#this piece kicked my entire ass but I'm glad I finished it

[mayajadewrites]

suguru geto x fem reader: lucky

roommates to lovers–friends to lovers–slow burn

story synopsis: Suguru Geto is your best friend and roommate. After a year of living together, there have been more than one opportunity to throw away your friendship. The question is, would you get lucky as fall in love for the rest of your days?

ao3

CHAPTER FIVE

slight smut ahead hehe

🎧🌙🧺📖🕯️🧸🤍

"Pssssst." Shoko poked you with her pen as she made her way to the coffee machine. "How was your date?"

It's Thursday – you've been working all week and haven't had much time to chat with Shoko about your date with Choso.

"It was great. We're going out tomorrow, actually." You smile to yourself as you stir your creamer into your coffee.

You, Nanami, Haibara, Shoko, Satoru, and Choso work in the same office building, but not within the same office. You work in the same office as Nanami and Haibara, which is quiet compared to what Shoko has to deal with with Satoru.

"Yay!! Every time I asked Choso he blushed so I assumed it went well. Aren't you glad I decided to become a match maker?" Shoko pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket.

"I thought you were going to quit." You looked at Shoko with pleading eyes.

"I said I would think about it." Shoko waved goodbye as she made her way outside for her smoke break.

Surprisingly, you haven't seen Choso while you work. To be honest, you didn't want to. You would prefer to be excited when you see him for dates, not assuming you'll see him at work.

Bzzzzzz.

Suguru: I left work early, I have a fever so I'm laying low for the rest of the week. Just incase you're wondering why I'm not hanging out outside my bed.

You frown at the text, your instincts kicking in to take care of Suguru. You wanted to make him soup, make sure his bed is comfortable, give him his medicine – all of it.

You hold yourself back from leaving your own job early. You only have a few hours left before it's time to clock out, you can survive.

You: Okay, I'll make sure to bother you.

Suguru: I was hoping you would play nurse.

A ball of anxiety forms in your stomach as you re-read Suguru's text. The flirty undertones are starting to be a little too much for you since Suguru will not outright say what he's feeling for you.

But you love being flirty.

You: Let me make sure my uniform still fits.

Suguru: I'm not sure your ass fits in that skirt anymore, but I prefer it that way.

You push your phone in your pocket and bring your 2nd coffee of the day to your desk. You cheeks were now a shade of red as you thought about Suguru's texts. Was he acting like this because he's sick? Obviously he's not himself.

You finish up your work for the day and head to the supermarket to pick up ingredients for chicken noodle soup. You also grab Suguru's favorite ice cream, ginger ale, and crackers.

When you arrive home, you knew Suguru would be in his room. His door was open though, which is odd for him. You set the reusable bags down on the counter and make your way to Suguru's room.

He's laying in his bed with his eyes closed, his hair up in a bun with a piece of hair framing his face. He's shirtless, presumably because he's burning up. You watch his throat as his Adam's apple bobs.

You put the back of your hand on his forehead, only for his hand to meet yours. "What a sight to wake up to." He said quietly.

"Your head is warm enough to burn my hand." You bring your hand back to your body, his hand going back on his forehead.

"Really? I didn't know. I just feel like my entire body is the temperature which I assume is of hell." Sarcasm left his lips.

"I'm making you chicken noodle soup. I also got you some snacks and ginger ale."

"Did you remember the nurse outfit?" Suguru smirked before coughing.

"My thighs pop out of the tights, so it's a no go." You laugh, standing up to leave his room.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Suguru laughs quietly, bringing the covers over his body.

"I'll let you know when the soup is done." You leave Suguru's room to go into yours to change into comfy clothes. You slip on a pair of leggings and an oversized crewneck from your university.

The smells of the spices flood your nostrils as you stir the broth for the soup. Suguru likes his soup a bit more salty, and he loves broth, so you made sure it was up to his standards.

You thought about how helpless he looked when he was in bed. He wasn't the strong Suguru that is your best friend and roommate, he's needy.

You bring a tray to Suguru's room, setting it up with a spoon and a cup for water. Suguru sat up slowly as you set this up for him, his eyes barely opening.

You brought his soup to him, a smiling forming on his face. "I can barely smell, but I know this is my favorite soup." Suguru grabbed his spoon, dipping it in the broth. You watched as his lips formed an 'o', blowing lightly on the spoon. "Sit with me."

You listen, sitting next to him on his bed. Suguru's bed is more than comfy. Your body sinks into it in the best way. Suguru turns on his TV, finding a streaming service and putting on a romcom.

"Since when did you watch romcoms?" You look at Suguru, surprised.

"I don't. But you do, and you're taking care of me." Suguru sipped his soup, leaning back on his pillows.

As you watch the movie with Suguru, your mind daydreams of a life with Suguru. A romantic one.

You would wake up next to him, attaching your lips to his to wake him up. He would hold your face in his large hands, deepening the kiss with his tongue.

Stop it.

You snap out of your daydream to look at Suguru, who's eyes were glued on the TV. You watched as his brown eyes followed the characters, his mouth curving into a smile when the main character said something funny.

"Thank you for the soup. It was perfect."

"Let me clean this up and I'll be out of your hair." You grab the tray, heading for the door.

"Please stay."

Did you hear that right?

"What?" You whip your head around a little too fast.

"I said, please stay." Suguru coughed.

You sigh, bringing the bowl and tray to the kitchen. You pause before turning around to go to Suguru's room. What about Choso.

It's not like he's your boyfriend.

Suguru isn't your boyfriend either.

You bring yourself back to his room, his arm open, making a spot for you.

"I'm sure I'll just make you feel more uncomfortable than you already do. You're heating up."

"Can you stop making excuses. If you think it'll be too hot, then change into less clothes." Suguru groaned, a cough escaping his throat.

You slip into your room to change into a lowcut tank top and sweatshorts, your breath hitching when you look at Suguru again.

Your body mends with his as you join him in bed. His muscular arm wraps around your waist while his face makes a home in between your neck and shoulder.

You tense a bit, goosebumps forming along your skin. Suguru's arm trails down to your thighs, squeezing them gently. You bring your eyes to his, and you're both silent. Suguru's eyes are exploring your expression, trying to read what you're feeling.

He was testing your limits. Would you let him touch your thigh? Would you let him grab your tits? Would you let him kiss you?

The answer to all of those questions is yes. But it shouldn't happen.

You feel Suguru's lips attach to your neck, going from sucking to biting every few seconds. You let out a moan, arching your back slightly.

Suguru's large hands find your chest as he's sucking on your neck, squeezing your breast over your bra. He sneaks his hand under your bra, pinching your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger.

You shouldn't be doing this.

Especially when he's sick.

"Suguru, I –"

"Tell me you don't want this." Suguru looked at you as his lips left your neck. "Tell me you don't feel the same."

[seyaryminamoto]

Fic-to-Art #25: A decade-long journey with Sokka and Azula

Yep. I can't believe it's been a full decade either, but here we are. Ten years later and it feels like it was yesterday, almost.

On this month on Patreon, I figured I'd just make a larger sort of tribute to my long journey as a fic writer. I've had ups and downs, big moments and small, but ultimately, that I've had the chance to be here for as many years as I have is certainly a privilege, and one I don't take for granted.

I've met lots of great people because of my participation in this fandom, particularly in the Sokkla community. I've honestly made some of the best friends I've ever known through the past ten years. I've graduated from university, I've grown in many ways as a person, artist and writer, something that kid right out of high school would have never imagined possible when she first set out on this journey with zero clue of how far it would take her, and how important this would be for her in the years to follow.

After all this time, it feels like the red string of fate from The Reason has woven itself through all my stories afterwards, resulting in a very curious relationship between all these stories and the one that started it all. I mean, technically it was OoPB that started everything X'D but The Reason is by far the flagship of that particular setting. I haven't even revisited those stories in forever, but I really am glad that I did it for this particular purpose.

Alright then, if you would like the specifics regarding which story is being referenced (in case you don't know), keep reading!

The Reason, the source of the red string that then spills down into the rest of the artworks!

Gladiator Part 1, the handshake that started it all.

It Had To Be You, their unintentional first date!

Gladiator Part 2... this is honestly just a general thematic Sokkla make-out session, which as we know they were very likely to do throughout Part 2 x'D

The Love Advisor, reading a book together for the first time.

The White Lotus International Games, their rejoicing after they rushed their finals to watch each other winning at their competitions.

Matching Heartbeats... I picked the Yakuza AU as a reference to this one because people really missed it this year. But DAMN did those tattoos kick my ass to kingdom come, most difficult part of this entire mini project x'D

Underneath Starlit Skies, I picked the final scene of the Happy Family prompt because I couldn't decide on a better scene from any of the other prompts that year hahaha.

Leap of Faith, here I chose my personal favorite story from this year, Toph matchmaking Sokka and Azula, with Sokka in his councilman outfit and Azula in her ambassador attire.

Gladiator Part 3... spoilersssssss!

Alas, it was crazy to work on a project like this one on relatively short notice and pull it off regardless. I did know I wanted to do something like this, should the chance arise, and it kinda did? So I'm really glad I could finish it, maybe not exactly on time (two days late actually), but still within this month, haha.

I really hope you guys enjoy this massive piece, thank you to everyone who has been supporting me for the last decade, whether those who have been here all along, those who have only come by my work recently, as well as those who come and go. That my stories have touched anyone's lives is a miracle to me, and one I won't ever stop cherishing.

Thank you for ten years of Sokka and Azula <3

(... and as ever, feel free to join my Patreon too if you would like to do so...)

[taexual]

Ara you're actually trying to kill me, I'm sure (also this is a long one, I'm sorryyy)

he collapsed back onto the pillows and buried his face in his hands, a ridiculous smile spreading beneath his fingers as his heart continued to race in his chest.

Pls we're twinninnng, this is me reading your series btw, the definition of giggling and kicking my feet at its finest

Also, me thinks that Joon and Maggie deserve their own altar each, I love them, with him casually saving their asses and talking some sense into oc as he should, and Mags representing each of my thoughts, like

“That fucking loser,” she said. “That massive fucking piece of shit. Fucking good-for-nothing rat. Motherf—”. “Yeah, Mags,” you interjected, knowing she might not stop for a while.

Let’s kill him”. “Or, you know,” she added in response to your and Luna’s expressions, “let’s beat him up. That’ll work, too.”

I have never felt this represented in any form of media, let her continue please, Sid just keeps pissing me off and she deserves to take her frustrations out, preferably on him in a very violent way, maybe even with a brick or a chair, idk

You ended up watching each of the boys leap over the threshold of the door for no reason whatsoever, just to see who could jump the farthest—until Jungkook smacked his head right into the top of the door frame.

This has happened irl, I have no doubt about it. And I have to say, I absolutely love the way you portray the guys in the series, obviously we don't know them personally and never will, but as far as the persona each of them maintain for the public and what is shown in the media, this feels accurate and warm somehow, without engaging too much in the stereotypes, or forgetting that they're humans despite our (and the world's) expectations. I'm always glad to find writers like you to keep this thoughtful and respectful approach, even when it comes to fiction <3

Pouting, he walked over to you after everyone else had finished laughing and left. You fixed his hair, trying to bite back your laughter, and he pulled you into a hug.

Jungkook was about to object—you couldn’t remove your hands from his skin so abruptly, there was a certain procedure you had to follow to ensure he could still breathe when you were no longer touching him.

Stop it right now, this section made my heart EXPLODE, they're so mf cute, I'm so aloneeee jfc, like if you look up the word 'simp' his photo is showing up, there's no discussion

Still, he paused again by the door, giving you one last overly dramatic nod over his shoulder as if he were in a spy film. Then he left with a triumphant fist in the air after finally earning a chuckle from you.

Their banter has me squealing again, but who's surprised, honestly, this is like the 92828 time I say this, but their. dynamic. is. everything. to. me. I cannot stress enough how heartwarming it has been to see them allow themselves to express those feelings with time, so proud of my children :c

Stopping, you looked around warily until you finally spotted Minjun’s head peeking out from behind the corridor wall.

OH HEY BOO, I'm glad we're seeing more of his role here, and the entire interaction with Jude was uncomfy yes, but it brought us answers, some pity for him ngl, aswell as excitement for their plan, and it reenforced my admiration for oc, bc what a good person she is. I'm not surprised in the slightest about Sid letting his closest friend(pet) die, and I hope he rots in hell, alone and bitter while my babies live and love freely :D

Luna noticed the slight commotion and approached you. As soon as you finished telling the girls what happened to your handbag, she broke into a surprisingly graceful, but very, very drunken performance of flailing her limbs and singing, “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” while Taehyung watched her from the doorway with unmistakable fondness. He had genuinely never looked more in love.

Him and Jungkook go head to head over who is the most whipped, and I need me a partner like this, tyvm

“I am learning to be okay with others knowing, though. And I want you despite that. Despite others. Despite everything. I want to be with you.

No because I would die immediately, what do you mean oc, you cannot just say stuff like that and expect people not to propose on the spot, jk get the ring, I'll be the officiant idc

And know presenting a compilation of more tender moments from this chapter we have:

“And it’s okay,” he continued. “I can’t make decisions for you, but you’re—you have us. We’ll always have your back. We won’t sit idly if we find out the label made you resign.”

You’ve found your family when you met Rated Riot. They made bets about your relationship, they teased each other at nearly every possible moment, they complained and argued, but they supported each other with unwavering loyalty. And you were prepared to fight, if it came to it, to stay with them.

Then Maggie caught you off guard by wrapping her arms around you—as if you’d crossed Middle Earth and battled Smeagol for her phone—and you realised how safe, happy, and comfortable you felt here.

He could hear Taehyung singing along to “Do I Wanna Know?” by the drinks table while Luna and Maggie waved the flashlights on their phones dreamily for extra ambience in the dimly lit room. He could also see, most unusually, the way Hoseok and Jimin seemed to be exchanging money right behind the two girls.

All these to say that I'm a SUCKER for the platonic affection, the found-family trope, the comfort, support, silliness, honesty, and love that comes with it, and specially the way you always manage to include those fragments of their interactions, personalities and memories in the story; bc yeah oc and jk will always be the main focus, but the fact that you make the effort of showing us the characters' (both main and secondary) struggles and development really ties everything together, and makes this au one of my favorite series of all time, I genuinely have enjoyed it more than some published books, you have so much talent Ara c:

I'm sure this ask is lengthy enough, sorry about that, but I loved this part (one of my favorites for sure), and I hope you take care of yourself, see you in the next one!! 💜

babe, you are a dream come true, please don't ever apologise, you're perfect 🥺 thank you so much for sharing your beautiful thoughts and for hitting probably every single mark i was the most excited for you to read 😭🙏🏻

i love all of these characters so much, so hearing that you've enjoyed their little moments too is the biggest gift for me, thank you so much 🥺🤍🤍🤍

you are heaven-sent, i don't know what to say. your messages are absolutely, without any doubt, every writer's dream, and i seriously can't thank you enough for this!!!!!! i love you 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[plothooksinc]

7 and 15 for the ask meme! Also you've already said it for yourself, but I want you to know the shaft scene of Underdark lives in my head rent-free. Everything from the moment the train lights pass overhead to the moment Mikey has to climb back out of the shaft with Leo tied to his back. That's like a chapter and a half, I'm sure 50% sure, but I remember like it's been painted on my memory.

me, the author, typing away: oh god this is so STRESSFUL I wonder what happens next

Glad that's someone else's favourite ♥

7. What’s a trope you love to write?

Too many to count. I know I definitely round back to the same ones a lot, but I think the one I love to write (because now that I think about it I do this a lot lmao) it's > take hero and handicap in some way (whether literally or he's just out of his depth) > hero gets underestimated > hero proceeds to think outside the box and kick your ass with whatever improvised tactic comes to hand Because I LOVE ME SOME INTELLIGENT CHARACTERS and I do this in just about everything, and it may be a direct response to being tired of watching otherwise competent characters get damselled and lie around helpless when they really shouldn't be. (The flip side is if I actually do damsel someone they are fucked up to a level where they Literally Cannot and they will probably fight all the way down to that level because it's the only way to stop my brain from going "but they could do this and--")

I first did that with Kenshin in Tanabata Jasmine, where the bad guys broke his collarbone and took his sword away and he proceeded to have a fight with first a chair leg and then a bowl of rice, so. Kaoru was thinking outside the box the entire time when she was being a small time hacker sliding her way into one of the Top 5 Scariest Zaibatsu In Existence in Zaibatsu Project. That was fun. The list continues from there. I guarantee you this is coming in No Rest For The Weary. A lot. I like underdog fights and impossible odds with inspired badassery. (I also do this in RP a lot, boy Nami did a lot of improv fighting in Luceti.)

15. Are there words, phrases, mannerisms or scenes you tend to use a lot?

OH I SEE HOW IT IS, MY BETA CALLING ME OUT-- jkjk. Um, yes. Mostly Said-Bookisms, which I keep a tight eye on these days because I want to describe tone for every piece of dialogue someone writes and it's Not Necessary. But I'm fond of people speaking mildly and dryly and I like injecting life into conversations but boy it's sure easy to go Too Far with that, so. I also abuse the em dash like many authors and because my usual MO is to switch between Third Person Limited, the passages often have a lot of disconnected thoughts as they start thinking about something else or something happens, so. There are a lot of paragraphs that end with -- and then they sidetrack.

I bet there are phrases that I use a lot. One is 'white-knuckled' which is unfortunate because I'm currently talking about a bunch of kids with green skin and I already noticed I just absently used that in the very first chapter of NRFTW whoops. Also, hilariously, I'm pretty sure I've used the sentence 'He Slept' on its own a few times lately, irony of that story title. I often finish chapters/sections with a very short tl;dr sentence, lmao.

And scenes-- I try my best not to repeat on these, but apparently Mikey and Leo snoozing in bed together is gonna be a repeat theme. Characters waking up confused b/c of concussions and/or drugs and/or Bits of Black Ice Programs Trapped In Their Heads. Bizarrely, I have also written two boardroom scenes in which the protag has to face a bunch of murderous capitalists and outwit them on a verbal scale. The fact that that one occurred twice was not intentional and is a source of great amusement to me.

Thank you!

Fanfic Writer Ask game here.

[listentotheshityousay]

battle mode

(gav // @richardgoranski; aj // @drawblin; gale // @insinirate; anna // @citrusbees)

[somethinginthethunder]

hii, can i request a camillo x reader (headcannon or imagine its up to u) where he does sth to anger them and they refuse to kiss him? similar to ur isa hc where reader refuses to kiss her. and cami tried to make it up to the reader and reader is stubborn but its rlly fluffy? thank you in advance <3 !!

``camilo making it up to you``

notes: sorry i didn't post yesterday! my train crashed into a car so i got home really late. anyway, enjoy!! :)

warnings: none except one curse word

—

-camilo had gone too far this time. you were busy painting a mural commissioned by one of your clients when your mischievous boyfriend decided to give you a bit of a scare

-he transformed into a larger version of himself, making his way to your distracted figure.

-and at your most vulnerable moment he hovered over your body and gave a loud shout, making your heart jump and your arm flinch

-the product of this tasteful prank were three things: camilo laughing his ass off, you frozen in shock, and your mural that now had a lovely bold stroke of yellow over almost the entire bottom half of the piece.

-it was an understatement to say you were upset. you had worked hours upon hours to get that piece where it was.

-irritation and anger bubbled up inside of you, finally deciding you were fed up with camilo's antics.

-meanwhile, camilo was in the type of mood where he was too light-hearted and happy to see anything serious in the moment. he saw the state of your painting and, sure, he felt bad, but he didn't seem to exactly grasp the weight of your anger.

-instead, he let his laugh fade away and said, "i'm sorry about your painting, amor. i just couldn't help it, it was so perfect!"

-you didn't respond, taking a deep breath before you felt like you'd explode. cleaning off your dirty paintbrush and setting it out to dry, you ignored the curly-headed boy and turned to go home and change your clothes.

-ignoring him was something he couldn't miss

-he'd watch you walk off for a second, in a confused state of mind before jogging to catch up with you.

-"hello? did you hear me?"

-still no response

-when you didn't answer him and confirmed that he was being ignored he'd feel a little guiltier, placing a hand on your shoulder to slow you down.

-"i'm sorry, mi vida, i didn't mean to ruin your work," he apologized, his brows knit together in worry.

-when he leaned forward to give you a kiss as an apology you dodged his lips, keeping your face forward as you kept walking home.

-it was a good thing you avoided his gaze because he looked like a kicked puppy after that, his shoulders dropping as he watched you get into your house without a word.

-now he was really panicking. he turned right around and ran back to casita where he found dolores, isabela, and mirabel all sitting together in the kitchen (probably stealing a few snacks without julieta's knowledge).

-when mirabel spotted him she gave him a wave, holding out an arepa for him.

-"mami is out in town giving people their food," she explained, her mouth evidently full.

-"we can only have a few more, though. if she catches us we won't be allowed in the kitchen at all," isa snickered, wiping her mouth with her arm once she was finished.

-you could imagine the surprise on the womens' faces when they saw camilo, the one who would always somehow manage to snag seconds, shake his head and reject the offer.

-"are you sick?" dolores asked, half teasingly and the other half worriedly.

-"i messed up," camilo admitted. he continued to go on a long rant about how he ruined the mural and how you were ignoring everything about him.

-his family looked at each other as though they weren't surprised, but when camilo asked for help they knew they shouldn't deny.

-it was the next day, now. you were glad that camilo had decided to let you cool off for the rest of that day because you didn't know what you would've done if he had come back.

-as you were getting ready to fix and hopefully finish more of your work, mirabel showed up at your front door.

-"hola, (y/n)! do you wanna hang out today?" she asked cheerfully.

-"ah, lo siento, mirabel," you sighed. "i'd love to, pero no puedo. i really want to finish this painting as soon as i can."

-your friend was stubborn, though. "just meet me at sundown in the field across the bridge, okay? that'll be more than enough time to do some work. besides, you need to catch a break!"

-you reluctantly agreed to her proposal, hesitantly making your way to the meeting spot at her dictated time.

-instead of seeing mirabel, however, you saw your boyfriend.

-he was standing beside a blanket, some flowers, and a basket of food for the both of you to share.

-it didn't take a genius to understand what he was trying to do.

-because of this, you turned on your heel and started to leave.

-"wait!" he pleaded. "please. just stay with me, okay? i want to make it up to you."

-he gingerly held your hand and led you to the blanket. you hated to admit it, but you were starting to give in.

-"i know you've been working on that piece for weeks and that it was my fault it got ruined, so i wanted to set this up to help you relax," he said sheepishly, sitting down next to you. "i, um... also convinced your client to set the deadline back by a few days."

-what he didn't tell you was the amount of time he spent into bothering your client into agreeing to the deadline change. the cost for him being helping her with her business she ran for three days in return.

-now, he usually hated doing full-blown chores and responsibilities. but for you, he could make an exception.

-but somehow you still wouldn't budge. you didn't know why but you were feeling stubborn, simply giving him a hardened stare and he nervously met your gaze.

-at this point he was starting to give up.

-"i'm sorry, (y/n). i don't know what else i can do to make it up to you," he murmured, pulling his knees close to his chest.

-you should forgive him. you knew that.

-but that last sentence he said was what really made you break, letting out a sigh as you turned your body to look at him.

-"i forgive you. i'm sorry i stayed mad," you answered.

-when he heard you respond to him a feeling of relief shot through his chest, his charming smile making a return as he lunged forward and knocked you back into a hug.

-"finally! does this mean i can kiss you, now?" he asked you, burying his face into your neck.

-he loved the feeling of your body jolting with laughter, pulling you into a kiss when he heard the words, "yes, you may."

-"good, because you have no idea how hard it's been without you!"

-you raised a brow and let out a giggle when he kissed your cheek. "milo, it was one day?" you reasoned, staring right back into his eyes.

-he only clicked his tongue and shook his head. "one day too long, you mean!"

[spideyanakin]

monaco (c.l)

summary - (gasly + driver!reader) pierre doesn't know you and charles have been dating. So when charles wants to marry you, you realize it's finally time to tell him.

requested by - anon // Could you please write a story about Charles dating Pierres sister and asking him for permission to propose her?

masterlist

charles leclerc masterlist

"Do you think they're dating?" Pierre wondered out loud as he kept scrolling through instagram.

"Who?" You raised an eyebrow, looking up from your book to look at him from the other side of the couch.

"Charles and Charlotte?" You wanted to bite back a smile. Your plan had worked.

"Charles and who?" You played dumb, flipping a page of your book.

"You know, Charlotte! You met her at that party last year. Look." He handed you the phone to see a picture of Charles talking to Charlotte at a brunch in Monaco. He was sitting in front of her, at a big table surrounded with a few familiar faces and some people you'd never met before. They seemed to be laughing at something funny one of them had said. "The whole of the internet is going mad over it."

"Oh yeah- I remember her." You nodded along. "Well maybe? Why don't you ask him?"

"I will. Its weird he hasn’t told me anything. He usually likes to brag about his dating life" You had to do everything to hold back a laughter at what had just gone out of his mouth.

"Yeah... weird." Sarcasm filled your tone and you were glad he hadn't noticed.

In all truths, it had been a planned ruse so that the media would get off Charles's back about his dating life, and it was working perfectly.

Another silence fell in between the two of you. He continued scrolling through his follower's recent posts, and you continued reading; enjoying the quiet time you never got to have with your brother.

"Aaawwwww look." He smiled as he handed you the phone.

"Oh my god." You chuckled as you admire the picture.

You remembered this as being one of the first real races you won. You were in the middle with a big grin on your face. Charles and Pierre had finished second and third, and their arms were wrapped around your shoulders, big smiles on their faces with all your trophies raised in the air. "It’s when I started kicking your asses!" You chuckled before handing the phone back to Pierre.

"Yeah, yeah"

Suddenly he moved a little in his seat and his expression had changed, you could tell that picture had brought something back to his mind.

"This reminds me... Can I tell you something?" he sighed as he dropped his phone to the side.

"Yes?"

"Remember back before we were in F2?" You nodded along, clearly not knowing where he was going with this. "Well there was this period of time, well I- um, I thought you and Charles liked each other." That was enough to make your entire body stiffen, and your breath stuck in your throat.

"Oh-" You squeaked.

"Yeah- Like he wouldn't stop flirting with you, and sometimes he was looking at you- or you were looking at him like- well... Exactly how you'd look at someone you'd like to date."

"Pierre, where are you going with this?" You awkwardly shifted on your spot.

"Well- after you got that mysterious British boyfriend." You winced when you remembered that. It was a cover, all a cover for when you and Charles started dating. "And I just remembered feeling so relieved-"

"R- relieved?" All words died in your mouth.

"Well yeah. I kept thinking how weird it would be. Like we're a trio you know? and if you had started dating him- well like, I'd just be the third wheel in the background. It would have been you and him all the time, you would have ditched me to go on dates and the next thing I know I would have to pick up the pieces of your broken heart and would have to stop talking to my best friend for your sake."

You couldn't speak. Instead you gulped and slowly nodded.

"So, what I'm trying to say is I'm glad you never acted upon those feelings." He smiled.

"Y-y-yeah..."

"Oh well I've got to go" He looked down to his watch and smiled. "I'll see you after my diner?"

~

"Bye!" the door closed behind your brother. You couldn't have been more grateful that he was leaving for dinner with some old friends from your home town.

When he was out of the door and you heard his car leaving the grounds, the glass of water you were holding slipped away from your hand - and a sob you'd been keeping escaped your lips.

"Fucking hell." you whispered as you leaned on your kitchen isle, kicking it with your foot in anger. "owww, fuck" You clenched your foot in pain, now if anything was broken you were going to be in serious trouble with your team.

"AAGGH" You screamed. You had enough. Enough of you and Charles having to hide, the fact that Pierre wasn't making this easy on you, the pressure and comments Redbull and the press was putting on you about being a better pilot then Max, the guilt building up; both about taking Pierre's seat and the constant putting off of telling him about your relationship. You wanted to scream. You wanted to take your F1 car and crash into everything and everyone.

"Sweetie what's wrong?" You heard your mom's voice as she made her way down the staircase.

When she walked into the kitchen, she found you with your head agains't the counter; sobbing.

"Everything." You wanted to scream but tried to keep your voice to a minimum. "AGH." you tugged at your hair in frustration.

"Did something happen with Charles?" She placed a hand on your shoulder as her eyebrows went into a frown. She looked down at the shattered glass and the pool of water on the ground before looking back up to you. "talk to me."

"Everything is fine with Charles, more than fine actually." You wiped your eyes and sniffed. "It's Pierre."

"Oh, what did he do?" She crossed her arm at the mention of your brother.

"He gave me a speech about how much he was grateful Charles and I didn't start dating a few years ago." Your mom couldn't help the laugh that came out of her lips.

"It's not funny!" This time you were the one with a smile on your lips. "You don't understand! He realized we liked each other, at the exact moment where we got together. And now he's giving me an entire speech about how he's SOOOO happy we didn't get together! Right when we-" The rest of your sentence didn't leave your mouth. Instead, you looked up to her and took a big breath in. "Right when we decided to tell him, because Charles wants his blessing..." You thought she was going to die of excitement right there.

"BLESSING?"

"sshHH." You whined. "He's going to ask dad as well, but he wants Pierre's too." You leaned your hip on the counter and crossed your arms.

"Well that's amazing, honey congratulations!"

"Mom- he hasn't even asked me yet! We just talked about it..." You looked at the living room where you and Pierre previously had your conversation. "But if Pierre doesn't approve then..."

"Then you can't break off your relationship just because your brother said so."

"But-"

"I approve and you don't need anyone else's approval to be with the one you love."

"But mom it's-"

"Sh." She put her hand up for you to spot talking. "Now you're going to tell him next week-end after the race in Monaco." She eyed you. "Wait until he's had a few drinks and just slip the fact in."

"You can't be serious?" You chuckled.

"You bet I am."

~ About a week later and you were in Monaco.

Charles had convinced Pierre that the two of you should stay at his apartment, that it would be more entertaining then staying at some random fancy hotel.

So he obviously agreed. What could be better than a fun week between 3 best friends?

You gave Charles a wide smile as you dropped your suit case in the living room of his apartment, coming to give him a hug.

"How are you?" You chuckled into his arms, instantly missing the feeling.

"I'm good." He smiled.

"I promised my mom we were going to tell him this week-end" You whispered as you lingered the hug, and Charles raised both his eyebrows mouthing an 'are you sure?' once you pulled away.

You nodded, "After the race"

"What's after the race?" Pierre walked into the apartment with his suitcase, loudly dropping it before throwing himself on Charles's couch.

"A party. On a boat."

"Oh yeah- I remember getting the email." He sighed as he closed his eyes. "Im drained."

"I can see that" You smiled and shot a funny glance towards Charles.

"I'm going to go take a shower" He suddenly sat up and looked towards Charles to ask him a silent question.

"I put towels in the guest room." He replied before he could even voice his request. Your brother nodded before heading out of the living room.

The second the bathroom door was closed, and you heard the shower running, Charles rushed to wrap his arms around your waist.

"I missed you." he grinned.

"I missed you too." You smiled before pecking his lips, but instead of letting you pull away - he brought you closer to kiss you again, tightening his grip on you.

"I can't believe you're in my apartment and you're going to share a bedroom with your brother instead of being with me." That made you chuckle.

"Maybe on Sunday after we tell him." You fixed his hair. "I'm terrified he's going to be mad" You looked at the bathroom door with a worried look.

"We never know." He rested his forehead agains't yours, bringing you closer to him so he could kiss you again. You felt your entire body melt into the kiss. To say you had missed him was an understatement.

You were about to say something but his phone rang.

"Are you kidding me." He whispered with a sigh of defeat. "I get five minutes alone with my girlfriend and someone decides to call me"

"Just take the call, Charles."

~

Practice had gone well the next day, and qualifying the next too. You had gotten second, behind Hamilton, and you were more than ready to attack this next race.

Monaco was like home to you, this was your turf.

The whole Sunday had flashed before you, and before you knew it you were standing on the podium as a race winner. Accepting the trophy from the royal family, and proudly raising it as the whole Redbull team cheered.

You giggled as you pulled a Danny Ric and did a shoey, Lando and Max not so happy to be drinking from your shoe but going along with it anyways. Redbull had done a 1,2 - you couldn't let that slide without a shoey, especially in Monaco.

Next thing you knew you were partying on a boat. You had one drink too many; the champagne at the race, the champagne when they asked you to jump in the famous Redbull pool, cocktails in between. The whole day was a blur, and now you were fully drunk as you stood with some fellow drivers on the last party of the night.

You laughed at something Lando said, then you didn't know how you got there but you were talking with Lewis Hamilton about beating his ass as world champion, you even vaguely remembered talking to Max during the night and next thing you were talking with Charles and Carlos, and then Carlos was gone leaving just you and the love of your life in the middle of the crowd.

Charles was probably as drunk as you were and had an arm wrapped around you, placing it dangerously low. You thought Pierre was as drunk as most people at this party, and he probably assumed the same. But, what you didn't know was that after your victory, Pierre decided to stay sober and be make sure nothing happened to you.

"Oh, well I see your sister is getting friendly with the enemy." Someone from the Redbull crew pointed out with a grin on his face as he pointed behind Pierre.

The Alpha Tauri driver raised and eyebrow before turning around to face something he'd never thought he'd have to ever see. His whole face went white and he thought he was going to collapse right there.

You were making out, with Charles.

You were making out with his best friend, right in front of him.

The glass that he was holding ended up shattering in his hand, making his company chuckle.

"I think you just made a mistake by pointing that out mate." Lando stiffened when he saw the way Pierre was reacting.

"Pierre let them be!" The poor guy who didn't know what he had just done tried to keep the driver from walking up to you, but too late. He was already halfway across the room, walking right the couch you were sitting on.

He wanted to throw up, burn his eyes out of his head, anything to get this image out of his mind.

"What the heck are you two doing?" He almost screamed but it came out muffled with the music.

You pulled away when you felt a hang on your shoulder.

"Oh hi!" You giggled and he wanted to face palm.

"Oh Pierre, you’ve already met my girlfriend right? Y/n." he introduced you to him as if you were strangers, making a burst of laughter escape both of your lips.

"That’s a good one." You chuckled and leaned in to rest your hand on Charles's shoulder. "Af is I don't know him." you rolled your eyes which made you laugh even more.

"Girlfriend?" He squeaked and his eyes went wide.

"Well yeah." Charles rolled his eyes. "We've been dating for like ages."

"Ok, Im getting your drunk asses back home." He pulled the both of you by the arm.

"Hey!" You whined as you tugged your arm back. "Who said I wanted to go home!" You stomped your foot on the ground.

"Me. I did." He pulled you again and Charles just followed along with the tugging of his arm.

"But- Pieerrree, your not funny" you pouted.

To exit the boat that luckily for him was still on shore, he had to pass by the same group he was sitting with prior and they were all laughing their asses off at the situation.

"You’re leaving already?" Lando smirked when he saw the state you were in. Pierre was basically dragging you and you kept stumbling into Charles who was laughing as you seemed to be exchanging jokes with him.

"Yes." Pierre grumbled at the mclaren driver in front of him. “I feel like their baby-sitter"

"I’ll help you take care of them." Lando knew how much Pierre knowing about your relationship meant to you, and he feared the worst. If it was going to end up in a fight between the two Gasly siblings, he had to be there to reason Pierre.

"Thank god, it’s a miracle im not the only sober one." Pierre suddenly felt relief flow from his shoulders as he handed Charles arm to Lando. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Nah, don't worry."

After a short walk that felt way too long, Pierre fumbled with the keys and sighed of relief when he knew you were finally safe in the apartment.

"Now sit here." He told you as he placed you in a chair and turned around to grab some water from the fridge.

You watched as Lando made Charles stumble in a chair that was a meter away from you, and placed your eyes back to your brother, giggling for no reason.

"I'm so drunk right now." You looked at your hand and brought it closer and further.

"Care to explain?" He handed you a water bottle, and gave one to Charles and Lando.

"Explainnn whaaat?" You chuckled - but then suddenly panic passed through you and your face fell. "PIERRE WHERE IS MY TROPHY- PIERRE DON'T TELL ME YOU FORGOT IT!" You were tapping yourself around as if your trophy might have been in the imaginary pockets of your dress.

"Me?" His eyes went wide.

"Pierre that was my trophyyyyy." You felt your eyes starting to water. "My Monaco trophy!" Now you were fully crying.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you left it there, I'm sure they'll find it tomorrow." He looked around the apartment to see it sitting on the coffee table behind you.

"MY TROPHYyyYYy. My Mooonacoo Trophy, I hate you Pierre! You lost my troophy" You cried.

"Yeah Pierre, her trophy!" Charles whined and Lando couldn't help the laugh that came out of him.

Pierre shot him a look before making his way around to the living room, grabbing your trophy and almost slamming it in front of you.

"MY TROPHY!" Your face lit up and you went to hug your brother but instead fell to the floor at a poor attempt of getting out of your chair.

"Jesus Y/n" He placed you back on the chair.

"Ok I'm going to be serious now. Can you please, care to explain?"

You laughed, water still in your mouth and spilling some all over you.

"What's so funny?"

"You're funny when you're serious."

"Pierre" Charles pointed to him with his water bottle. "I want to marrrryy her." Charles pointed to you with his water bottle as well. "And I need your blessingggg-"

"What he said." You pointed to Charles and Pierre's brain started to malfunction.

"We've- We've been dating for ages" You giggled as you found that funny for no reason at all. "Like you knew we liked each other. When- that was when we started dating." Pierre was stunned for a second.

"What?"

"You should see your face," You laughed as you hugged the table. You wanted to say something else but you suddenly felt ill and ended up stumbling out of the chair and running to the bathroom to throw up.

Pierre stared at Charles who was starting to get drunk-tired. He looked at him in disbelief, trying to make sense of the little information that he was getting.

"You knew about this?" He turned his stare to Lando who shrugged his shoulders.

"Suspected it." He lied. He knew, he even helped the millions of times where you met Charles without Pierre knowing a thing.

"I-" He sighed in defeat and silence had taken over the room.

What felt like hours later, you came back, feeling more sober then you were a few minutes ago.

You grabbed your water bottle and leaned agains't the wall.

"Why didn't you tell me anything?" Pierre stared at you, he knew you, you couldn't hide behind the drunk facade because you had clearly sobered up enough to explain.

"Because of what you said last week Pierre. The 'I'm so relieved you've never dated' speech?" You felt anger bubble up inside you.

"Y/n you know how important what you've been hiding to me is? You've been dating my bestfriend - and you never told me a thing?"

"He's my best friend to! And no! No, because I was terrified of how you were going to react!"

"Well how did you think I was going to react after you've been hiding this from me for YEARS? How selfish are you Y/n?"

"Selfish? Selfish? me? Do you know how much guilt I have!? Do you know what it was like living a lie for years. Every day I wanted to tell you but every day I chickened out, because I didn't want to hurt you! Me? Selfish? Do you know how guilty I felt when I took your seat? Do you know how guilty I felt when it was me in that Redbull winning today?" You felt tears build up and quickly wiped them with the back of your hand. "Do you how guilty I felt every time I had to lie to you about where I was going just so I could see Charles for the week-end?"

He stayed silent and took your words in.

"Here! You don't approve? Fine! Go ahead. But just know that we love each other! You want proof we love each other? You're scared we're going to break up and then our trio will be ruined? Here's proof! Here's everything you missed! Take it as a 'Keep up with the Gasly sister and Leclerc'" You angrily turned around towards the shelf and grabbed the box Charles used to hide all his pictures and souvenirs of you when Pierre visited.

You shoved it in his arms, and it was a miracle you didn't stumble with how drunk you still were.

"This too" Charles mumbled as he raised his head, too tired to even think. As if to add to the argument he fished around in his coat pocket and placed a small velvet box on the table.

Your brother literally wanted to faint on the spot.

Your heart skipped a beat - you didn't even know he had already bought the ring.

"I told you I wanted your blessing." He mumbled before taking another sip of the water in front of him and placing his head back in his hands as he tried to focus.

Lando didn't know where to put himself. He awkwardly stood in the background twiddling with his thumbs as he watched the soap opera-like moment. Way more entertaining than the party they were previously at if he was being honest.

"Well... I'll let you figure what you want to say next. You can sleep on the couch" You turned around, and walked into the guest room, slamming the door to leave a dumbfound Pierre behind.

It took a second for him to come back his senses. He saw that Charles was falling asleep and sighed before turning to Lando.

"Help me get him to his room?" He nodded.

Once both sober drivers were back in the living room, they crashed on the couch and Pierre was stoic, frozen from the mass amount of information he had just received.

"Don't get mad at me." Lando mumbled. "I've known ever since I joined F1."

Pierre wasn't even mad, he shook his head instead.

"She was that terrified of telling me?" Lando nodded as an answer. "How the heck did I miss this if they've been together for so long." He looked up to the ceiling.

"They became masters at hiding I guess. Both from you and the media." He shrugged. "You know they're actually really cute together?" He gave Pierre a weak smile. "Like really cute. The type of couple where you know they've been through hell and back together. Like you can see they're best friends, but there's something more there. It would be stupid if they broke up because of you..."

Lando's words seem to affect him a little because he slowly nodded.

"God, I'm too tired for this."

~ The next morning you woke up with a huge headache - and no memory of anything that happened after the race.

You vaguely remembered the podium, shoey's, jumping in a pool, max's face as he cheered for you - and then the rest was a blur. Which meant you had completely forgotten your plan of telling Pierre - which meant you'd have to do it today.

You had no clue how you got home, or what even happened for Pierre to not be in the room, asleep. You didn't even know what happened to Charles, you just hoped he was home too.

You shifted, trying to adjust your eyesight. You spotted water and aspirin on your bedside table and let out a grateful sigh. Chugging a pill down with as much water as you could in one breath.

You tried your best to stand up, having to hold on to the wall next to you to be able to walk straight. You realized you were dressed in a pretty blue dress that you remembered buying specially for the after race party.

You changed into something more comfortable, before stumbling out of your room. You flinched when the light of day hit your eyes. grumbling as you tried to stumble towards the kitchen, quickly realizing it smelled like pancakes.

When you arrived, you were met with an odd sight.

Pierre baking? Pierre baking... pancakes?

It took your brain a second to register, but when you accepted the fact you sat at the kitchen counter, eyeing him with a weird look.

"Morning."

"Well, you look good for someone who partied last night." You wondered as you poured yourself some orange juice.

"I stayed sober last night. Someone had to take care of you and that Monegasque idiot." You snorted at his use of nicknames, Pierre smiling with you.

You didn't seem to remember the drunken rant you had pulled last night, which warmed his heart a little.

"What happened last night?" You groaned as you rested your head in your hand, trying to remember as many bits as you could.

"What do you remember?" Pierre questioned as he handed you a pancake.

"I remember you being shit at baking before this morning."

"Very funny. I learned how to make pancakes as while ago Y/n/n. May come as a surprise to you."

"It does indeed." You grabbed what ever topping your hand found its way too, accompanied with a knife. "I remember winning." You recalled. "I remember drinking champagne, going on the red bull boat, jumping in the pool, and then having cocktails, talking with Max I think- and then I'm over."

"Really?" He hadn't realized you had been drunk for that much of the day.

"Oh- I remember coming back here to get ready for the party, but like its vague."

"Hmm, so you don't remember the party?" He wondered and you shook your head no. "You don't remember me dragging you home?" You squinted your eyes.

"No." You brought your stare back to your pancake and started eating. "I need to know why this is so good?"

"Y/n, how is it so hard for you to understand that I just know how to make pancakes?"

"I'm sorry." You whined. "It's really good."

The two of you stayed quiet for a few minutes as he continued flipping pancakes and adding them onto a plate. He grabbed himself one and then continued baking.

You were about to grab your second one until a thought came back to your mind. You had screamed at Pierre last night. You had gave him a speech along the lines of your relationship and the guilt you held. You swallowed before looking around and seeing the box of pictures on the coffee table, your eyes scanned the few pictures that laid next to it, and next to the box was - the ring. Butterfly came to your stomach at the thought of that ring soon resting on your finger. You turned your head back towards your plate and glanced at the fridge. There was a magnet of you that Charles had definitely been removed before you arrived.

"Oh god" You dropped your fork and dug your head in your hands as you made an unknown noise, making Pierre laugh. "Pierre I'm so sorry." You sighed in your hands.

"Hey it's ok" He replied as he flipped a pancake.

"No- no it's not I-"

"Y/n" His voice was surprisingly calm. "I think it's my turn to talk now." There was no anger in his voice, it was light, almost like he was about to crack a joke.

"Firstly, I'm going to admit, I was jealous when you got my seat." You barely managed to look him in the eyes. "I was so mad- at you, a-and at myself. I kept thinking 'how the heck is my little sister better than I am?', I wanted to hate you for it." He sighed. "But you're my sister. I could never be mad at you. So I was mad at myself instead. Every time you won it was harder and harder to take. And- and I thought you were happy about it. I thought that you didn't care about me, I thought that you were the happiest person on earth taking that seat. But you made me realize that It was also hard on you."

"I-" You wanted to say something but he continued.

"I'm sorry for calling you selfish yesterday, even if you probably don't remember. It's no ones fault. You were meant for that Redbull - I just wasn't" He gave you a small smile. "We're both great pilots but, i'm not made to pilot that car, and I'm sorry it had to weight on you."

He gave you a tight smile before flipping a brand new pancake on your plate, you wanted to say more - reassure him, but he continued.

"And for-" He was about to say Charles but as if on cue the door of his room opened and he limped towards the kitchen.

"What the heck happened last night." He groaned as he took a seat next to you.

"More than you realize." Pierre smirked before handing him a plate with a pancake.

"Since when do you bake?" He looked at the pancake as if it was an extinct animal.

"Why does everyone think I can't bake?" Pierre whined.

"Because you've never baked for us!" You chuckled.

"I wanted to say, you have my blessing." Pierre did everything he could to stop smiling at Charles who choked on his pancake.

You patted his back as he tried to cough and chug down some water.

"You told him?" He screeched.

"No, it apparently slipped out last night - how did you figure it out?" You turned to your brother.

"You two stated making out at that party, and then we started arguing and that's where you told me everything."

Both your faces went red with embarrassment.

"You're telling me we were dumb enough to do that after like 4 years of hiding our relationship?" You laughed to yourself. "A- and you're not mad?"

Pierre shook his head. "I was at first, but I realize that this wasn't about me. I'll just need some time to get use to it, I guess. And just saying" He pointed to Charles with his spatula "if you break her heart, I will crash that Ferrari of yours"

"Oh, what a menace." You mumbled.

"I won't break her heart, I promise."

[jaybird-redhood]

propinquity

wc: 2.2k

pairing: jason todd // gn reader

The first thing you think when you see him for the first time is that he has the cutest smile.

That’s a lie, the first thing you think it that he is so incredibly in shape, and it looks great on him, but the smile thing sounds better in your head.

He's moving into the apartment across from yours a month after you moved into yours. Weird, because the two people in your building closest to your age are 2 and 63, respectively.

You suppose that some wicked twist of fate must’ve brought this upon you for missing your cousin’s birthday party last week, because the guy standing across from you is crazy hot. And looking right at you. And you are in the huge neon Wonder Woman t-shirt that your best friend got for your birthday last year.

Yeah. Karma.

“Nice shirt,” the guy offers, holding in a grin. “You’re really making it work.”

“I-”

“See you around, neighbor.”

And with a shut of a door and an awfully charismatic smirk he’s gone.

The next time you see him is a week later, and this time- luckily, you think- you’re dressed somewhat put together. You run into him while unlocking your door.

"What's got you in a twist?" he asks.

"Um," you start, "I just. Ugh I have so much to do. Like 3 hours of homework, a lecture tomorrow that I cannot skip, and I'm completely out of bread and eggs and can't even you to the store until, like, Thursday at best."

Once you start rambling you can't seem to stop. You slouch against your door. You're not entirely sure why you're telling a stranger all this, but he seems to be listening, so you suppose that’s a good sign

"I get the feeling," he offers, and you look up at him. "I'm majoring in English Lit and my classes are kind of kicking my ass."

You give him a small smile, "Glad to know someone in this building is struggling as much as I am."

"Jason," he says, and he reaches his hand out to you. "My name."

You shake it and tell him yours.

As you both turn back into your respective apartments you think that he maybe isn't as intimidating as you thought.

~

The next day goes by with a really boring lecture and another 3 hours of work you need to do.

The ride home from uni isn't that long, but it's long enough for you to contemplate all the ways that your life went wrong after moving to Gotham. And, maybe as payback for thinking mean things about the city, rain that you think should belong to a category 3 hurricane starts to whip around your car 10 minutes into your drive.

Your clothes are dripping water in literal puddles by the time you get back to your apartment.

Groaning, you start fishing for your keys in your purse while walking up the last flight of stairs.

When you get to your door you stop. Right in front of it there’s a grocery bag. Picking it up and looking inside you see a loaf of bread and a small carton of milk.

You pick it up smiling.

“Jason?” you ask, knocking on his door.

No response.

You shrug and turn around. Remember to thank him the next time you run into each other; you think.

~

That next time doesn’t happen to be that long and thank goodness for you.

“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this,” he says to you.

You’re sitting on the floor outside of your door looking rather pathetic, and he’s giving you the most awful smirk you’ve ever seen. (Not that it looks bad on him though. You seem to think that nothing could really look that bad on him)

“I swear I’m usually more put together than this,” you sigh to him. “You moving here jinxed me!”

“Yeah yeah. You’re locked out, aren’t you?”

You give him your best withering I’m going to kill you stare, but it must not be working because he just laughs even harder at you.

“This is completely not my fault it’s just I lost my second set of keys like right when I moved in and then today when I got home, I accidentally left them in my car, but my second set of car keys is in my apartment so now I can’t get them out, stop laughing at me!”

“God you’re a mess,” Jason says- finally finished laughing at you and maybe taking a bit of pity on how disheveled you look. “You couldn’t call anyone to get you in?”

You shake your head.

“My friend is the only other person with a set, but they’re out of town, and our landlord is being a dick and telling me it’s my fault in the first place, so I need to deal with it. I’ve been sitting out here for like an hour.”

“All I’m hearing is that it is your fault and now you’re just moping about it feeling bad about yourself.”

You tilt your head against the door so hard that it makes you wince a bit.

“Ok fine,” he says crossing his arms.

“What?”

“Wait right here.”

He goes into his apartment and comes back out with a skinny metal thing you don’t recognize.

You look at him in confusion and he just motions for you to scoot out of the way as he sticks it in your locks and starts to pick it.

You sigh in relief.

“Thank you thank you thank you. For everything. I swear I will get my life together, so you don’t feel like you have to keep cleaning up my messes.

“I don’t mind,” he says with a small smile, “Take your time.”

And with that he opens the door to your apartment and turns back to his.

“By the way, you should really get better locks. That was way too easy.”

You make a note in your head to get that done sometime. As you’re lying on your couch that night, you’re AirDropped a photo on your phone. Saving it up you see it’s a piece of paper with neat handwriting on it: a phone number and a smiley face, Jason’s name at the bottom.

You smile too and add the number to your contacts.

~

Over the next few weeks, you and Jason start talking more, both over text and through the various times when you run into each other outside your doors.

Each interaction is better than the next, and you soon start to realize that Jason isn’t just some hot guy with no brains. He’s sweet and charismatic, has a whole wall full of bookshelves, could probably quote any classical novel by heart, has incredibly good taste in music, and best (or worst) of all, would make incredible friend material.

It’s just that as you become closer friends, you start to realize that that might not be all you want.

It’s a stupidly cold Friday morning when he texts you, and you’re covered in blankets and wrapped in sweatshirts in your bed. Movie at my place tonight?

You text back your approval and a quick be there at 6 before getting ready for classes.

The day goes by slower than you hoped.

It might be the anticipation of seeing Jason again, or more likely the hours of lectures you have to sit through, but you’re elated when your final class for the day gets let out.

The hours in between are a blur.

A blur which leads to the two of you sitting on his couch watching Romeo and Juliet together, a blanket thrown over your bodies.

You have the obligatory bowl of popcorn resting on your legs, and every few minutes Jason reaches across your lap to take a handful.

The way you’re laying half on top on him is completely deliberate, as to take as much of his body heat as possible. Your landlord had turned off heating 3 weeks prior to ‘save money’ or some other bullshit.

Jason’s not complaining though.

Once your popcorn bowl is finished and your head is in his lap, he runs his fingers through your hair absentmindedly. It might be the nicest feeling you’ve ever felt.

Throughout the movie you exchange snide comments about the plot back and forth. You start trying to say funny things whenever you can just to hear how sweet his laugh sounds to your ears.

By the end of the movie, you’re only slightly in tears, or so you tell yourself.

“Are you crying right now?” Jason asks incredulously, wearing a teasing smile.

“It’s not my fault,” you half say half moan, “Leonardo DiCaprio just has that effect on me.”

He just laughs and pulls you upright until you’re sitting on his lap.

His eyes are a shade of blue green that you’ve never seen before, although you could swear their getting greener by the second.

You watch his gaze drop down to your lips before staring you right in the eyes again.

“Can I kiss you?”

“God yes,” you tell him, and kiss him right back.

~

The next week is somewhat uneventful, even though you and Jason had been meeting each other almost every night, rotating apartments based on whose house was warmer each particular night.

Tonight is your night, and you’ve been waiting the whole day to show him the film you had rented to watch together.

The walk up to your door is easier than usual, and you have a bounce in your step that’s making you feel even more elated than normal taking out your keys to unlock your apartment.

You open your door and your bag drops. The keys clatter when they hit the hardwood, and the silence that follows is deafening.

“You’re bleeding on my carpet,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

There Jason is, bleeding quite profusely, and using your kitchen counter to keep himself vertical. He’s wearing what looks to be a torn half of a domino mask and an extremely hot leather jacket.

(Not that this was the time for noticing his fashion choices, but you filed that thought away for later.)

What really catches your eye though is the huge red bat symbol on his chest, and the red helmet next to it sitting on your counter.

He shifts a little to the side before stumbling through saying, “Um, so, I know this isn’t ideal and I’m really sorry to put you in this situation, but I seriously do not feel like bleeding out tonight and-”

“Oh my god this is great,” you cut him off with. “I thought you were a hit-man!”

“Wait what.”

“Shit no that’s not what I meant- kind of, hang on we should probably stop you from dying before having this conversation.”

You walk over to him to get a better look at his wounds.

“God Jace, you look like death warmed over.”

He just stares at you.

“You have a bunch of stuff in your bathroom, right?”

At least this elicits a reaction. He grimaces in pain but gives you a nod of his head in conformation.

“Ok I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

He gives you a look that says seriously, where would I go.

3 minutes later you’re back with a needle and thread, and some sterilizing spray.

“This should be fine,” you tell him, “I took a first aid class last year with my friends and passed with flying colors according to the nurse.”

“Just try to keep them tight and neat. I trust you,” he says, and your heart pounds just a little harder.

You respond with a nervous laugh but take a deep breath and start working.

~

An hour and a half later you’re done.

The combination of pain meds, bandages, and a whole lot of stitches eventually led to you and Jason laying in your bed together, both completely exhausted.

He turns his head to face you.

“Could we maybe go back to the hit-man thing?”

“Oh uh. Well I saw a bunch of shirts covered in blood in your laundry in the bathroom, not to mention all the weirdly specific first-aid you had,” you tell him.

“And also the assorted guns and knives you have hidden all over. I guess I just assumed? But the whole Red Hood thing is so much better,” you reassure him.

“You found all my knives?”

You smile up at him.

“I love that that’s thing you chose to focus on.”

“And you’re really not mad that I didn’t tell you about the whole vigilante thing before?” he asks.

“Jay, I had already resigned myself to life forever with some shady hit-man that also happened to be incredibly good looking. Red Hood is ten times better than that. I’m not going to run away from you just because you’re incredibly intimidating and probably could kill me. I see that as an added bonus,” you say, with as much charm as you can muster without yawning.

“Just. Be careful, ok? I’d hate to make this a routine.”

He responds by pulling you closer to his body.

“I promise,” he whispers into your head. “You really to remember to get better locks by the way, breaking in was still way too easy.”

You let out a small laugh and finally you let yourself give into sleep.

[iwagfreal]

cigarettes, sex, and osamu.

tags: osamu x fem!reader + smoking + smut + dirty talk + balcony sex + lowkey public sex + shotgun word count: 2k

[not proofread so excuse the mistakes]

"you still smoke here?" you couragely ask as you approach the gray-haired bloke who's leaning on the wall, a stick of lit cigarette in between his fingers.

he looks at your direction and a smirk appears on his lips. "and here i thought you wouldn't come back," he utters before he takes a puff of his almost finished-off cig. you situated yourself, beside him and fished out the marlboro box from your pocket to take a stick.

to be honest, you didn't really know this guy beside you. it was just one night after getting kicked out of your place's rooftop for smoking that you had to find a new place to take a drag. and here you found a guy at the back of a high-end restaurant, always has his back rested on the wall and taking in three sticks and a piece of menthol candy before he decides he's had enough.

for weeks, you just smoke with him at 10 pm in this place, exchanging smiles and a the littlest bit of small talk. but that was all before you decided to stop smoking, which, of course was a blatant failure considering you're back in that place again.

"fuck, i forgot my lighter," you huff with the cig in between your lips. the guy immediately moves to whip out a lighter from his jeans' back pocket and lit your cigarette that was still on your mouth without even saying a word.

"thanks..." you say as you take a drag, the last syllable hanging as if you were asking for his name.

"osamu. osamu miya," he says in a low voice. he moves a little so the light from a lamp post kind of illuminated his face for a second and it made your breath hitch. god was he attractive, why did you notice this just now?

"wait... miya? as in onigiri miya?" you immediately ask as you point at the restaurant place at your back, "you own this place?"

he clears his throat and flicks the empty cig to the bin beside him before he answers, "well, yeah. i'm the head chef."

you were embarrassed to say the least, as you realize that you've been smoking in a private property, and you have the nerve to smoke with the owner himself, not even daring to ask for permission whatsoever. but all of this clouded by the thought that damn he cooks? how attractive is that shit?

"you're probably thinking you're not supposed to be here, aren't you?" he says, both his hands on his pocket, not looking at you. you nod in agreement, a little voice in your head telling you to just finish off your cig, apologize to him for trespassing and walk away. but your body won't let you. so you just stand there, cigarette still lit, in between you fingers.

"it's fine, i don't really mind having an eye candy at the end of a stressful day," he says while he crosses his arm in front of his chest. you look to your side and ogle at his biceps bulging out of his too-tight black.

"thanks, i also don't mind having something good to look at while i take a drag." you answer back, not knowing where the sudden confidence is coming from. you take a step closer to him until both your arms are touching, sending goosebumps to your entire body.

"i'm y/n, by the way. glad i failed at trying to stop smoking," you joke and he chuckles lightly, making something inside you tingle. even his laugh is beguiling, seriously, does this man even have a physical flaw?

"nice to meet you, y/n." he takes a step to face you and skillfully grabbed the cigarette on your lips before putting it in between his. he takes a puff and blew it on your agape mouth, taking you by surprise.

you feel your cheeks burning up after you realize what osamu just did. was that even considered a shotgun? that was so hot. your mind was still short-circuiting when you hear a low chuckle coming from the man in front of you. "sorry, got a little carried away." he says and looks directly onto your eyes, you notice that his pupils are dilated.

he doesn't give you back your cigarette though, he takes another puff and kept it in between his fingers. he's still smirking at you, as if letting you make the next move. so you do, thinking, fuck everything else, you grabbed the back of his nape and pushed it towards your face, crashing your lips together.

the taste of menthol and cigarettes all mixing together as he starts to suck on your mouth, his free hand placed on your waist while his tongue adeptly lick your lips, asking for a chance to enter. you gape your mouth to admit his wet tongue. osamu explores your mouth so good, he tilts his head from time to time to go back to sucking and then licking your mouth. and god does it feel so good, it feels illegal.

he takes a step to guide you, your back feeling the coldness of the wall where he pins and keeps you in place. he breaks the kiss and places the cigarette on your mouth while he drops a kiss to your exposed neck. once he feels you've taken a proper drag, he removes the cig on your mouth and drops it on the floor. he stomps on it and goes back to kissing you.

he sucks the smoke from your mouth and takes a deep breath as he inhales it. you feel a smirk growing in his mouth before he lets out a low laugh and moves back an inch, your mouth meeting air.

"you wanna take this somewhere else, y/n?" his hand placed on the wall beside your head, his eyes filled with lust. "i have a place upstairs," he adds while he looks up the building behind the two of you.

you take all your courage in your body to nod and he immediately grabs your hand at this and drag you to his place.

you didn't even have the chance to appreciate the design of his flat before osamu is kissing you senseless once again. he moves his hands to remove your jacket and the sudden feel of cold air sent goosebumps to your body once again.

he snakes a hand on your waist before he casually lifts you, you let out small gasp before you hook your legs on both sides of his waist. osamu hugs your entire lower torso, making sure you're holding on there tightly before he starts walking.

you open your eyes for a second and realize that he's walking you both to the balcony of his flat. and fuck, the thought of him fucking you while someone could be watching sends shivers to your spine already from excitement.

he loosens his grip on your torso as he lets you down, your bare feet touching the cold tiles of the balcony. he doesn't let your lips go though, he kept kissing and sucking at your lips until he felt breathless.

he holds your shoulders and made you turn your back on him, he scoops some of your hair with his hand and leaves a soft kiss on your exposed neck. "want me to fuck you while people can watch, hmm?" he asks, his voice rough and thick.

you moan in agreement and place you hands on the railings. you bend backward and arch your back so your ass is directly touching his semi hard on. you lustfully look back at him from your shoulders and say, "fuck me good and your neighbors will know your name."

his raises his eyebrows at your taunting and his hands immediately flies to the waistbands of your jeans, he pulls them down in one go, leaving you only in your lace underwear that leaves nothing to the imagination. your toes curl at the sudden gush of cold wind touches your skin but osamu is kneeling in no time, kneading your butt cheeks while mouthing at your still-clothed pussy.

"fuck, you don't know how long i've thought about this," he says as a squeezes your left butt cheek significantly harder. "don't know how much i missed you when you suddenly stopped coming to the that spot, our spot."

he leaves a kiss on your ass cheek and softly bites it for good measure which made your grip on the railings tighten. he takes his one hand and undos his belt, pulling his jeans down and exposing his cock.

osamu leans down, his cock perfectly resting on your ass and you can feel how heavy and thick he is. he was lengthy enough but his girth was the highlight of it, you think to yourself. he snakes his hand under your shirt and grabbed both your boobs, massaging it while his fingers play with your nipples.

you were getting wetter by the second, his now fully hard dick just on your ass and nowhere near your hole where you want it to be is driving you mad. so you try to take matters in your own hands and reach for his cock from your behind.

"getting restless, hmm? want me to fuck you now? without prep?"

"osamu," you whine as you grind your ass on his crotch.

"okay, baby. i'm gonna stretch you out real good." he sneered as he holds his cock in his one hand and the other moving your panties to the side. his dick prodding at your wet entrance made your go your mind turn into a puddle of goo. when the tip is finally in, you both let out a moan, you because of the sudden stretch and him because you're wrapping around him so got.

osamu bottoms out in no time, your heat covering his entire cock and all he could do was groan in pleasure. he grabs your waist and pull himself out until only the tip was inside, then he slams back in. the hard impact of his thrust sent your body bucking onto the railings, your boobs hitting the glass that's keeping you from falling from the 26th floor of the building.

he picks up his pace and doesn't stop his relentless pounding, his hips thrusting into you perfectly, filling you up with his fat cock so good that your brain is fogging with pure bliss.

"look below you, y/n. do you think the people downstairs can see you?" he pulls out then slams back in, "you think they know you're getting absolutely railed by me, huh? when all they could see is someone who's probably enjoying the view."

"little do they know i have the best view right here," he add and bucks his hips forward, hitting a spot that gets him a loud moan from you. "fuuck, i'm close, samu."

osamu's hips stutter at this and he lets out a low grunt. he wraps his arm around your waist and grabs your entire body that your hands had to let go of the railings. he moves to sit both of you down on the floor, his cock still never leaving your hole.

he lays both of you down, you on his chest with your thighs on his legs and his back on the cold tiles. he plants his feet on the floor and a beat doesn't even pass until he's fucking into you again.

his hands grab at your waist to keep you in place above his cock. you were cumming in no time from the unabated thrusting of osamu's dick into you and him continuously hitting the spot that sends you into frenzy.

your legs were still shaking when osamu pulled out of you as he gasps while spurts of his cum fly onto your stomach and thighs. you stay like that for a minute, gasping for air and still reeling from the feeling being fucked out of your minds.

"i'm going to stop smoking," you say out of nowhere and he laughs at this and asks "why?"

"i think i just found me a new vice." you say with a smile on your face.

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic. chapter twelve: the desire to devour

word count: ~10.3k rating: m warnings: naughty language, .000002 seconds of spiciness (but not really), john goes "we were vibing, right? we had the vibes? right?" for like the entire last half. also mentions of self-harm and elliot's previous trauma. notes: hi friends! i hope you enjoy this chapter! this is going to be the last sort of in-between chapter before we really get into it, and from here it's going to go faaaaast. i had a lot of fun writing it and feeling out these different dynamics. not to mention john being a gigantic fuckhead (but like what is new, lmao). special thank you as always to my wifey and beta reader @starcrier for your impeccable eyeballs, and also to @vasiktomis and @shallow-gravy for lending their eyes as well because i did fuss a bit with this chap. i would be lost without y'all. thank you everyone for your love and support, esp with comments! it really fills my heart so so much to hear back from you, and i am always in the market for friends so do not be afraid to reach out to me <3

She is twenty-five.

She’s twenty-five, and it's her first full day of work. Or, it was; now, she's sitting in the Spread Eagle listening to Pratt talk about everything that's happened while she's been gone, because he'd said, c'mon, let me take you out tonight. He grins a boyish, toothy grin at her—the same kind that's mimicked in the multiple school dance photos her mother covets—and tries to sound nonchalant when he asks how she liked being in the city.

It's hard not to think about how this is the first place she had ever met John Seed, then-Duncan, and how it feels like it's spoiled the whole place for her.

Elliot redirects her attention as best as she can to what it is Pratt is saying. He's fishing for information. They've always been each other's safety net, the person they can fall back on when all else fails. School dances. Picking partners in class. Graduation walking buddies. He'd driven her to the airport when she left for the Academy, even. But even though she knows he's trying to figure out if she's still a safety net, Elliot can't disguise the way thinking about Mason makes her feel—disgusting—so she brings the beer bottle to her mouth and takes a swallow.

The result is her face scrunching up. Pratt laughs.

“Geez, Elli, slow down,” he says, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Bet money you're still a lightweight. When'd you start drinking beer, anyway?”

“I didn't,” she manages out around the taste, swallowing thickly. “I just won't let your money go to waste.”

He shrugs, as if to say, could, if you wanted, and swivels on the stool a little. He wants to press again—she can tell—but seems to have the good sense not to, instead busying his mouth with his own beer.

“Mama said Whitehorse let you right on,” Elliot says casually, trying to ignore the twinge of envy in her voice.

Pratt shrugs again. “He's known my dad a long time.”

“Known my mom too,” Elliot replies, dry.

“Yeah, well.” Pratt pauses, and sounds a little smug when he says, “Just because your mama likes me doesn’t mean I don’t know how she is to everyone else.”

“Likes you, does she?”

“Obviously,” the brunette replies confidently. “She still keeps all those photos of us. Remember senior year, she had all of her gal pals over when we were getting ready for prom—”

“Ugh.”

“—took us about 45 minutes before we were exactly where she wanted to take pictures—"

She rolls her eyes. Pratt grins, and then bumps his shoulder against hers. He says, “Aw, c’mon. Not so bad, is it? Having your mom like me?"

Elliot can feel the flush spreading under her cheeks. Not because she's embarrassed, or flustered, but because the beer sitting in her stomach feels rotten, and because Pratt's looking at her with the same kind of eyes he did before—always, always there's the before—and she doesn't know how to say I'm not her anymore, I'm not that girl, I'm different and changed and I don't know how to go back.

It doesn't matter. If Pratt can see it on her face, he doesn't let it show; just pats her shoulder and pretends he doesn't see the way she flinches from his hand swinging into her peripheral, pretends he doesn't notice the way she covers it up by swallowing another mouthful of beer she doesn't want to drink.

“Hudson’s really glad to have you back,” he says after a minute, when she doesn’t confirm nor deny that it’s not so bad knowing her mom thinks he’s a fine enough person. “Been talking about it nonstop.”

A smile creeps its way onto her face. “I’m glad to be back. With her, especially.”

“Yeah, you two always been thick, huh?”

She nods, swallows more beer, and Pratt rolls his eyes and snags the bottle out of her hand.

“Don’t keep drinking if you don’t like it,” he tells her, and then finishes it off himself, setting the empty bottle on the countertop with a grimace. “Can’t have people telling Whitehorse I bullied the probie into drinking.”

“‘Probie’,” she scoffs. “I could kick your ass.”

“Bullshit!”

“Could’ve done it before, Pratt.”

“Now that is lies and slander.”

Elliot only grins at him, the only time since coming back sans Joey getting her from the airport that it’s been a genuine thing; lopsided and a little sloppy but a grin nonetheless. Pratt finishes his own beer now, coughing a little into his fist before he blurts out, “I’m glad, too.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“That you’re back,” Pratt clarifies. “Y’know—nice to have my friend back. Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway.”

He doesn’t know. He can’t know, because her mother won’t talk about it and Joey would never divulge what it was that had brought about her speedy return—but even though he doesn’t know about the way she has to swallow back a flinch every time he waves his hand in her peripheral, or the way the smell of beer on a man’s breath makes her stomach clench with anxiety, or how her hands are so fucking cold all the time because her heart hammers in her chest, the way he says that (Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway) feels a little like vindication.

“S’okay,” she murmurs, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Came back in one piece, didn’t I?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The scent of roses wafted over her in waves. The sound of bathwater murmuring against the sides of the porcelain tub rippled each time she moved, each time she used the grip of her hands against the lip of the sides to sink herself under; her knuckles went cold with the ferocious grip, but when she went under she was submerged in quiet once more. Blissful, serene, quiet; just what she wanted.

Elliot pulled herself out of the water. Downstairs, she could hear her mother’s voice, spiking frantic even through the floors and the two closed doors that kept her separated.

“...years, Mr. Seed, I have lost years of my life agonizing over what she did to herself...”

She dipped below the water, closing her eyes. No sound; no shrill noise; just the heavy, bloated static that existed underneath the surface of the bath. Only her and the baby.

It occurred to her, absently, that she needed to start picking out names for the baby. Now that they had a guess at what the gender was, they’d have to decide about a name; not only a first, but a middle, too—the last name—

“...find it quite intriguing, actually, that the second she comes back to me after being involved with your kind that she’s got all this—this—”

Oh, don’t say it, Elliot thought tiredly, closing her eyes.

“—tear, just wretched wear and tear, Mr. Seed, don’t you? Don’t you find that intriguing?”

John was sitting down there, enduring a thorough verbal lashing, and she hadn’t even asked him to. She’d said, I don’t care if she thinks it was me, and he’d guided her upstairs and cupped her face and kissed her, long and open-mouthed, and swept his thumb over her cheek. Now, Elliot could hear the sound of his voice—calmer, empathetic, like just knowing that her mother was hysterical was giving him some kind of control over himself—but that he was speaking in a normal tone meant that his words didn’t come through quite so clearly.

She heard the sound of her mother saying, “I suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re not bothered in the least?” just before she dipped under the water again.

What was she going to name the baby? Did she even have an idea of what kinds of names she liked? Exhaustion pulled at the edges of her attention; she thought, I’m too tired to come up with a baby name, and gripped the edges of the bathtub harder. More fierce, more firm; grip and pull, maybe spill the entire bathtub over, tilt the clawed feet until it hit the tiled floor and the porcelain broke and the rose-scent water flooded the bathroom, her room, the hallway.

Then they’d have to leave. Then they couldn’t stay, surely, in a house flooded with rose water.

Fingers brushed over hers where they’d gone white at the edges of the tub. She pulled herself out of the water to find John sitting there, knelt at the side of the tub—not unlike the way he’d sat back at her mother’s house in Hope County, when she’d drank too much in the bathtub and said that he could mark her.

Because that’s what it had been. As much as she had wanted it, as much as she had enjoyed it, no matter what John said—he had been marking her as his. Like that Oscar Wilde poem.

The same sin binds us.

Elliot brushed the water from her eyes and settled her head back against the tub, regarding him. He looked less bothered than she thought he would, having sat through her mother’s grilling and interrogation—though he did look like he wanted to say something, like maybe it was sitting, burning into ash in his mouth, the way she could see the flex of his jaw and the way his free hand clenched and loosened.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he wanted to ask her what she’d been doing under the water, and the even more bothersome knowledge that she had, at some point, become painfully aware of his body language, Elliot said, “We have to think of a name.”

John blinked at her. Less than an hour ago, he’d been saying Of course I’d come for you, I love you, with or without the baby I love you, and she’d been sobbing into his arms and clinging to him.

He said, “And a middle name.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

A smile finally ticked the corner of his mouth, his fingers uncurling hers from the edge of the tub. Reluctantly, she let him.

“Your mother’s upset.” He paused. “She still wants you to play nice for her Christmas party, but she’s upset.”

“I know,” she replied sullenly. The despair of her shame, which had at once both overwhelmed her and hollowed her out, had dissipated in the wake of her indignation. What would she know, that vicious thing inside of her said, replaying the way her mother’s expression had crumpled. What would she know of our suffering? What would she know of our pain? ‘Wretched wear and tear’, like we haven’t been torn up for ages, like she didn’t throw us to the wolves and scoff in disgust when we came back bloodied and battered.

She wanted to be angry, really angry, but like most things that had to do with her mother, Elliot found herself more exhausted than anything. Scarlet had always found it impossible to comprehend the scars she’d given herself, had always claimed to feel disconnected to the ways Elliot had searched out meaning and comfort.

Absently, Elliot wet her lips and let her gaze flicker up to where John had perched himself beside the tub. He looked mighty pleased with himself, having finally gotten his words out. I love you, he’d said, palm flat against her window, I love you, with or without the baby.

And John, I want a home with you.

And John, Marriage is hard work, but I know you’re just the woman for the job.

And John, No way baby, I’m fucking it for you.

Blood rushed through her head, thunderous. John was saying something to her, but the words felt distant, and far away, and everything felt like it was underwater when she moved—not just the parts of her submerged in the bath, but all of it, the air too-thick and dragging on her skin and pulling her down slow as molasses. She blinked a few times as she disentangled their hands and reached for the towel, but John pulled it off of the hook first.

She watched him. She watched his mouth move, and his brows pull and furrow together at the center of his forehead, and the way his breath rose and fell in his chest, pushing and pulling the Sloth scar scratched across his sternum. Just like me, dream John had said, gripping her blood-covered hands, you’re just like me.

His voice, muffled and bogged down by the blood rushing through her ears, quirked up at the end. Elliot’s eyes darted back to his, and she asked, “Sorry, what?”

“The water’s cold,” he replied, waving the towel a bit. “Aren’t you getting out?”

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. She felt hollow. Her fingers itched. She wanted—

John caught her hand as she stepped out of the bathtub, steadying her while her free hand gathered the towel up against her front. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, the lukewarm temperature of the bath still lingering; his fingers interlaced with hers, and she used it to steady herself.

He was close. They were close. A part of her resented it—that she let him be so close to her, that she let him kiss her and fuck her but mostly that she let him hold her when she cried, miserably, that she wanted to go home. Because after everything, after all of it, Hope County still felt—

She closed her eyes. Of course it still felt like home. Joey was there; now she knew Pratt was, too.

And among all of that, if she waded through the weeds spreading in her mind, if she hacked and cut them away, there was John.

“What are you thinking about?” John murmured, his cologne washing over her, their noses brushing. Her eyes fluttered open and she let out a little breath, that wanton little creature in her head chanting it over and over. There’s John, there’s always been John, nobody will love us with this much red in our ledger. No one but him.

“You,” she managed. Her head felt swimmy, the words coming out of her mouth sounding like a stranger’s—thick with want. John’s eyes flickered up to hers, having fixed on her mouth.

“If you want something, Ell,” he rumbled, the pressure of his fingertips against the back of her neck guiding her forward just a little but not all the way, “you only—”

Elliot leaned forward and kissed him, her hand lifting so that she could curl her fingers into his hair, the towel slipping to the floor. His body had tensed, like he wasn’t expecting it—like he was waiting for something else—and she thought about the way he’d kissed her with Kian’s blood in her mouth, the way he’d been just rampant with desire, the way the way the way—

Her teeth caught his lower lip, a little sharper than she’d intended, and his hand gripping her wrist tightened and he moaned, and she felt that same little thrill as before surge through her. It’s my magic, too, the itch in her fingers subsiding when she dug her nails in and pulled his hair a little, parting her lips against his; John leaned into her, crowding her up against the counter in front of the mirror, the hand at the nape of her neck threading into damp hair.

“Ell,” he said against her mouth, his voice rougher than before and hands planted on the counter on either side of her, “what are you doing?”

She murmured, “Stop talking,” and kissed him again, fingers clumsily working through the buttons on his shirt—her voice came out even but everything else about her felt wobbly, unsteady, craving craving craving the way it felt to have him begging her. Anything, to feel in control. Anything, to feel whole. Dig, and dig, and when you hit the bottom you keep digging some more, right?

What do we do with grief, right?

Burn and erase the image of her mother’s disgust and horror at seeing a part of her she might actually like, scrape it from her mind, dig her trenches deep deep deep and hunker down where she could feel safe, where she could feel strong; soon she would be home and—

And John’s teeth snagged her lower lip in retribution, sparking violent and red-hot behind her eyes with pleasure lighting her neurons on fire.

“Off,” she ground out against his mouth, pushing helplessly at the shirt she’d only halfway unbuttoned. The brunette grinned; his hands resumed her work, and she instead devoted her attention to the belt at his waist, yanking at it as John’s face dropped to her neck, hot breath fanning across her skin teeth dragging against her pulse point to pull a moan out of her.

There was a split second between John discarding his shirt on the floor and gripping her hips to lift her onto the countertop, his mouth seeking hers out again as she wound her arms around his neck. She had never been completely naked and felt not vulnerable at all, felt more in control—but she did, now, when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled and he moaned her name, a little frantic, Ell, Ell, hellcat, he said into their kiss, let me let me, greedy and wanting as he glided fingers up along the inside of her thigh.

He tensed, like he was going to drop to his knees, and she kept her hand in his hair and said, “Don’t.”

“Hm,” is what he replied, “pulling on my hair, ordering me to take my clothes off—”

“I’m about to tell you to shut up again.”

“—but won’t let me eat you out?” John grinned against her mouth, the scent of his cologne—expensive, stupid shit, but it never failed to feel like it was overwhelming her senses—washing over her. “What is it, baby? Want me to say please?”

Yes, something wicked inside of her said, John’s eyes lifting from her mouth to hers, narrowing playfully. Yes, I’d like that, I’d like to hear you say it like that.

“I know you,” he purred. He dug his nails into her hips, a sound—the wanting kind—trying to crawl its way up her throat. “Know exactly what you want from me. Yeah? So, Ell, won’t you please—”

There was a sharp knock at the door, a pause, and then: “Elliot?”

A near-silent laugh billowed out of John, stifled into her neck when her mother’s voice came through the door. Elliot’s eyes fluttered; her fingers, knotted in John’s hair, loosened and smoothed down the back of his neck, the intoxicating tension relaxing just a little. Heat had coiled in the hollow of her chest, spreading warm fingers at the same leisurely pace that John’s hand drifted up to her hip, his mouth finding the hollow of her jaw.

“I can’t believe her,” she muttered. “Yes?”

“Miss West is here, with her brother.” Scarlet’s voice was tight. “Returning your vehicle.”

Fuck. Elliot sighed, her eyes closing for a second while she tried to gather her thoughts. It was difficult to focus with John’s breath on her neck and his hands on her skin and that fucking cologne—and boy, did she not want to dwell on the fact that he’d shown up with barely anything but somehow also remembered to pack his stupid fucking cologne. But there was a different, special kind of warmth that spread through her when she realized that Sylvia was coming to check on her.

“Hair’s wet,” she called after a moment, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Fine.” There was another pause, and then her mother’s voice, scathing even through the door: “Ensure you are put together, Elliot.”

John murmured against her neck, “So no hickeys, then?” and she swatted his shoulder, rolling her eyes and sliding off of the counter. He seemed reluctant to let her disembark, thumb sweeping the slope of her hip before he dropped down—just far enough to plant a kiss on the gentle slope of her tummy. It was—sentimental, unseating her with incredible ease.

And then he ruined it by saying, “Your mommy won’t let me fuck her filthy, but I hear the second trimester throws a woman’s hormones through the roof, so we’ll see how long that lasts,” to her bump as he grabbed the towel from the floor to offer to her.

She snatched it from his hands, wrapping it around herself. “Don’t say that shit to the baby. You think I won’t end your life?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he offered, head cocked to the side. “Leaving the hickeys, anyway, I mean. Well, and the second part too. About sex. Not the murderous part. Actually, you know I find it—”

Choosing to ignore the latter statement, Elliot narrowed her eyes. “You’d risk Via’s opinion of you dropping so severely?”

“You know what they say.” John spread his hands, almost in a gesture of helplessness; though she knew he was far from it. “Old habits die hard.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“She’s killing all of my angels!”

Faith’s voice was sharp, piercing; Isolde’s fingers fluttered over the bridge of her nose to fend off an impending headache, pen held poised above the notepad where she’d been writing down her thoughts but had paused in time for the girl’s interjection. She couldn’t stand a messy page—ink smears, jarred letters. Unacceptable.

Two hours ago, she’d had Jacob drive her out to where the service was strongest. A flood of emails and texts from her family had been waiting to overload her phone. Her dad, things are looking poorly, where are you?, her sister, I’ve been trying to reach you for days.

“Jacob,” the blonde plunged on, interrupting her train of thought, “you have to do something. They’re being—gutted like fish!”

“You should have locked them down,” Jacob told her. “And you’re not the only one losing things.”

“I put—” Faith cut herself off, clearly taking a moment to compose herself before she pitched her voice low and said, “I put just as much work into them as you do into yours.”

The red head’s voice bloomed with annoyance when he said, “Oh, did you?”

“No fighting, please,” Joseph called from where he sat next to her. His voice was even, elbows rested on his legs and fingers interlaced in thought. “I know this is stressful. But you must keep your faith in God.”

“Santi told me that—whoever she is has been leaving their corpses all around!” Faith’s voice pitched high with distress, now, sweeping around Jacob to come to where they had sat, big doe eyes wide. “We have to do something. Please, Father—I don’t want our people to wonder if they’re going to be next.”

Joseph paused, looking pensive for a moment; Isolde thought he might have been trying to figure out how he wanted to phrase something, but before he could speak, Isolde looked at Jacob and said, “You were going to hunt her down anyway, weren’t you?”

The eldest Seed’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start with me too, Sol.”

“Get some fresh air,” she replied curtly, “go for a drive, clear your head. Eliminate a problem. You’ve been wearing a hole in the floors anyway; put that energy into being productive.”

“P—” Jacob’s voice spiked, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

He was agitated. She could tell—Pratt, and the phone call with the deputy in Georgia, and the Hunter on some kind of one-man rampage. But more importantly, Isolde thought, Jacob was agitated because there had not been a single conversation between him and Joseph since their argument.

Well, not even an argument. Just a lashing. A public one.

Isolde scooted her chair back from the table that had been set up at the front of the chapel, setting her pen down and stepping away. Her hand landed on the crook of Jacob’s elbow as she passed, and though he made a noise that implied disdain, he followed—not without shrugging her hand off by the time they got to the front doors of the chapel, leaving the other two to talk in low, murmured voices.

“You have got to stop letting this get to you,” she hissed.

“Nothing is ‘getting’—”

“Listen to me,” Isolde interjected. “I’ve been keeping as close an eye on the news as I have been on you. Things are—” She paused, mouth twisting around the words. “There is no room for you lot to be bloody fighting with each other. Do you understand me? This has moved far past needing to prepare PR and build a legal defense.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked suspicious. “So why are you still here then, Sol?” he asked.

The words burned insult in her chest. Why are you still here, stinging fresh and hot, because it was a fair question. It was the most fair question. Unlike any of these people, she had a family outside that she still loved. Her sister, and her parents. She should have told John and all of the Seeds to go fuck themselves, to enjoy the end of the world, while she went to be with her family.

But she wasn’t. She was here. Doing—this. Finding fresh new ways for Joseph to connect with his people to keep their morale high, keeping the infighting at bay to make sure they looked like a united front to everyone, second doomsday cult included.

“My parents will take care of Avery. You know they’re close with—government,” she replied after a minute, shaking off the unease. “And I told John that I would.”

He snorted. “John says jump, you ask how high?”

“No,” she bit out, “I say jump and you kiss the fucking ground I’m standing on because I cobbled together what the fuck is left of your congregation.” Before Jacob could say anything, Isolde added, “My hands are full, Jake. Do not add to my pile.”

Dark brows furrowed, his mouth thinning in disdain. He clearly wanted to say something. But true to his nature, Jacob straightened back and settled himself before he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he reiterated with his eyes narrowed. “I’m going to the Veteran’s Center.”

“That doesn’t sound like where we heard about the killings happening last,” Isolde protested, eyes narrowing.

“But she was there,” he replied. “Or someone was. Someone was there enough to steal my files.”

“Your—” Isolde snapped her mouth shut, sucking her teeth as she glanced back at Joseph and Faith; haloed in the dim lighting of the chapel, she could see them looking back at Jacob and herself expectantly. She wondered how much they could hear, from there.

Turning her attention back to Jacob and pitching her voice down in volume, Isolde hissed, “I don’t think prioritizing files is the best move right now.”

“Thank you,” Jacob idled, “for your input.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have fun,” he added, opening the door and letting in a waft of biting, cold air, before gesturing to the Book of Joseph on the table that she’d had her nose stuck in. All the better to make Joseph’s sermons hit home harder, after all. “You know—with your light reading.”

Isolde narrowed her eyes, watching him trudge down the steps for just a second before she said, “Jacob—”

“Yes, Isolde?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Don’t get shot.”

For a moment, he looked almost surprised at her words—but it was only a moment before he said, “Don’t worry, I’m taking Vidal. He makes a suitable meatshield.”

“God, he’s a talker.”

A tiny ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Jacob’s lips, before he said, “John and the deputy should be making their way here any day now.”

Isolde grimaced. “I was there for the phone call.”

“Are you going to leave?” Jacob pressed, expression stiffening again. “When he does?”

She paused, clearing her throat and shifting on her feet. I should, were the words that wanted to come out of her mouth. I should go. I only came down here because John wasn’t here. I should go, and get back to my life, and maybe get to my family and try to stay out of the crossfire and—

After a heartbeat, she said, “I don’t know.”

Jacob shrugged, as if to say, see? Told you, though to what he could be referring to, she had no idea; she only knew that she didn’t like the way he swung around and sauntered out of the chapel, leaving her alone in the tepid warmth with Joseph and Faith’s eyes on her in favor of the blistering cold outside. Snow had continued to dump throughout the day and night, and had only just let up recently; the members of Eden’s Gate—those who had survived the Family’s relentless assaults, and those that had been pulled from the bunkers—had been tirelessly shoving pathways, only to have their work tidily undone each night.

Fingers brushed the palm of her hand. Isolde startled; she glanced back just as fingers interlaced with hers to be met with sweet, bright eyes and Faith’s adoring attention planted on her.

“It means so much to me,” Faith murmured, “that you would help. Not just me, but all of us.”

Soli watched the blonde for a moment, trying to gauge. The physical closeness was not something she was accustomed to; carefully, she disentangled their fingers, skin prickling with unease. When she glanced up, Joseph’s eyes were on them, on Faith’s fingers falling from her hand but skimming the inside of her palm in a lingering touch of affection.

He was always doing that. Watching. Watching, and waiting, and pinning each movement and gesture and thought and word out perfectly like the wings of a butterfly, just the color he liked and just the shape.

“Don’t thank me,” Isolde replied, mustering a smile and brushing the hair from her face.

“It’s my job.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey, Miss Honey, John!”

Wyatt’s cheerful voice broke through the late-afternoon chill; the sun setting early, people’s breath coming out in puffs of smoke. It all felt oddly normal, given the circumstances of the morning and the way she’d forgotten to call Sylvia once she got home, and that her friend had fished up a reason to come by the house and make sure she hadn’t—

Well.

Still, if there was any remnant of the morning in Sylvia’s heart, it didn’t show in her face, and it certainly didn’t show in Wyatt’s. Instead, both blondes beamed at her, radiant, the second she came out with fuzzy, fresh-from-the-blow-dryer hair and swaddled up to her chin in thick fabrics to fend off the cold.

And, truthfully, to hide the bump. John had reminded her of it, and even though the moment had been a...good one, it had also reminded her she hadn’t expressed this truth to Sylvia or Wyatt. As John closed the door behind her and jogged down the steps,

“Howdy,” Ell greeted, albeit a bit awkwardly thanks to her stuck-somewhere-nowhere-sort-of-accent. “You didn’t have to drive it back all the way out here, you know.”

“Sure we did.” Wyatt chirped. “Wouldn’t be very neighborly of us if we let it sit and the battery died out, now would it?”

“No,” John demurred after a moment even as Elliot’s cheeks went warm, “I suppose not.”

“You all recovered from this morning?” Via asked cheerfully, purposefully avoiding the actual question. Elliot shifted on her feet. John’s hand skimmed the small of her back, and even through the layers of fabric, it felt warm; she wondered if this was what it would have been like for them, had their life been normal. Had John been truthful with her from the get-go. Now, with everything laid out between them—the lies unearthed and only the brutal, unapologetic knowledge that they wanted each other, in one way or another—it felt like they might have been normal. Sometime, somewhere, someplace else.

It was still hard to swallow, all of it. The lies and the now-truths and the knowledge that she did, in fact, want.

“Oh, yeah,” Ell replied faintly. “Took a bath and...” She tried for a smile. “Decompressed.”

“That what smells so good?”

“Y’all get that tired from dress shoppin’?” Wyatt tsked, having pulled his coat out of the jeep and started to pull it on. He grinned at her and skillfully dodged a side-swipe from Sylvia; he had a good foot of height on her—and Elliot—so it wasn’t difficult. The siblings fussed for only a moment before Sylvia managed to fetch the Jeep’s keys from Wyatt’s coat pocket and held them out to Elliot, puffing.

She was in the middle of saying, “Your keys, madame,” when John’s head tilted and he muttered, “Now what is this?”, drawing her attention to the end of the drive. A police cruiser made its way slowly down the drive, carefully pulling up behind the Jeep.

Not beside it. Not further up toward the garage, not on the other side of the four of them chatting. Behind it. Blocked in.

Sheriff Pritchard stepped out, shuffling a little as he adjusted the black, fur-trimmed jacket on his shoulders and closed the driver side door. He’d come alone, which made Elliot certain he wasn’t here to arrest her—and what a ludicrous thought, that he might have considered it a possibility, because the mere mental image of Pritchard grabbing her arm and keeping his eyes in his head made a hysterical kind of laugh want to bubble out of her.

Not me, not me and not my baby, that thing inside of her said, lifting its hackles and baring its teeth when Pritchard began to saunter over. Not my baby.

“Afternoon, you two. And Wests,” Pritchard greeted as he drew closer. He’d earned himself a curious murmur from Sylvia. “Havin’ a little shindig out here, Miss Honeysett?” Elliot opened her mouth to respond, but he lifted his hands quickly in defense. “‘M sorry, forgot myself. Mrs. Seed.”

It caught her off-guard, sucked the air right out of her lungs. It was one thing to hear her mother say John is Elliot’s husband, to hear her say John is my son-in-law, but it was another entirely to hear herself referred to as Mrs. Seed. It had never, ever been that she was John’s wife, except out of his own mouth, but now—

John seemed eager to engage with Pritchard, because he said, “Something that you needed, sheriff?”

“Yes, actually. Believe it or not, I ain’t in the business of drivin’ out to the rich part of town just for shits and giggles,” Pritchard replied coolly. “Your mama home, Elli?”

“Probably resting,” Sylvia offered, smiling politely. “We just finished dress shoppin’ for her Christmas Party not but an hour ago.”

“Yeah,” Pritchard rumbled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Heard about your little trip to the boutique today.”

John asked irritably, “Do you need to smoke that right now?”

Elliot swallowed thickly. Her lashes fluttered, eyes desperate to close; the warmth that had flooded her face now felt like it verged on feverish, threatening to make her head swim again. This was bad. This was bad-bad, chop her hair off and run run run again bad, the kind of bad that made a girl change her name and burn her birth certificate and make sure that nobody would ever be able to find her again.

“I don’t,” she began, “think mama’s feeling up to visitors right now.”

Pritchard eyed her, taking a puff of his cigarette while completely glazing over John’s pointed question. “Imagine not. You know, you been a hot topic of conversation lately, Mrs. Seed. Gotten loads of questions about you. Lady from out of town, Federal Marshals. I don’t like folks sniffin’ around my town, you know, especially not the fuckin’ Feds, but it’s gotta make me wonder.” The smoke curled out from his nose, the smoke of a lazy, self-righteous dragon wafting around her.

“Sheriff,” John continued tightly, clearing his throat, “you’re going to need to put that out.”

“We’re outside, Mr. Seed. You ain’t ever seen someone smoke a cigarette outside?”

“Do you make a habit of smoking around pregnant women?” John snapped viciously, and oh, she thought, oh, I didn’t even think of that, because her brain was too busy kicking into overdrive and parse out the absolute confirmation that Federal Marshals were asking after her and strange women, too. Oh, I didn’t even think about the baby.

And then Sylvia said, eyes wide as saucers as she laughed, flustered, “Oh, John, that’s very kind of you, but I’m not—” and her eyes landed on Elliot, and she blinked rapidly.

Wyatt was looking at her, too. Big, big eyes, surely having not only learned that she and John were married but that she was also pregnant in the span of only a few minutes. At least, Elliot didn’t think Sylvia would have divulged that information, and if the shock he was clearly trying to cover up in his expression was any indication, that gut feeling was right.

No, she thought, no, this is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted at all. It wasn’t his to tell, it wasn’t his to tell, it was mine, my choice, mine alone.

Her gaze snapped to Pritchard. She said, “It’s time for you to leave.”

Pritchard lifted his eyebrows. “That so? Well, good for me I ain’t here to talk to you, missy.”

“Get. Off. My. Property,” she bit out through her teeth. “Scarlet isn’t taking visitors, and I’ll cut the decay out of my own teeth before she makes anything close to the time of day for you.”

Now, his eyes narrowed and the cigarette sat between his fingers, still burning amber at the end. “Excuse me?”

“And tell the fucking Feds whatever you want,” she snapped, fingers curled tightly around the keys until the metal edges dug into the nooks and crannies of her hand. “But whatever you do, get the fuck out of my driveway, sheriff.”

Something flickered in the corner of her vision. John started, “Ell,” and his hand went to her shoulder, but she jerked back from him before he could make much more than a brush of contact.

“Don’t,” Elliot snapped at him, her voice wobbling and the tears—shameful tears—welling up and burning, “touch me.”

“Alright, okay,” Sylvia murmured, “Elliot and I are gonna go inside, and John can—”

“Ain’t here to talk to Mr. Seed,” Pritchard drawled venomously.

“If you’re asking questions about Elliot,” Sylvia replied calmly, taking Elliot’s hand with a firm squeeze, “I can imagine there is no better person to ask than her husband, don’t you think so, Sheriff?”

Pritchard’s eyes were squinted into poisonous little slits, and he took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Mrs. Honeysett won’t be any type of cooperative if you get her up now,” Wyatt chimed in, eyes flickering nervously to Elliot—perhaps both because of the news and because of her outburst. But she didn’t have time to think much about it, because Sylvia was tugging her out of the cluster of folks, ginger and reassuring even as her brother plunged on, “I mean, sheriff, come on—you know how women can be when they’re gotten up too early, let alone they’ve been shoppin’ all day—”

And Pritchard said, “You want I should put my cigarette out now, Mr. Seed?” as Sylvia opened the door,

and John replied with a slick, charismatic kind of venom, “No reason to anymore, smoke to your heart’s content,”

and the door clicked shut behind her and Boomer scampered out from where he’d been snoozing under the dining table.

She had to leave.

She had to go.

She had to get out.

Federal Marshals and strange women asking after her, and now her only two friends in the whole fucking world—

(well, not entirely true, since we still have Pratt, isn’t that right? Isn’t that right, Elli?)

—had just seen her almost go fucking bananas on an officer of the law, had watched her demand he get the fuck out of her driveway for wanting to ask her mother about her, had seen her.

“Hey,” Sylvia said, “you’re alright.”

I’m not, she thought, dropping the keys into the crystal bowl by the door, smearing red against the glass. Her hand stung. She reached with the good, unmarked hand for Boomer absently. His cold, wet nose brushed against it, and he whined, feet tapping against the wood as he bumped her for her attention. I won’t go. I won’t fucking go. I won’t pay the price for what they did to me, what they made me into.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out abruptly, her voice coming out tight. “Sorry that I didn’t—um, tell you. About the—”

“It’s okay,” Sylvia told her quickly, “it’s alright, Elli, it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Elli, she said, without knowing what the nickname meant. Elli, Sylvia said, it’s alright, and Joey, right now we need to leave, Elli, and Pratt, geez, Elli, slow down, an affectionate nickname saved only for folks who considered her their friend. Sans Pritchard. Fuck Pritchard.

“Lots of people wait to tell,” Via continued, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder and jarring her out of her thoughts, which were quickly and rapidly devolving back into the urge to march outside and ensure Pritchard was obeying her command. Out out out, something vicious inside of her demanded, we want him out we want him gone.

Elliot said, “Yeah, you’re right,” but she felt far away—not lost, not gone from herself, but thinking. She could pack fast. She could pack fast, and John had brought barely anything, and they could leave right now, her mother none the wiser. They could leave now and be gone and Cameron Burke would have to—

But are we sure it’s Burke? Are we sure it’s Burke and not someone else, come to haul your ass to a fucking psych ward, for what you did in Hope County?

For what you did?

No. She wasn’t sure. She could only hope it was one singular Federal Marshall on her tail, and not an actual piece of the government body. That was all.

But whoever it was that was asking after her—strangers, government officials—it didn’t matter. That old mantra had kicked in again; something has to be done, the same kind of calm before the storm that she’d felt when Joey had been killed, something has to be done.

Something has to be done and I’m going to have to be the one to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pritchard dropped the cigarette into the snow and stamped it out with his bootheel, his eyes fixed on John. Sylvia had rushed Elliot inside, but he didn’t think that had been purely necessary—only in the instance they had wanted to keep Pritchard out of a blood bath. Elliot hadn’t been checking out, trying to keep herself together; she had been angry, and he’d had half a mind to let her say and do exactly as she pleased to the man now standing in front of him in the cold.

“She always been that volatile, Mr. Seed?” the sheriff asked.

“Not undeservingly,” John replied tartly, his eyes narrowed. “Did you have specific questions, sheriff, or did you just come by to terrorize my pregnant wife with your theoretical judgment of her soul?”

“More your speed?” Pritchard replied, lifting a brow.

“Pardon?”

“Heard about you Seed boys,” he continued coolly, “and your...” He gestured with a calloused hand vaguely, looking for the right word.

John smiled, with teeth. “Before I grow old, if you don’t mind, sheriff.”

“Proclivities,” Pritchard elaborated, “for religion.”

Fucking Burke, he thought, with no absence of venom; fucking Burke can’t resist the urge to try and fuck up my life when he’d be better off trying to find a place to hunker down for the end of the world.

“We’re red-blooded Americans,” John idled coolly, “freedom of religion goes hand in hand with that.”

“Mr. Pritchard, you wanna get that car started?” Wyatt cut in abruptly, glancing around like he thought maybe the rest of the patrol might be rolling in any minute. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve got any questions for Mr. Seed.”

“That’s sheriff to you, boy,” he snapped. And then, after a heartbeat, he fished his keys out of his pocket and said, “I s’pose I got all the information I needed, after all.”

“Mmhm.”

John had turned back to the house, spotting Elliot and Sylvia through the front window, when Pritchard announced, “You make sure Scarlet gives me a call when she’s recovered from your wife’s antics, Mr. Seed.”

His gaze returned to the sheriff, narrowed. “Certainly, Sheriff Pritchard.”

“But if I don’t hear from you, no worries,” the man continued, opening his car door, “I’ll make another special trip out here.”

“Goody.”

John flashed another grin when Pritchard’s eyes flickered over him. Wyatt said, “Have a safe drive,” and Pritchard slammed his door shut, his cruiser’s engine roaring to life before he began to slowly back out and make a u-turn to head down the long driveway again. There was a moment of silence, stretching between himself and Wyatt that he didn’t feel particularly inclined to break—after all, Wyatt had been taking liberties with Elliot that he shouldn’t have been—before the blonde finally broke the silence.

“Congrats,” Wyatt said after a minute. “About—uh, the baby, I mean. I didn’t know!”

Ah, he thought, feeling a strange little surge of pride at the way the man across from him shifted on his feet with discomfort, and that’s why Elliot’s mad I brought it up. Her friends didn’t know.

Well, it was better this way, after all. He wouldn’t have taken it back even if he’d gotten the chance, knowing what he did now.

“Thank you,” he replied amiably. “It’s certainly a blessing.”

Wyatt’s mouth twisted for a moment, looking like there was something he wanted to say specifically and didn’t know how to say it without foregoing social niceties, but the sound of the front door opening caught both of their attentions.

“Wyatt, you gonna stand out here like a lemming all afternoon or what?” Via called. “Get the car warmed up, you caveman.” She took a few steps down the front stairs and looked at John. “You’re wanted inside, Mr. Seed.”

A very polite way of telling him that Elliot, perhaps, was in the mood to throttle him with her bare hands. Though he didn’t really see the harm in spilling the news—perhaps with Via, sure, but Wyatt? The cowboy? Like that was ever going to be anything.

“Thanks for your help,” John said, clapping Wyatt on the shoulder before he made his way to the front steps. Via hadn’t moved. In fact, her normally polite expression was eerily cool—whatever amicable, feigned interest she had manicured for him in the past seemed to have evaporated in the wake of Elliot’s own fury.

As he neared, he said, “Something else you needed, Miss West?”

Via’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Wyatt, now inside the car, and then back to John. “You must think I’m mighty dumb, don’t you?”

John lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. “If you think I instigated that little outburst on purpose—”

“What I think,” Via replied, “is that you know exactly what she’s capable of handling. Just because you didn’t do it on purpose doesn’t mean you weren’t thinking of letting her physically assault a police officer.”

His easy-going expression flattened. Sylvia, and her seeing, the same kind of uncanny people-reading skills that Joseph had, too. Seeing his delight at knowing that Elliot would have taken on a man a foot taller than her, pregnant, if it meant keeping him away from the baby, if it meant keeping herself out of the grip of a greater power that wanted her in a psychiatric evaluation.

“I want to like you,” Via continued, taking the steps until she reached the bottom, “and I thought maybe you were here to make a real effort. But it seems like you’re the same person you were before, John Duncan.”

The name sent a jolt of red-hot anger flushing down his spine, filling him up suddenly with a sort of molten rage that only the reminder of his adoptive parents could have inspired in him. When Via went to move past him, he snatched her elbow, holding her in place.

“And where,” he ground out, “did you hear that name, Miss West?”

“It’s called a web browser, John,” Via replied coolly. “You ever heard of Google? Imagine how many John Seeds there are in Hope County, Montana. I don’t need to tell you that the articles regarding you and your brothers, though a bit old, are unflattering. And all I want you to know—” She paused, arm still in his grip. “—is that we’re aware of each other, and that I don’t want anything happening to Elliot.”

“Neither do I,” John replied tightly, “and I especially don’t want someone digging trenches where there’s not a war zone.”

Via regarded him with an even gaze for a moment, glancing back at the car where her brother sat, before she murmured idly, “Kindly take your hand off of my arm, John.”

“Ellliot’s already aware of the any of the information in those articles,” he continued lowly, “just so you know.”

“My point, John,” Via replied casually, “is that I know, and I can—and will—deal with it as I see fit. Now, you gonna take your fuckin’ hand off of my arm, or are we going to have a problem?”

He watched her for a moment—just long enough to consider the dopamine rush of killing her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her face into the top of the porch, doing something, anything to ensure that Sylvia West was not capable of messing up anything that he was doing—and then he planted a big smile on his face and dropped his hand from her arm.

“Careful,” he said, louder now so that Wyatt would hear, “it’s icy.”

The blonde didn’t respond. Instead, she brushed her hand absently where his had been, as though to brush herself free of his touch, and picked her way across the driveway and to the truck idling just on the other side of the jeep.

Well, that would be one less problem to deal with, in the end.

John made his way inside, closing the front door quietly behind himself and taking a moment to gauge. Just to see what was going on. The house itself was quiet, and Boomer’s little footfalls were nowhere to be heard, and Scarlet wasn’t sipping her vodka in the living room—so.

So.

So.

Taking a breath, he started up the stairs, turning into the hall to find Elliot’s bedroom door halfway ajar. He paused in the doorway; she was rifling through drawers, pulling sweaters and long-sleeved shirts and jeans and sweats out and dropping them into a duffel bag, furious little exhales occasionally coming out of her.

“I was told I was being summoned,” John said, Elliot’s attention razor-sharp and snapping to him immediately.

“Pack your shit,” she said briskly, “we’re leaving.”

He blinked. Taking a step inside, he glanced at Boomer—perched protectively between himself and Elliot—and said, “I thought we were waiting until after the Christmas party?”

“You’re not fucking deaf, John, you heard Pritchard,” she snapped. “The Feds have been asking about me. The only reason they don’t know exactly where to look—whoever it is—is because Pritchard’s a fucking asshole and likes to be as obstinate as possible.”

“And if we sprint out of here,” he replied, “you’re just going to draw their attention.”

“It’s what Pritchard wants.” Elliot zipped the duffel bag shut and then brushed past him into the bathroom, gathering up her toothbrush and toothpaste and the sleeping pills. “For me to be gone. He’ll piss off if I go. And there’s no way he’s going to put up a big fight to cozy up to the government.”

“Elliot.” John watched her furiously gathering things up, and then when she came by again he caught her with his hands. “Ell, just slow down—”

“Stop,” she bit out, “stop telling me what to fucking do, John, and—I told you not to touch me.”

He lifted his hands from her, but not far enough that she could duck past. “Are you that mad about Sylvia and Wyatt knowing you’re pregnant?” When she didn’t answer, and instead hauled the bag over from the other side of the bed to be close to her so that she could dump the collections from the bathroom into it, he sighed. “I didn’t know you hadn’t told them, but I don’t understand what all of the secrecy is about. The baby isn’t—”

“I felt normal!” Elliot replied sharply, her voice pitching a little higher now, and John heard the wet wobble in it too—the way the timbre of her voice thickened and rounded out with the threat of oncoming tears, her cheeks flushed with anger and maybe shame and pain, too. “Okay? I felt—I f-fucking felt normal, for once, and it was enough that Sylvia knew you and I had been—that we’re married, which I don’t even want to dig into right now, but it was another to be like—yes, the father of my fucking child, who I’m actually married to even though I didn’t want it, is here and oh, by the way? He’s part of a cult. Yeah, a fucking doomsday cult. I’m carrying the child of a doomsday cultist.”

“How was I supposed to know?” he demanded. “How was I supposed to know that you didn’t want Sylvia and her brother knowing you were pregnant? You never said. And what does it matter?” And then, feeling the petulance well up inside of him: “I know it probably felt nice, to have Wyatt giving you attention—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re really pulling that now? So, what—you dumped the news because you wanted to make sure my friend found me as off-limited as possible?”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “I know this may come as a shock to you,” he said, feeling the tension peeling apart behind his eyelids, “I really didn’t want Pritchard smoking near my baby.”

“My baby.” Elliot jammed her finger into his chest, just above his heart, her words vicious. “It’s our baby, or it’s my baby, but there isn’t a single fucking universe where the only person this baby is beholden to is you.”

“He’s,” John corrected, tartly. “He’s our baby. And at the end of the day, whether you like it or not—”

“Have you ever,” she cut in over him, biting the words out between her teeth, “done anything for me that wasn’t for you too?”

Watching her, the words sat sticky in his chest. His instinct was to say, of course I have, but that wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to pretend like it was, either—because he wasn’t ashamed that everything he had done had been for them, that if Elliot wasn’t his then there would be no point in it, that it was a zero sum game where he either had her or he had nothing.

He said, evenly, “No.”

Elliot looked unseated by his honesty. She swept her fingers across her forehead tiredly and turned back to her bag. “Then do me a favor and pack your shit so we can go.”

John sighed. “Don’t you think—”

“John,” she bit out, “I am making an executive decision.”

“Alright, Ell.”

“And—”

John had turned to the door to go gather what few of his belongings he’d had when Elliot cut herself off, drawing his eyes over his shoulder to her again. She looked unwell—stressed, feverish, her hands buried into the duffel bag maybe to hide the shaking and her face flushed and her brows furrowed together.

“Thank you,” she managed out after a minute, “for being honest. For once.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pratt brushed the snow from his hair, teeth chattering as he waded through knee-deep snow out towards the water. It had been three days, and Helmi had told him to meet her out there—how she was going to get past the compound’s security, Pratt didn’t know, but he also thought it probably was best not to dwell on the things that Helmi would do (and could do) to get where she needed to be.

Which is why he found himself less and less surprised to find her standing at the edge of the water, in the middle of the night, swathed up to her jaw in dark, heavy fabrics. The only part of her that wasn’t covered were her hands; the closer he got, he could see she was turning a smooth, dark rock over and over in her hands, passing it between them as she watched him come nearer.

“You remembered,” was how she greeted him, most of her face cast in shadow thanks to the high position of the moon behind her. Pratt shivered and jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

“Yeah, well, kinda hard to forget,” he replied. “Considering it’s been looming over me for the last few days.”

“Poor thing,” Helmi agreed, not sounding sympathetic at all. “Did you call her?”

Pratt paused, clearing his throat. There was something that didn’t quite sit right with him, knowing that he had called Elliot not out of a cry for her help—not really, anyway—but because this other cult wanted her. This cult, which had tore its way through Hope County splitting and gutting its residents, wanted her. And Helmi didn’t seem keen on telling him why.

“I did. They just got word that she and John are on the road now,” he said after a moment. “What, uh—do you want her for, anyway?”

Helmi quirked a brow at him, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards. “Shouldn’t you have asked that before making the phone call, if it was going to bother you?”

A little lick of shame and embarrassment crawled red-hot into his cheeks, and he scoffed, turning his face away. “Well, you said you wanted her alive. Can’t say the same for the Seeds.”

“She’s carrying John’s child,” Helmi pointed out. “You think they’d kill her still?”

Pratt grimaced. It was still hard to stomach—the idea that Elliot was with John. Or had been, at one point. It didn’t sound like things were going great, and he could only imagine why. Still—

Still, he thought there was a lesser of the two evils, and Helmi sounded like it. Maybe not the others, but Helmi.

“They don’t have a problem killing babies,” Pratt replied after a minute. “What are you going to do, once she gets here? They won’t let her leave, and they definitely won’t let you in.”

Now, the blonde grinned—pearly teeth in the dark of the night, surprisingly satisfied with herself. “Big one’s pissed at me, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Well, you know, Faith too. You've been killing her angels.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got a plan. You know exactly as much as you need to know right now. Are you eating?”

The question came so quickly that Pratt didn’t have time to register the oddness of it, replying on automatic the same way he had been with Arden’s consistent, gentle pestering: “Yeah, I mean—don’t have much of an appetite, but...”

His voice trailed off and he glanced back at the woman. Her head was cocked and her eyes were fixed on him expectantly. “What?”

“Eat,” she told him. “Take advantage of as much as you can. And most of all, listen. Any information you can get will be helpful.”

Pratt’s throat felt a little tight. He kept thinking about the way Jacob had grabbed his shoulder, laughing when he’d insulted the woman doing the heavy lifting for Joseph—grinning like a fucking wolf, like he was going to be dinner, next.

He managed out, “He’ll kill me. If he suspects. He’ll take—everything, from me.”

Helmi planted a hand on his shoulder. The gesture made him want to flinch, but he bit back the urge, and he thought maybe she’d seen but didn’t say.

“He already took everything from you,” she replied lightly, “and do you know what that means?”

The dark of her gaze was intense, piercing even in the late night; it made it hard to look away. Voices echoed back in the compound, and briefly, he thought maybe they’d noticed his absence—but he only shook his head.

“It means you have nothing to lose,” Helmi murmured, “and everything to take back from him.” Her hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, the pad of her thumb sweeping up to his pulsepoint pensively. “See? Your heart is beating, and hard. Your blood knows it’s what you want, even if you don’t yet.”

Swallowing thickly, he nodded his head once. Nothing to lose, and everything to take back. Could he? Could he get things back? Is that what Helmi had done? What Elliot had done?

“And don’t fuck it up,” she added, dropping her hand from his neck and zipping her coat up. Leaving so soon. She grinned. “Or I’ll gut you myself. And I guarantee, it won’t be an Återfödelse.”

A nervous, almost hysterical little laugh bubbled up out of him. Helmi shot him a look and then brushed past him, heading back into where the brush became the thickest, calling over her shoulder, “See you in a few days, Staci Pratt.”

A few days. A few days, Elliot would be back, and John Seed would be back, and Helmi would be seeing him. Seeing them. Maybe it would be better to make a break with Elliot, once she got in—but what if she didn’t want to? What if she was one of them?

Pratt let out a puff of hot breath, digging the heel of his palm into his eyesocket while the pain bloomed just there, turning and beginning to trudge back to the compound before anyone noticed his absence. Each scrape and puff of snow fell in line with his heartbeat, the mantra on and off again.

Nothing to lose.

Everything to take back.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Sixty-Six

Words: 5k

Warning(s): explicit language, violence, mentions of drug abuse

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"Are you okay?" I ask Duff as we stand in the elevator of the Playboy office in Chicago where many of their photoshoots are held.

I’m actually thanking God we’ve managed to get this far without paparazzi catching on...then again they’re pre-occupied probably surrounding the guys’ hotel. 

Duff slammed back a startling amount of Vodka Tonics on the plane over here, to combat his rancid anxiety, that I had no idea even existed until we were seated on the plane and he nearly passed out after turning sheet white and breathing abnormally fast. 

"Yeah." He says in almost a slur. "I'm great." 

The plan is to get him a hotel room in the city for tonight and give him money for his flight back tomorrow, so all he brought is his bass, and the way his knuckles are turning white from holding on to the case it’s in, I can tell something’s up.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask him.

“I’m fine.”

“If you’re upset over the flight over here--”

“--What if these people are creeps?” He cuts me short, and I realize he’s not still upset over the flight.

“What do you mean?”

“Tansy’s had shitty luck with slimy photographers before, right? She’s told us stories of them, like, hitting on her and making her uncomfortable.”

“Yeah?”

“What if one of these motherfuckers is like that?” He looks at me.

“Well, that’s why I made sure someone accompanied me...someone, i.e. you.” I nudge him.

“Yeah and if something happens and I kick ass, I’m gonna be in trouble, Nikki’s gonna find out we’re here, then he’s gonna--”

“--Do you need more alcohol or something?” I try not to sound too harsh, genuinely worried about his mental state at the moment.

He’s just freaking out about every fucking thing there is to freakout about.

“I just don’t want you to be in trouble, is all.” He mumbles, sighing, and I lick my lips.

“I’m not going to be in trouble, okay? It will be fine. Just take a deep breath, and relax.”

The elevator doors open to reveal a set, an array of soft lighting, a faux house setting, a hair and makeup station, and wardrobe (what bits and pieces of it I’ll actually have on).

I spot Danielle, in all her gorgeous yet professional glory, and she ushers us over to where she’s sitting, talking to the makeup artist.

“Hi, it’s good to see you again.” She tells me, just seeing me yesterday.

“You too.” I reply smiling. I see her eyes catch on Duff. “This is my friend, Duff.” I explain to her. “He’s here for moral support.” I add.

“Ah, Danielle Wythers.” She tells him.

“Duff McKagan.” He replies.

“Nikki couldn’t make it?” She asks me next.

“The thing is...he kind of doesn’t know about it.” I explain to her and she raises her brows. “It’s a surprise.” I lie, not telling her the real reason I didn’t tell him is actually because he wouldn’t necessarily like it.

“Well, he’ll love it.” She assures me.

“Oh, he sure will.” I reply with the same smile.

“Okay, not that you don’t look gorgeous as is, but we’re gonna spruce you up some. Starting out, we’re gonna have you in a little clothing, and then strip down as we go along.” She lays out the plan and I nod. “This is Lucille, she’s doing your hair and makeup, Maarin is your photographer, and when we finish the shoot, I will be interviewing you.” She adds.

“Got it.”

“Alright, I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She waves before walking to the photographer.

It wasn’t as bad as thought it would have been. There really wasn’t much to it: just look like you’ve got perpetual “fuck me” eyes, follow the suggestions thrown at you by the photographer, and don’t clam up when you hear:

“Alright, let’s lose the clothes.” Maarin says.

My eyes nervously dart to Duff, who I can tell is trying to keep himself at ease like I am.

I look at Danielle next, who’s off to the sidelines, and she gives me an encouraging nod.

I try not to shake as I take the skimpy top they gave me, off, seeing Duff avert his gaze as they have me lay down on my stomach for a few shots of my body against a faux fur rug.

After I’ve gotten everything they want me to get in that position, Maarin is glancing around before I see his eyes lock on Duff’s bass case that’s resting at the tall blondes feet.

“Hey, you.” He says to Duff, catching his attention and Duff looks at him. “What’s in that thing?”

“...A bass?” Duff replies, slightly confused.

“What does Nikki Sixx play?!” Maarin slightly raises his voice to get an answer from anyone who knows.

“Bass?” I tell him.

“Perfect. I want pictures of you with the bass.” He tells me, motioning to Duff to get it out of the case.

“What?” Me and Duff ask at the same time.

If I get pictures with Duff’s bass, Nikki will recognize it, and kill the both of us if it makes it into the final cut.

“Bass. Naked girl. Now.” He repeats, and Duff looks at me.

“It’s fine.” I assure him, lying, but not wanting to waste anymore time because these people have busy schedules.

“Fine.” He mumbles, getting his bass out, carefully handing it to me, trying not to look at my naked body.

Not only was I mortified, nearly, when he told me to put the bass between my legs--covering my netherregion whilst holding onto the neck, being sure to position my arms where the only thing people could see were the round of my  boobs--but when he told me to, and I quote, verbatim, “make love to the bass” (as if my bare pussy and tits weren’t already all over it) me and Duff both looked like we were going to jump out of the window.

Within two more hours, the shoot and the interview is over--our final shot is of me sitting against a black backdrop, not a stitch of clothing on, covering my chest with my arm, with my legs crossed to keep myself as modest as possible for the cover.

“So now what?” Duff asks me as we head to the exit of the building when we get to the lobby.

“Go to the hotel.” I say.

“...The hotel the guys are at?”

“Yeah.”

“But then--”

“--We can just say I didn’t want to fly alone.” I shrug.

He thinks for a moment, then sighs.

“How about, I catch a cab back to the airport and go back home.”

“Duff, why?” I ask, a little disappointed, stopping before we get to the door.

“I don’t want to start shit between you and him and it doesn’t make any sense to say you didn’t want to fly alone so you brought me with you.”

“I don’t want you getting back on another plane so soon if you--”

“--I’ll be fine, Viv.” He assures me and I furrow my brows a little.

“Duff.” I start.

“Vivian, it’s fine.” He tells me. “I’m being serious. Don’t fucking argue with me, it is okay.” He sternly, but friendly, promises.

“Okay.” I finally relent, nodding a little.

“Just call me tonight, alright?”

“Yeah.” I agree.

He gives me his best smile before I’m hugging him.

“Thank you.” I tell him. “And I’m sorry I molested your bass.”

We both laugh, remembering the odd predicament, and I pull away looking up at him.

“It’s an honor.” He sarcastically lets out, and I wrinkle my nose. “I love you, be careful getting to the hotel.”

“I will.” I hand him the wad of cash he’s going to need to get a ticket back to L.A. and he takes it.

“Thanks.” He accepts it. “See you later.”

“See you later.”

We give each other one last look before we leave, except I go left, and he goes right.

My theory about the hotel being wrapped up in media is 1000% correct as I arrive, the driver saving Fred a trip as he gets out to help me through the ten feet to the door.

"It's great, we're great." I tell a reporter that asks me "how are things with Nikki?"

"What business did you have in Los Angeles?" Another one asks as I approach the front doors of the hotel where Fred is waiting. 

"My dad's birthday." I lie, feeling relief the second Fred's large hand pushes lightly against my back, ushering me inside. 

"Your dad's birthday?" He asks, knowing that was bullshit and I roll my eyes, taking my sunglasses off when we get in the elevator. 

"It's like an act of congress to take a shit without someone asking me how it affects my marriage." I state and he laughs. 

"How're you feeling?" He asks me and I furrow my brows. "Your blood pressure."

"Oh, I think it's okay. I have an informative  sheet of paper to dictate what I eat and drink and what other medicine I can and can't take while on my antidepressant. The second I can get onto a different medication, I'm taking it." 

"Well, be glad you're alive. You dying would've really inconvenienced Doc McGhee." He tells me and I chuckle. 

"Yeah, that evil genius knows how to work the public like a vibrator with never ending battery life." I scoff and he looks at me. "What?"

The doors of the elevator open on our floor apparently.

"I've missed you." He admits.

"I'm glad you have. Bet everyone else has been thanking God I haven't been here to cry on their good time." I say as we walk down the hall. 

"Actually, I was gonna talk to you about that." He says and I raise my brows as he glances around to make sure the coast is clear. "Sixx hasn't been doing too good." 

"Oh, no, how horrible. Wasn't like he publicly humiliated his wife--or at least let another woman do so by announcing their entire relationship on national TV for everyone and their mom to see, or anything." I sarcastically let out. 

"Viv, I'm being serious, here." He tells me, reaching in his pocket for my room key, unlocking my door. 

"I know you are. And I'm saying if anyone has the right to be in hell right now, it's me. I don't want to hear about how hard he's taking it. He wouldn't have to take anything if he would've given a damn sooner, rather than waiting for his mistress to air out his bullshit in front of his wife and thousands of other people."

"Who says I give a damn now?" I hear Nikki's voice behind us and I stop in my tracks, seeing Fred with his eyes closed as if preparing for a time bomb to go off. 

I turn to face Nikki, who's inches infront of me, and he looks down at me with a clenched jaw, looking like he just rolled out of bed, only wearing his leather pants from last night. 

"Oh, if it isn't the marital fuck-up." I throw at him. 

"Nice to see you, too, wicked cunt-bitch of the west coast." He hisses. 

"Okay, if you two are gonna go back and forth, please do so where hotel guests who're trying to enjoy their stay, aren't at risk of witnessing it." Fred suggests, motioning into the hotel room.

"I'd rather castrate myself than be trapped in a room with her." Nikki argues. 

"Please do so, maybe it'll keep you from tripping and falling, landing you in other women I'm friends with and becoming engaged to them." I snap back. 

"Bitter much?"

"Go play in traffic."

"Don't threaten me with a good time." 

"Anything's a good time to you if it involves not being a half-way decent husband, at the least."

"Okay, like you're 'wife of the year' Miss 'run when shit gets messy'."

"Need I remind you 'shit got messy' because you had an entire girlfriend, got engaged, and then she proceeded to indulge me and everyone else in the world when it was broadcasted nationwide?"

"No, baby, I remember it like it was three fuckin' days ago judging by how long you just fucking up and ran for without giving me a chance to explain a damn thing." 

"Just making sure you didn't forget since I can only imagine how much smack you've been shooting yourself full of to drown out the self-hate--which is well deserved, by the way."

"Just like it's gonna be well deserved when I bend you over my lap and--"

"--Okay, get in here." Fred tugs me inside to avoid our fight getting physical.

He’s shutting the door before Nikki can say anything else, shutting him outside, as I set my bag down and go pee.

“Vivian, I’m not done talking to you.” Fred says from the room and I roll my eyes.

“I’m peeing, Fred, can we talk about my imploded marriage when I get done?”

“No, because we’re leaving for Chicago early tomorrow morning.” He leans against the bathroom door frame, covering his eyes to keep from seeing me on the toilet.

“Okay, then talk to me.” I tell him, getting done, wiping and flushing the toilet, standing at the sink to wash my hands.

“We know he’s on smack again, Viv.” he informs me.

“I could’ve told you that.” I reply, drying my hands.

“No, no, he’s on smack again but he’s trying to act like he isn’t.”

“Because he knows Doc will strangle him and he doesn’t wanna hear it.” I shrug, stepping past him.

“He was doing good until this Vanity mess got between you two.” He states.

“Nikki was shooting heroin again before the Vanity thing happened. He was on heroin the night of our anniversary.”

His eyes widen when I tell him this.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?!” He asks me and I raise my brows.

“I didn’t want him to get in trouble.” I admit honestly and he groans, rubbing his eyes.

“Vivian.” He complains.

“What, sorry, I thought he’d get a grip back on it...at least he told me he would.”

“Yes, because the past few days have obviously proven he can be trusted.” He argues. “He can’t even keep his vows, Viv, what the fuck made you think he’d get back on the wagon after falling off?”

“I didn’t know he wasn’t keeping his vows at the time, Fred, sorry.” I brush him off, pulling my hair back from my face with a ponytail holder.

“...Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll talk to Doc, we’ll figure something out before he starts spiraling.”

“I doubt he’s going to start spiraling, Fred. He tends to only let it get out of control when he’s bored.” I quickly remember him shooting up on stage during the last tour, and ODing in London… “We’ll figure something out, alright? Don’t go panicking to Doc and if you do tell Doc, don’t make it obvious to Nikki that you know what’s up and you want him to stop. He feels attacked and lashes out when people do that. Just keep an eye out for dealers and try to keep him company so he doesn’t feel lonely or alone.” I suggest.

“Well, I know when I tell Doc, what his makeshift solution will be.” He says and I raise my brows.

“What’s that?”

Reason number 1,468 that proves Doc was absolutely crazy…

“Oh, absolutely not.” I state the next night as me, Doc and Fred are walking backstage to get to the guys’ dressing rooms.

“Viv, just listen--” Doc starts but I cut him short.

“--We’re already having to lie to everybody and act like we’re still together, what the hell do you mean ‘make up’ with him?!” I snap, turning on him and he exhales.

“I don’t mean forgive him, I mean as long as he feels like everyone is against him, that might drive him further into his black hole--”

“--So, it’s my responsibility to make sure he doesn’t do heroin, is that what you’re telling me?”

“Vivian, I feel like it would be best if you didn’t add to the many reasons he already feels like he’s gotta hurt himself over, just until this tour wraps and we can get him some proper help.” He tells me.

“Oh my God, I am actually about to have another stroke if you keep fucking talking!” I throw my hands up, stomping away from him, but he stays on my heels.

“Vivian, just listen.” He says as I open the dressing room door and barge in to see Vince, Mick, Tommy...and Devil Spawn.

“Doc, why don’t you just drop your pants and I’ll get on my knees and start slurping at your balls because that’s obviously what you want me to do!” I scream at him.

“Vivia--”

“--Nothing is good enough! You want us to play nice for the cameras, we’re doing that, you want us to bullshit the fans, we’re doing that, you want us to postpone a fucking divorce filing, we’re doing that, and now you’re wanting me to pretend he didn’t screw me over publicly just so he won’t feel bad that I can’t fucking stand him right now?!”

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asks.

“None of your fucking business!” I sneer at him.

“Get the fuck out, Vivian, Jesus.” Vince starts up.

“Oh, go scissor Bret Michaels and mind your own fucking business, bitch boy.” I shoot at him.

Liquor is drenching my dress when Vince is grabbing Tommy’s drink and throwing it on me, causing me to see red.

“What the fuck, Vince?!” Nikki barks at him, as Vince says:

“Get get your fucking ring back from the bitch Sixx chose over you.”

I’m lashing out, my nails dragging across Vince’s cheek as my flat palm hits his other cheek as hard as it can, causing the harsh stinging noise to echo through the room, as Doc and Fred both yell at us as we’re pried apart.

“Rabid Bitch!” Vince seethes, trying to fight past Doc to get to me, but Fred’s stepped in front of me, keeping me from going to Vince, too.

“Murderer!” 

The room goes silent immediately, their faces falling in shock as Vince just looks disgusted with me.

"Vivian." Doc starts, about to scold me.

"Everyone's got a fucking slap on the wrist, doesn't matter if you fucking overdose or actually kill someone, everybody just gets a fucking slap on the fucking wrist but the second I finally act like something isn't okay, the second I protest just glossing over the fact Nikki Fucking God Damn Sixx did something shitty, I'm a fucking bitter, hateful, rabid, disgusting bitch because apparently 'I should've known better'!" I outburst, taking a few deep breaths, calming down, trying not to cry before I focus on Doc. "I can smile for the cameras. I can force myself to stomach the idea of loving him in the public eye. But I refuse to just turn the other way and act like everything's okay behind closed doors, and you can't fucking make me." I say venomously to Doc before I'm storming out of the dressing room, seeing all the roadies that were around to hear the hell breaking loose behind the closed door of the dressing room.

The next couple days consists of me just staying in my hotel room, avoiding everyone except Fred, that is until…

I keep my head down, my hand gripping at Nikki’s as we all file out of the bus in the parking lot of the hotel as my other hand shields my sunglass-adorned eyes, hearing the shouts of questions from the paparazzi as all of us head to the entrance of the hotel with security trying to keep fans and the media at bay.

Almost as soon as we step foot into the hotel lobby, free from the press and witnesses, Nikki and I are dropping our hands from each other and pulling away as quickly as possible as if we’re magnetically repellent.

“Alright, shower, strip club.” Tommy names off their agenda to Nikki, Vince, and Mick. “Viv, you wanna--”

“--No.” I turn him down before he can even properly invite me, my eyes shifting to Nikki, who averts his gaze from me the second I look at him.

“But, Viv--”

“--Just leave her out of it, Tommy. She doesn’t wanna go.” Nikki tells him flatly, heading to the elevator.

“I can speak for myself, thank you.” I hiss back to him.

“Don’t start shit with me, Vivian. I’m not in the mood.” He snaps.

“What, fight with your girlfriend?” I ask as the elevator doors open.

“Go fuck yourself.” He snarls out, walking into the elevator and I’m right behind him.

“Don’t worry, I have been, being that you won’t ever touch me again.” I argue.

I guess everyone else decides not to ride in an elevator with us in case a fist fight ensues and they get caught in it.

I stare at him, his eyes covered with his sunglasses, his hair matted and sweaty from his show, his skin pale from his body purging the toxic mixture of drugs and alcohol from his system.

“Quit fucking staring at me.” He mumbles, and instead of saying something smart back or just hitting him, I look away, feeling a sadness wash over me as I notice he hasn’t taken his wedding ring off yet since we left the press behind.

“You’re not gonna take it off?” I ask, suddenly, trying to keep my tone neutral.

He doesn’t even have to ask what I’m talking about, he just knows.

I see him glance down at his ring finger before balling his left hand into a slight fist before relaxing it.

“We’re still married.” Is all he says before the doors open and he heads to his room.

I make my own separate room, unlocking the door, being met with the bland smell of a simple hotel room.

I’m used to hotel rooms smelling like Nikki.

Getting my jacket off, I step to the bathroom and get my makeup off and brush my teeth for bed before getting pajamas on. When I get to my bed, I notice something that wasn’t there before I left for the show: one of my tshirts that I left at the last hotel we were at in Texas.

Knowing who grabbed it for me, and why I should not smell it because it’s just going to make me sad, I bring it to my nose and feel my body tense in on itself, my heart heavy as his smell infiltrates my senses, and brings tears to my eyes.

How many times have I nearly talked to him, kissed him, touched him, smiled at him, all out of habit, only to realize why we are where we are in this shit to begin with?

I miss him.

He is with me everyday but I still miss him.

I exhale and climb into bed, clinging to the shirt that smells like him, closing my eyes and pretending I’m with him.

It suddenly occurs to me that the last time I kissed him, hugged him, held him, laughed with him, saw him in the shining light that I did--I didn't realize it was the last time.

Now I’ve got myself crying, and I wipe the stray tears, trying not to think about it anymore but I can’t help it.

I thought I put my absolute everything into every laugh, every kiss, every hug, every smile...but I didn’t. If I knew then what I know now, I would have.

I squeeze my eyes closed, before snatching the covers off, and go to my door, opening it, and marching to Nikki’s door.

A part of my hopes he hasn’t gone to the strip club yet, another part of me--the sane part--hopes he has.

I knock on the door and in a couple minutes it’s swinging open to reveal a hellish looking Nikki.

Trying not to cry, but failing, I lick my lips and finally get it off my chest.

“I didn’t get to say ‘goodbye’ to us.” I state, shakily, and he looks as defeated as I do.

“Vivian--”

“--You robbed me of getting to say ‘goodbye’, of being prepared to say ‘goodbye’. I wasn’t ready to not be with you, I wasn’t ready to have every reason to leave you thrown in my face. I was ready to spend the rest of my life with you, and you stole that from me.” I tell him. “I didn’t get to say ‘goodbye’.” I repeat, a tear falling past my lashes.

He just looks down, letting me say what I need to and I take a deep breath, sniffle, and press my lips to his, catching him off guard.

It takes him no time to respond, the both of us letting out relieved hums as our tongues meet and he pulls me into the room with him, slamming the door behind me.

His hands are immediately pulling my shirt up, and I’m fumbling to get his belt unbuckled, being interrupted by him tugging my pajama shorts off, his lips grazing over my thigh, up my abdomen, between my breasts, and pressing to my neck before finding my lips again.

I let out a soft sigh, wrapping my arms around him, my bare chest pressed against him, his tongue moving in sync with mine.

He's pulling away in a few seconds, taking deep breaths, staring down at me, confused.

"What?" I ask softly, blinking up at him. 

"What are we doing, Viv?”

I don’t answer, not really knowing what to say to begin with.

“Huh?” He questions. “We never got to talk about it, we never--”

"--Nikki--"

"--You didn't want to talk to me about it, you didn't--"

"--There was nothing to say--"

"--I had plenty to say, Vivian." 

"Nikki, it doesn't matter now."

"It doesn't matter? Are you fucking crazy? 'It doesn't matter'?!" 

"I-It does, but--"

"--But what, Vivian? You just wanna pretend it didn't fucking happen or something?" He snaps.

"No, I don't want to pretend it didn't happen, Nikki, that's why I got so upset with Doc the other night because he wanted me to act like everything was fine, even behind closed doors, and I don't want to do that."

"Then why the fuck are you here?" He asks me. 

Apparently I get the wrong look on my face that blatantly tells him what I'm up to…and he starts laughing.

"You're gonna fuck me and leave me?!” He cackles, taking a step back and I go to speak, but I’m unable to. There’s nothing I can say, and my silence confirms it. "Holy shit you sneaky cunt."

“Nikki, stop--”

“--Were you gonna tell me you had no intention of trying to actually work shit out with me and you were just using me to make yourself feel better for a couple hours, or were you just gonna hand me fucking divorce papers and a pen the second I came in you?” He sneers.

“Nikki, I’m not trying to use you.” My voice cracks as tears come to my eyes.

“Did you come to talk about what happened and try to get somewhere, or just fuck one last time for the hell of it?” He demands and I take a breath, trying to get my head together enough to try to figure out why, myself. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get the fuck out.” He pushes me away from him.

“If you’ll let me explain--”

“--The fuck is there to explain?! I cheated on you, you left, then you come back, patronize every fucking person that's fucked up, and then try to get your rocks off on my dick one last time like some pathetic slut. You either fucking hate me and you’re leaving, or you don’t and you’re not. I’m not doing the whole ‘friends with benefits’ bullshit with my own fucking wife!”

“A majority of our marriage has been ‘roommates with benefits’ so why the hell does it matter to you now that I just want one last night?!” I outburst suddenly and he rolls his jaw.

“Get the fuck out.” He repeats, shaking his head a little.

“No.” Tears topple over my lashes and I lick my lips, shaking my head.

“Vivian, I’m not fucking telling you again. Get the fuck out or I’m making you leave.”

“Nikki, plea--”

He’s suddenly grabbing at my arms, pulling my naked body from the floor.

“--Nikki, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“--You were gonna hump and dump me and you ‘didn’t mean’ it?!” He pulls me to the door while I struggle against him.

“Nikki, it was just for one last time, just so I could remember.” I plead, my hands grasping at his shirt, my eyes--blurry from tears--looking up at his. “Please, just one last time.” I beg, weakly, and he clenches his jaw, the ghosting of tears in his eyes for a second before he says:

“If it’s gonna be the last time…" his voice cracks, before it seems like he's forcing himself to "man up." 

"...I don't want to remember it." He says next.

“Nikki, please--no!” I fight with him when he gets his door open. 

"Bye, Viv." I almost don't recognize the man speaking to me, he sounds so fucking distant, cut off, as if the Nikki Sixx I met at the Starwood years ago took a step back and someone else had to come forward and get me out.

“Nikki, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just please, don’t do thi--Nikki!” I cry when he shoves me out of the room, completely naked, and slams the door after leaving  my pajamas at my feet.

My theory was and is today that, that moment, that "bye, Viv" was his way of finalizing what he thought was the end of us, because after that night, he acted like he despised and hated me, up until the last few nights of the Crüe's Japan tour when he called me multiple times in the middle of night, crying, fucked up, pleading, finally telling me how much he loved me.

[punkscowardschampions]

Drew & Ro

Drew: Hi, Ro 😊 Ro: Hello Drew: How are you? Ro: Fine thank you, are you okay? Drew: That's good, me too Ro: If you're looking for Meena, I haven't seen her today Drew: No, no, she's at the restaurant Drew: I just wanted to talk to you, is that okay? Ro: oh Ro: I'm sorry, of course Ro: what would you like to talk about? Drew: just what you're up to, what's going on with you lately Drew: the usual stuff Ro: I've been learning 'Gaspard de la Nuit' for an upcoming piano recital Ro: it has been likened to solving endless quadratic equations in one's head, so I've been kept fairly busy with it Drew: Wow, you're so smart Drew: it's very impressive Ro: not really, I just enjoy music and I needed a sufficiently challenging piece to perform Drew: Of course you are Drew: you're like the smartest girl in your year, right? Drew: with my sister Ro: I don't know about that, but I do work hard, as does your sister Drew: So, what are you doing once you've finished practicing? Ro: It's highly likely I'll need to do some yoga to unwind Drew: That's cool Drew: I like to work out too Ro: you should add some poses, it's really beneficial for so many reasons I won't outright preach at you about Drew: Tell me about it 🙂 Ro: Well, increased flexibility is obvious and well known, as is I'm sure, increased muscle strength and tone but it will also help prevent you getting injured during your other work outs and any other sports you enjoy doing, whilst improving your performance in those Ro: it will ensure you can maintain a balanced metabolism and aid weight loss too but I don't think you need to worry there Ro: those are the physical benefits anyway Drew: Wow, see, super smart Drew: Will you teach me sometime? Ro: I've only ever taught piano to children but I'm willing to try if you are Drew: I'm a good student Ro: What's your favourite subject? Drew: Economics, it's useful, one of the only classes that is Drew: how about you? Ro: if I was being forced to pick one, I'll follow your reasoning and choose Latin Drew: What's Latin good for? Ro: studying medicine Drew: Oh Drew: you're going to be a nurse, that's amazing Drew: caring too Ro: No, I'm going to be a doctor Drew: Even more amazing Ro: what do you want to be when you grow up? Drew: 😂 Am I not grown up yet? Ro: I don't know you well enough yet to answer that Drew: I'll be 17 in about a month Drew: you're 15, right? Ro: Yes, but it's less about age and more about experience, not to mention maturity happens later for boys in every sense of the word Drew: I've got plenty of experience, and maturity, I can assure you Ro: it's okay, you don't need to assure me of anything, I started doing yoga when I was really young, I'll still teach you Drew: Ali does it all the time too Ro: she does Ro: she has a much stronger core than I do Drew: but you're flexible Ro: Ali's very flexible too Drew: Yeah Drew: do you wanna go out sometime, like? Ro: excuse me? Drew: Why not? Ro: because it feels like you're playing a joke on me or something Drew: I wouldn't do that Drew: if you don't want to, I understand Ro: I just don't understand why you want to Drew: Because you're smart and pretty Ro: you're almost 17 and this is the first conversation you've ever had with me Drew: You're quiet Drew: I didn't wanna scare you Ro: honestly, your chosen timing is the only thing putting me on edge Drew: What's wrong with my timing? Ro: how it corresponds with what's going on between Ali and Caleb Drew: It's nothing to do with them Ro: I'm just saying, I'm not willing to be her stand in for the next 9 months, and if that's why you asked me, please don't do so again Drew: I've never even been out with Ali Ro: okay Drew: Well I'm sorry if my asking made you feel uncomfortable Ro: It's fine, you aren't the first boy to make me feel uncomfortable Drew: I didn't mean to, I just wanted to get to know you better Ro: how did you intend to do that? Drew: By going out, talking some more Ro: of course, but I'd like to know where Drew: where would you like to go? Ro: I'd like you to take the lead, as you asked me Drew: I can do that Drew: [time to ask Meena about nerdy shit going on/places 'cos that's all he needs to do] Drew: would you prefer [a a more traditional date moment] or [b something more casual but her] Ro: which one would you prefer, it's your night too Drew: I'd like to take you to [a] Ro: I'd like to go there Drew: How does Friday night work for you? Ro: what time? Drew: 6? Ro: Can you make it 7? Drew: Sure Drew: but I will have to leave at 10 at the latest Drew: I do the dishes when the restaurant is done for the night so Ro: that's okay I have to get up early, there aren't enough hours in the day for everything I need to do otherwise Drew: 👍 Drew: That works for me too Ro: I'm sorry for questioning your intentions, it's only that I come second to Ali very often in a lot of things Drew: That's not how I see you at all Drew: but it's fine, I wasn't offended Ro: I'm glad, I don't wish to offend you Drew: I'll let you know if you do, but it seems unlikely Ro: because I'm 'quiet' or because you aren't easily offended? Drew: that just doesn't seem like the sort of person you are Ro: there's a hopefulness within that statement which I would hate to discourage Drew: I'd like to get to know the real you, whoever that may be Ro: I've just realised I know nothing about you yet either Drew: It's a chance for us both Drew: assuming you're equally as interested Ro: I'm not uninterested, I was initially wary, that's all Drew: Not holding that against you Ro: I understand if you chose to and it, in turn, causes you to be wary of me Ro: that would be a fate deserved Drew: Of course not Drew: just shows you're sensible Ro: like I said earlier, you're not the first boy to make me feel uncomfortable and had this been a joke of some kind, that wouldn't be a first either Drew: I understand Ro: you're clearly different Ro: unless you're planning to balance a bucket of pig's blood over the door when I walk through Drew: oh, that's that film with the girl from kick ass in Ro: it was a book before that, as well as an older film Drew: oh, cool Drew: but yeah, no pig's blood, I promise Ro: I promise no human blood Drew: 😂 well that's good Drew: thanks Ro: you're welcome Drew: Sorry to be abrupt, but Meena needs me to walk her to her class so I've got to go for now Ro: It's fine, there's no need to inconvenience Meena for my sake Ro: and anyway, it would a lie to pretend as if I'm a stranger to abruptness or a French exit myself so Ro: you obviously take your responsibilities seriously, which means your maturity claims can't be entirely unfounded Drew: She is the most important person in my life Drew: to try and claim anything else would always be a lie 🙂 Ro: I prefer the truth Drew: then that suits me too Ro: farewell for now, Drew Drew: 👋

[seokjins]

i've been wondering a lot about hoseok and his dance background lately. do you know when he started dancing, what style he started with and which style of dance he has most experience with? also what dance style would you classify boy meets evil as? (sidenote: dance style of lie?) i'm bombarding you bc i know you have some experience in dancing haha sorry 1/ ~F

Also, I often see people saying that hoseok’s only good at street dance/popping and isn’t a versatile dancer (often when they compare him to jimin) but im just???? Yeah it’s true that hoseok hasn’t shown as wide a range of styles as jimin has but that doesn’t mean he’s not a versatile dancer??? 2/ ~F

Sometimes (esp during group dances), he doesn’t show his full potential; however, you can’t say that it’s his limit because he’s not /trying/ to outshine the others. Similar to that, if he isn’t showing you the whole range of dances he can perform, how can you say he’s bad? (I feel like this analogy is confusing. Feel free to ignore rip) Also, were these people sleeping during the spring day choreo or… ???? 3/ ~F

ANON you will not believe the noise i just made when i saw these messages in my inbox !!!!! i’d love to answer your questions fpasdlgh. just a heads up that this is gonna be long; i’m sorry, i talk a lot and don’t know when to shut up & also like listening to my own (metaphorical) voice too much sometimes

1. hoseok’s been dancing since freshman (?) year of high school and started out with street (x) while this is a considered a short time for professional dancers, i’m only exposed to classical art forms, so i’m unsure how that factors into this style (´～｀ヾ) and yes, that means this is the base of his technique !

2. i would classify BME as 100% hip hop/street. although they can be seen as widely different genres, it’s a popular style that’s taken off these past few years in the dance community. it’s got street elements in it, but it’s more controlled, more polished. (also: yeah idk what “lie” is………..urban lyrical pseudo contemporary with modern influences?????????? lmao at this point hip hop has grown so much i’d just call it that)

3. fam i’m in the same boat as you! hoseok is a very versatile dancer :o he can adapt to many different styles, given that they’re not asking him to start doing fouettes or something.

his main style

a subgenre of street called “bounce” although they are both “street”, each subgenre is really different from each other & it’s not easy to pick one up. here, you can see the difference between hoseok and jimin during practice. hoseok goes deeper, lower, lighter, smoother, etc. his arms come up to near his chin when he lunges to the front & there’s no part of the combo where he’s simply arrived @ a position and then stays there; he’s always moving, always milking every step, always engaged 

butterfly here, his musically is really strong bc he utilizes every part of his body in order to fill up the counts. you can really see the movement going thru every single muscle: the way his chest caves in, the shoulders, the hands, his head, the fluidity of his arms. as a dancer, you want every single action to be deliberate. you need control of even your fingers in order to constantly extend energy outwards, and hoseok takes that into account

arirang medley

perfect man (aka my life) is killer bc of the required speed/stamina; there is no break in this piece. if you get off you can’t get back in lmao and you can clearly see some members struggling with to stay on time with the footwork

am i wrong

spring day i 100% agree with what you’re saying about this piece !!!! there is so much going on here, and after watching all the individual fancams i wanna say that both he and jimin are the ones who shine the most consistently thru the entire dance.the slide to the ground? hoseok jumps the highest, gets the most airtime. the roll up from the floor? he really pushes himself and utilizes his back flexibility & holds his core in order to make sure that his head is the last thing that comes up. i was pleasantly surprised to see him tackle this choreography, esp the move i just mentioned, just to see how he’d do. he really pushed himself with this piece, and i’m glad he got the chance to grow as a dancer; probably with help from jimin, as this is more his department.the only qualm i have with him is during the wedge part where their left legs are going in & out, he needs to start pulling his left side over more …… he’s no longer square by like? the second step out n his ribs are reallllly swinging open fpfahdgt it’s kinda bothering me lol CLOSE UR RIBCAGE HOSEOK !!!!! i know u can do it

despite all of these pieces being different styles, you can tell that hoseok constantly strives to take the extra step above & beyond. he’s always looking for places where he can add Something More to the piece, even when it’s not given explicitly in the choreography. he gives it his All in hype dances, and that’s what made him stand out to me from the rest.

4. yes yes yes yes yes,,,, thank you for pointing that out! some people shit on hoseok’s dance king title because he doesn’t seem to stick out during groupwork and i’m here to tell you that 1) that’s utter bullshit lmao go ahead and watch all the solo fancams i assure you that he is Up There (debatable for certain dances, but he holds top 1 for fire & bst, no question) and 2) he might not go full out bc he’s dancing in a group.

what some fans forget is that he is part of a group, and the whole point when you’re part of a group is that you “take one for the team” and don’t treat it like a solo; you’re not supposed to stick out. even dance line 2.0 (namjin) don’t draw negative attention bc they bust their asses in order to keep up with the rest of the group !!!!!! BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO STICK OUT !!!!!

the whole point is that ur a cohesive unit doing one thing !!!!!!!!!!! you’re supposed to look the same !!!!!!! like…………if you’re really on balance during a performance, you’re not going to do six pirouettes. you finish the double like the rest of the corps, and you book it to your next step. groups thrive in unity, and if you can’t even give that up in order to get your limelight, then i’m sorry: you don’t deserve a solo.

this is why professionals always start out in the corps to prove that they can work well with others, handle the roles given to them, dance as a collective, and then use their work ethic/diligence to stand out during classes & rehearsals to show the artistic director that they’re ready to be promoted to a higher ranking. you demonstrate that you can handle a group environment before anything else 

hoseok doesn’t outshine the others because that’s not his job, and that is not what he is there to do. he is purposefully coexisting with the group in order to make the dance look & feel cleaner

5. kinda going off the fourth point: i agree, once again. he still showcases that he’s pushing himself, but not to the point where he purposely outshines the others. the discipline that comes with purposeful restraint is often overlooked, and i would never slander a dancer for doing so. if i know how far someone’s able to go, i can also appreciate how far they reign themselves in.

ofc, there’s the rare moment when hoseok Really lets loose like the iconic extended choreo for fire during MAMA 16 and you can see how much farther/harder/faster/stronger/full out he’s going compared to the rest of the group. there was a comment that remarked how he made the rest of bts look like his backup dancers, and i can’t agree more. lol i ain’t even biased, just watch from 4:43 onward.

when he jumps, he jumps higher than the others. when he turns his knees in, his feet are spread farther apart than the rest of the members, even though the choreo is fast and the wider your stance is, the slower you’re able to move. he makes every step clear. it’s precise, it’s sharp. his arms move quick, but they hit every position. there is no perceived rush that comes with not knowing what’s coming next or being late

the usage of his head, the ability to go move so fast but still remain fluid (rolling through his chest, loose shoulders, placed arms), jumping farther, traveling more, generally taking up more space than the others w his limbs, making things look incredibly energetic, are all key factors that put him up on another level. yes, someone can move their head, but hoseok moves it further, yes, someone can kick their leg out, but hoseok kicks his further (even so that it’s no longer within his center of balance, and i genuinely fear for him)

not to mention!!! 9 minutes into killer choreography and he is still slaying the facials. his charisma is off the charts, and it’s clear that he’s having so much fun???? he engages the audience with his expressions & isn’t afraid to use it to work the crowd, which is something i’m missing from others bc (as with all dancers) they sometimes get caught up too much with technique instead of performance. also his stage-to-audience connection is Insane. it’s so hard to do it right w/o looking like you’re staring someone down or alienating them, so basically

the ability to keep up/go beyond with fast choreo while also making it engaging thru stage presence is incredibly difficult and is another factor that puts hoseok above the rest of bts in dance

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

I think I have found an alternative to His Most Favorite?? It's a webtoon called Never Understand and the dynamic is also "ugly" shorty (I think he's cute) and handsome guy. I'm only at ch 18 so I can't say much yet, handome guy is only just in the process of falling in love, but it's nice so far :) (There is some non-con between side characters, but the perpetrator is very clearly shown as an asshole and the victim clearly isn't into it) I hope I'm not gonna get let down...

That’s very sweet, and I’m sorry to say that it did turn tocrap and fast.  But ahhh are we not usedto things being ruined for us?

Never Understand is a series of gay romances that unfold ina high school setting.  This high schoolsetting is a bit darker than most I’ve read without a paranormal twist.  It’s not like edgelord grimdark like CasteHevan.  The dark elements here are a bitmore suited for a high school setting.

We start off with supposed stubborn doofus Jaerim and coldasshole pretty-boy Yuri.  Jaerim joinsthe student council and Yuri is a cock to him because he’s “ugly.”  Oh god damnit are you already getting on yourhigh horse Faps step the fuck down. YOU CAN’T STOP ME!

The thing is…no BL author is going to ACTUALLY get away withmaking any of their characters ACTUALLY unappealing.  The genre is so homogenized that if you givea guy a classically handsome strong jaw instead of a guitar pick for a facepeople will screech about how UGLY they are.

Isn’t that right Maiden Rose?

Jaerim isn’t even that unique from regular ukes in myopinion.  The main thing I notice is thehairstyle is a bit different for being so flat and with no bangs.  So what the fuck ever!

MAYBE LET’S ACTUALLY TALK STORY FAPS! HMPH WELL MAYBE JUSTTHIS ONCE!

So Yuri begins to develop feelings for Jaerim.  I’m not entirely sure why to be honest.  There’s a point where Jaerim is passionatelyfighting for an underdog cause but Yuri pretty much does his best to ignore howviolently Jaerim is getting bullied for it. He doesn’t particularly seem to respect, admire, or feel protective ofJaerim. There’s just haphazard SEXUAL TENSIONNNNNNNN!!!  I particularly despised the 100 or so pageswhere Yuri is trying to grapple with his feelings after the whole bullyarc.  

Why?

1.) I’m just fucking tired of the ~do I like him or don’t~conundrum in BL.  Cause they’re superfucking cliché, boring, and we know exactly where all of this is going, don’tbe so fucking coy.

2.) The arc is superdefensive about how it’s not about Yuri being gay. He just romantically andsexually likes a dude but like for his personality (which he seems to hate mostof the time.) Which just PHEW makes me piles of angry.

There’s then a lot of IGNORE HIS COMPLAINTS BECAUSE HE’S JUSTTSUNDERE creepiness.  This includes suchclassic rape cultures hits of,

We then get a clusterfuck of an arc about Yuri and Jaerimbeing blackmailed by pointless jealousy fodder with a picture of Yuri sexuallyassaulting Jaerim.  Jealousy fodder isout to get Yuri and there’s no real explanation for it.  This also introduces a character I’m justgoing to call “Lying scumbag” who is in a relationship with jealousy fodder butwants Jealousy fodder to be OPEN about their relationship instead of hidingit.  I’m not even really going to getinto it because I don’t have the patience to write out its many, many, MANYlayers of bullshit.  Basically Yuri triesto prevent it from getting out.  It getsout but they manage to play it off as non-legit but immediately afterwards Yurisexually assaults Jaerim while people are looking for them.  So the author forgot the whole point of thearc cause she wanted to get to the non-consensual make-outs.  This somehow magics the two of them onconsensual terms afterwards.  Also wetotally forget about jealousy fodder and his relationship to lying scumbag.  You know what we’re going to do though? Makelying scumbag a main character.  Ithought, “People can’t care about this objectively awful person outside ofseeing a dick up his ass!”  I GUESS I WASWRONG AS HELL!

We get like one chapter of them being a happy couple andthen Yuri remembers his tragic and mysterious backstory and falls into anincurable angst coma.  This is nauseatingfor many reasons. The big problem is the fact that the author tries to cram severalcontradicting slices of sad pie in our mouth at the same time.

1.)   Yuri tragic past involves how he hates how hisfriend was bullied but recently he was totally cool with his crush beingbullied for months.

2.)   Yuri, that cinnamon roll, currently violentlyhates somebody who has nothing to do with what happened to his family and heKNOWS THIS.  But you can’t like confronthim about that because he has special PTSD psychosis.  You wouldn’t want to like damage him furtherby making sure he doesn’t kick the shit out of an innocent person would you?

3.)   Yuri is tragic because he must be a perfect facefor his now deceased rich family but OH like also he has to work 80 jobs causehe’s poor.  People both envy his richnessand despise how he gets the special privilege of working a part-time jobbecause he’s poor.

THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE!?!?!??!

This is only compounded by two major pieces of themost unsubtle bad as fuck writing. Yuri’s PTSD flashbacks ONLY hit when he is putin a position to defend Jaerim.  Eventhough there should logically be absolutely no connection between the two. HOWFUCKING CONVENIENT!  Also the reason whyYuri was conflicted in the beginning about rubbing his dick all over Jaerim isbecause his parents were killed by an ugly person.  Fuckity piss I just….ughhhhh.

We can’t even imply that Yuri is a shallow shit-head he’sgotta have a tragic backstory for every fault and mistake he makes.  MY PARENTS WEREN’T EATEN ALIVE BY A PACK OFRABID BAD BL MANGAS BUT I STILL HATE BAD BL!

ANYHOO

Eventually Jaerim breaks through Yuri’s coma through aseries of super unromantic phrases disguised as romance. Including the smashhits of:

Meanwhile, despite being ~flagrantly ugly~ a new hot guy isinterested in Jaerim but like just so he can fuck a girl. Turns out there isthis super evil slutty girly-girl who is out to destroy Jaerim cause her crushon Yuri is extreme.  I thought at firstshe was one of the most pathetic 1-D misogynist attempts at creating a villainI have ever seen.  Then we get some ofher backstory where she was bullied because she tried to defend the superpopular Yuri from….this one girl who inexplicably didn’t like the super popularhandsome Yuri????  However the storymakes it look as if she was a shallow sociopath who learned how to be violentand feminine (in the same stroke case popular????) in order to achieve her aims.  She did this not to defend a defenseless Yuribut to get a taste of that sweeeeeeet dick. So after these scenes I thought she was one of the most pathetic 1-Dmisogynist attempts at creating a villain with a flaccid pointless backstorythat does nothing to make her sympathetic.

I mean…I’m kinda glad they tried avoiding making her astrawman but it did nothing to help the situation at all.

So she manipulates a dude into trying to drive Jaerim andYuri apart through guess what? FILMED RAPE DISGUISED AS CHEATING? HAHA!

Yuri sees Jaerim crying, covered in bruises, it looks likepretty obviously forced assault.  WhenJaerim sees Yuri he even looks relieved. But, of course, Yuri runs off weeping that he cheated.  However a friend magics to his spot and tellsYuri to trust Jaerim.  So Yuri runs backand tells everybody they’re totes dating and that there is nothing NOTHINGJaerim could do to ~escape~ from him. Rapist then beats the shit out of his love interest and Yuri for a whileand I guess the day is saved?

What I do like about this story is Yuri is called out on hiscrappy behavior and he apologizes for it which seems like a low bar but HAHAwe’re talking BL here.  I also like howthey don’t try to blame anything on Jaerim because Jaerim never does anythingwrong.  Perhaps it’s my soft-spot forukes but I do genuinely like Jaerim. He’s thoughtful, determined, and sweet.

What I don’t like about the comic is well pretty much allthe story events.

BUT WAIT there are 3 more couples I can talk about!  I’m not going to touch on lying scumbag andjealousy fodder because the story devotes very little time to them.

The two other couples are Bully/Victim and….bully/victim.Ugh good god.

The first I’ll talkabout is Yumin and Doohon.

Yumin and Doohon used to be anime buddies.  However as they get older Doohon realizesthat people look down upon anime fanatics so he decides he wants to be popularinstead.  This, of course, has to bepaired with Doohon verbally, and physically bullying those he can with theBONUS of sexually assaulting Yumin. Later, thanks to Jaerim, Doohon learns the error of his ways andapologizes to Yumin and returns to accepting his own anime nerd ways.  When Doohon is hesitant about starting arelationship with Yumin after all the unspeakable shit he put him through theytreat it as Doohon OVERTHINKING things because Yumin immediately wants to hopon his dick again.  In most situations inthis story they treat bullying as serious and fucked up.  However when your crush does it, it’s fine!HAHA!

Ugh

Next I’ll talk aboutAyeon and a character I’ll call aDONTis like Adonis but….DON’T HAHA! …Okaythat’s not very good but neither is this blog SO IT’S FINE!

Ayeon was a chubby guy who was infatuated with the shinning,gloriously attractive Adontis.  Ayeonasks Adontis out and Adontis responds with some of the most disgustinglyhateful tripe I’ve seen in a BL manga.  Adontis says how he should know better than to treat those lesser thanhim with kindness because they get the wrong idea.  That he’d never date an ANIMAL a PIG likeAyeon and that he is so disgusted at the prospect he can’t even finish an applethat Ayeon gifted him.

Damn! What a good antagonist for this story most readerswould think.  However all hope is lostwhen reminded that this is a BL story.

Adontis later finds out there is this cold but hot dude whodoes archery and throws himself in wholeheartedly into trying to bang him.  Why yes that is Ayeon after he lost weightand Adontis not only doesn’t realize this but he never does and is never calledout on his previous treatment of Ayeon. Adontis is a hyperactive brat, whose obviously stalker antics are playedoff as cute and endearing.  Ayeon ishesitant and already has a dude who treats him well as a love interest.  However Ayeon eventually succumbs toAdontis.  Ayeon acknowledges that Adontisis objectively a shallow, hateful fucker but like AYEON IS A SHALLOW PERSON TOOBECAUSE HE IS GOING TO GO OUT WITH ADONTIS FOR HIS LOOKS ALONE TOO!  I’m glad they accept that this is actuallykinda crappy situation.  However this hasthe effect of equating “A human monster” and “Someone with no spine” on thesame level of crappiness.  A bully and avictim are not equally terrible.

If you think so, just swallow a handful of lit M80s please!

Also their bonus chapter makesAyeon a slutty cat-boy for reasons and Adontis cheats on Ayeon just to test tosee if it’ll make him upset or not.  Idon’t like the other couples but this one is fucking sprinting to get to thebottom.

TL;DR

Never Understand is like His Favorite except darker and way worse and actually not like His Favorite at all.  The art is fine, Jaerim is decentbut the rest of the characters are pretty unlikable, and the story borders onstupid to repellent.   The upside beingthat (at least in the main couple) if a seme does something crappy they’llacknowledge it as bad and he’ll actually apologize for it.  Otherwise don’t waste your time.  I’ll never understand, never understand.