged her back

"where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you, you had me worried" Caitlyn's words came out rushed, you smiled at her.

"can you sit with me?" You asked.

She happily did.

"what's going on? Did something happen?-"

"Cait, let me speak."

You had cut her off before she could even finish asking more, she immediately shut up, she knew you needed to take your time to gather your words, she wanted to touch you again, but she restrained herself

"there's been a lot on my mind, that's why I haven't seen you, but I need to tell you something" you said, she can see the way you were fidgeting with your fingers, a thing you do when you're nervous, then you just randomly stood up, pacing back and forth.

"whatever you have to tell me won't be that bad-" Caitlyn tried to reassure, still you didn't listen

"I like you" you shouted at her, she blinked.

"you what?" She muttered, still processing your words

"I know this was a bad idea to tell you how I really felt, but I had to, I couldn't not tell you, I really fucking like you, Caitlyn" you said, it almost looked like you were on the verge of tears

Caitlyn stood up, you stared up at her expecting the worst, but then she cupped your face and kissed you

That alone told you enough of what she really meant, as you kissed her back, smiling

Vi;

You have always liked Vi for as long as you've known her, that wasn't anything new, anyone who's ever met you knows about your crush on her, except for one person, Vi

She's always claimed not to be an oblivious person, but people who know her also know that's obvious to see from a mile away

Vi has always been a good friend to you, more than anyone has ever been

Ekko, one of your other friends, has been telling you to confess your crush to Vi for years, yeah, it's not something that's new, you two have known each other for ages, Ekko has been through it all witnessing it, and he just wants you to tell her already

"Ekko, I don't know. I don't wanna ruin what I have with her" you muttered, the two of you were hanging out one night, catching up over snacks and games, you hear him chuckle

"you won't, trust me. I wouldn't be telling you to do this if I wasn't sure."

He was right about that. You've always trusted Ekko no matter what it is, he's always had a good heart

and almost most of the time he was always right

Just maybe things will go okay, if you told Vi how you really feel, she won't stop being your friend, but the fact that everyone else can see your crush on her except for her you just weren't sure

Even when you think you know her, you still can't wrap your head around her

You had planned to tell her this Friday night, where you know she'd always meet at your hangout spot, you wanted to make it look pretty, make it feel special, also it was an excuse to distract yourself from what tonight was actually for

Ekko had helped picked out the music, Vi has always liked metal and punk rock, you were sure in another lifetime she would be in a band

you had gotten the snacks, her favorites and yours, including the drinks and the gift you wanted to give her, you've set up a blanket and pillows down for you both

Your heart felt like it was beating so hard it could rip out of your chest any minute

You checked the time and your eyes widened, she was going to be here any second, fuck

You tried to stop pacing around, before you knew it she had arrived right on time, she greeted you with a smile and immediately hugged you, your cheeks warmed as you hugged her back, god you missed her so much

"what's the special occasion?" She asks with a raised eyebrow, biting her cherry as she laid down onto the blankets. "Everything looks so nice, and you got me my favorites? You spoil me."

You smiled, sitting down with her as you contemplated even telling her how you really felt, with how pretty she looks right now, you so badly wanted to kiss her

"I may have something" you said, finally able to get your words together. "Actually yes, I need to tell you something, vi" you hated how you were stuttering, you bit down on your bottom lip as you avoided her gaze.

"what's up, angel?" She said with a grin, she's always called you that, it's been her personal nickname made for you, it's always made you flustered

"Vi, I like... " You paused, trying to actually look into her eyes without looking away, "I like you."

Vi smiled, she looked like she didn't get it at first

"I like you to, angel" she chuckled.

You shake your head.

"no, vi, I actually like like you, I wanna be your girlfriend."

God you couldn't believe you actually told her

you waited for her to reject you, to just stand up and leave, but she didn't do any of that, instead Vi pulled you in closer, pressing her lips to yours as she kissed you hard, you gasped into her mouth, processing whats happening, that she's kissing you, her lips feel so soft against your own, your hand reached up to cup her face

She pulled away, letting you two have a moment to catch your breath as you felt ecstatic, "vi..."

"I've always liked you too, I'm glad you told me. I was actually planning on telling you myself, I didn't know when but you bet me to it, I'm glad you did, because this was the best, it was perfect."

You smiled, leaning in as your nose brushed against hers, she grabbed you by the shirt, making you fall into her as the night was not over just yet

Jinx;

Jinx had always been by your side for as long as you've known her, you have always been by hers, and she's always been by yours, that's just how you two were, when you met, it was an instant click, it was rare for jinx to experience that, so she kept you by for as long as she can

She loves everything about you, your entire personality, how no matter what you always make her day better, you were different, you meant a lot to her

She meant a lot to you as well

More than she'd ever know

Despite all that was happening, what you two have been through, you have always defended her, even when you didn't have to

She appreciates that, even if she doesn't tell you herself

It's like you somehow knew

She needed you, when Vi left, she needed you the most

You were one of the very few that stuck around, and you weren't going anywhere anytime soon

Jinx notices something was up when you weren't showing up to her place like you'd usually be, you were always around, as of late, she didn't see much of you

She wondered why

Did she do something wrong? Are you finally realizing you're better off without her?

No, she couldn't think like that

She was able to easily find you again, you were standing by yourself on an edge, she was concerned, extremely worried, she was so happy to see you again, but she knew she shouldn't rush you

"hey" you said, she didn't even say anything yet you knew she was here

"hi" she smiled, "what are you doing out here? It's cold" she starts to take off her jacket, she always gave you something to wear even if you don't need it right then

You let her put it on

You've always looked so pretty in her clothes

"you know, you'd be a good model, definitely have the body for it" she chuckles with a grin, unable to keep her eyes off you. She saw the way you looked down, how you smiled, she felt proud of that, a little bit cocky too. "You okay? You wanna tell me what's up? You've been avoiding me. You know how I am when people try to ignore me" she couldn't help but pout.

You turn to face her, finally looking at her, she smiles at the sight of you. "I know, I'm sorry about that, a lot has been on my mind. Jinx, there's something I have to tell you, I can't hide it anymore."

She frowned, unsure of what you meant, were you planning on leaving her? Moving away forever? Was she not going to be able to see you ever again? So many thoughts clouded her

But what you told her was nothing she was expecting

"I like you, Jinx, for so long, I've liked you, and no, not in the platonic way, yes, that too, I mean you've meant something more to me for a long time" you said, staring into her gaze as her mouth hangs open, you what?

She rushes to you, wrapping her arms around you tightly as she feels like she could almost cry, good tears this time, her heart was beating so fast she laughed loudly

"why didn't you tell me sooner?" She grinned, cupping your face with both of her hands like you were her entire world, you are, you've always been. "I've liked you since forever, idiot, jeez, finally one of us came clean about it. I was gonna make a dramatic reveal to you but this was so you. I like it. I really like you too. A lot. Please be mine."

And you happily did, you kissed her, that night was the best night of your lives.

Sevika;

Sevika wasn't an easy woman to read, some people have found it hard to even get under her skin, find out what makes her tick, what makes her squirm, loose balance

But you'd be a fool to test her

Then again, you were always known to be a foolish one

When people see you two together, they can't see it, you were brighter, much bubbly, always smiling then there was Sevika, scary, intimating, will kill you with one look

You two were total opposites, no one could understand how you worked so well together

But you just made it work

You were the book smart to Sevika's street smart, which is why silco partnered you with his most trusted a lot, she couldn't exactly argue with it at first, she still did, complaining about having to babysit you, despite the fact that she wasn't that much older than you anyways

Okay, maybe by a few years older, but you didn't need a god damn babysitter

She knew how to piss you off, and you knew how to annoy her as well

It went back and forth, at first, you two fought a lot,there were a lot of misunderstandings, people were even nervous to get in between you both, you two were just so loud about everything that only silco can shut you both up

Eventually, after a while, a long while, things started to settle, and Sevika understood why silco picked you

She knew he wouldn't pick any random person, he had his reasons

Then something weird started to happen, she grew more protective over you, sure, she knew she was already protective of those she cared most, but you, she wasn't sure about, it just happened all of a sudden, if anyone was bothering you, hell, if anyone tried to hurt you, hell would be unleashed

Jinx would always mock her of how much she protects you and will do anything for you, Sevika tries to fight it, her stubbornness winning, but as soon as she sees you, her walls are being cut down, forced to let you see her, as she watches you from afar, admiring your work and talents, how much dedication and time you put into things, she's actually impressed by you

The first time she ever complimented you had you feeling all giddy for weeks, months even, you wanted nothing more than to be praised by her again

Jinx was over it

How much you talked about her, how pretty she is, she'd literally gagged at how love sick you were about her, she was so tempted to shove you both in a closet to hurry the hell up and get it over with

But she knew sevika would kill her

Then again, she's reached a point where she couldn't care less

When Jinx was able to get you two alone together to finally actually talk things out, she did, she was gonna make it work, even if she had to be dramatic and pull a little strings

She would live with the fact that Sevika was gonna be pissed at her for a long time, possibly forever if this goes terribly wrong, but she doubts it would

It was a late Saturday night, everyone was still awake and hanging around, Sevika was sitting at the bar, right where Jinx told her where to meet, Jinx watched as you finally showed up, looking all nice as she grinned, walking away from it, letting it all play out

"Sevika?" You muttered, confused to see her there

But fuck did she look good

She frowned at the sight of you, about to say something, but her words fell flat at what you were wearing, you looked beautiful

Like really fucking gorgeous

"you look... Nice."

Your cheeks warmed at that, hearing her compliment you as you looked away from her gaze that was too intense for you

"yeah, I was told you'd be here... Jinx told me you wanted to speak to me about something important."

Then it clicked to her.

"fuckin' jinx" she groaned, shoving her glass away. "She set us up."

"what?" You said, dumbfounded, going to sit next to her.

There was a pause, you stared in the distance, distracted, she stared at you more, admiring your features, how pretty you looked in that dress

She's never seen you wear something so formal

It suited you

She bit down on her bottom lip, all of a sudden feeling nervous to speak

"how do you feel about us?" You asked, still not looking at her, she frowned

"us?" She repeated.

You nodded, turning your head to look at her in the eyes

"yeah, me and you. We're a good team, you make a good partner" you say. She felt her heart skip a beat, what the fuck was happening? Why were you being so nice to her?

"what is it" she muttered, "just tell me what you want."

"huh?" You looked confused.

"fuckin' hell" she groaned, running a hand through her hair. "Tell me."

"I like you" you spat out before you could even think.

She raised an eyebrow at you.

"say that again?."

"sevika" you sighed, she liked the way her name sounded coming from your lips, she wanted to hear it again. "This is already awkward as fuck, I like you, okay, fuck, I never hated you, well, maybe at some point I disliked you, at the start, but even then, you're a goddess, fucking look at you, your stunning, anyone would fall for that."

That took her off guard, definitely not what she was expecting

"if you want to cuss me out and stop being partners I'll accept I-"

She shut you up with her lips, pressing herself into you as you almost fell off your stool. She grabbed onto you as you held on tight, kissing her hard, as you moaned into her mouth.

After a while, she didn't want to stop kissing you, neither did you want to stop, you both broke away breathless, pressing your foreheads against each others

"come to mine?" She says with a smile

It's not often you see Sevika smile

"lead the way."

[multipleoccupancy]

Theo studied her as she turned to look at him, Davidson's warning ringing in his head about revealing the organisation to anyone and the consequences of doing so, however Theo had entered a new phase of his coping with what had happened to him. Most importantly he didn't want Violet idolising a life he had only allowed her to see glimpses of.

"Not the missions specifically," he gently shook his head, trying to word things in his own mind. He had even rehearsed what he should say that morning but of course as was the way, it had all gone out of his head now he was actually supposed to start. "The reason I don't go into details about them with you is because sometimes even hearing of these things can trigger episodes like the ones we talked about." Four days ago? But it felt longer.

"So when you ask me about them it's not just that I am being secretive, it's also to protect you from more than just knowledge of what I do." He drew in a breath, thankfully it was not shaky anymore but he was clearly trying to steel himself.

"You saw how it was I was recruited, Agent Davidson arrested me and put me in that ward for just over seven months before you turned up." His jaw knotted in the memory, "This was the basis of my working for them as an agent. They funded my education and for a short while between collage and the FBI I was working with the police as a special." No authority but all the training, "The ward was constantly held over my head as the threat it was meant to be, that if I did not do well in school, if I did not train properly or if I failed the academy I would be put back there and left there."

He chewed his tongue of course he was angry about what had happened to him and he hoped he could muster up the courage and strength to take himself with Samantha to the shooting range to let out some of that rage but for now he had to wait. "It was a very real threat, it wasn't until about twelve years ago that I was able to close that ward down once and for all and free myself from that threat." Theo studied her, carefully. "But now there is a new threat they could use, not just to ruin my career but I have six children, Rea, parents, in-laws, friends." There was nothing really noble about how it was they kept agents in line. "So I climbed. I worked hard for Delta Green and showed my loyalty by doing whatever it took," a darkness crossed his face for a moment as he thought on that and what he knew now of cultists. "I am not a regular agent but I am also stuck from progressing any further because I have given them everything."

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet's eyes widened in surprise. "You want to talk about... your work as an agent?" She couldn't believe her ears. He didn't want to talk about the ward or her recklessness after all; he wanted to talk about Delta Green. He never talked about it. A few things here and there, sure. But never in detail, and definitely never without her prompting it.

"Of- of course," she stammered, shifting in the bed so she could look at him, "I'd like that very much." Violet had always been so curious about his life as an agent, and she was astonished that he suddenly wanted to tell her about it.

She wasn't sure why he wanted to talk about that. Samantha and him had mentioned the toll that this work had on them. Was that what this was about? Or was he trying to deter her from ever joining the Program? Either way, she wanted to know what he had to say. "What... what do you want to talk about? Your missions?"

[yeyinde]

I am binge reading your work and I love your Price characterisation so much! Can you please go into detail what you his childhood looked like and what led him to be this angry, stubborn man who is fixated on saving the world at all costs

this is basically a reinterpretation of opening Pandora's box but instead of releasing great evils, it's just me yapping non-stop about John Price whenever i get the opportunity. but i cut a lot out because it was getting too long, so this is a brief summary on what made John Price the way that he is;

re: abuse (physical, mental, emotional; of authoritative power).

Nepo-baby. Born into Military Royalty. The Price name has a lot of sway in the government. Probably lived in Hereford going up before moving to Liverpool at 18. Realistically, Price has no other career choices because I can't see Mr "threatens to hang superior officers" sitting in a cubical and expected to hit quotas without catching several charges for assault and battery when his temper gets the best of him. And it always does.

His homelife was bad (but absolutely nothing compared to Simon's). His dad was just a staunch disciplinarian groomed by the traditional values of 40s-60s England. The typical "father works to provide for his family all day and then comes home to quiet, respectable children neither seen nor heard with food already on the table waiting for him and a wife that only speaks when spoken to and only ever to agree with her husband (and a lil bit of female "orgasm"????? by god! they've brought witchcraft back to the land of her Majesty the Queen!)"

He has an angry, uncompromising father with a temper and a mother who says thinks like, "well if *you* didn't make him angry, then you wouldn't have gotten yourself a black eye."

His dad was very physically abusive to both of them. Price really tried to stick up for his mum, but that would just set his dad off even more. And afterwards, his mum would just side with his dad, anyway. But on the flipside, I think she expected Price to protect her. So when he didn't (because he's a literal child!!), she'd get angry. But she obviously can't lash out like her husband or even her child, so uses the only weapon she has to gain some semblance of control: manipulation.

Price takes pieces of both his parents. His father, the physical aggressor, and his mother, the manipulative victim. And she is a victim, very much so. But I also think she pits them against each other. Gets bored. Causes issues. But there's power in getting someone to do what you want, and that's how she takes hers.

Price catches on to her in his early teens, but that's still his mother. Even though they have a very rocky relationship, she's still the Victim in his head, even when she's whispering in his dad's ear about all the things she despises about her son. And then going to Price (after his dad does something about it - again: disciplinarian, control freak) and playing the pitiful mother subjected to her husband's tyranny and a sad, weak son who can't do a single thing to protect her when she needs him.

Price learns to manipulate from her. Emotional blackmail. Victim-complex. Gaslighting. Scapegoating. But the biggest takeaway is the way he shifts the victim-complex into heroism (esp with Gaz). They can't be the bad guys. It's a logical fallacy in his mind. They're the ones saving the world, and if the world wasn't so riddled with bad guys, with people who need projecting, then they wouldn't need to do what they do.

I think Price has a bit of animosity towards people he sees as weaker (re: his mum having to share the victimhood with her son). But this animosity can also rear as obsession. He's the only person who can save you/them/the world. And since you/they/the world can't save yourself, then you should just listen to him.

And if you don't. Well, that's going to be a pretty big problem.

Honestly on the fence about siblings. If he has any, it's probably an older sister and she's either the equivalent of Janice Soprano (minus any of the backbone and ambition) or Barbara, resigned to her life and utterly forgetful. but I kinda like the idea of him not having any siblings to weather the storm with, you know? Like, it's just him and a mother who victim blames and ignores, and he gets the brunt of his dad's anger.

He was an obnoxious kid to be around. Probably really tried to impress his dad by adopting all of his values; baby misogyny, bite-sized authoritarianism, military fiscalism/military–industrial complex, militarism, etc., before realising (earlyyyyy teens) that he hates his dad and everything he stands for (but I'm a SUCKER for letting Price suffer and I love cyclicity and generational trauma so naturally, as much as he tries to run from the ghost of his dad, it still lingers - just in different ways; the worst thing you could ever say to Price is, you're just like your father).

Turned into a moody teen in the 80s/90s. His anger is a hair trigger. Utterly uncontrollable. But by this time, he learned to hide it because his dad's way of idealing with trauma was to add more. Therapists are pseudoscience, so he taught Price that men just bury these things. And if you can't, then you should be put down like a dog.

The assessment of a man's character was entirely based on the military tests he passed. And with Price's anger, trauma, he probably shouldn't have passed the evaluations, but since his dad, his grandfather, his great-grandfather, were all military dogs, he learned how to beat it. He's also really good at manipulating people.

I think between 16-17 there was a real attempt to do something that wasn't the military and I haven't decided which one I like better but:

He gets a job (as a port worker or in a factory). The Price name has no sway here (and baby Price grew up surrounded by people who knew his family, who revered them for their service to the country, etc). If he wants to make it, it has to be by his own merit. The problem is, while he's a hard worker, his trauma (men who remind him of his father, women who are too much like his mother) causes an incredible rift between him and authority.

If his boss is a man just like his dad, then Price is a match in a tinderbox.

If he isn't, to Price (who has only just learned to hold his tongue), the idea of a nobody being in a position of power over him will also set him off.

Either way, he's doomed.

If he man is a beast that no one can stand up to, and gets away with things because he's the boss, then Price's temper would flare pretty quickly. Especially if he comes after Price. Bullies him. Belittles him. But the worst is the humiliation. He ends up beating his boss very badly, terrifying the men around him but in their fear, and how quickly they listen to him because of it, Price realises he likes it. That fear can be weaponized. Honed.

Or: same situation, but if you lean more towards Price looking out for the underdog rather than his own self-interest, then he sticks up for someone and beats his boss to protect them. Everyone's still afraid of him, but they revere him. They do what he asks. This version, he realises that respect can be weaponized.

(and if the man is not like his dad, then Price will antagonise him into action. He'd throw the first punch, and Price will retaliate. It would still go too far, but - Nepo baby, weaponized fear: the outcome would be the same.)

He gets taken into custody. The tell him his boss is not going to make it. But Price's dad exercises every ounce of power to get his son out of trouble (because this will look very bad on them), and Price leans several things which shape him as an adult: his name has a lot of power; rules and regulations and just policing won't stop bad people unless you take it into your own hands once and for all, and people listen to him and that either version of the above can be weaponized.

He'd probably take the military a bit more seriously but only because he's trying to get vengeance for himself (even if this is subconscious and he doesn't realise it). He leaves at 18. Joins. And climbs the ranks higher than his dad.

At first, there's a concerted effort to do good but something cracks. Builds. Eventually Price comes to the conclusion that he'll have to take a more hands-on approach and get them a little bloody if he wants real change.

I have a lot of thoughts of military-dog Price. But!! That's basically it.

Shaped by physical, mental, emotional abuse; leans into the poor rich kid trope slightly. It all manifests more when he climbs the ranks, gets freedom, and realises that only he can do what needs to be done.

[lipstickchainsaw]

Things I would've liked to see in Arcane S2, in no particular order:

Caitlyn doing some more heinous shit after becoming dictator. Let her be evil, damnit! Let her fuck up the Firelights' sanctuary to achieve whatever goal! Make some people mad!

More of a sense of the power struggle between Ambessa and Caitlyn. Let Caitlyn look into the disappearances as well, or at least give us a sense of what she thinks is going on. Maybe give Shoola something to do after even Salo left. Make the upper class of Piltover feel more alive.

Give Caitlyn the initiative in her turn away from Ambessa, mirror Vi choosing to trust Jinx while facing to Warwick here, and have it take a little more to get them on the same page.

Let Ekko and Jinx actually rally Zaun in the final act. The way they're seen by their people was a pretty big deal, and I would've liked to see that go somewhere in the climax.

Actually, have Zaun actually discuss what to do in the Noxus/Piltover war. Both sides oppressed Zaun pretty badly, so maybe there's some people who want to support Noxus (a very small group), or who figure they're happy to let their enemies fight it out. Let Sevika, Scar and the Jinxers about this.

Hell, let Sevika show up at all after episode 4! Isha was important to her too! Have her and Jinx suggest building a statue for her, like Silco did for Vander, as another notch to help Jinx stand upright.

When Jayce and Mel come back, have them reckon with what Caitlyn did to their city, and have them take some time to forge the place back together.

Let Zaun negotiate with Piltover for their aid! Give them more than just one seat on the council amongst people who already look down on them (although I think Sevika is canny enough to get the most out of it, it's a real consolation price for a group of people willing to abandon their own homies to rally to the defense of yours), and make Ekko a prominent voice here.

Warwick in episode 9 didn't really do much for me. Any of the emotional beats there were already covered in episode 6. Not sure what to do with him instead, though. Maybe make Vi and Jinx protect others from him more explicitly?

By emphasising the Piltover/Zaun conflict more, you can have Vi be more conflicted about where she falls on that divide.

Ambessa also lobbies to get Zaun on board, maybe pulls some Renni shenanigans again. Actually get me invested in that grand climax.

Same goes for Viktor, honestly. Maybe give his conversation with Mel and Jayce a bit more weight. His turn to Ambessa and Singed's side is a bit abrupt (and also very much caused by Jayce killing him, so his moral high ground in that conversation is a bit weird).

Don't make Jayce talk shit about Viktor's terminal illness, goddamnit. Heimerdinger's whole arc was about how corrosive that attitude was, and the conclusion of it was that you can't sit down on your laurels because change will keep happening with or without you. I think that makes for a much more compelling argument against Viktor's philosophy at this point.

No notes on Singed. What a ledge.

Overall, I think the show needed a bit more breathing room to build up to the level the climax was operating on. It left a bit too much of what I cared about behind to get there, and adding an act could've been a way to alleviate some of that.

[koi-p0nd]

Good morning,afternoon, and nights!

I was wondering if can you do an imagine of reader protecting Anya from jimmy before and after the crash? Which reader always giving a bitchy attitude to j#### and reader giving self defense tools to Anya just in case. (The self defense weapons are a taser,a pocket kn’fe, and a pink decorated pepper spray)

-anonymous

Omg hi hello????? I woke up around an hour and a half ago????

(Am I that good of a writer???? Lmao kidding)

Anya getting self defense lessons and weapons from reader with an attitude? To keep the Bad Stinker Man away? Yes.

Okay, since I'm still trying to get back into writing again, this might be a bit wonky and not really up to what others can make but I'm trying my best here :')

I think imma make like a list or smth, I dunno, but I hope it works :D

I also decided to change the pocket knife to a swiss army knife, thought that she could use the different things on it for more than self defense or to give some more severe injuries to Stinker.

Mouthwashing Anya x Reader. (Platonic)

"Don't be afraid to use force, girl." (Not proof read)

Before the crash:

Way long before the crash, just a few weeks or months after taking off with the ship Anya had told you about getting weird vibes from Jimmy.

It was kind of obvious as to why she would go to you and just quietly voice her suspicions to you, you literally had a tazer and can off pepper spray clipped to your uniform belt out in the open.

She was glad for that, honestly.

After she told you about this, you kept an extra eye on Jimmy whenever he were nearby you and/or Anya. Watching like a hawk.

There was constant bitchy attitude from you towards Jimmy when he and you interreacted. It always pissed him off.

It wasn't pretty arguments and fights over something small and irrelevant.... Swansea, Daisuke and Curly had to often break you two apart....

Not even a week later, you offered to teach Anya some self defense.

Shock and surprise was the only thing that Anya could express for a few moments. Understandable.

Who in the world would offer a colleague, who you barely know anything about, self defense?

Well... You did.

Not out of pity, of course not. You just wanted to teach her so she could beat Jimmy up if she needed to and no one was around.

Anyways

Anya had gladly taken the offer from you. Grateful that you just decided to spend your free time in training her and teaching her things.

Although she felt a little guilty for it.

Hush girly, don't feel bad. You deserve to knock Jimmy's teeth out<3

She was ectsatic and giddy internally when she got her own self defense tools from you; a tazer, a somewhat old swiss army knife and the pepper spray decorated in pink.

You just smiled at how giddy she looked.

After the crash:

After the crash. Hmm....

Things went to hell, basically.

Curly was a burnt, crispy nugget (sorry Curly😭)

Let's just say that Anya has used her tazer quite a lot of times on Jimmy out of spite or when he was getting up in her space.

The pepper not so much, she wants to save as much of it to really bad situations. Since the water supply is not that big on the ship.

The army knife is more used to be a every day life tool, using the various things on it for various things. Has occasionally had the knife of it pointed at Jimmy, as well as the tazer/pepper spray in her other hand.

She is so very gratefull for having you as her self defense teacher. She can sucker punch Jimmy if she feels really fed up with Jimmy.

I hope this is what you asked for :') and sorry if it's bad😭 I'm trying to get my writing skills back...

[q8qwertyuiop8p]

The fact that they killed off silco at the end of season 1 and STILL managed to completely butcher his character in s2 irks me so much. And it got worse with every scene like

The burial and the sucker montage was perfectly fine, though they forgot silco can't close both eyes and had a bullet wound in his chest

The way he is still encouraging Jinx to be Jinx in her ep4 hallucination is a little odd since he died accepting her before she truly chose Jinx but overall it was good

Warwicks hallucination was neat but Silco's hair is completely inconsistent with what we see in s1 (and just looks trash imo)

The letter was a disaster because it is such a cheap reason for the betrayal

The Felicia thing made their reasoning so much worse, they don't need to be godfathers to adopt those kids and the scene was just so pointless

The au scene- I don't even know what to say. Vander literally tried to murder Silco but it's OK because aw forgiveness and they are back together?! If Vander tried to kill Silco because he genuinely believed he was protecting his people from further bloodshed maybe I could get behind it but no, he tried to kill Silco because his friend died (which wasn't even Silco's fault) and he just 'lost his head'? And does Silco just not develop trust issues after that in the au? How is his scar somehow less bad if he doesn't have shimmer to heal it? It literally makes zero sense.

And the thing with Silco telling Jinx to 'break the cycle' was just an absolute insult to his character. He literally died choosing war/violence rather than giving up Jinx. His whole goal was to keep fighting for what he believed in. And is he seriously encouraging Jinx to kill herself? The man who chose to keep fighting rather than give in to the 'peace in water'? The man who would do anything to keep Jinx alive, even when death was the kinder option? The man who gave up his dream, everything he'd ever been fighting for, just to keep her safe?

They messed up so bad that the only flawless scene of him was a one second shot of him sitting in a chair 💀

The only good thing about what happened in this season is I'm genuinely not even upset that he is a minor character in season 2 anymore. I can't believe I'm saying this but I genuinely can't be mad about it. Because if they can ruin his character this much with his little screentime I can't even imagine the harm they would have done if he were still a main character.

Sometimes death is a mercy after all.

[ladylokianna]

Careful what you wish for...

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader (as always i'm not used to use the first person p.o.v. mainly because in English i usually mess everything up by trying to fit verb tenses together so i hope everything is comprehensible). 

Warning: 18+, MDNI, Fluff, but a little smut towards the end (i'm trying to emprove and i hope is not cringe), and again nothing too explicit 'cause i'm not good at writing it.

Fairly ooc Aemond, of course. A bit tender and affectionate with his old grumpy granny Vhagar.   

The title... ehm. Sometimes i find a good one, sometimes no. Sorry.

***

The water of the lake is like a balm on that sultry mid-summer day. You feel as if you go back a few years when, as a young girl, you loved to desert your Septa's lessons so that you could swim in peace and find relief from the heat. You also remembered all too well the reprimand that usually followed those times when you managed to escape, but who knows how you always managed to find new ways to sneak away from the Septa and your damsels-in-waiting to their utter despair.

All is so calm, the sun is warm against your skin despite the freshness of the water beneath you and all is so silent that you can almost hear your heartbit. You like the Red Keep, you like the sense of calmness you feel inside its walls especially when you sit with a book in your hands, but it's still a fortress, and it's impossible to feel completely free in there.

When something huge seems to swallow the Sun above you, you already know who it is: you see Vhagar's shadow heading towards the clearing surrounding the lake and with a slight amused snort you swim towards the shore. Vhagar's landing creates some air displacement, and you hear Aemond giving her orders in Valyrian, before dismounting from the saddle.

"Hello old lady." you approach her slowly with a wide smile, touching the dragoness' snout, which had settled herself into a crescent shape to protect you and Aemond.

"I'm sweating in your place just seeing you in those leathers, you know?" you greet him, chuckling with amusement: how is it possible that he can stand that heavy jacket and even the gloves in that heat? Your laughter dies down, however, the moment you realise that Aemond is serious. "Has something happened, dear?"

"Thank the Gods you are here. We've been looking all over for you, i thought you'd been kidnapped." he scowls you, in a tone that in his intentions should perhaps have sounded stern, but which comes out in a worried whisper. "You shouldn't sneak out of the keep without warning and especially without an escort, it's dangerous."

You didn't think of that, actually.

"I noticed this place the last time we flew with Vhagar and i was hoping to go for a swim like i did as a girl... i'm fine, Aemond, nothing happened to me. You haven't alarmed the whole castle, haven't you?"

Not the whole castle, he replies, but Ser Criston and at least a dozen white cloaks, yes.

He grasp your shoulders and leans his forehead against yours with a sigh of relief, knowing you are safe.

"I'm sorry, i'll be sure to warn you next time." you reply contritely, sensing his tension.

"At least Ser Ammett." he tells you, alluding to your personal bodyguard. "I don't want to restrain you, i want to know you're safe."

You know that, you answer him with a smile. He's concerned, you understand that well.

"Will you give me a little more time before returning home?"

He nods, sitting down into Vhagar's shadow, near her head but far enough from her jaws. Then, he watches you swim for a while, and when you realise he is succumbing to the heat and slipping off his jacket and boots, you return to the shore.

"You must had been beautiful in your youth." you say, caressing Vhagar: what a majestic dragoness she is.

"She's still beautiful." Aemond points out, rolling up his sleeves. "She's just a little bit grumpy but i can comprehend her, since she have to deal with me, hm?" he adds something in Valyrian, and Vhagar snorts softly in response.

"You know Aem, i have to tell you: i didn't think you would last that long with all that clothes on, the Sun is so hot today that you can cook an egg on a rock."

"Is this a subtle way to tell me i had to undress?" he say with a smirk.

That's your turn to sigh, with a fake guilty look in your eyes.

"Not so subtle, isn't it?"

"M-mh. Sometimes you tend to forget that i know you like the back of my hand: you're an open book to me. And besides, as i told you countless times, you only have to ask."

"Care to join me, then, now that you have found out my intentions?"

"...into the water?"

"Well sure, where else? Come on, today it's hot as the dragonfire..."

"Yes, and thanks to you it's even hotter." he replies, looking at the way the wet tunic clings to your form like a second skin. He groans, reaching a hand to your ankle, tracing up along the calf and the crease of your knee and further up on your thigh.

"Later, Aem" you smile at him. You extend a hand in an invitation to follow you. "Come on."

You see him scanning the shore and the lake itself, which is rather calm that day.

"Okay but only up to my ankles."

You point your hands to your sides, arching an eyebrow.

"...maybe up to the knees?" he proposes.

"At least up to the chest, you cannot swim in few inches of water... once we reach the chest, we won't go further, i promise. I'm not asking you to go down-"

"Eh, that's not what you usually tell me."

"Aemond!"

"What? It's the truth." another sigh. "Fine. I can't swim." he confesses after a few moments. "I'm a Targaryen, and we do not swim, we fly."

"That means we'll reach a reasonable distance as far as you feel safe, alright? No jokes, i swear. And in the very moment you feel uncomfortable, we'll go back to shore. I got you, don't worry."

Aemond curls his lips for a moment, looking at you with a strange look.

"Hey, i don't like that gaze: you have something in mind."

"You have to make amend for making me worry." he tells you jokingly.

"Amend? It wasn't my intention to worry you. Tell me then, what do you want?"

"One turn upside down." he proposes, pointing at Vhagar behind him. "Grant us just one turn and i'll join you."

"Here's why i didn't like your gaze." you sigh, looking istinctively at Vhagar, who seems to understand what Aemond is asking: the growl she make is enough for you to shiver.

"Come on, be brave! I'm asking you that for so long and you have yet to see how happy she is when i let her do it. After that, you don't owe me nothing." he then spoke in his language again, saying who knows what to Vhagar, who shortly after shift her attention to you, her pupils pointed into yours. "...see? She's already happy."

"You two will be the death of me."

"Is that a yes? Hm?"

"Yes."

Aemond flashes a smile at Vhagar, and for a second you think you even glimpse a wink.

"You better bring yourself and your wonderful ass into the water, Aem."

"As my lady command." Aemond removes his tunic before running towards the water, diving into it with a loud laugh, leaving you utterly surprised, finally understanding that the whole i'm afraid of swimming story was just a play and above all, what awaits you.

"You... you're so in trouble, Aemond Targaryen." you snort, making him laugh even louder. "Yeah, laugh now, 'cause later, i promise, you'll beg for me to stop."

"Knowing you, you'll be the one begging, and surely not for me to stop."

"..."

Vhagar pokes gently your back with her snout, causing you to lurch forward.

"Easy, Vhagar."

"Why she did this?"

"Because she's happy and she likes you. Less chattering though, come here: water is perfect." Aemond teases you, with a playful smirk.

"Eh, you clearly have no idea what you will have to do to me to make this up."

His breeches suddenly lands at your feet as he looks at you.

"Take off your tunic. Now."

"Look, Aemond, you better not be joking now because you have no idea of what kind of beast you're about to unleash."

"For our sake, woman, just take that goddamned tunic off and make me happy too!"

*

There is something mesmerizing in the way Aemond lets himself go: in those moments you clearly see his armour shattering down and the man you love re-emerge from the depths of his complicated character: once his innate composure has been set aside, once he allows himself to be swept away by the moment, he is capable of consuming you with fierceness -or tenderness- with which he takes you, but at the same time of surrendering himself to you without reserve.

"We should... come here more... more often." Aemond is panting beneath you, still lost in the aftermath of his last climax. He rests his head against yours, smiling as soon as he feels your lips right above his scarred eye, in one of your usual affectionate gesture.

"Uh-huh." you agree, holding your legs so tight around his waist that you can feel his still hard length pulsing into your clenching walls, his hands steady on your hips. He rest a while inside you, a thing he likes to do knowing that you also enjoy. "At least i can hear your laughter again, it doesn't happen so often."

"I know, i'm sorry. Being a Targaryen is no joke."

Sometimes when he's back from a council meeting, you can clearly see the armour he wears to hide his real self so no one could take advantage of his flaws, his humanity. Something you can totally understand as it's not easy at all being part of a reigning family and you know, you know so well that is safer for Aemond to protect himself in that way but sometimes you feel like he's closing even you out of him.

"You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Just give me a minute, i feel sore all over and my legs don't cooperate." is your reply, moving a little to relieve a cramp.

"Oops… sorry, my bad."

"Stop it, you're not sorry at all."

He chuckles, and you feel him hardening again, but Vhagar lets out a loud snort, distracting both of you.

"You're right, old friend. Let's go." sighs Aemond. "We all need to rest and you still owe me something."

[planetkiimchi-rbs]

i wish i didn't have to go to school today so i could curl up in my room and read all your fics like a christmas fic binge :(( but !! i'm so glad that it's FINALLY HERE (i've been waiting for this since june you don't even know)

full fic analysis under cut bc i rambled again :( but i finished reading this and i just. i love it so much??? the idea was so good and it was so well executed i can't imagine a better writer to write minghao this specific way. <33

For a moment, Minghao is simply taken aback by the quiet grace of your entrance, the way the afternoon light seems to favour you.

hell-O what happened to good morning ?? y/n really came into this fic like an ethereal being

"Each flower has its own needs, but with patience, they show their beauty. Much like people, I suppose."

this sentence set the stage for such a beautiful analogy of people being like flowers... also minghao's SO insightful ugh 😩😩

You respond with that cute grin of yours𑁋it seems more relaxed now.

aww that's so cute!! love how y/n slowly gets more comfortable w hao ☹️☹️

the tip of your tongue just barely peeking out in concentration.

people who stick their tongue out the side of their mouth when they concentrate >>> it's such a lovable trait

And flowers𑁋like people𑁋don't rush.

no why is this the PERFECT fic for hao and his patient, transcending calm???? 

The shift from the warm tones of summer to the cool shades of autumn had arrived, bringing a new, fresh palette for him to play with.

THIS LINE !!

"Not just you, no," Minghao replies amusedly. "But I think you could be. A flower, I mean. You're just someone who's figuring out what kind you want to be."

i love how he doesn't deny comparing people to flowers in general cuz somehow that is exactly what minghao is? like a guy who sometimes is a little on the sidelines simply because he enjoys perceiving other people a bit too much

The question rests upon Minghao's shoulders

NOO THIS SENTENCE 😭😭 absolute poetry how do people even come up with these ??

I've been liking the liánhuā lately𑁋the lotus. It grows in muddy water and blooms above the surface, even despite those circumstances. It also represents purity, resilience, and growth."

this is an amazing choice honestly the lotus is soo beautiful & strong (also i like the way lotus roots taste) and it's so minghao!!!

Then he just simply shrugs. "I guess I didn't mind it," he replies lowly, and meets your eyes warily. "Does it bother you?"

if someone said this to me i'd be folding on the spot bro like just confess already??

"I don't mind either," I like being in this place... with you. "Not at all."

rania and her lovely writing style of putting unsaid words in italics in between 🤩🤩 i love how distinctive it makes your writing 

Minghao has picked flowers for funerals before. He's also seen people hold onto flowers that are long past their bloom, clinging to them as if their presence alone could bring someone back. He's been there too.

oh GOSH the sorrow? so beautifully portrayed

The question feels a bit silly to ask, and it makes Minghao's features soften as he looks at you, a warmth in his chest that spreads like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a cold morning. "I've already been waiting for you," he says, almost cheekily, and it seems to lighten the moment a little. "I haven't planned on stopping anytime soon."

this fic is my other roman empire (this and moni's "finger trapped (ripped to its seams)")

His arms catch you instinctively, gentle yet steady, embracing around you like flowers petals folding inward for protection. His warmth seeps into you as if he were the sun reaching a flower in the early hours of dawn, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, encouraging you to press closer into his warmth.

this whole paragraph healed me.

Minghao wonders if flowers ever feel the same bittersweet pull when their petals fall𑁋the ache of letting go, but the quiet hope of something new taking root.

holy shit. this line touched a part of me so raw that i didn't even know existed

caught in bloom, caught on you | xu minghao

SYNOPSIS. in which you find yourself becoming a regular𑁋or perhaps more than that𑁋at minghao's flower shop. PAIRING. florist!xu minghao x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, a pinch of angst, hurt/comfort, strangers to friends to lovers WARNINGS. hao basically falls in love at first sight HAHA, mild cursing, implied that yn lost someone close to them, a lot of yearning n pining, kissing WORD COUNT. 8.3k

notes: wheeboo is NOT in their short-ish fic era anymore and is in their long-ish fic era rn 😭 anyway,, i didnt have a title for the fic until hao posted his song on his birthday so... I hope u all enjoy?? this might be one of my faves haha

Minghao likes these kinds of days.

Thin, irregular shapes of cotton drift lazily across the endless blue embrace of the skies. The afternoon sun carries warmth in its hands that he could feel right through the glass windows of his flower shop. It's almost as if the season of summer itself is breathing through his shop, softly encouraging his little garden to reach for the light.

Minghao runs his slender fingers through the cool edges of a hydrangea, its soft petals a deep shade of prismarine.

Ever since he was younger, his mother had told him that flowers weren't just things to be cared for. They were companions, your friends if you'd let them be, each blooming with all different kinds of personalities.

He likes how the flowers didn't ask for much; they simply needed patience and care, and in return, they gave him a sense of peace that he couldn't find anywhere else.

The sudden chime of the bell pulls him from his thoughts. He straightens up, wiping his hands on the apron tied loosely around his waist, and glances toward the door.

The figure the walks through the door is unfamiliar, yet it's easy to catch the way the sunlight highlights the edges of your silhouette, almost like a halo as you step inside the shop. For a moment, Minghao is simply taken aback by the quiet grace of your entrance, the way the afternoon light seems to favour you.

Your gaze circles around the shop, taking in the rows of flowers with a soft curiosity. There's some sort of quiet hesitation in your movements when you take a few more tentative steps inside, as if you're trying to find the right place to be in this space, just as much as you're trying to find the right flower.

Minghao finds himself clearing his throat, drawing a polite smile across his lips and catching your attention right away.

"Good afternoon," he greets calmly. "Can I help you with something today?"

You glance up at him, a slight surprise in your eyes before they soften.

"Hi, um... Yeah, I was actually looking to see if I could buy some flowers. The shop I went to before closed down, so I've been searching for a new place. It was a bit of a drive." Then you hesitate briefly, before continuing, "I'm not sure what to look for exactly, but something for a first date would be nice."

Minghao's heart stirs a bit disappointingly at that, though he quickly suppresses the feeling away. After all, it's just flowers, and you're simply here to buy them for someone else.

He nods thoughtfully, giving a soft, understanding look.

"Ah, well. Congratulations first of all on the date," he says calmly, though the nerves itches his fingers. "A first date is always special, isn't it?"

"They are," You reply sheepishly, and the hint of a blush to your cheeks nearly resembles the colour of the roses displayed near the window.

"Is there a specific kind of vibe you're going for?" Minghao asks. "I can help you pick something that feels right."

You pause for a moment, eyes lingering on a beautifully-painted vase. "Hmm, I think... something romantic, but not too traditional, if that makes sense? Not something too cliché, you know, but I also want it to feel special."

Minghao simply hums in response, his mind sifting through the variety of options he could think of. There's this odd sense of responsibility within him to make your choice is beyond perfect.

"Roses are always a classic," he begins. "but they're quite conventional, so..."

He can sense you following closely to him as he walks toward another part of the shop.

"These are tulips," Minghao explains, gesturing to a row of soft, voluminous blooms in shades of pale pink and coral. "They're not commonly picked like roses, but there's a nice charm about it. They're meant to represent long-lasting love."

You take a good look of the flowers, and you're amazed by how bright they appear.

"Wow, they're so beautiful." Then you take a small glance up at Minghao, before back down at the flowers. "You must really take care of these flowers to make them look this vibrant."

"I try my best," he mutters quietly, watching as you continue to take in their beauty. "Each flower has its own needs, but with patience, they show their beauty. Much like people, I suppose."

Your eyes flicker back up at him, and for a moment, there's a quiet stillness between you, as if the space between you two is holding its breath. Then you let out a warm, somewhat nervous chuckle.

"I think I understand," You say, taking a step closer towards the tulips  and carefully running a finger over its petals. "It's about giving them space to grow, right? Not forcing them to be something they're not."

There's something about the way you speak, something thoughtful, almost as if you also understand the language of patience he's grown so accustomed to.

"Exactly." He smiles faintly. "That's what I like about flowers𑁋they don't rush. They just exist, and somehow, they slowly become what they're meant to be."

You lift your gaze to meet his, and in your eyes, Minghao sees something more than just curiosity. There's a softness there, a sincerity that draws him in. At his sides, he feels his fingers twitch slightly, but he quickly smooths his hands down his apron.

It's strange how a simple conversation about flowers can make him feel so... connected to someone.

"I think these are perfect," You tell him, eyes brightening with confidence.

A wave of satisfaction washes over Minghao, who nods in agreement.

"Would you like me to wrap them up for you?" he asks.

"That would be great, thank you," You respond with that cute grin of yours𑁋it seems more relaxed now. The thought makes his heart flutter.

Minghao begins to wrap the delicate stems with some brown wrapping paper, carefully arranging them so they're secure. As he ties a ribbon around the bouquet, he can't help but sneak up a glance at you. You're wandering around the shop with your hands clasped in front of you, looking at the other arrangements on display, and he smiles to himself.

He finishes the bouquet and smooths out any remaining creases with his fingertips. When you make your way back over to him, he offers it to you.

"Do you want to write your name on a gift tag?" Minghao asks, holding up a small card and a pen. He doesn’t know why his heart's beating faster𑁋perhaps it's the subtle hopefulness in his voice that will make your name linger longer, even after you leave.

You glance at the pen in his hand, considering it for a moment before nodding.

"Sure, I'd love to," You tell him with a faint smile, snatching the pen from his grasp, giving it a quick click before writing something down, the tip of your tongue just barely peeking out in concentration.

When you finish, you hand the card back to him. He takes it from you carefully, inspecting your neat, intricate handwriting. It's simple, yet there's a certain elegance to it it. Minghao reads it under his breath: For someone special, who I hope feels the same - Y/N.

Y/N, he repeats in his mind.

"I'll finish it up for you now," he says, placing the card with the bouquet. He arranges the flowers once more, making sure everything is perfect before handing it to you.

You find yourself fishing into your bag for your wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

Minghao hesitates for a moment, his fingers hovering over the register, but there's something about the way your features soften and how your eyes meet his that makes him pause.

"It's on the house."

You stop your hands, peering back up at him with a surprised look. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Of course," he assures calmly. "It's the least I can do."

You just blink at him a few times, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.

"Thank you," You let out sheepishly as you take the bouquet in your hands, the ribbon slipping through your fingers as you carefully adjust it. There's a split second that passes where you sneak a glance at the nametag on his chest. "I really appreciate it. I'm sure they'll love them."

Something in his chest tightens at that𑁋they'll love them. Minghao tries not to overthink it, tries to ignore the brief twinge of something unsettling in his chest.

But you're smiling, so he smiles back.

"I hope so," he replies gently, and with a polite bow of his head, he adds, "I'm sure they'll appreciate the thought behind it."

As you walk towards the exit, you take a final look around the shop, eyes lingering on the shelves of flowers, before turning back to Minghao.

"I'll be sure to come back," You say brightly, and the way the afternoon sunlight pours down all around you in the doorway makes you appear almost angelic. "Thank you for everything."

"I'll be here," Minghao responds, offering a small, timid wave of his hand. "Take care."

The chime of the bell above the door announces your departure, and a sigh leaves him.

It's just flowers, he tells himself again. Just flowers.

And flowers𑁋like people𑁋don't rush.

Minghao finds himself wiping away some spilled soil on the counter, the soft hum of piano music drifting throughout the quiet flower shop. He had just gotten done cleaning up after a busy morning of rearranging a few displays around the shop to tie into the slow seasonal changes that were beginning to take shape outside.

The shift from the warm tones of summer to the cool shades of autumn had arrived, bringing a new, fresh palette for him to play with. Chrysanthemums, petunias, dahlias, and marigolds were beginning to make their way into the shop, taking their place next to the peonies and roses that had been so meticulously cared for.

When the last bits of soil are wiped away, Minghao steps back to admire the beauty of the shop around him, he takes in a deep inhale, letting in the earthy scent of the fresh blooms fill his lungs.

After storing away a few extra vases in the backroom, the chime of the door hits his ears, and Minghao finds himself straightening back up to greet whoever had come inside.

When looks up, however, he freezes for a moment. He catches you standing in the doorway, and Minghao has to blink a few times to make sure his mind wasn't playing any tricks on him.

"Hi, again," You're the first to greet this time, and then that grin spreads across your face once again, one that seems all-too familiar.

Minghao leans against the counter. "Back so soon?"

"I was just in the area, couldn't help myself, you know..." You drawl with a playful shrug. "I actually just officially moved into the city just last week, hopefully to be closer for this new job and well... The drive here isn't as long as before."

Minghao smiles softly. It's an unexpected but pleasant surprise for you to admit all that to him, and for some reason, it makes him feel a little lighter.

"That's great," he responds, pushing himself off the counter as he straightens up. "I imagine that must be a relief. How do you like it so far?"

You step further into the shop, your eyes eagerly scanning the new arrangements he's set up.

"It's been great, actually," You say with a relieved look. "Life has been... good, honestly. I think the city suits me. It's different, but in a positive way, and I'm already surrounded by a lot of nice people."

This warm and genuine feeling tugs at Minghao's lips as he listens to you, adjusting the stems of a vase full of a plethora of zinnias.

"I'm assuming that date from before went well then?"

His words makes the smile on your face flicker, and the change is subtle but noticeable enough for Minghao to catch it, even when he's not directly looking at you. You shift your weight between your two feet, and the way you glance around the shop seems almost like you're trying to distract yourself from something.

"The date didn't go well at all, actually."

Minghao's fingertips pause on the cold surface of the vase, brows furrowing in a bit of surprise.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he apologises gently, regretting for the sudden change in mood. "I didn't mean to bring up anything uncomfortable."

You let out a small, rueful chuckle, shaking your head. "No, no, it's okay. Really."

The air seems to thicken a little. You could only stand and watch for a few long moments as Minghao moves gracefully around, tending to all the flowers with his usual care.

After a long pause, you finally break the silence.

"It was good at first, I think, then it just became... awkward. Like really awkward. I thought I had everything planned out𑁋good place, nice flowers, all that jazz... but I guess it just didn't click. I think we both kind of felt it." You feel your shoulders deflate in a pit of defeat, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you run a hand through your hair. "I don't know why I just rambled all that. Sorry about that."

Minghao doesn't say anything at first, simply giving you some space, but he feels his heart tighten in his chest. He casts his eyes on you, also unsure why you're telling him this or why it feels important to him, but he knows it's a moment of vulnerability𑁋a rare one𑁋and he wants to handle it with care.

"No need to say sorry," he reaffirms, tone soothing. "Sometimes things don't go as expected, and that's okay. It doesn't mean it wasn't meaningful."

You glance towards him, catching the sincerity dripping down from his words. It catches you by surprise at how almost... comfortable it feels to be open right now, with him. The atmosphere here doesn't demand anything of you.

"As people, we try so hard to make things go right that we forget to just... let them unfold naturally," he says softly, as if thinking aloud. "I think sometimes things don't work out because we're not ready for them yet, or maybe they're not the right kind of flower at the right time. You can spend so much time trying to arrange them, placing them in the perfect spot, hoping they'll just fit… but sometimes they don't. And that's okay."

You can't help but quirk a playful lip at that, but you can't resist the way his words appear to tug right at your heartstrings. "Are you comparing me to a flower?"

"Not just you, no," Minghao replies amusedly. "But I think you could be. A flower, I mean. You're just someone who's figuring out what kind you want to be."

The thought about being a flower𑁋in another life, perhaps𑁋is a bit silly. But you also wonder about other things too𑁋if you're being treated with the same care and attention that Minghao gives to his flowers, or if you're wilting like one that hasn't found the right light yet. And as you gaze around the shop, taking in the beauty of the blooms around you, you find yourself smiling.

"I think I'd like to try and take care of a flower," You announce, determination weaving around your voice and words. "I'm not sure if I'd be good at it, but I'd like to try."

Minghao crosses his arms together, letting out a thoughtful hum while studying you for a few seconds. "I think you'd do well."

For some reason, those few words were enough to send heat crawling up your body and into your face.

"Thank you," You breathe out sheepishly, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. "Can you give me a few recommendations?"

Minghao just nods. "Sure."

From there, he leads you toward a small display near the front of the shop where a few different pots and seedlings are carefully arranged. He describes a few of them to you. You're immediately drawn to the passion dripping from his tone, and the way he appears to light up when he speaks.

"These might be a good start," he suggests, gesturing to a small seedling. "Marigolds are pretty low maintenance. They need light, of course, but they're easy to grow and care for."

You take a moment to study over the baby plant with sweet curiosity.

"I think I'll start with these, then," You say, glancing back at Minghao. "Something easy."

Minghao's eyes don't stray away from how you admire the tiny plant, how you cradle the pot in your hands to take a closer look at it as if you're already imagining yourself taking care of it.

"Taking care of them can be a good reminder to take care of yourself too," he points out. "They need patience, consistency… and a little bit of trust, just like people do."

You look up at him, a smile tugging at your lips once more, feeling something warm bloom in your chest. His words settle into you in a way that's hard to describe, but they feel right𑁋like they're exactly what you need to hear.

"That's true," You reply, the weight of the sentiment settling comfortably within you. "I guess I could use a reminder like that."

"Shall I wrap it up for you?" he offers.

"Yes, please. Thank you."

After mulling over some options, he chooses the perfect wrapping paper and adds a small note about caring for marigolds. You watch him, mesmerised by the ease in his movements, the care he pours into something so simple. For a moment, you forget about all the bustling noise outside the shop, and all that exists is Minghao and the flowers, his flowers.

As Minghao ties the final knot around the marigold pot, he hands it to you, and his fingertips briefly brush against yours.

"Thank you," You tell him softly. "For everything, really. It's very calming in here."

Minghao's smile widens, almost like he's heard those same words before, and perhaps he has; maybe many people find themselves drawn to his calm presence and the haven he's created in this little shop.

There's a strange warmth that spreads throughout your chest as you cradle the small plant in your hands. "I'll be sure to take good care of it."

A few moments of comfortable silence pass as you both stand there, your eyes drifting around the shop to take in the palette of autumn that colours the space. Yet it's almost instinctive in the way your gaze finds Minghao.

"I hope you won't mind me coming back, you know... to make sure I'm doing a good job with this little one." You gesture to the plant in your hands, a playful tone to your words.

Minghao chuckles, a sound as gentle as the petals surrounding him. "Of course. I'll be here."

"Do you mind if I take another look around with the place? It looks great, by the way."

"Take all the time you need."

And for the first time in a long while, Minghao felt like he wasn't just waiting for the next flower to bloom.

He was blooming, too.

"Do you have a favourite flower?"

The question rests upon Minghao's shoulders while he waters a cluster of orchids in the back corner of the shop. You're hovering near him, aimlessly trudging your fingertips over, but instead lets the question settle in between the quiet moments.

"I imagine it's hard to pick as a florist, right?" You let out a meek laugh. "It's kind of like asking a painter to pick their favourite colour."

The corners of Minghao's lips curl up slightly, his eyes fixed on the glistening leaves under the faint droplets of water. You can tell he's contemplating the question from the quiet hums leaving his mouth, and for some reason, you find comfort in his patience.

"Not exactly," he says after a pause, his voice steady, thoughtful. "A painter might have a favourite colour, but they don't use it all the time. It's about balance. Knowing when to bring it forward and when to hold it back."

"Ah, so you do have a favourite flower," You tease lightly, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. "You just don't want to admit it."

The brief touch seems to linger in the air, a soft warmth that you both let pass without acknowledging. Minghao gently sets the watering can down and looks at you for a moment, his gaze a little deeper than before.

"In China, we have a lot of flowers that hold meaning," Minghao continues. "It's hard to pick one specifically, but... I've been liking the liánhuā lately𑁋the lotus. It grows in muddy water and blooms above the surface, even despite those circumstances. It also represents purity, resilience, and growth."

You tilt your head as you take in his words. You already knew yourself that you didn't know much about flowers, but there's a certain curiosity that washes over you from how Minghao speaks so fondly about them. Even something as simple as a flower has layers of meaning for him.

"That's really beautiful, I..." You trail off, trying to find the right words. "I've always looked at things really surface-level, you know, like I've always found daisies beautiful because they're so simple and bright, but I never really thought much about their deeper meanings. It's kind of like... I never thought about why I liked them. It's just easy to see them and appreciate them, I guess."

Minghao blinks at you, before lowering his gaze down to the floor. "Daisies suit you."

You turn to him, dazed. "Really?"

Minghao takes a contemplative pause. "Well, they're not only... beautiful to look at, but they brighten up any space they're in."

You feel your feet seep into the floor, sinking deeper as your cheeks warm, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were standing next to him. And it's the way he acts like he didn't fucking say anything out of the ordinary almost makes you lose it.

"Are you flirting with me right now?"

However, Minghao doesn't seem fazed by the question. Instead, his lips twitch into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and then a few seconds later, your phone rings.

Minghao just offers you a little wave of his soil-painted hand. "Have fun at work, Y/N."

"Minghao! Can you teach me how to wrap these flowers?"

Minghao casts his attention up from displaying a new set of hyacinths, catching you behind the counter with a bouquet in your hands, along with a small old lady on the other side with a cheerful grin.

There's a subtle tug at the corners of his mouth when he hears you holler for him again, and he brushes his hands against his apron, before marching his way toward you. He steps up to you, taking the flowers from your hand while you beam happily towards the old lady.

"What's the occasion for the flowers, ma'am?" You ask curiously. Th elderly woman lets out a soft laugh, resting her wrinkled hands on the counter.

"It's for my grandson! He's graduating from high school today. Time flies by, doesn't it?"

"Wow, that's such a milestone! Congratulations to him," You exclaim enthusiastically, softly clapping your hands together as Minghao deftly arranges the flowers within the wrapping paper, before sliding it over to you.

He leans in a bit more, almost too close you feel the way his arm brushes against yours and the way his breath fans against your skin.

"Fold the edges like this," Minghao instructs softly, his hands hovering right over yours. "Make sure the paper covers the stems. Too much pressure could break them; too loose could make them fall apart."

You watch as his hands follow yours while you nervously, yet carefully trace the frail edge of the paper, showing you how to make each fold with a care that's almost tender. His close proximity sends strange flutters to your stomach, but you do your best to ignore it.

"Okay, like this?" You question, pulling the paper slightly tighter around the bouquet.

Minghao hums approvingly, letting you hold the flowers while he circles a ribbon around it with ease. His hands brush against yours as he neatly ties it, and the two of you pull back to watch how it delicately falls over the bouquet.

The old lady glances between the two of you with a knowing smile.

"The two of you make such a cute couple! Do you run the shop together?"

You feel your face fire up at that, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Then you instinctively glance over at Minghao, who surprisingly doesn't seem as flustered as you are.

"Oh, um, we're not𑁋"

"They like to help out here once in a while," Minghao adds in smoothly, though you aren't sure if that entirely helps or not. However you know what he's saying is true, because whenever your break for work comes or on your free time, you find yourself naturally walking towards the flower shop to help out at times.

The lady just beams up even more, scooping up the bouquet in her grasp. "Well, it's nice to see young faces working together! You two sure do have a lot of chemistry."

You offer a wave of your hand. "I hope your grandson enjoys the flowers. Congratulations to him once again!"

With that, the old woman offers a small wink before turning to head out of the shop. "Thank you, dear! Take care, both of you." Her delighted steps echo off the walls as she exits the shop.

The shop grows quiet again. You let out a sigh, cracking your knuckles as you turn to Minghao, who was already wiping over the surface of the counter, making quick work of putting things back in order, and for some reason, it still doesn't wipe away the pit of awkwardness you're feeling. You wonder if he feels the same too.

"So," Minghao starts, still continuing to clean without batting a glance at you. "You're taking over my shop, it seems."

You let out a haughty scoff. "I just wanted to try wrapping some flowers for someone. Don't let it get to your head."

Minghao only chuckles lightly, though he keeps his focus on the counter, yet you could only focus on him. You can't help but admire the way his hair falls effortlessly over his forehead, the slight endearing tilt of his head as he works, and how his movements are so meticulously unique to only him. There's a certain aura he exudes that makes you feel strangely at peace, a magic that only seems to reside within the walls of the shop.

"Why didn't you say no?" You suddenly ask, the question slipping out before you could shut your mouth.

Minghao pauses mid-swipe, looking back up at you. "Say no to what?"

"To, uh... the lady back there," You stammer, feeling the heat creep back at your neck. "About us, you know... being a couple."

Minghao remains silent as he tosses the dirty wipe away. For a moment, he seems to be contemplating something𑁋whether the question, the idea, or something more.

Then he just simply shrugs. "I guess I didn't mind it," he replies lowly, and meets your eyes warily. "Does it bother you?"

Your mind goes completely blank at his question. Does it bother you? The simple truth is that you didn't expect him to answer so casually. You were expecting him to probably correct her humbly, in all honesty. After all, it was just a passing comment from a lady who didn't mean any harm behind it.

But... does it bother you?

"No, it... it doesn't bother me. Really," You respond after a pause, voice coming out a bit forced. Your heart is beating super fast right now. "I guess I just didn't expect you to go along with it since we're not𑁋"

"𑁋not a couple," Minghao finishes for you. "I know."

You feel like you're melting into a pile of goo, your thoughts scattering like ants running out of their pile.

"I'm sorry, I'm overthinking," You mumble out, trying to brush everything off with an airy laugh.

Minghao shakes his head. "I should be sorry. I made you uncomfortable."

"You-You didn't, trust me!" You wave your hands dismissively, albeit a bit dramatic. "I was just caught off-guard and didn't know how to respond."

This seems to relax Minghao's shoulders a bit, but not entirely.

"Okay," he says, and his voice is as light as a  wisp getting caught in the wind. "But you'd tell me if you were uncomfortable, right?"

You give him an easy nod, maybe even confident. "I would. I promise. And you'd... tell me too?"

Minghao meets your eyes with a steady gaze, his expression soft but thoughtful. For a moment, there's a subtle shift in the air, and you can feel the weight of his words before he speaks again.

"Yeah," he answers firmly, sincerely. "I would."

When you open your mouth to speak again, your phone dings in your pocket. You squint your eyes to read over the message in your notifications, before closing up your phone.

"My meeting got cancelled." Then you blink up towards Minghao, as if trying to convey an unspoken question to him.

As if the answer wasn't already obvious, Minghao gives you a small, almost teasing smile.

"I don't mind the company," he tells you, then quirks up a brow. "Unless you do."

"I don't mind either," I like being in this place... with you. "Not at all."

Flowers bloom when the time is right. And you don't mind waiting for it.

When a flower dies, there's a certain routine that comes after it. Trim away the wilted petals, dispose of the stems, recycle them as compost, and plant the next set of blooms.

Minghao hates seeing flowers die.

The sound of crumbling petals tie a knot in his chest, the stillness that follows afterwards is almost deafening. But he knows it's an inevitable part of life. Every flower has its chance to bloom and thrive, and eventually, it will fade.

The flowers don't belong to him, after all𑁋they are simply passing through his care briefly before going to someone else or withering away, like everything else in life. Minghao knows it's unnecessary to hold onto these flowers so tightly, but after being surrounded by them his entire life, it's merely impossible to let go.

The bell chimes as he's composting a few camellias that had sadly wilted, and he gazes up to find a gust of snow following your footsteps as you step inside. A large, black fluffy coat hugs your body and a scarf is wrapped snugly around your neck. However this time, Minghao doesn't notice any ounce of a smile to your face.

He sets the compost bin down and wipes his hands on his apron.

"Y/N?"

There's a very subtle twitch to your expression when he calls out your name.

"Hey," You croak out, voice a bit strained. "Um... is it fine if I buy some flowers?"

Minghao feels something in his chest clench at your tone, but he pushes the feeling away with his usual calm composure, masking away any concern simmering on the surface.

"Sure," he replies, focusing on the shadows that plague over your features. "Is there anything specific you're looking for?"

Your eyes drift away from to look around the flower shop, taking note of the bright, usual blooms that surround you, yet none of them appear are what you're looking for.

"Do you have, um..." You feel like you're already going to regret this. "...anything for a funeral?"

The words float in the air between you both. Minghao's expression falters for just a moment, the calmness that he usually carries slipping as his eyes soften toward you.

"Of course," he says softly. "I have a few options."

With that, he leads you to a particular spot in the shop, where it houses all sorts of flowers with muted colours𑁋white roses and lilies, pale chrysanthemums, and pink and purple orchids all arranged neatly. Minghao watches as you gaze over each flower, but he doesn't speak yet, simply allowing you the moment to breathe.

"These are the traditional flowers for a funeral," he explains finally. "White roses for remembrance, lilies for peace, chrysanthemums for mourning, and orchids for everlasting love."

Minghao has picked flowers for funerals before. He's also seen people hold onto flowers that are long past their bloom, clinging to them as if their presence alone could bring someone back. He's been there too.

It's bit a different when it's you though, and he doesn't exactly know how to explain it.

You plod slowly throughout the display, picking up a stem here and there, but each time, you set it back down as if it didn't feel right. But when you come across the orchids, you linger a little longer on them, tenderly caressing the petals as if you were scared to break them.

"I think I'll choose these ones. The orchids," You murmur, picking up a few stems and showing it to him.

Minghao just nods, taking the ones from your hands and grabbing a few more to finish the rest of the bouquet, moving with careful precision.

"I'll handle the rest, don't worry," he assures you as he gracefully works to arrange the orchids.

None of you choose to say anything more, only letting the diffident silence stretch. For some reason, the shop feels a little more cooler, the air heavier than usual. The only sound is the rustling of Minghao's hands moving carefully over the flowers, the quiet snap of a stem as he trims it with his shears. Outside, the snow continues to fall.

Minghao doesn't press for any details, yet even in the quiet, you have a feeling that he knows. Maybe that's why he's just letting his hands speak for him.

"Here you go." He offers you a neat bouquet of pale lavender orchids.

You step up to him to retrieve it from his grasp, bringing it close to your chest. "Thank you."

Minghao knows he shouldn't let his feelings get in the way, but as he takes note of the slight glassiness to your eyes and small tremble of your hands holding the bouquet, he isn't sure how much longer he can hold it in. He feels guilty when he lets his eyes drift down to your lips for a second, before averting it back up quickly.

The smile you give him is nothing short of fragile, faint, but it's there. And then, with a sudden leap, you find yourself leaning into Minghao's embrace without thinking, wrapping your arms around his body as if he was the only thing in the world that was preventing you from falling down. And in a way, he is.

His arms catch you instinctively, gentle yet steady, embracing around you like flowers petals folding inward for protection. His warmth seeps into you as if he were the sun reaching a flower in the early hours of dawn, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, encouraging you to press closer into his warmth.

You don't cry𑁋not entirely. A single tear slips past your lashes, landing silently against his shoulder. He feels it, but he doesn't move, doesn't say anything, and just lets you... be.

"I'm sorry," You mumble into his shoulder. "I didn't mean to𑁋"

"Don't be," Minghao interrupts softly. "It's okay."

You pull away for a moment to look up at him. He's still holding you. His hands have fallen down to your sides, resting there as if he's held you like this before. The way you're looking at him has Minghao nearly forgetting how to breathe; it nearly urges to him to lean down and close the distance between the two of you.

His gaze lingers on your lips, and for a split second, Minghao almost allows himself to follow the instinct to lean in.

But then he stops himself.

He's not sure what this is, what the right thing to do is. His thoughts are tangled mess of roots𑁋he's always been careful with holding himself back, with promising to wait, yet something about the way you look at him makes it feel like the only right thing to do is to give in.

But he can't. Not yet. Not when you're so fragile and baring yourself raw to him.

Yet he sees the way your eyes flutter at him, the way a crease of question forms in between your brows as if you're also unsure of what this moment is, but there's a longing there too. It's almost pleading. And you lean in a little more towards him.

"Y/N," he breathes out your name, and it's the first time you ever heard his voice shake like that. "We... We shouldn't."

You don't say anything at first, your eyes searching his face like you're trying to read something. You open your mouth, close it, and then, with a slight exhale, you step back, only a little, but enough to let the cool air seep in between you.

"I'm sorry, I..." You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, letting out a sniffle. "Fuck, I'm sorry..."

Minghao feels his chest tighten. "It's okay𑁋"

"I-I just wanted to feel something for a moment, you know? Everything is such a mess right now and the first person I thought of was you, because I like... the way you make me feel. I like it way more than I should. And that... that it's okay if you don't feel that way too."

Minghao's heart stutters at that, and perhaps the world even pauses too. All words that want to leave him become stuck in his throat, because he knows deep down𑁋from as far back as the moment you walked into the flower shop𑁋that he's felt the same way for far too long.

So, he settles with taking one hand from your side and slowly reaching up to trace your warm cheek with his thumb, his touch delicate as if he's afraid he might cause your petals to fall down. He brushes away a lingering tear that had been drying up on your skin and lets his hand stay there.

"You... deserve way more than just comfort in a moment like this," Minghao starts quietly. "But you're grieving right now, and I don't want to take advantage of that. I don't want to just be someone who's here for a moment, because... you mean so much to me more than that."

Your lips form into a tight, thin line, and you flicker your gaze towards the floor, the heaviness in the air still weighing down on your shoulders.

"Minghao..."

"And if I act on what I feel, it wouldn't be fair to you," Minghao continues, voice trembling slightly as he speaks. "I want it to be because you know what you want. And if you ever give me that chance, I promise I'll be here for you. Not just now, not just in this moment, but... for everything. When you're ready; when you're healed; when it feels right, I'll be here𑁋I always have been."

There's a lump in your throat that you swallow down. For a while, you could only simply stand there, feeling as if you're teetering on the edge of something you can't quite reach. But even as you stand in this stillness, there's something in his words that echoes off the walls of your mind𑁋it's understanding, and it's care, and it feels like a promise.

"I... I know. I just... I'm sorry for putting all this on you. I think I need space to... heal and think." Then you look back up at him, wonder tainting your features. "Will you wait for me?"

The question feels a bit silly to ask, and it makes Minghao's features soften as he looks at you, a warmth in his chest that spreads like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a cold morning.

"I've already been waiting for you," he says, almost cheekily, and it seems to lighten the moment a little. "I haven't planned on stopping anytime soon."

The chuckle that leaves you isn't forced; in fact, it's quite relieving. It feels like the start of something, and Minghao feels a flicker of hope at the sound.

You reluctantly separate yourself away from him, cradling the bouquet of orchids to your chest, and let out an exhale you hardly realise you were holding in.

"I'll be okay, you know," You tell him, even if it's a bit of lie, or half the truth. You can't tell which.

Minghao glances down to your hands, as if you're holding a piece of your heart wrapped up within the petals, before back up to your eyes.

"I know," is all he says.

The world doesn't stop for grief, but it's okay to pause for a little while.

Minghao wonders if flowers ever feel the same bittersweet pull when their petals fall𑁋the ache of letting go, but the quiet hope of something new taking root.

You haven't stepped foot in the flower shop in a while. At least, not as often as you used to come.

The absence is especially daunting, and Minghao can't help but feel it every time the bell chimes and it isn't you that walks through the door. On rare occasion you'd swing by to say hello during your breaks at work and sometimes, a pretty, shy smile from you before you disappear back into the world outside.

It's strange how easily your presence had come to be a part of the rhythm of his days. He used to wonder how someone like you would be drawn to the boring stillness of a flower shop. But now the place feels more emptier than before you came into his life, the petals around him somehow less vibrant, the air colder, even when the sun streams through the windows.

He tries not to dwell on it, but he can't help the nagging feeling that maybe you've drifted away, maybe things have changed. Maybe he was just a moment for you. And now, that moment has passed.

So he simply spends his days in the shop, moving between shelves of blossoms and arranging bouquets, but his thoughts always return to you. To the quiet moments when your voice would fill the space between the flowers, to the way you cared and tended the blooms even when you had no reason to.

It makes him think that if flowers could speak for us, then what might they say about you? Would they say you were someone who saw beauty in the smallest things? Minghao often found himself wishing that flowers could speak just so he can hear what they would say about you.

But flowers don't speak, of course. They just bloom and stretch toward the light, growing in places where they are tended to, and even in those that have been forgotten.

Maybe that's what Minghao was𑁋a forgotten flower of his own waiting to be seen, to be noticed.

Luckily, he was able to distract himself a bit today with a few deliveries for a couple of upcoming weddings and a new arrangement for the store he was preparing to do in the next few days, along with piles of orders for days. But it still wasn't enough.

As he flips the sign on the window to display Closed, he fumbles for his keys to lock the door. However, the sound of the bell rings through the shop, stopping him mid-motion. Minghao lifts a brow up, not expecting for anyone to show up right as he's about to close up.

And when he looks up, he freezes.

"I'm not late, aren't I?"

It's you.

The way your voice comes out all shaky like you're out of breath, yet soft has Minghao feeling as if he's sinking into quicksand. The sight of you standing at the doorway is a dream he never dares to wake up from.

"You're not," Minghao manages to say, somehow. "You're just in time."

Your lips tug into a small, relieved smile, and it's enough to make the air feel lighter in the shop. You take a few hesitant steps so that you're fully inside, letting the door shut behind you with a faint click.

Your lips tug into a small, relieved smile, and it's enough to make the air feel lighter in the shop. You take a few hesitant steps so that you're fully inside, letting the door shut behind you with a faint click. You take in the familiar, fresh scent of all the blooms and greenery around you, and it hits you in the heart just how much you've missed this place.

"I had, uh… a late shift at work," You explain unsurely. "so I thought about stopping by, but I wasn't sure if you'd still be here."

Minghao just shakes his head, watching as you brush your fingertips over some lilies and baby's breaths that were displayed on a small table near the window. Gosh, he'd do anything to flat out say how much he missed you, how much he'd been thinking about you, but he doesn't.

"Have you been busy?" You ask him.

"A little," he responds. "but manageable, I would say."

"Ah… that's good," You mumble, voice trailing off as you start to make your way in his direction, catching eye on a particular bouquet sitting on the counter behind him. "No-show again?"

Minghao lets out a sigh, and he feels you following behind as he walks towards the counter. He picks up the bouquet in his hand, letting his gaze fall over it.

"Mhm," he hums. "But it's alright, really. Happens more often than you think."

You quirk a brow as your eyes roam over the bouquet, and a particular, almost knowing look stretches across your lips.

"That's funny," You huff, taking the bouquet from his grasp. It held a colourful variety of hydrangeas. "It looks a lot like an order I placed a few days ago."

Minghao's heart skips a beat as he watches you carefully examine the bouquet, his breath caught in his throat.

"This… was yours?" he questions in surprise.

"Yeah, I…" You bite your lips sheepishly. "It was sort of an impulsive thing, I guess."

Minghao only continues to watch as you admire the bouquet, caressing over the delicate wrapping paper and the all-too familiar bow that he would tie all of his other arrangements.

"Impulsive, huh?" Minghao teases lightly, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "Well, you certainly picked a good one."

You look up at him, a small, tentative smile forming on your face. "I guess I just wanted to get something special. For someone."

Minghao feels his heart sink at that, a flutter of hope and uncertainty colliding in his chest. Someone.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words get caught in his throat, unsure if it's his place to ask, or if he even wants to hear the answer.

"I see," he says instead, trying to keep his tone relaxed, though there's a hint of sadness to his voice that he silently hopes you don't notice.

You take note of his unreadable expression, over the way his eyes appear downcast and a subtle tension to his posture.

However, this doesn't make you stop from gripping the bouquet tighter in your grasp, and then in the next moment, you're stepping closer and offering it over to him.

"I hope you like them," You state, holding out the bouquet thing as if was the most natural thing in the world.

Minghao glances at the bouquet quizzically, the same one he had just been holding, then back at you. His face shifts between a million different expressions𑁋confusion, surprise, hope, and everything in between𑁋before the tension in his chest eases just slightly as he finally registers what you're doing.

He's a florist, for crying out loud. He's usually the one to be giving flowers to people. Never in his years of practically living in the shop has anyone offered flowers to him. The gesture is practically foreign, yet in this moment, it feels so right.

His fingers graze against yours as he hesitantly takes it from your hands, but you fully let go. Instead, you cover his hand with yours, warmth spreading between you as you gently press your palm against his. His heart is beating in his throat, in his ears, everywhere in his body, and he wonders if you can feel it too.

"I missed you," You declare softly, yet a pinch of urgency behind your words. "I missed you so fucking much."

His chest tightens, and it's as if the weight of everything crushes him in the best possible way. All the time he had spent wondering if you had forgotten about him, if maybe you had moved on, it all melts away in an instant. Because you're here. And you're saying everything he's been craving to hear.

And gosh, does he want to kiss you right now.

This time, Minghao doesn't waste a second. He brings a hand up to cradle the side of your neck as he presses his lips to yours. It's perhaps a bit desperate first, making him swallow down a faint sigh you let out but it quickly settles into something softer, deeper, like two people who've been waiting for this moment for far too long.

He can feel the slight tremble in your breath as your lips move against his, and he pulls back slightly, just to make sure you were still with him.

Minghao lets his thumb lightly caress over your cheek as if trying to memorise the feeling of your skin under his touch, as if he'd been starved for this closeness.

"I missed you too," he whispers, a breath away from your lips. "The flowers did too."

A light, airy chuckle escapes from you. "Oh, did they?"

"Of course," Minghao murmurs, his lips curling upwards against your skin. "They've been waiting for you to come back."

"Well, I better not keep them waiting anymore then, right?" You jest playfully, leaning in back once again.

Minghao doesn't hesitate to meet you halfway. "Nope," he says firmly against your mouth. "I think they've waited long enough."

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[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 7 Infamous Lover

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 6.5k

Chapter 7/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Some things are set into motion in this chapter.

18+ Minors DNI (mature)

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

It was an unusual morning for the two of you. Natasha stood in your kitchen, looking more at ease than you felt. Her mug was half-empty, cradled in her hands, while yours sat untouched on the counter before you, its steam curling upward in lazy spirals. The silence was deafening as you tried to process what Natasha told you. Isabella was still asleep in the other room.

Allowing Natasha to stay over had been a line you weren’t ready to cross, but the look on her face last night—the heartbreak she tried so hard to hide—left you with no choice.

You cared about her more than you could put into words, which made this more complicated. You didn’t want to be angry, but the way she’d shown up, raw and vulnerable, with a piece of her past you didn’t know how to navigate, was testing your patience.

Natasha broke the silence first. “I’m sorry for showing up like that. I just... I didn’t know where else to go.”

"Don't apologize for coming to me," You shook your head. You checked the time on the stove clock. 8 am. Neither of you had gotten much sleep. Isabella would be up soon, but she'd have many questions and comments. To feel like you had a handle on the situation, you began to make breakfast. Something simple. French toast and eggs. "It's just, I don't understand why she would call you, of all people."

"I don't hate her..." Natasha began. Then she stopped. Those weren't the right words. She set her mug down and rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not what you think.”

You paused, spatula hovering over the skillet. Your tone was even when you spoke, and it wasn't as hard as before. "Then explain it to me. Because from where I'm standing, it looks like she still has a hold on you."

Natasha sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “She called me out of nowhere, drunk, stranded... I didn’t want to leave her like that. It sounds stupid, but I felt I had to help.”

“You didn’t have to do anything,” you said firmly. “She’s not your responsibility anymore, Natasha. You don’t owe her anything.”

“I know,” Natasha replied quietly, her eyes dropping to the floor. “But it’s hard. Carol... she was a big part of my life for a long time. Walking away from that hasn’t been easy.”

You softened at her admission, the frustration in your chest giving way to something more tender. “I get that,” you said after a moment. “But you’ve got to figure out what you want, Nat. You can’t keep one foot in the past and expect the future to wait for you.”

She glanced up, green eyes meeting yours, and you were struck by the vulnerability in them. You weren't sure what else to say, but before you could come up with something, Natasha closed the distance between you and gently cupped your cheek. You held your breath as she leaned in, her forehead resting against yours.

"I want you," she whispered, her words feathering against your lips. "I'm trying. I don't want to screw this up. I don't want to screw us up."

"Then don't," You muttered. "If this isn't what you want. If there's even a chance you want her, then you need to be upfront with me. If this is just sex for you..."

"It's not," Natasha said firmly, her eyes flashing with something fierce and protective. "It's never been like that. You know that."

"Do I?" You asked. "I'm trying to be levelheaded. You tell me your ex calls, and you go running."

"Not like that," Natasha sighed.

"You went to her," You pointed out.

"Because she was alone, drunk, and in trouble," Natasha shook her head. "I wouldn't have stayed. I just... wanted to make sure she was okay. That's all."

"Did she try to kiss you?"

"What? No," Natasha snorted, shaking her head. "God, no. She was drunk. Really, really drunk."

"So, nothing happened," you asked.

"Nothing," Natasha nodded.

"Okay," You nodded slowly.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," you said, returning to the stove and plating the food you'd made.

Natasha hesitated, then slid her arms around your waist, pressing her front to your back and resting her chin on your shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere," she murmured. "I promise."

You hummed, leaning into her warmth. The knot in your stomach loosened, but it didn't completely disappear.

"I trust you," You nodded to yourself. It wasn't something you had to convince yourself to believe. She came to you. She told you the truth.

"That's good," Natasha nodded, a relieved smile gracing her face. She kissed the side of your head and then your neck.

"Mm, what are you doing?" You asked.

"Nothing," Natasha smirked.

"That doesn't feel like nothing," you teased, a hint of a smile on your lips.

Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but a small voice interrupted.

"What are we talking about?" Isabella yawned, shuffling into the kitchen with messy hair and sleep-heavy eyes.

"Nothing," you and Natasha said in unison, the words tumbling too quickly to sound convincing.

"Whatever," Isabella rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, as she climbed onto one of the kitchen stools. Her gaze shifted to Natasha, and she grinned. "Natasha, you're here."

"Yeah," Natasha nodded, taking a small step back from where she'd been standing close to you. She looked unsure, her hand brushing awkwardly against the counter. You understood the hesitation—it was a delicate situation, having her here when things between the three of you were still so new.

But Isabella didn't seem to share your reservations.

"Good," Isabella chirped, swinging her legs under the stool. "I was wondering when Mama would let you come."

Your cheeks flushed. "Bella," you said, trying to keep your tone even.

"What?" she asked innocently. "I like her. You do, too, right?"

Natasha stifled a chuckle, and you shot her a look.

"Natasha's just visiting," you said, redirecting the conversation.

"Sure," Isabella said with a sly grin, clearly not buying it. She turned her attention to Natasha. "Anyway, Mama, could you do my hair today? In a different style? Something that isn't babyish."

"You are a baby," You pointed out as you slid her a plate of French toast and fresh fruit.

Isabella rolled her eyes again. "I'm almost ten, Mama."

"Still a baby," You stepped around the counter to wrap her in your arms. "My one and only baby."

Isabella squirmed away, giggling. "Mama," she whined. "Stop. You're embarrassing me in front of company."

"Sorry," you apologized, smiling at Natasha, who was watching the scene with amusement. "Old habits die hard. I'll think of something to do to your hair. Eat your breakfast now, and we can walk the dog."

"Yay!" Isabella cheered.

Natasha's hand found yours, her fingers entwining with yours and squeezing lightly.

"We?" Natasha asked softly.

"Yeah," You nodded.

Natasha gave you a soft smile, the kind that reached her eyes and made your knees weak. You were falling for her, and there was no stopping it.

********

A part of you was glad Isabella was talking to Natasha. The other part was concerned. There were still things you needed to talk about that you hadn't figured out yet. And this whole Carol situation last night had left a bad taste in your mouth. You didn't like the idea of her and Carol reconnecting. Not when it meant Natasha was spending time with someone who had hurt her before. Especially when that someone was her ex, especially when that someone was Carol Danvers, you didn't hate the girl. You barely knew her. Simply hearing of her reputation was enough for you.

You didn't want to get too in your head. Not as you were walking with Isabella and Natasha around the neighborhood.

"I'm in intermediate-level gymnastics," Isabella explained to Natasha. She held loosely onto Bear's leash as the dog pulled her over to a random bush. He really was a good walker most of the time.

"That's pretty cool," Natasha grinned, her hand holding yours. "How long have you been doing it?"

"Since I was six," Isabella boasted.

"She's pretty good," You added. "Gymnastics, ballet, and dance. She's the busiest kid I know."

"It's fun," Isabella smiled. "Keeps the mind going and the body healthy. Did you play sports as a kid?"

"I did ballet," Natasha admitted."Yeah, it was a long time ago."

"Did you like it?"

"I did," Natasha nodded. "I was good at it, too."

"Were you any good?" Isabella asked.

"Kind of," Natasha chuckled. "It was a long time ago."

"When did you stop?"

"Well, I didn't quit," Natasha explained. "I got older, and my body changed. The type of moves they have us do can be hard on the body."

"Oh," Isabella nodded, a little less cheerful. "So, did you ever hurt yourself?"

"Not seriously, no," Natasha shrugged.

"That's good," Isabella sighed, relieved. "I hurt myself last year. A twisted ankle."

"Yeah," Natasha nodded.

"I cried because it hurt," Isabella continued.

"Of course, it did," You smiled. "We'd take a break until you were feeling better. Then you were back at it."

"Yeah," Isabella sighed. "Rookie mistakes."

"You could say that," You grinned.

"Are you busy on Wednesday, Natasha?" You could see by the smile in her eyes that Isabella was about to ask her something without your permission.

"Wednesday? What’s on your mind?"

Isabella's face lit up with a mischievous grin, her eyes darting toward you briefly before returning to Natasha. "We have this recital rehearsal, and we get to bring a helper for some of the moves. Can you come?"

You groaned internally, already anticipating how this was going to play out. "Bella, we talked about this. You’re supposed to ask me before inviting someone."

"I know," she said innocently, twirling a strand of her hair. "But Natasha’s really strong. She’d be great for the lifts!"

Natasha glanced at you with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused. "Lifts, huh?"

"It’s true!" Isabella insisted. "And besides, you said you used to dance. You’ll understand better than Mama. No offense," she added quickly, glancing your way.

"None taken," you muttered, trying not to roll your eyes.

Natasha seemed thoughtful for a moment. "When is it? I could probably stop by," she said, looking at you for permission.

"Great!" Isabella cheered, jumping up and down. "It starts at four on Wednesday, and we can pick you up."

"Or you can meet us there," you suggested.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Isabella said, waving her hand dismissively. "Can we go to the park now? Pleeeease?"

"I think we can manage," You said, reaching out and taking Bear's leash. The dog had been patiently waiting during your conversation. You didn't think he'd wander off but didn't want to risk it.

"Yes!" Isabella cheered, throwing her hands up.

"Actually, I have a studio session now," Natasha checked her phone. "I'm pretty late, and Wanda's going to kill me."

"Oh, well, do you want us to walk to the house with you?"

"No, I have my car keys," Natasha denied. "I'll find my way."

"Oh, well, okay," You nodded. Isabella gestured for you to kiss her goodbye. You rolled your eyes at your kid and pulled Natasha down the sidewalk out of earshot. "So, I'll talk to you later?"

"You bet," Natasha nodded. She pressed her lips to yours, giving you a sweet, tender kiss. You leaned into it, savoring the taste of her and the feel of her. You'd never get tired of this.

"Okay," You whispered as you broke the kiss.

"Okay," She smiled, squeezing your hand. "Bye, Isabella."

"Bye, Natasha," Isabella called.

"See you, little one," Natasha smiled, winking at her before leaving.

You watched her walk away, admiring the view. It wasn't until she disappeared around the corner that you rejoined your daughter.

"You're in looove," Isabella teased.

"Maybe," You smirked.

"You should totally marry her," Isabella commented.

"Oh, should I?" You asked. "It hasn't even been that long."

"When you know, you know," Isabella said sagely.

"That's very true," You nodded.

"She makes you happy, right?"

"She does," You agreed.

"And I like her." Isabella listed. "You should totally marry her."

"How about we take things slow, okay?" You chuckled. "Let's see how things go."

"Whatever," Isabella giggled.

"What's with you and this whatever thing?" You wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

Isabella shrugged dramatically, leaning into your side. "It’s just a vibe, Mama. You know, like, whatever happens, happens."

You couldn’t help but laugh at her sass. "I don’t know about you, but you’re too young to drop wisdom like that."

She grinned mischievously. "Maybe, but someone’s got to keep you in check."

You rolled your eyes, smiling as you hugged her tighter. "I think I’m the one who needs to be keeping you in check."

Isabella hummed, content to let you have the last word for now.

The two of you enjoyed the rest of the morning together, laughing and playing and making up silly songs.

******

When Natasha arrived at the studio session, initially, she didn't know what to write. She'd had a list of songs in her black book that she knew she wanted to lay out. But for the last hour, she'd been staring at the blank sheet, her pencil hovering uselessly over the staff.

"Are you writing?" Wanda asked.

"I am," Natasha nodded.

"Then why aren't we recording?"

"Just... a little writer's block," Natasha said.

"Writer's block?" Wanda repeated. "Do you have anything in mind?"

"I do, but..." She shook her head. "I try not to write such personal things. I have a melody and a couple of lyrics in my head, but I don't know if I should do it."

"Becuase you're in a love triangle?" Wanda guessed.

"No, it's not even a love triangle," Nataha shut her book. "It's not even a love anything. Carol is my ex. I blocked her number. Y/n is my now."

"So why the blockage?" Wanda asked.

Natasha paused momentarily, trying to figure out what was holding her back. Her heart told her to write, but her head told her to be smart.

"It's not like I haven't written love songs before," Natasha started.

"But these are about Y/n," Wanda nodded. "And Carol. I get it."

"Carol was a long time ago. What we had... it wasn't good. We didn't end things on good terms. Y/n, on the other hand, is something I want to try. Someone that means something to me."

"Then write about it," Wanda shrugged.

"I just don't know if I should," Natasha said. "Writing a song about Carol? Fine. We weren't happy. But Y/n. She's someone special. If I write about her and it doesn't work out..."

"You can't live your life worried about the what-ifs," Wanda pointed out. "If you want this relationship and're serious about her, then you must be willing to put yourself out there. That's what people do. They take risks. They have faith in one another. It's a leap of faith."

"When did you become a philosopher?" Natasha teased.

"I'm not," Wanda chuckled. "I just think you're overthinking it. Write the damn song, Natasha. Or I will."

Natasha opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. "Okay, it starts like this..."

"I love her, I want her, but my heart cannot recover,

Stuck in a whirlwind, won’t you get me out?

Fading in and out of what we were before,

But I'm losing me when I keep begging for more."

Natasha sat back, tapping the pen against the notebook's edge as she let the words flow through her mind. Wanda watched her carefully, a knowing smile on her face. Natasha had always been cautious, especially regarding matters of the heart, and Wanda had seen it enough times to recognize the hesitation.

"You know," Wanda began, leaning forward, "that song is pretty powerful already. The emotions are raw. You don't have to have everything figured out right now. Sometimes, you just need to let the music do the talking."

Natasha nodded, eyes still focused on the page, her mind racing with the thoughts of Carol and you of the past and the present. The confusion between what she'd been through and what she now had with you. It wasn't easy, but it felt right.

"You’re right," Natasha finally admitted, her voice softer. "I just... I don't want to mess things up with Y/n. She’s different, Wanda. She’s... real."

Wanda reached over and squeezed her hand, her expression gentle. "I know, and that's a good thing. It's a sign that things are changing for the better. Take it one day at a time, and don't overthink it."

"That's easier said than done," Natasha sighed.

"True," Wanda chuckled. "But I'm always here for you, even if it means reminding you not to be so damn stubborn all the time. Now, let's write some more of this song."

Natasha grinned, picking up the pen and turning back to the page, her fingers already itching to start composing. "You know, I'm glad we decided to work on this project. It's been a long time coming."

"Me too," Wanda smiled, her eyes lighting up. "And hey, we might actually finish something. We recorded three songs with the guys. If we finish this and like it...we might actually be getting somewhere with the album."

"Don't jinx it," Natasha laughed. "But I wouldn't mind recording more. Especially with this."

"Yeah, yeah," Wanda waved her hand. "Let's just get this song finished. Then we can talk about the next one."

"Deal."

As they worked, the two women found themselves in a comfortable rhythm. The back and forth between them was familiar, and they quickly lost track of time. The song began to come together, and Natasha found herself getting more and more excited. This was the kind of music she wanted to be making—deep, soulful, real.

They spent the rest of the day working on the song, taking breaks only to eat or use the bathroom. When they finally called it a day, both women were exhausted but pleased with their progress.

"Okay, now for the next one," she said with a knowing grin.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Another one already? You don’t waste any time."

Wanda chuckled. "What can I say? We’re on fire. So, I thought… maybe we should try something different for the next single."

Natasha tilted her head in interest. "Different? How?"

"I’m thinking we stick to the punk vibe, but… I want to experiment with something soulful, a voice that's a little outside of our usual sound." Wanda's eyes sparkled with the excitement of the idea. "I was thinking Y/n could be a good fit for it."

"Y/n? As in, my girlfriend?"

"Yes, and my friend," Wanda nodded.

"You think she could do it?" Natasha asked, her chest warming at the mention of the you.

"Yeah, absolutely. She's got a great voice, and her lyrics are killer. Plus, she's not afraid to be vulnerable. That's the kind of emotion we're going for. What do you think?" Wanda began to pack up her things.

"I think it's a big ask," Natasha said. She sighed, her thoughts racing. "I guess I get the appeal. It’s just… Y/n's got her own sound. I don’t want to pull her into something that’s not authentic to her. Plus, she doesn't sing anymore."

"I get it, and I wouldn't be suggesting it if I didn't think she was right for the song. I've heard her sing before. She's got the range and the passion." Wanda looked at Natasha, her expression serious. "It's worth a shot. Maybe if she hears the song, she'll feel inspired to sing again."

"Maybe," Natasha said, though she wasn't sure. The thought of you singing again filled her with hope, but she didn't want to get her expectations too high. You'd clarified that singing wasn't part of your life anymore. Still, the idea of having you collaborate with them was intriguing. "Okay, I'll bring it up with her. But no promises."

"Fair enough," Wanda nodded. "I'll let you take the lead. Just don't wait too long. I think it could be a game-changer for us."

Natasha gave her a skeptical look. "A game-changer? Isn't that a bit much?"

Wanda shook her head. "Nah, not when it's true. Besides, the world could always use more soulful artists. It's a win-win."

"All right," Natasha relented. "I'll talk to her."

"Great," Wanda smiled. "I'll see you later."

"Bye, Wanda," Natasha said, waving her off. She had a lot to think about.

The question was, where did you stand on all of this?

[starrynights-sunnyskies]

⋆*·ﾟSo what if flowers wilt... misa x putellas!femreader

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your sisters are left dealing with the aftermaths of what happened in the club, and you wake up to a flowery surprise.

or; part three of the as the flowers bloom, my heart does too universe

(no misa in this chapter. well... not in person, but in spirit... if you know, you know!)

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"Are we sure she's home?" Olga asked before the three of them slipped inside the building with Alexia's key. The patter of their footsteps echoed against the walls of the stairwell of the old apartment building.

"Ale, I really don't think we should go in, in case she called someone over after all," Alba whined, dread filling her limbs with each step.

But Alexia stood firm, "I need to check on her." She pushed the key you'd given each of your sisters for emergencies into the lock and pushed the door open.

Your heels were discarded on the carpet in the hall, your clutch with its content spilled out on the little dresser. It was dark, aside from the little ball of warm light coming from the living room and casting shadows through the hallway. It was dead silent. Until it very clearly wasn't.

Alba immediately put her hands on her ears, afraid the high-pitched scream would be followed with sounds she could never un-hear, but let them drop again when she realised your sighs and cries weren't born from pleasure.

"You've ruined my life! You've ruined me! Fuck you!"

The dread of knowing you were talking to someone, and having a hunch on who you'd lash out on this way, made Alexia cross the hallway within seconds before she ran into the livingroom with Olga and Alba in tow, albeit hesitantly.

Alexia had her hands balled into fists, instinct taking over to protect her little sister from the monster that was making her cry this hearting-achingly. Frantically, she looked around for the perpetrator behind your pain, but there was only one person pacing the living room.

The sight before them absolutely tore them apart.

With your makeup smudged, your hair a mess and your face blotched and wet, your shoulders shaking and your chest heaving, you were pacing through your living room, your phone clutched tightly into your hand as you yelled into it.

A sob racked your body when you hurried out a blabbered sentence through your tears, and Alexia's stomach dropped. You paced around, yelling into the device, your Spanish blurring together in an incohesive mumble in the heat of your anger and sorrow. She half wondered how none of your neighbours had taken to calling the police with all this yelling after midnight, but she figured this had been the usual back when your ex had stayed with you and could start a fight about everything.

So, it didn't take a wild guess to figure out who was on the other side of the line.

Alexia rushed over, wrapping you in her arms, stopping you from pacing. Startled at having been pulled out of your state, you shrieked and fought her hold, but Alexia pushed you against her chest with great strength.

"Hey, hey, hey. Mira me- look at me. It's me. You're safe. We're here."

She tried to coax you down into her side on the couch, but your body was rigid and shaking. Alba walked over, unsurely, never having seen you in such a state and afraid any wrong move would ruin you even more. Her hand shook as she rubbed against your back, trying to help calm you down.

Alexia and Alba exchanged a look and Alba nodded, gently trying to pry the phone out of your iron grip— emphasis on trying.

"Give me your phone."

"No- I'm not done." You growled, turning away from Alba, but let Alexia pull it from your hand after your exhaustion set in.

Alexia further cradled you into her arms and held the phone out for Alba to take, who got ready to give the person on the other end of the line a big chunk of her mind, when she peeked at the screen and furrowed her brows.

"You're not even talking to anyone?" She questioned, seriously worrying about your sanity now.

"She hung up five minutes ago but I wasn't done." You heaved as Alexia shushed you again, helping you simmer down. With balled fists clutching onto your sister's shirt, you felt as if you were five again-- finding comfort in your older sister's embrace after you'd hurt yourself or got overwhelmed.

Alexia placed a kiss on your hair while Alba softly wiped the snot and tears away from your face with a napkin.

You could hear someone else move around your living room, the clinging of glasses and the faucet turning on before Olga appeared crouched before you. Embarrassment suddenly kicked in at the realisation it hadn't just been your sisters who'd seen you break.

"Drink something, Y/N/N." Her hand cupped your trembling one as she helped you take a few sips. You felt pathetic, but couldn't help but agree that the cold freshness of the water did help. The quiet moment didn't last long.

"Why would you accept her call?! Unless you called her yourself, but I sure hope that you weren't stupid enough to do that." Alba fired at you, but Alexia immediately gave her a stern look.

"Because she kept calling. I was afraid she'd come over if I didn't," You turned to Alexia, who was still cradling you, "Can you help me get new locks?" Alexia's heart broke at the look you gave her.

"We should've done that earlier. I'll call someone first thing tomorrow." She seemed to exchange a look with Olga, who nodded, "And I'm staying in the spare room tonight."

"No, you have a match tomorrow." Resolutely, Alba dropped her stuff and kicked off her heels, "But I'm staying."

"Well, I'm staying, too. End of discussion." Alexia huffed out, frustrated with herself that her tight schedule was trying to have her neglect her littlest sister when she needed her the most.

Immediately, you spoke, "No, I don't want Olga to have to be alone because of me." Alexia's chest tightened at how you spoke of yourself, at how your lips had snarled in distaste, as if you weren't worthy of the comfort the three of them were giving you.

Olga appeared before you again, gently dabbing at your hairline with a cold towel, "Y/N, you're family, you're important," She gave you a gentle smile, one clearly meant to calm you down and add some lightheartedness to the tension in your chest.

"I'm going to bring Olga home, then I'll come back, okay?" Alexia pulled you up and gently handed you over to Alba, who walked with you to your bedroom, helping your shaking form out of the dress you'd picked out for the club and into your most comfortable sleepwear. It was as if your tears had finally gone out of stock with the amount of emotional exhaustion you suddenly felt wash over you. You were but a mere vessel of yourself now. Empty and hollow. Exhausted to no end, no more room to feel.

Alba grabbed your chin and wiped your face with your makeup wipes, not looking into your puffy eyes that were staring at her, knowing it would break her resolve. She quickly turned around to throw the wipes away, her chin already wobbling.

"I got you a Tinder brunch date tomorrow." You mumbled out stoically, watching her eyes widen to twice their size as she quickly turned around.

"When did you-?!"

"When you gave me your phone." You wiped your stuffy nose with the back of your sleeve.

"Jesus, Y/N."

Your lip trembled, feeling more and more like a failure as your sister sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"She- She's pretty, likes dogs and has n-nice tattoos." You hiccuped through your old tears, suddenly feeling new ones well up, "I meant well..."

Alba rubbed her temples, knowing you were on the verge of another breakdown and that she needed to tread carefully.

"It's okay, Y/N/N."

"I just thought- I just want to see you happy and in love."

Alba finally let the tears fall. They were silent, but fell in rapid flow, "I don't really care about relationships right now. I'll be happy when you are. I promise you." She walked back over to your slumped form on the bed. You immediately latched onto her waist and hugged her, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to let the warmth and love of your sister's safe embrace engulf you.

After Alba changed into one of your oversized shirts, she pulled you in your bed and tucked you in safely, promising you she'd be back after cleaning up the mess you'd made in the hallway and living room.

Alba knew she shouldn't have left you by yourself, ready to wallow in your sorrow again and fall into the deep web of overflowing emotions and overthinking worries, but she knew that if she didn't step out to take a breather, she'd break down herself. The way you had trembled, the way your eyes had been filled with pure devastation and pain, had ruined her more than she would probably ever admit. The last time she'd seen your big, teary eyes look up at her like that, had been when your family had been in utter shambles. She took a big sigh and rolled her shoulders, sending away any negative feeling wanting to pull her down that rabbit hole again.

"Hey," Alba turned around, a stack of fallen magazines in her hands as Alexia stood in the doorway, taking off her jacket.

"Hey."

"How is she?"

"Alive," Alba sighed and threw the magazines back on their stack next to the couch. She stood still, frozen in place, staring at the magazines while she could hear Alexia throw her jacket over the barstool.

"Thank you," She turned around, facing her sister, "For being here."

Alexia gave her a tight-lipped smile, exactly sensing the deeper layer of Alba's thank you. Alexia was a great athlete, but that hadn't always coexisted next to being a great sister, leaving Alba to take over when she had been just as young herself. The fact that Alexia was here now, showing her they were doing this together, meant a whole lot to her.

Alexia walked over, wrapping Alba in a tight hug, feeling the younger woman starting to shake a bit. It was hard not to, so she let it happen as the tears fell.

"Oh, God-" Alba grumbled through a snicker and wiped her tears away, "Look at us."

Alexia smiled softly, knowing you weren't the only Putellas who was allergic to letting emotions show.

"It's okay." Alexia reassured.

Alba nodded, "Okay." She blew out a breath, "I'm not ready to go back in, but I don't want her to be alone."

"I'll go."

A soft knock on the door a while later had you look up, and Alexia's head appeared around the door, quietly peeking to see if you were still awake.

"Hey, soldier," She tried to smile to comfort you, but it looked more like a grimace the second she held the doorpost. Immediately, she whisked her hand away as if she got burned by the crack she felt in the wood, reminding her of bad times.

She didn't say a word after, only kicked off her shoes and threw on the hood of her Nike hoodie before burying herself beneath the mountain of covers Alba had covered you with. You sniffled and snuggled up to your older sister, much like old times during nights before a big day or after nightmares. She pulled you closer, planting a chaste kiss on your messy mop of hair. The silence was a little unsettling for her, because she knew that that meant you were busy thinking about a thousand things in your head. And, to be fair, so was she.

It was clear what you had been thinking about when you spoke,

"Please, don't tell Mama," You mumbled against her chest as her hand played with your locks of hair.

"You can't hide your pain from her forever."

"I don't want to worry her or make her sad again." You sounded like a child with a small vocabulary as you muttered, but who was still able to perfectly get her point across. Sometimes there was power in simplicity.

Alexia sighed, knowing how badly little-you had reacted to your own and your family's heartbreak after your father had passed. Despite your age, you had all these emotions, all these feelings you had no clue what to do with. Atop of that, you'd absorbed everyone else's emotions like a sponge, and often lashed out when it got you too overwhelmed. Your grades in school had dropped, you'd lost a few friends who hadn't understood how you were still so down after a few weeks and you had started to fight with Alba or be cross with your mother. It had been the start of your sometimes unbearable behaviour and had only added to your mother's agony instead of relieving her from it.

"But she's your mother, she wants to be there for you when you need her the most. Much like Alba and I want." She pulled you closer, inhaling your familiar scent—  the same shampoo scent she remembered you'd used ever since your pre-teens when it had lingered in the bathroom after you'd occupied it when she'd specifically requested to use it after training, "So don't push us out again, okay?"

You shook your head against her chest, not looking up when you heard your bedroom door creak open a moment later. The bed dipped behind you.

Alba spooned you as she got beneath the covers, arm slung around you while her hand reached out for Alexia's. The three of you lay there for a couple of minutes, in silence. Your bed wasn't large enough to feel like the gigantic bed of your parents which the three of you had often used as a trampoline or fallen asleep on to nap. Perhaps you had simply outgrown the size of your younger bodies, but it was a nostalgic kind of comforting nonetheless. With the three of you no longer living under the same room, these moments had been scarce as of late.

You tried to talk but no words came out, so you cleared your throat, "She might come tomorrow... or soon, you know?"

Simultaneously, your sisters's grip tightened around you.

"Let her come."

"I dare her to."

"She has something of mine, she wants to give back. That's partly why she called."

"Whatever could she have that she thinks is so important to you that she uses it as a bribe?"

Your lip trembled again when you stared at your chipped doorpost, realisation washing over you that your ex still had the one thing you had been yearning for—  the daisy and dolphin charm bracelet that your father had given you for the last birthday he'd been present at.

You pulled at Alexia's shirt, your sniffles drowning out against her chest. You could yell. She would forever be tethered to you so long as she had the one thing she knew you treasured the most. Your were too exhausted to bring it up, knowing you would have a lot of explaining to do once you broke that news, so you kept your mouth shut. And you preferred both your sisters very much out of jail, knowing what kind of mayhem could start once they learned of your secret. Besides, your body was depleted enough to fall into a deep sleep within ten minutes, now that you were in the safety of the arms of your sisters.

"Is she gone?" Alba whispered in the dark of your bedroom after your sniffles had stopped and your breathing seemed to have regulated.

"Yeah, out like a light."

Alba looked pensive for a little while. Alexia swallowed back the lump in her throat, knowing the tears would fall within the next hour, when Alba had fallen asleep too. That was if the girl could even get any sleep herself after this hell of a night. Alba's words earlier in the living room had meant a lot to her. Guiltily, she realised that Alba had done this more than she had—  often being the one to pick up the pieces of your heart whenever something had gone wrong... and you hadn't had the smoothest journey so far. She still blamed herself for not being around enough. Because if she'd been there, she could've seen right through you and would have known you weren't okay the second problems started to appear in your relationship.

Alba softly sat up in the bed, your arm still around her waist, "Imagine if you'd listened to me and we hadn't come here."

Alexia's voice rose, "Stop."

Alba pulled the duvet over your shoulders when you stopped breathing for a second, tucking you back in. Alexia felt relief when you didn't wake up.

"We'll need to do something, you know that, right? She needs us. She can't do this alone anymore, we can't let her."

"And we'll be there for her," Alba sighed, "No more idly waiting until she's ready. We were too nice to her about it before, trying to give her the space she wanted."

"We'll be there for her every step she needs to hold our hands." Alexia nodded, sealing the promise, "Wether that's driving her to therapy, or burning all the shit of the she-devil that's still lying around here. I'm sure I've missed some. And I'll call maintenance tomorrow, for a new lock."

"I'll call her friends and take her to mami."

"You really think we should tell mom? She'll be worried sick. Literally."

"She might be twenty-four but right now she needs her mom as much as she did when she was five."

"Mami's going to be upset."

"And she'll be even more upset if we keep it from her."

Alexia nodded and shuffled around to make herself comfortable, then turned around to your sleeping form. She leaned over, first planting a kiss on Alba's forehead before planting one on yours,

"I love you. Both of you."

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Alexia hated the yawn that left her, the third one in barely two minutes. The rational part of her brain knew that not having been able to sleep a wink would surely ruin her entire day, and she had an important day ahead, but she couldn't think of that right now as her littlest sister lay exhaling soft puffs of air next to her. She softly brushed your hair out of your face and smiled, realising you were wearing an old and washed out jersey— her name on the back long gone. In your sleeping form and without make-up on, all snuggled up under your covers, you looked no day past twelve years-old. It was an endearing moment after a horrible night.

Alexia's eyes then fell on Alba, who was splayed about uncomfortably and snoring softly. At least she'd gotten some sleep, albeit without sheets covering her most of the night, but that was mostly thanks to your hogging. Knowing the two of you deserved all the sleep you could get, she quietly shuffled out of bed and peered out of the curtains. She pulled her phone off the charger on the nightstand but jumped when two notifications came in.

Alba stirred and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, Alexia's apologetic smile meeting her as she adjusted to the light that peered through the curtains.

"Wha-" She yawned, "What time is it?"

"Seven."

"Wow- that's way too early for me." Alba yawned again, sensing the exhaustion in Alexia's voice, "You didn't sleep, did you?"

"I'll take a nap later on the bus." She lied, knowing there was no way she could find any sleep with the worries currently playing on her mind.

Alba felt chilly and rubbed her arms, only now realising what had happened. She didn't know why she was still surprised, she should've expected to wake up with only one of her legs draped under the covers. This time, she couldn't find the courage to pull and pry the sheets you'd hogged off you and over herself again. She scooted closer to your sleeping form, pulled you against her and tried to find some warmth in your arms, tugging Alexia back down as well. Your eyelids were red and swollen and your cheeks blemished and flushed from all the tears you'd shed. A memory flashed through her mind, and it immediately hit her with the force of a car crash—  a much younger-you clinging to Alba, fisting her shirt in your hands and your body shaking with sobs. Back then, she'd long given up on trying to console you after having realised you were so caught up in your heart ache, that your older sister's muttered words went straight over your head. She had just held you... had squeezed when she felt your body shake with another wave of sobs, and cupped your head and held it safely against her shoulder. It had proved to work, back then... her quiet comfort. There had been times where all Alba had wanted to do was exchange you with one of her friend's younger siblings, who had to be far easier to live with and seemed way cooler. She still remembered the plenty diary passages where she'd begged the universe to rid her of her annoying little sister... but you needed her, and she had to admit, she needed you just as badly. Despite your grievances and quarrels, you had found the comfort you so needed in your sister, and she had let you hold onto her like a lifeline, admittedly using the opportunity to let out a set of tears herself. The amount of times the two of you had fought, had given the other the silent treatment for days until either she or you had shown up in the other's room deep in the night with teary sleepy eyes to sleep with the other had brought you closer. It had unified you and advanced your relationship from young siblings fighting over toys or clothes to maturing ones, realising there was strength and love to be found in a sibling.

Alexia knew you had envied her for some time, jealous of the escape she found in football. How she could throw herself into her passion and put everything on pause during those ninety minutes. How she could take her grief and turn it into fiery passion and dedication, while you were unable to do anything but let it simmer until an inevitable outburst. She'd sensed the innocent resentment in your eyes the second she'd seen it, and taken you with her to the local fields in your neighbourhood. She'd given you some of her old gear that would fit and switched from mindless passing and shooting to tiny lessons of agility and dribbles. But you hadn't taken to the sport as well as she had. It wasn't second nature to you, and each time the ball didn't hit the net or it bounced off your feet in an entirely different direction as you'd meant, your frustration would only grow. Still, despite being young, you realised she was taking time out of her busy day, time she probably much rather spent resting after all the training, to be with you. She might not have been the best at comforting you with words like your mama, or with tough love and eventual quality time like Alba, but she was there... making an effort. That counted for something, and meant a great deal. After many frustrated growls and kicks, and after your energy had depleted, she would sit with you on the grass, overlooking the rest of the fields. Her company was comforting, her presence grounding, as if all would stay all right as long as your big sister was right there with you. And even now, she needed you to know that it would.

As you lied there now between your sisters, years later, needing the protection and comfort you'd so clearly lacked the past few months, Alexia and Alba remembered the promise they'd made all those years ago when they'd first held you. They squeezed tighter from both your sides, not caring that they could risk waking you from your slumber. They just needed you to know they were there. They would always be.

A tired groan slipped past your lips. You felt a pounding headache coming on.

"No."

Alba sniggered, "To what? We haven't said anything."

"Yet." You mumbled against her, the deepest sigh leaving you as you felt Alexia snuggle closer into you from behind. Your nose was stuffy, your throat itched and your eyes felt like they'd grown the size of melons. It all made reality hit way too soon. You wished you could have stayed trapped in your bubble of slumber for a little longer, but knew that that bubble would have to pop eventually.

"What's for breakfast, superstar?" Alba asked, receiving a noncommittal hum in return.

"I happen to remember that flower, eggs and milk were on the grocery list last week," Alexia chided, nudging your sides, "Is someone hungry for tortitas?"

Your sisters waited expectantly, giving each other a victorious smile as you peeled open one of your eyes.

"I'm not getting out of bed," You huffed out, tiredly, hiding your face from the light that had seeped in through the room.

Alexia forcefully, yet playfully, grabbed your head in her hands and planted the fattest kiss with the loudest smack.

"You don't have to. We'll eat here."

"And can we watch-"

"Whatever your current celebrity crush is in?" Alexia laughed, knowing you too well, "Definitely, we can."

"Of course," Alba rolled her eyes, and joined the laughter, playfully planting a kiss just as wet on your forehead before following Alexia out the room.

"Wait-" Your sleep was gone as soon as guilt ate away at you. You pushed yourself up, "Your date, and your football match!"

"I'll be able to stick around for at least one tortita." Alexia reassured.

"And I asked for a rain check on my date. She really is cute, by the way," Alba winked.

Your sisters left the room, leaving you to yourself in some sort of a daze. Your mind was still too fried and tired to let it properly process all that had happened the past twelve hours, let alone the past few weeks. The one prominent thing that rose to the surface, was the realisation and peace that came with it, that whatever would happen next, you'd have your two sisters by your side. You heard their muffled voices through the door, pans clattering against each other and someone stumbling into something. Oh, how grateful you were to have them in your life.

As Alba started to rummage through your kitchen and get to work, Alexia started to clean a little of the mess still lying around. She opened your windows, organised all the things you had lying about in your bathroom and put a bundle of clothes in the washing. Her face turned to one of surprise when she recognised the familiar tiny jewellery box lying opened and forgotten between some makeup brushes on your bathroom counter. She recognised the blue velvet box with the name of the local jeweller of Mollet del Vallès scribbled inside within an instant. Her father had given each of his daughters a charm bracelet on their eleventh birthday, his lucky number. She still had the one he'd given her—  it had tiny cleats, footballs and the FC Barcelona crest as charms. She knew yours had daisies and dolphins, two obsessions of you at the time. Only, the box was empty. It was strange, for she knew it was too valuable to you to wear it out and about every day and risk losing it. There was only one day you would wear it, and... well, that day had been turned into an even more horrible one this year. Perhaps you had just given it another place, or clung to it in comfort after the events of the past few weeks. She made a note to ask you about it later.

She rose her brows in surprise when the buzz signalling someone was ringing your number downstairs rang through your apartment. Your building wasn't modern enough for her to see who was asking for your attention through some device, and she felt dreadful when the thought of it being your ex crossed her mind. She pressed the button of the intercom and it immediately crackled to life,

"Yes?"

She clenched and unclenched her hand into a fist, praying this day wouldn't start out horribly already. She sighed in relief when a male voice croaked through the tiny device on the wall.

"Delivery for Y/N Putellas."

Alexia rolled her eyes, knowing you liked to splurge, a little too often. Then again, if retail therapy was what had kept you up and running like a normal human being... and if you could afford it, then she'd gladly look the other way.

"I'll be down in a minute."

You had left the warmth of your bed and tiptoed into the kitchen as soon as the smell of something burning wafted into your bedroom.

"Alba-" You yelled through the apartment, "If this place burns down I will kill you!"

"Sorry!"

"Use the damn hood!"

"I hate the sound!" You could practically see Alba roll her eyes, "It's so obnoxious."

Not trusting your sister enough in the kitchen, you'd pulled yourself out of bed. The blanket you'd draped over you swept the floor behind you. It showed only your face as you walked up to your sister in the kitchen.

"The first one's always a mess." Alba justified while scraping the tortita off the pan and right into your trashcan.

You flicked on the hood above the stove and watched her drip half of the spoon of batter onto your counter, "Mama always does one at a time."

"Well, I don't have the luxury of time today."

You perched yourself onto the edge of your couch, staring at Alba, gut being punched once again. You'd half hoped, well, expected, that she would stick around now that she didn't have her brunch date to get to. You didn't want to be alone again. Not only did the prospect of being left with your thoughts worry you, you also worried about a certain someone arriving to your doorstep before maintenance could give you a new lock.

"Oh."

Alba immediately turned around, "No, no, no- I'm staying with you," She reassured with a smile, "We just have a full schedule ahead of us."

Groaning, you fell back onto the couch.

"I don't want to do anything, Alba."

"So I should just tell your friends you no longer want to see them... and tell mama she's cooking for one instead of three tonight? You've rotten inside that bed of yours long enough now. You're done with locking yourself away from the world now."

You knew better than to argue with your sister when she used her tone of finality. So you laid there, on your couch, inspecting your very boring ceiling.

You were relieved to see Alexia appear from out of the hallway, but what she held in her hand made you sit up in an instant— a large bouquet of flowers. You recognised a bunch of white peonies and pastel pink roses. In the middle of it was one large red dahlia.

"Hey, I thought we'd stay in bed?" Alexia wondered, walking over as if she wasn't carrying a bouquet thrice the size of her head.

"Oh, you really didn't have to do, but thank you." Alba played along, eyes too focused on the flowers and not on the pan in front of her while she tried to flip a pancake, making it crumble.

"It's for you," Alexia put the flowers out for you to grab, the fresh scent of them immediately filling the room.

"You guys got me these?" Your chin started to wobble again, feeling overwhelmed by the sweet surprise of your sisters, when Alexia swiftly shook her head.

"N-No," She muttered out, a little panicked, not wanting you to start your rollercoaster of emotions all over again, "They were just delivered to you. By a local florist."

Interest now piqued, Alba joined, "Who sent them then?"

Alexia eyed you, hoping this wasn't the start of some stalker you'd gotten yourself by inviting mere strangers into your home and bed. God knew she couldn't deal with anything like that atop of everything else. Alba warily inspected the bouquet for a note, a scribbled message on the wrapping paper—  anything to prove this wasn't a weak attempt from your ex to mend things.

Tears prickling in your eyes, your voice was shaking as you muttered, "Why would someone sent me flowers? I don't deserve-"

Alexia's features hardened as she crouched to get to your level, "Y/N, no. Just, no. No, no, no. Look at me- hey, listen," You found the eyes of your sister, "You do. You deserve all the love in the world and you might not believe me now, but you do." She pushed the bouquet against your chest, "And it seems we're not the only ones whose life you lift up simply by being there, or else they wouldn't have surprised you with this, so we're not being biased as your sisters."

Alba coughed, playfully, and lovingly brushed her fingers through your tangled bed hair, "Just the tiniest bit biased though. You can be an incredible pain in the ass."

Alexia shot her a look.

Suddenly, you jumped up, leaving your sisters confused to your abrupt leave.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm going to look for a vase- Oh, my-" Their heads whipped to the stove, where another pancake was ready for the bin again.

"Alba," You groaned, "When will you learn you multitask like shit?"

Alba couldn't help but laugh as you ran around the kitchen like a headless chicken, one hand holding the bouquet preciously to your chest as if it was a newborn baby, the other flipping Alba's concoction in the trash again.

"Wait- did you two even put eggs in this?"

Alexia and Alba gave each other an awkward look, realising they'd forgotten that. But forgetting an egg or two was always better than not being there for you.

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

© 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝘆.🖤

this has been waiting in my drafts to be published for three months now, hope you enjoy!

[bloomzone]

Feeling Overwhelmed? You're Not Alone. Let's Talk About It..

I know we all go through it. You’re balancing school, friends, family, and everything else, and suddenly, it feels like you're carrying the weight of the world. Lately, I've been feeling burned out, overwhelmed, and like everything is piling up at once. With school stress, exams, and the constant pressure to keep up, I sometimes feel like I can’t breathe. It's exhausting, and I'm sure some of you feel the same.

It’s so easy to get stuck in the cycle of trying to do everything perfectly. Every time you think you’ve got it under control, something else comes at you, and you’re back to square one and YES THIS IS ANNOYING!!!. It's like there’s a never-ending list of things to do, and no matter how hard you work, you never seem to catch a break.

And the worst part? The pressure from others. Whether it's friends, classmates, or even family, there's always someone asking you for help. Sometimes I feel like I’m the go-to person for everything—assignments, questions, last-minute requests. And don’t get me wrong, I want to be helpful, but it can get draining. Especially when you're trying to hold it together and just need a little space for yourself

For example:Today I couldn’t catch a break already stressed about exams, and in desperate need of rest. Just as I sat down to breathe, the calls and messages started.

One of my classmates began spamming me with messages, asking about a history and geography exam date that we ALL already knew. Then, another classmate began asking for English assignment answers. She wouldn’t stop. She kept sending, “Hi, hi, hi, hi…” over and over until I caved and responded.When I finally sent her the answers, her response? “Ahh, what would I do without you? You’re a lifesaver!” And while I know she meant it kindly, it felt so heavy I feel guilty. What about MY life? What about my peace?

In that moment, I realized how much I was giving to others and how little I was leaving for myself. I was pouring all my energy into helping everyone else while I was running on empty

And plus I’ve been in those moments when you’ve studied hard for an exam, thought you’re finally catching up, and then suddenly—a change happens. A test gets rescheduled, an assignment gets pushed to the last minute, and it feels like everything you worked for was just... wasted. I get it. And it’s okay to feel frustrated and angry about it. You’re allowed to feel this way. It doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human.

But here’s something I’ve been reminding myself lately: I am not responsible for everyone else's stress. It’s okay to say no, it’s okay to take a break, and it’s okay to not always have everything figured out. Taking care of yourself isn’t selfish; it’s necessary.

Here 5 Tips That Are Helping Me Cope with Stress and Burnout

1. Set Boundaries and Protect Your Energy: I’ve learned that it’s okay to say no. If someone’s asking for help, and you’re already feeling stretched thin, it’s okay to tell them, “I can’t right now.” You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you deserve your time and energy as much as anyone else does.

2. Don’t Overload Yourself—Take It One Step at a Time: Break your tasks into smaller, more manageable chunks. Don’t try to do everything at once—focus on one thing at a time. It makes the workload feel less daunting and more achievable. One task, one hour at a time.

3. Rest is Not a Luxury, It’s a Necessity: Sometimes we push ourselves too hard because we think we’ll get behind if we take a break. But if you don’t rest, you’ll burn out. Give yourself permission to step away, even for just 10 minutes. Watch a comforting youTube video, take a walk, or close your eyes. A little time for yourself can give you the energy to come back even stronger.

4. Talk About Your Feelings—Don't Bottle It Up: If you’re feeling overwhelmed, don’t keep it inside. Talk to someone, whether it’s a friendu trust family member, or even just writing in a journal like I do ..Putting your feelings into words can make a huge difference. It clears your mind and helps you see things from a new perspective.

5. Make Time for Self-Care: It’s easy to forget to take care of yourself when everything is going wrong. But self-care isn’t just about face masks and bubble baths (although that helps!). It’s about doing things that recharge you—reading, listening to music, or even just doing nothing. Find what makes you feel lighter and make time for it.

Let’s Take the Pressure Off Ourselves.

I know the world often tells us we have to be constantly productive, constantly moving forward. But the truth is, you don’t have to hustle all the time. It’s okay to slow down, take a breather, and focus on your well-being. The world will still be there when you're ready to take the next step. You are not a machine pookie. You are human, and you deserve peace.We’re not alone in this, even though it sometimes feels like we are. Everyone’s going through something, and sometimes just knowing that you’re not alone in your struggles can make a huge difference.Remember, it’s okay to not have it all together. It’s okay to be tired, to feel burnt out, to not always know what’s next. Life is hard, but you’re still here, still fighting, and that’s something to be proud of. I'm so proud of you

© bloomzone

[lagosbratzdoll]

You're not actually engaging with any of the points I made. I've never claimed Daenerys was a saint. In fact, even in the post you're responding to, I describe her as imperfect. I'm not sure why I should judge her for her naïvety. This is her reaction when she finds out about the cruelties that the slavers commit against the Unsullied.

Killing only Kraznys mo Nakloz would've served no purpose. The slavers are in a coalition, as we see when Dany goes to negotiate with them for the purchase of the Unsullied. Also, slavery is inherently violent. The act of owning another human being is violent. There is no such thing as a good slave owner and killing one slave owner will not end slavery because someone else will just slip into the power vacuum. A lesson that Dany learns in A Dance with Dragons.

I'm getting bored of the claim that Daenerys killed children at the Plaza of Punishment. There were no slaver children there, so this claim is baseless. If there were children, the slavers would have spread tales of their murder across the planet the same way the spread lies about her laying with animals. Brideoffires wrote a really detailed post thoroughly debunking that theory.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to take away from this excerpt. You've completely turned her thoughts about the practicalities of war and the host she's acquired into something sinister. However, in the very quote you've excerpted, she's saying that even though Jorah and her bloodriders have urged her to abandon them, even though they're more of a burden than benefit she's not going to abandon them.

As for Rhaego, your status as a person of colour does not mean that you are free from bias, racism and racial prejudice. The way you speak about the Dothraki in general and Rhaego specifically is racist. The Dothraki are not uniquely violent, and claiming they are is racist. The white Westerosi also have societies based on conquest, slavery, rape, and violence. Yet, you're not claiming that they're wholly violent and ontologically evil. In the current timeline of the books, white Westerosi are enslaving, raping and committing other types of violence against the smallfolk. What is the difference between the violence practiced by the white Westerosi and that of the Dothraki?

As for Mirri's trauma, putting Rhaego aside, did she not traumatize and violate another rape victim to get back at their joint owner? I don't know how else to explain to you that the fourteen-year-old girl who was quite literally being raped to the point of suicide ideation less than five months ago is not the villain. That the fourteen-year-old whose safety hinged entirely on satisfying her husband sexually is not the bad guy in this situation, and I'm tired of trying.

What wrongs did Mirri avenge? What lives did she save? What people did she protect when she violated another victim? How did her murder of Rhaego benefit Eroeh? Apart from Dany, no one cared that she murdered Rhaego. Mirri murdered Rhaego to be cruel. She did it because she misinterpreted a prophecy. Drogo's khalasar has split, and they're out there making more Mirri's and more Eroeh's. She saved no-one. She stopped nothing.

You've not given me any valid criticisms of Daenerys, though. You've drawn inaccurate comparisons between Mirri and the freedmen. You've misinterpreted the words on the page and added red text as if that's supposed to mean something to me.

To be completely honest

I would’ve done what Miri Maz Durr did if I were her.

You have the chance to destroy a mans budding dynasty. This man conquered your village and his men thought it was their right to rape you, and his wife thought making you her slave, was her saving you.

Then you get the chance to destroy him, his wife and his legacy.

I would’ve taken it, if I were Mirri Maz Durr.

[mohntilyet]

I want you to know you’ve indoctrinated both my friend and I into your path of thinking when it comes to Illario and the Envy demon.

I raise you this, since Illario isn’t even a mage before the Ossuary, consider the fact that Zara convinces Illario into also harboring Envy (like Spite, since Lucanis says he just ate something and he was stuck with Spite after that. Like she tells Illario he needs that dawg in him to become first talon, a double edged knife there (you aren’t good enough on your own you need that dawg in you aahhhh)). That would add a level onto why he kills her, Lucanis taking a crack at Illario and asking if he’s is good enough (I would’ve crashed out too tbh), and the lines in at the party with a romanced Rook (since that man also doesn’t have a healthy love life)

Envy is also twisted form of admiration/generosity/contentment, like how Spite was a spirit of determination, and the freak out Lucanis would have over his little brother’s admiration for him (an admiration he would NEVER admit to his big brothers face) becoming so twisted (by the same person!) that it’s also destroying him from the inside out.

Also Spite and Envy shenanigans would’ve been so fucking funny

YEAH!!!!!! i have been rotating this around in my mind and had the idea of that admiration v. envy thing for illario, especially if we're thinking about wigmaker's job where they cover for each others weaknesses. like a week ago i googled what the corresponding virtue for envy was and it was kindness and i was like yeahhhhh illario does not have that. we're going to have to go with something else. and i was thinking of admiration so this ask kind of made me cheer <3 thank god i am making some sense and someone else agrees because at any point i'm checking myself going 'actually would he do that'

i think they both have some level of 'i wish i could do that like them' but illario's is negatively tinged because their fuck ass grandma is right there saying all that too . like regardless of how great i think my brother is, there is no fucking way his accomplishments don't start looking twisted and unfair if my only parental figure obviously likes him more than me

i also like the idea of in some world where illario is less of a traitor and didn't set lucanis up (i have a rewrite powerpoint going on for my friends. so this part makes perfect sense to me but maybe not as much to you. i'm so sorry), and they both get kidnapped and possessed, spite-envy are the ones with serious beef vs. their unwitting hosts, who would actually prefer not to kill each other.

this messy au i have assumes a very fraught house dellamorte, trying to defend treviso while the crows splinter and follow either son. caterina refuses to let lucanis give up power and names him first talon, while illario has consolidated power in the year lucanis was gone and has several other loyal houses pledging to him instead. spite and envy exacerbate this situation, spite refusing to give up power + envy coveting it. this hypothetical plotline ends with uniting the crows under a single first talon (welcome back bhelen v harrowmont), and reaching an agreement with the others to work together. crow-on-crow violence you cannot be solved but you CAN reach a momentary tense agreement to protect antiva and the world <3

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 2

Part 1

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

---

"Hey, look, if this is some kind of Halloween prank-"

"It's not a prank!" Dustin insists. "Look-"

He fumbles at his chest, and Steve realizes what he's doing just before he pulls his heart out.

"Woah, hey, hey, don't go bringing that out with cat eating lizards around!" Steve tells him.

"It's not a lizard!" Dustin says.

It's dark, and Steve can't see the details of his heart all that well, but he can see the way it beats - racing a little, from the danger, but still steady. No hint of deception.

"See? Not a lizard, not a prank. It's one of those things again, Steve, only a baby one. A demodog."

Great.

"All right, I believe you, now just - put that away before it gets eaten."

Somewhat to Steve's surprise, Dustin obeys, tucking his heart back inside his chest.

"Now you," Dustin says.

"What? No way."

"Come on!" Dustin whines. "I showed you mine."

"Yeah, cause you're the one with something to prove," Steve reminds him. "I'm the one you suckered into this, and there's no way I'm taking my heart out with a demodog lurking around. Just stay up here, okay? I'll go take care of this."

—

Max Mayfield has her heart securely inside her chest even before she believes any of them about the Upside Down.

There's not that many reasons kids that young wouldn't wear their hearts pinned to their shirts, or poking out of one pocket or another, but Steve can think of a few.

He hadn't expected to get saddled with another kid when he let Dustin into his car, but she slides right in like she was one of them the whole time.

And if he makes sure he doesn't ask what she's doing here, if he just starts working on shoring up the bus and treats her like she belongs there right from the start, that's between him and her.

When she asks him if he's really fought one of these things before, for a moment he thinks about pulling his own heart out so she can see for herself.

But there's a monster prowling around outside, and getting caught with his heart out isn't going to help him protect these kids.

Besides, when he makes sure the demodogs target him, when he throws himself in front of the kids - he hopes that's more of an indication of who he is, who he wants to be, than his slightly battered heart could ever show.

—

If Steve's honest, he's not entirely sure how they get back to the Byers’ from the tunnels. He knows he drives, knows Max complains in his ear the whole time about how he drives like a grandma, knows every time he glances over at her there's a sullen, almost fearful expression on her face, like she's afraid he's going to yell at her or keel over and pass out in the middle of the road.

He's not ruling out the second one.

But they make it, and they beat everyone else back. Billy's still unconscious in the living room, and the house is eerily silent for about a minute before Steve catches himself.

“Hands washed, everyone,” he calls out. “Hands and arms and any exposed skin. And make sure you gargle with mouthwash.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Mouthwash?”

Steve points at him. “Mouthwash has alcohol in it, you little shit, it might kill any gross Upside Down bacteria you breathed in. But hey, you want to be tasting that place for a week, be my guest.”

There's a moment of silence, then everyone scurries to fight over one of the sinks.

Steve waits until they're all done before following his own advice, then finally sinks down onto the couch with a groan.

Dustin hands him a bag of mostly still frozen vegetables, probably picked up from the kitchen where they'd dumped everything to put the demodog in the freezer. Steve grimaces at the thought of Mrs. Byers coming home to that, but slaps the bag on his head anyway.

It helps, a little.

There's an argument about what to do with Billy that Steve only half listens to. Max apparently threatened him with Steve's bat after she snuck up and stabbed him with the syringe, which - shit, good for her. Steve's guessing that'll make Billy think twice before he messes with her.

He stays out of the argument, though. He already knows the only answer is going to be let Hopper deal with it.

Admittedly, when Hopper and everyone else does come back, Steve's a little out of it. He's on his feet at the sound of cars approaching, baseball bat in his hand and urgently gesturing for the gremlins to stay the fuck behind him.

If his reflexes were any less dulled by the aching pain at the back of his head, he might have taken a swing when the door opened before he realized who it was.

But fortunately, he just sags with relief, and returns to his spot on the couch with the bat resting against his knee.

It's only when he hears the kids all trying to talk over each other that he realizes someone must have asked them what happened.

Steve pries his eyes open - unsure when he even closed them, shit - to find Mrs. Byers staring at him, clearly concerned. He jolts with the surprise of seeing her so close, and doesn't quite manage to hide his wince of pain, judging by her expression.

“Steve, honey?” she asks.

It sounds like a prompt to answer the question he didn't hear, and he grimaces.

“I'm the babysitter,” is what manages to make its way out of his mouth. “Nothing is getting at those little gremlins without going through me.”

Mrs. Byers looks at him in a way he doesn't really recognize, something between soft and sad and - proud, maybe? Like maybe he did something right, even though it makes her sad.

She holds out her hands, and helps pull him to his feet when he takes them.

“Let's get you patched up,” she says, leading him back to the master bedroom.

He sits on the bed while she gets a first aid kit from the bathroom, watching her through a faint, blurry haze as she takes a closer look at him.

“I didn't win,” he says, feeling a little bit ashamed.

Her eyes go a little bit wet, and she makes a soft tsk noise. “Oh, honey. Winning doesn't matter.”

That throws him so badly that he just stares up at her.

“It doesn't?” he asks, once he's accepted that he's probably not going to get his thoughts in any kind of order.

“That sounds like your father talking,” she says, but her voice is gentle as she starts cleaning up the blood on his face.

“You don't think he's right? That I should be more like him?” The question is out before Steve really realizes - out before he really thinks about it, out before he can admit that he doesn't want to know the answer.

Mrs. Byers pulls back a little, looking at him. “Can I see your heart?”

His hands are at his chest so quick that he fumbles with it, and by the time he pulls it out - it's the same dark red as always, despite the deep, jagged crack running through it, and it pulses unsteadily with his uncertainty.

“No one's asked to see it in a long time,” he says, awkwardly trying to explain away the wobbly beat of his heart in his hands.

She looks sad again, for a moment, then she pulls her own out. It's a slightly paler red, lined with thin silver scars, and it's beating a little fast - adrenaline, he thinks - but it's steady, and it's redder than any adult he's ever seen.

“What happened tonight, Steve?” she asks softly.

“They were in danger,” he replies, because it's the simplest, truest explanation.

“And you protected them.” It's half a statement, half a question, and he tears his gaze away from her heart to find her still looking at him, her eyes dark and warm.

“Yeah,” he says, his heart starting to pump a little more steady against his palms.

Like he said to Nancy - he might have been a shitty boyfriend, but he's a damn good babysitter. Those kids are his.

“Might not be much,” he admits, fully aware she's just coming back from fighting some being from an alternate dimension trying to get her son, and there's a whole girl with super powers out there getting dog piled by her friends. “But it's me between them and anything else, Upside Down or whatever. All of them.”

Just in case she wasn't sure if that included Will or not.

Her eyes drop down to his heart, beating steady and sure - and then she leans in, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before she pulls back.

“You're a good kid,” she says, and her heart beats strong, saying true, true, true. “You're as much like your father as Jonathan is like his, and that's a good thing.”

His heart spasms in his hands, and he curls his fingers in a little like he can hide it, though he doesn't even attempt to put it away.

“I was mean to him,” he admits in a rush. “Last year.”

Mrs. Byers snorts. “You were sixteen,” she informs him. She tucks her heart back into her chest, and gets back to work on patching him up. “He said you apologized, and he's forgiven you.”

Steve doesn't stop her, still doesn't try to put his heart back in his chest. “I didn't finish apologizing, though. It doesn't mean anything if you just say you're sorry, and you don't say what for.”

He knows, because before his dad stopped apologizing at all - he'd always say he was sorry, but he'd never say why. Like he knew his mom or Steve were upset at him, and he knew he had to apologize to get them to not be upset, but he didn't actually give enough of a shit to figure out the why.

Or to stop doing it, but at least Steve managed that one.

“I think your actions were a little more important to him than your words,” Mrs. Byers says, like she can read his mind.

Steve doesn't know what to say to that, so he just lets her finish patching him up.

—

“Kids say Billy Hargrove put his hands on Lucas first,” Hopper says.

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, that's one way of putting it.”

Hopper looks at him, long enough that Steve feels his stomach start to squirm a little. “What's your way of putting it, then?”

“Hargrove's a piece of shit,” Steve says bluntly, too tired and in pain to care. “Come on, Hopper, you know exactly why he targeted Lucas out of all of them.”

Hopper's jaw sets. “I do. And Lucas doesn't want to press charges. So. How do we convince Hargrove to stay the hell away?”

Steve opens his mouth, closes it again, and swallows roughly. “You want me to help figure it out? Why?”

Hopper raises his eyebrows at him. “Seems like you've already been doing a pretty good job at it.”

It's a good thing he'd put his heart back in his chest, because Steve wouldn't want Hopper to see the way it beats a little quicker.

It's strange, having this much adult attention on him. Having people who ask to see his heart, who tell him that he did a good job, who give a shit, even if it's only because Steve's gotten himself involved in all of this mess.

He likes it, he thinks. He likes being seen as someone who can be counted on, someone who can help protect the kids, more than he'd ever liked being seen as popular.

“I could arrest him, easy,” Hopper says. “But something tells me he's used to getting in trouble with the police, and it'll just make him more pissed off.”

“We don't want to get him in trouble,” Steve says slowly, thinking it over. “We want to make sure he knows we're the only reason he's not in trouble.”

Hopper grunts, looking at him expectantly, and Steve realizes it's a silent encouragement to continue.

“If it seems like you're going to arrest both of us, he'll be more willing to work with me on something that'll keep us both out of trouble. He knows I won't want it to get back to my dad or to Coach, but he won't want it to get back to his dad even more. We just have to make sure he knows he has just a little bit more to lose than I do.”

Hopper's looking at him still, in a way that Steve can't figure out.

“It's high school,” he says, feeling the need to - to offer some kind of explanation, some kind of excuse for why he knows how to do this.

“It's politics,” Hopper says, a little wry, a little bitter.

“It's bullshit,” Steve spits out, the word tasting like a chewed up rubber band.

“Damn straight it is,” Hopper agrees. “But it's reality. Sometimes - sometimes you have to play by other people's rules, do things you know are bullshit, make some deals.”

His eyes flicker, back towards the living room, and Steve wonders what deals he's had to make to keep the government off their backs, to keep El hidden and safe.

“I hate it,” Steve says, soft and raw.

He's never admitted that to anyone else, and he has no idea why he says it now, but it makes Hopper's mouth twist a little, something like understanding in his eyes.

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

That's why it's him and Hopper out here, Steve thinks. Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to, sometimes you have to play their bullshit game to get what you want. Something slides a little bit into place - knowing that he isn't alone, that what he wants isn't any of the pointless things he used to do this for.

It's to protect this weird little group that, somehow, have become the most important people in his life.

“You're our babysitter now, right?” Hopper asks after a few minutes. “Make sure he knows that. Knows it's my kid that he's messing with if he comes after them or you again.”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a nod. “Yeah, that'll work.”

—

Billy wakes up next to him in the backseat of Hopper's car, hands cuffed behind him. It takes him a minute to clock onto where he is, and a minute longer to realize that Steve's next to him, also in cuffs.

“Who the fuck called the cops?” he hisses at Steve.

Steve shrugs. “How the hell should I know? Neither of us were exactly conscious at the time, thanks to you.”

Billy sneers at him. Steve can see him trying to collect himself through the haze of the sedative wearing off. “Here's how this is going to go. You want to keep it from happening again, you do exactly what I-”

Steve laughs at him. “Dude. They did a drug test already. Where did you even get the stuff you were on?”

Billy goes still. It sets Steve's teeth on edge - it's the same still he'd felt sitting in the junkyard, waiting for Dart. But he knows what he has to do now just as much as he did then, and he lets himself sulk as he leans back against the seat and watches Billy think.

If he says Max drugged him against his will - one, he's admitting to the fact that a thirteen year old girl got the best of him, and two, he has to be smart enough to know that Max would never admit to that, and the kids would all back her up. Billy was the one who showed up looking for a fight, Billy was the one who threw the first punch, Billy was the one who smashed a plate over Steve's head - no way in hell the cops believe him over the kids.

Billy scoffs. “Guess I better spread the word that the Freak is lacing his shit with who the fuck knows what.”

Shit, of course that's where Billy goes. Steve scrambles for a moment, then fixes him with an unimpressed look.

He can salvage this. Munson is pretty much the only supplier around, most of the guys aren't willing to mess with him too much - and if Billy does try to spread it around, it won't be too hard to add onto the rumor that it's just because Billy did something to piss Munson off.

“Maybe you should be nicer to him,” he says with a snort. “Munson always gives me the good stuff.”

Billy just snarls at him. It's clear he's got his story, and he's going to go with it.

Steve shrugs - or as best as he can, with his injuries and his hands cuffed behind his back. “Your funeral, man.”

“The fuck are you talking about,” Billy grumbles.

“You're going to tell the cops that you bought shitty drugs from the Freak, went on a bender, tried to attack some little kids, and beat the shit out of a teammate?” Steve asks.

“Shut your fucking mouth, Harrington, I'm going to-” he pauses, and Steve sees the moment that he clocks what Steve is saying.

It doesn't matter how Billy tries to phrase it to the cops to make himself look better - that isn't the story that's going to get around.

“You breathe one word of that around school, and you're dead,” Billy says.

Steve takes it back. This is nothing like that junkyard - Billy may actually try to kill him, but he has nothing on demogorgons and demodogs. Steve isn't scared of him.

“Yeah, because that won't prove any of it true.” Steve smirks, unconcerned that it makes his lip split open. “You put one hand on me and it just backs it all up.”

“Can't exactly gloat about that from a hospital bed. You'll be the one taking a beating that makes this seem like a walk in the park,” Billy replies, his tone low and menacing.

Steve thinks of the sound of the kids screaming on that bus, the sound of flesh splitting open when the demodog peeled its face apart, the endless fangs dripping saliva as it shrieked at him. He meets Billy's gaze and holds it. “I look like I give a shit, Hargrove?”

Billy looks at him - really looks, and Steve sees a flicker of something in his eyes. It isn't jealousy, it isn't recognition, it isn't fear, it isn't hate, it isn't want - Or maybe it is, maybe it's all of them. Maybe Steve is too tired and far too concussed for this.

Maybe his lack of ability to give a single fucking shit about Billy Hargrove and his threats is what gets him through this.

“So what's the play?” Billy asks, biting the words out as though it physically pains him to say them.

“We were blowing off steam, got a little too carried away. But it's all good now. You and me, we're square.”

Billy considers that, and he looks - comfortable. He looks like this is something he's done before, and briefly Steve wonders how many times Billy's gotten into fights, gone way too far, and had to hash out something like this to keep from getting busted.

“Yeah, all right,” Billy says. “Stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours.”

“And stay the fuck away from the little shits I babysit,” Steve says. “I hear from any of them that you've been giving them trouble, and the deal's off.”

Billy sneers at him again. “No one told me King Steve spends his free time babysitting.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, bet no one told you that one of them belongs to the chief of police, either.”

Billy's eyes narrow. “You're watching Hopper's kid?”

Steve shrugs, nonchalant in a way that he knows will work better than trying to lie.

“Fine,” Billy says, sounding pissed as hell about it. You've got a deal.”

–

Billy gets released and peels out in his Camaro, loud music already blaring from the window.

Steve, on the other hand, gets a ride home from Hopper himself.

He doesn't hate it.

“Second time in less than two years that I've seen you with a busted up lip.”

Steve's got a hell of a lot more than a busted up lip right now, but he's not gonna say that. “Yeah, well. I deserved the one last year.”

Hopper raises his eyebrows at him.

Steve resists the urge to slouch in his seat. “I was angry, and hurt, so I got mean. I wanted Jonathan to fight me.”

Hopper snorts something that sounds like teenagers.

It's quiet for a moment, then Steve says, “But I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to be mean when I'm angry.”

Hopper's looking at him in a way Steve can't make out, not in just the muted light of the streetlamp. That seems to be a theme for the night - Steve'd thought he was a little off last year when Jonathan socked him in the face, but apparently that has nothing on a concussion like this.

“So… I'm trying,” Steve adds softly.

Hopper shakes his head. “If I'd have figured that out when I was your age, who knows where I'd be?”

He sounds - proud, or something like it. He sounds like Steve's favorite coach, when Steve'd done well.

“Maybe,” Steve says. “But I think we all like you right here.”

Hopper snorts. “Jesus, kid, get out of here. Go put something better on that head than a bag of half frozen peas.”

-----

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert

[s-wave-entertainment]

Well, you asked-

For the record, I selected "too morally ambiguous to give an answer." I've thought really hard about J in the last couple of weeks (largely because my feelings about her after ep. 8 were so goddamn convoluted that I still don't know how I feel about her) and I've come to a couple of conclusions that ultimately end up in feeling... bad, for her. So hear me out:

J is a resigned antagonist.

She did bad shit, was extremely shitty to N, and definitely stood on the wrong side of history. But your honor, I have reason to believe she didn't necessarily want to.

The episode 8 exchange she had with V gave us some insight into her I think, particularly the lines "It tricked you! If I promised you anything, it tricked me too." And also "You know there's no escape, even in DEATH!" So offbthe bat, I assume two things:

1) J was initially under the belief that maybe they'll be returned to earth (assuming she didn't know that Earth was gone), or that they'll be spared if they did their jobs properly. Through prolonged interaction/possible dialogue, she probably began to realize that no, they weren't getting away with this, and she was being lied to/tricked. This leads to the second piece of knowledge:

2) I hesitate to think that J was just *okay* with helping the Solver, and tried to get away from it herself several times. But not following orders (refusing to kill) only hurt her by overheating, it didn't matter where she went on the planet because it could still find her, and even dying - to worker drone or uh. Otherwise - had her waking up right back under it's control, under its command. Finally acknowledging she had no way to run, no way to get away from it, she dropped her reservations and began to display the loyalty we see in her throughout the series.

Now I also have an additional headcanon here, so take this bit with a grain of salt, but in ep. 2, N claims that J "was getting orders from *someone.*" I'm sure at this point we all agree it was the Solver, but I argue that she didn't always know that. Me personally, I think all 3 disassembly drones suffered amnesia when they landed on C9. This has relevance, I promise, because if J was the head honcho and was receiving orders from someone, there's very few people I think she would just Listen To without having proof that they were somehow higher in command than her. The Solver could prove that by hurting her, yes, but we know that its main tactic isn't physical harm, rather manipulation. And with the knowledge that the Solver can impersonate voices to a t, I argue that so long as J was still under a degree of amnesia, the Solver could have been using Tessa's voice in J's head. This way J obeys without question; but eventually she put the pieces together that something was wrong, and yadda yadda yadda, already said this part. I also have a little analysis on J that I'm not quite sure how to reword (sorry bestie I'm cramming to try to finish assignments before my finals next week) but I do have the conversation where I tried to explain myself to my wonderful boyfriend, which I will place here for your consideration:

In conclusion, J was manipulated like the rest of them until she put the pieces together and realized that something wasn't right - but every time she tried to run, she just woke up right back at square one. Silently resigned, she decided to stand with the Solver in hopes of protecting herself. Maybe she got enjoyment out of it, maybe she didn't. I'm still figuring that part out.

Rb and all that jazz