#I always was imaging him being about 14

[ladyylavenderrr]

This has always been a big source of mystery for me when reading A Stitch In Time and there’s tons of contradictory information. In some parts, Garak describes himself as a grown man, in other parts he’s described as a kid. Some students in his group have not gone through the brunt of puberty yet (developing their ridges) which implies a younger age, and Garak is old enough to have developed a semblance of sexual interest, but he also does come off as naive regarding that topic in some ways (that comment about not understanding what his teacher meant by female students being a distraction didn’t read as a joke to me, though maybe you interpreted it differently) I’m just curious what age range everyone was envisioning when reading this book.

Reblog for a bigger sample size and maybe tell me why you picked your answer in the notes or replies. Thank you :-)

[longing-for-rain]

This one conversation between my dad and a friend of his always sticks with me.

My dad was talking about this time when we were on vacation and really needed somewhere to pee, so we went into this random bar and asked if we could use their bathroom. I was 12 at the time and just remember everyone in there being really nice (especially since it was noon and hardly anyone was there).

But later I come to find out, it was a gay bar. My dad was retelling this story at dinner to his friend. It was a family thing; I was probably around 22 by that time. It really struck me then, the way my dad talked about it. He talked about how uncomfortable for him it felt to be there. It wasn’t like anyone was hitting on him or anything. But just being in an environment, surrounded by people he knew were attracted to him and could be sizing him up…he said that made him feel uncomfortable and objectified. He said the skimpy posters of men in speedos in the bathroom made him feel like that too.

It really pissed me off. I didn’t let it show, but I asked him this simple question: “Dad, did you ever consider that how you felt in that gay bar is how I feel every time I step into public, as a woman?” He had absolutely no response. He was completely taken aback by that consideration.

Because it’s true. I’ve been catcalled since age 14, probably earlier without knowing. I’ve lived my whole life knowing that a lot of men—who I am absolutely disgusted at being seen/touched by too, by the way—are constantly looking at me, constantly thinking sexual thoughts about me, and constantly undressing me with their eyes. Since I was a toddler, I have been bombarded with images of airbrushed models in bikinis advertising things as simple as toothpaste to me. And I considered it normal because of how frequently it happened to me and how it was expected of women to accept that kind of treatment.

I’m not saying my dad is a bad person. But men in general have no idea how it feels to be raised under conditions like that and the psychological damage it does to you. They fundamentally do not understand and probably never will. And yet they still think they have the right to speak over us whenever possible.

[sparrows4bats]

Runaway Damian AU

This is from a reply I got yesterday.

I've written before about Damian running away from Bruce, but what if he runs away from Talia?

An eight year old Damian, after the year of blood, looks at a baby Goliath after he had wiped out an entire species and cries.

What he has just done is so antithetical to the virtues his grandfather expuses. The tenants of stewardship that was meant to be the core of the League.

It was a horrible thing, a dishonourable thing he had just done. All on his grandfather's orders.

How could mother and grandfather talk of protecting the world while orchestrating a genocide?

How do they preach of ensuring peace of the world while perpetuating cruelty? Against the innocent, against animals, against him?

There, in that cave, Damian Al Ghul realised that something was deeply wrong with everything he was raised to believe and that maybe being a failure in the eyes of the Al Ghul was correct.

Maybe it was better not to be an Al Ghul at all.

So Damian grabs the last of the Dragon Bats and runs.

He is too much of a coward to confront his mother, never mind his grandfather. If he is lucky, they will assume he has perished.

Mother will greive him, Grandfather will find another heir. If he were braver, better he would return to the League, try to change it as its prince, but Damian is a child that doesn't want to hurt anymore, doesn't want to kill anymore. Two things that are required for the future demon head.

Damian and the newly named Goliath make it to a village after a day of walking.

Damian has very little money, no food, and no plan. His running away was impulsive, but if there is one thing Damian is good at, it's surviving. He works odd jobs, lies to strangers, and begrudgingly accept their kindness.

He dodge those who are a little too kind for fear they try to reunite him with his family. He ignores their worried looks.

He and Goliath move on every few weeks for fear that the League will catch up with them.

The dragon bat grows quickly, guarding his owner.

He learns much in his time wandering and truly starts to understand how wrong his time in the League was. The world deserves to be protected but not in the image of one man.

He travels through forest, mountains, and desserts. It's only after months of wandering that he has a destination in mind.

The little boy manages to smuggle his way onto a boat eventually and stowaway until they reach the US.

The League is always a little more cautious in America due to yo the large number of hereos in the country. It'll provide him more safety.

He settles in Metropolis eventually, the city free from his mother's allies. He makes a new identity, Damian Steele, and raids old League cash reserves for funds.

He finds that not many reputable people are willing to hire him, so Damian puts his mother insistence on a finance education to use and invests what he can once he builds a laptop from savaged parts. Sadly, between feeding himself and Goliath, he doesn't have much left over for housing.

Sleeping on the street is nowhere near the worst thing he has ever done.

He gets by like that for months. Unnoticed but at peace. Goliath and him keep each other safe. Damian finds a home with the Strays of Metropolis. Cats, dogs, even raccoons flocking to him as he offers them food and company.

He even joins free courses online for school, testing out of most of US high-school and onto university.

His stocks rise, and he has enough to buy an empty warehouse under a shell corporation so he and his animal friends have somewhere safe and warm to sleep when the winter comes.

All in all, it's not the life of a prince, but Damian finds he enjoys it. He is about 14 by the time his routine changes.

The problem comes when someone tries to take him hostage in a hairbrained scheme to taunt Superman.

Damian fights back, sword and dagger in hand before the hero even arrives.

A very confused Jon Kent has to wrestle a heavily armed child about his age off of Brainiac. The kid hisses at him as he grabs him by the collar.

He looks at the bleeding villain, who is now unconscious and decides the stranger with the sword takes priority.

"You're safe now! Where are your parents? Is there someone I can call for you?"

The boy glares at him and remains silent. Jon sighs. The boy is not filthy or notably neglected, but Jon can see so many healed injuries with his x ray vision, and the boys hair has grown into his eyes.

Whatever is happening here, Jon doubts it's good. Just as he is about to ask more questions, the boy manages to twist his entire body midair and cut the fabric the super holds him by.

Jon goes to grab him again, but the boy flips over his arms and sprints into the darkness. Jon is about to follow when Brainiac wakes up.

Superboy decides to find the mystery boy with the knives another time.

Damian makes it back to his warehouse and decides to avoid the overly bright hero at all costs. It does not work as Superboy makes it his mission to track him down.

Thus starts a very frustrating game of cat and mouse. Damian abuses his training and access to a dragon bat for quick escapes from the annoying kryptonitian.

Superboy corners him one night on a roof top.

"Isn't it your bedtime?" Damian spits, trapped and tired from the constant game of hide and seek.

"What about yours?"

Damian glares, "You have to have parents for that sort of thing." It comes out sadder than he meant it to.

Jon reels but decides not to press that particular point. He knows a lot of orphans.

"Well, it's nice to actually hear you speak after all that, What do I call you?"

The boy sighs, "Damian."

Jon grins "Okay we're friends now!"

"No we're not."

The boy of steel just laughs.

After that night, Jon finds Damian more often, and slowly, the other boy opens up to him. He meets Goliath and goes to the warehouse that Damian has renovated it into a livable apartment, though it is covered in animals. It quickly becomes Jons favourite place.

His new friend is so kind and smart. And so beautiful with his long hair tied up and pretty green eyes that sometimes Jon can't breathe.

Not that Damian needs to know that.

Jon should probably tell his dad about Damian, but he has been sneaking out to see the other boy for months and doesn't want to be lectured.

He convinces Damian to stop crime with him after he reveals just how skilled he is. He even goes so far as to pick out Damians' hero name, Flamebird.

They do this for about a year before Superman catches on. Jon is honestly surprised it took him this long.

The man of Steel walks in on his son, stopping a bank robbery when he is supposed to be off planet.

"What on earth are you doing?! Your mother is worried!"

The robbers freeze at the elder Supers appearance.

"Dad!"

"Don't Dad me! You have school tomorrow!" He scolds only to stop when he spots another teen with a katanna beside his son, clad in a black supersuit and mask with orange highlights.

"Who is this?"

"Da-"

"Flamebird, pleasure to meet you, Superman." The young man introduces himself politely, hand outstretched.

Clark shakes his hand flabbergasted. He looks over at a blushing Jon. "You gave him a kryptonitian name?"

"He deserves it!" His son pouts.

Clark sighs. "Both of you are going to explain everything right after we sort this out!"

The boys nod uneasily.

They stop the robbery, and Damian takes father and son to the warehouse. The army of pets surround Jon and Damian as soon as they step inside. Damian makes them tea as he tries to explain.

Clark is less than impressed by Jon hiding so much from him and is horrified by Damians' story and living situation. The ex assasain refuses to live on Kent Farm, though.

Clark does accept that there's very little he can do about it now, though. Going by how Jon clings to his friend separating them will be impossible.

He is still grounded for a month.

Flamebird and Goliath become the new members of the Superfamily.

When they are both sixteen, Damian has enough of waiting for the kryptonitian to work up the nerve and asks Jon out instead.

The Super blushes and squeaks out a yes. Damian teases him, but Jon shuts him up with a kiss. One Damian happily returns over and over again.

Clarks pointedly does not ask his son why he wasn't home that night, but he does give both boys The Talk.

Kon falls over with laughter when he hears.

Nightwing finds out about the new hero from Clark and goes to bond with his new name partner. He comes to enjoy the cranky little gremlin and decides to introduce him to Bruce at some point to see if the Bat will resist adopting the teenager.

Damian only warms up to Grayson after he teaches him acrobatic moves and helps him feed his Strays.

It is all going well until Clark is kidnapped. All of the supers, including Lois and Damian, mobilise to beat up Lex Luthor. Only to come face to face with the Justice League.

Everyone ends up at the Watchtower afterwards, where Batman interrogates the strange hero that fights like a League assassin.

Superboy does not like this, and Nightwing backs him up. Flamebird sits with the two men behind him, all three staring down an increasingly annoyed Batman.

Jon scoops his boyfriend onto his lap when he starts talking about the year of blood and his training at the League of Assassin's.

Damian answers what he can, and when he reveals that he is Talias son, Bruce has a sinking feeling.

He runs a DNA test as soon as he can, Dick makes sure to be there when he gets the results.

He laughs at a panicking Bruce. "You won't even have to adopt this one! And he's a hero already! Is vigilantism genetic? Is the adoption addiction? Because the kid has a lot of pets!"

"Shut up."

"You and Clark are going to be in laws!"

"SHUT UP!"

[softlymellow]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 13

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 5k !!!!??!?!?!?

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to SWTCW, some angst some fluff TW PHYSICAL/MILD SEXUAL HARRASSMENT

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

"Jealousy in Jedi robes."

The conversation went on, politics and more politics. The senators spoke amongst themselves while you shifted weight between your feet. Anakin did the same, though he had a rather hard look on his face, his Adam's apple bobbing every minute or so. Padme, Bail and Monian seemed quite eager to discuss the political agendas of the night.

You stayed quiet, letting the words pass you through one ear and out the other. It wasn’t until you felt Monian shifting closer to you, his face leaned in. 

“You don’t wear silence well,” he said, low enough that only you could hear. 

You gave him a side glance. “It’s the only thing I’m allowed to do lately,” you snorted. 

He chuckled softly, “they should let you speak more often.” He brought his glass up to his well trimmed beard. “I’m rather keen on your thoughts on the shifting trades.”

Across the circle, Anakin spoke. “You never struck me as someone who was interested in politics.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, looking at him as if you were back in the training arena. “That’s because you were never listening.” 

The air tightened. Padme blinked, her shoulders still. 

Monian had a rather bemused expression, “the way I see it, a Commander would know plenty about politics,” he said lightly. “The Jedi are a separate body from the Senate. Different ideologies” 

Anakin turned to look down at Monian directly, him being much taller than the Senator. “Real Jedi don’t abandon their lifelong principles so easily,” he said in a low tone. 

“I must be in rare company. Her every move, every breath, says more than half this room’s senators combined.” Vale turns to you, his mouth curling. “I admire honesty. Especially when worn so…effortlessly.”

You didn’t look away from Monian. 

Anakin didn’t either. 

His mouth barely twitched and his arms were crossed. You knew that look. It was the kind before he would snap. Before he did something reckless. 

But he didn’t speak. 

His silence spoke a thousand words. 

And for now, you smiled. 

It wasn’t only Anakin that was silent but rather Bail and Padme too. Monian’s compliment lingered in the air for far longer than needed —entirely too public. 

Bail cleared his throat, “Senator Vale,” he began, his voice measured. “You have always had a way with… words.” 

Monian chuckled, “is it a sin to speak the truth?”

Padme tilted her head. “Sometimes moderation is needed,” she said gently, her eyes flickering to you for a second.” Before Padme could continue, another woman came up to her —presumably another senator– and whispered something in her ear.

Taking the opportunity, you shifted your stance so that Monian’s presence was no longer suffocating. Anakin’s eyes followed every movement made, his eyes sharp. 

Padme nodded, brushing her hands down her gown to smooth it out as the lady finished talking to her. 

“It’s nearly time,” Padme said to the circle. “If you will excuse me I have to get ready to say my speech. I’ve been asked to make a keynote address.” 

“Good luck, Padme.” Bail encouraged a politely smiling Padme. Padme, nodded her head to Bail, and then to Vale, and then to you. She then turned around with Anakin trailing behind her.

The group began to disperse their ways as the main event had begun. The lights had dimmed slightly, indicating the start of policy talks and the never ending diplomatic speeches. 

Monian stood beside you at the bar, murmuring something to the bartender who placed two clear drinks down between you. 

“They only serve these at Republic events. Can’t let the Senators get too drunk.” He shrugged. “Ruins the image.” 

You gave him a faint smile, taking the drink in your hands and bringing it slowly to your mouth. The smell of steriliser hit you in an instant and it began to sting you while it made its way down your throat. Immediately, you pulled it away, a scowl on your face. 

“How could you drink this?” You cleared your throat, your hand rubbing your neck in disgust. 

“I quite like the burn.” He smiled into the rim of his drink. 

“Or the aesthetic.” 

“You wound me,” Monian said as his hand dramatically clenched his chest, then taking another sip. 

You didn’t respond. To be honest, you didn’t have to. Monian would always fill the silence, refusing to let it hold. 

Sure enough, his commlink chirped. Monian sighed, a hand through his slick back chestnut hair. “They want me back at the platform. Padme is speaking soon.” And then he took another sip. “They want the crowd photogenic, I suppose.”

You snorted, leaning against the counter. Monian set down his glass beside you and began to adjust his blazer. 

“How do I look?” 

“Overconfident.” 

Monian shot you a smirk and then, he reached out to you. And his hand rubbed your forearm lightly. 

“Don’t disappear.” And with that, he pulled away and was gone. 

You were alone feeling the burn of his touch on you. You shifted uncomfortably, your back against the bar. 

You watched as he disappeared into the sea of politicians that turned their heads, ready to listen to Padme speak. 

His touch sat on your skin and you couldn’t wipe it off in public. 

Voice’s began to quiet down and laughs died off as Padme’s voice filtered through the speakers — clear, calm and rehearsed. The hall’s lighting had dimmed down with Padme being the center of attention. 

You barely heard her though. You didn’t belong here. Even in the dark you couldn’t miss the glances that some people gave you when they thought you weren’t looking. 

You shifted your weight, turning to face the orange lit bar, ready to down the rest of your drink and tune out when a shoulder brushed yours. 

You flinched. Expecting to see Vale again. The discomfort still there. 

But it wasn’t him. 

It was Anakin. 

“Anakin,” you muttered, startled. “You scared me.” 

Looking up at him made your stomach twist. His hair was slightly tousled, like he had run a hand through them one too many times. And his scar under his eye just caught the warm lighting to make him look more rough. 

“I wasn’t trying to.” He spoke in a low tone. 

You didn’t say anything, only turning so your back was again pressed against the bar. Both you and Anakin watched Padme in her grace and political shine speak. 

Anakin’s jaw clenched. 

“He’s bold,” he finally said, turning his head to look at you. 

“Who?” You asked innocently. 

“Vale.”

You let the silence stretch just so he could feel it. 

“He talks to you like he knows you.” 

You turned to meet his eyes. 

“You’re not exactly in a position to be jealous,” you added softly. 

“I’m not jealous.” He defended himself. The conversation between you two were quiet as Padme’s voice boomed across the hall, neither of you wanting to gain any attention. 

You smiled into your glass. “Sure.” 

Anakin’s robes brushed against your arm, sending a shiver to run down your spine. 

“You shouldn’t let people like him touch you,” Anakin muttered. His eyes glanced down at your drink and then up at you. You felt the heat in his eyes. Like he was trying to decipher every one of your actions but failed to do so. If he looked at you long enough, maybe you’d crack. And it took every part of you to try and not. 

You blinked once. “I wasn’t aware that it was any of your business.”

His jaw shifted. “I’m not saying that it is,” he looked away from you. “He gets real close for someone who only needs an escort.” 

You scoffed and gave him a half laugh, setting your glass down behind you on the counter. “I could say the same thing about you, Skywalker.”

Anakin’s eyebrow rose at your tone. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t left Padme’s side at all tonight.” You shrugged.

“That’s my job.”

“Exactly.”

Anakin stayed silent and met your eyes. “It’s different. I mean what I said,” he muttered. 

“About what?”

“Padme. There’s nothing on.” 

You tilted your head, “Right. That’s why you answered her comms mid convo with me. That’s why you’re guarding her alone tonight.” 

“I answered because it was protocol,” Anakin’s stare tensed. “And I’m guarding her because I was assigned to it. I didn’t volunteer to do this.”

You didn’t answer. He stepped a little closer to you.

“But Monian?” He continued, his voice dropping low and rough again. “He chooses to touch you—talk to you like that.”

“...and we must not allow wartime to cloud our judgement and values of the Republic that we all serve…” Padme’s voice rang out again. You pursed your lips, your hand tighter around the glass. 

“I think you’re smarter than that,” he said, his figure towering over you. “To fall for his act. He’s not just an overly annoying Senator but he’s interested in the way you look.” Anakin averted his gaze away, as if he was shy to say something like that. 

Shaking your head, you brought one hand up to stop him from continuing. “Okay, Anakin, that's enough. I didn’t ask you to lecture me on how I should act.”

Anakin didn’t blink. 

“And we’re not together,” you said, coldly. “Unless you want to debrief me on something mission-related, I suggest you keep walking.”

His mouth hung open as if he wanted to say something else–but he didn’t.

He knew you were right. 

“...You could’ve said something earlier,” he said quietly. “Back in the medbay. If you didn’t want me around.”

“I didn’t say that,” you replied. “Just stop trying to act like you still—have this claim on me.” Your voice grew. 

You picked up your glass, bringing it back to your lips. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I think you’re better off tending to Senator Amidala.” Your gaze was locked onto Padme who began to descend from the stage, a roar of claps and cheers were made. 

Anakin didn’t move. 

He just stared at you. 

Like he felt this ever growing desire to protect you and it ached him to see the way that you pushed him. No longer embracing his warmth like you did before. 

Eventually, he turned away, 

And walked back into the waves of cheering Senators. 

He left like he had tension boiling under his skin. Your fingers curled tighter around the drink. 

The applause began to fade and Senators began to shuffle around, Padme’s speech already dissolving into the night. It was all noise—the kind that would just pass through you. 

You felt tired. 

Maybe Anakin was just looking out for you but not after everything he has done. You didn’t know if you wanted to rekindle the relationship. It seemed that his methods to gain you back failed every single time. He wasn’t treating you like a friend anymore. He was just treating you as his enemy and now his pet. 

You made a mental note to talk about this with Obi-wan. 

The four of you were once inseparable —Ahsoka included. God you missed her. She would definitely be teasing you over being assigned a silly mission like this one. 

And then footsteps broke your train of thought. Monian returned and slid beside you, a lopsided smile like he hadn’t just missed the verbal skirmish between you and Anakin. You fought the urge to groan and get away from him. 

“Is he always that subtle?” He asked, watching the crowd. 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you felt your stomach twist. 

Monian leaned closer to you, “the Jedi.”

Your gaze flicked up to him. “You mean Skywalker?”

“If that’s what we’re calling him tonight.”

You sipped your drink, not wanting to respond. 

“I always thought Jedi weren’t allowed to get…involved.” His tone changed to a more curious one. “That kind of closeness—it’s forbidden, isn’t it?”

You sharply turned to look at him. “He’s not involved.” You snapped. 

“Could have fooled me.”

You sighed. Dreading the night and its problems. You just stared at the reflection of yourself in the glass. 

“It’s not like that,” you said quietly. 

“You didn’t deny it.” 

Your jaw clenched. 

“There is nothing, Senator Vale.” 

“Doesn’t mean you don’t want him to be.”

You scoffed, your head moving in a sharp moment to look at him. “Really? You ask a lot of questions for a Senator.” 

Monian shrugged. “I don’t pry, but I want to understand.”

You gave him a long look. 

“You want to understand the Jedi Code?” You asked.

“No,” he said. “I want to understand you.”

Staying silent, you began to bite the inside of your cheeks. There was no room between you two and you wanted to escape far away from him, from Anakin and from this event. 

“Then don’t ask about my personal life. I’m here on duty.” You managed to come up with. 

There was a pause between you two. It wasn’t heavy, but present. It was a lot quieter in comparison to the rest of the room. 

And suddenly, a droid came up to the both of you. He was metallic in colour and just taller than you, holding a tray of appetizers. 

“Excuse me,” the droid gave a small bow. “Would you like to try? It’s Nuna cuts glazed in Chandrian sweet-rose syrup.” 

“Oh! Don’t mind if I do.” Monian Vale took a serving for himself and eagerly placed it in his mouth. 

As it touched the tip of his tongue and then into his mouth, he suddenly groaned loudly in delight. 

“Mhmmm.” He chewed on the meat. “You have got to try it, Commander.” 

You shook your head ‘no’ to both the droid and him. 

“Very well,” the droid said before walking in. 

“Wow.” He brought his fist to his mouth, gulping down the meat. 

You stayed silent and watched ahead, Senators taking a plate of their own and piling it with their own choices of food. You never really had the privilege of eating such luxurious food as a Jedi. It was sort of part of their code. Delicacies often lead to greed and gluttony.

You straightened your back. 

Then Monian, softer. 

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” He said, his excitement for the food quietened down. “The things we don’t say. The things we pretend to not feel because it’s cleaner that way.”

You hummed in agreement. 

“Since you’re not a Jedi anymore,” he continued, his voice lower. “What is stopping you? From anything you want.”

You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely asking, or if was still suggesting your relationship with Anakin, or if he was instituting the idea of you and a Senator. 

You shuddered at the last thought. 

“Who said I want anything?”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Everyone wants something.”

“Okay, Senator…” You shifted away from him. “I think you’ve had too much to drink tonight.”

Monian then laughed, his fingers moving to scratch his beard. “I’ll be at the food table you sweet thing,” he said, stepping back. “If you need someone to talk to—who doesn’t wear a cloak.” Before you could respond, he brought his drink up high towards you and then walked away with a prideful smile. 

You watched his back disappear once again in the crowds. 

And finally you let yourself breathe. Not one that was relaxed. But rather the heavy, slow breath that hurts a little. 

You stood still —straight— just as you had been trained, but your muscles felt weak. 

Your eyes drifted to her again. 

Padme. 

Her gown shimmered as she moved. She had this sort of unmistakable Naboo elegance in every breath she took and every word she spoke. She belonged here. Her words held weight. She could smile and be heard. 

You weren’t like that. You had scars. You were rough around the edges. You didn’t have a royal lineage that backed you. 

And yet, it felt like he had chosen her. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was the loneliness. She was just a shadow he clung to when you were away. But either way, she was there, and you weren’t. 

You didn’t feel glamorous. You weren’t supposed to. You were just a weapon hidden in silk. The kind of girl people could admire from afar but never stayed for. 

You used to think that being loved by Anakin meant being understood. 

But now? You weren’t sure he saw you clearly at all. 

At one point, while Anakin stood by Padme, his arms behind his back like a soldier, his eyes flicked in your direction. But that’s all it was. 

Eventually, the crowds began to shift again. Speeches ended. Plate sand glasses clinked. Conversations began to run loosely as the alcohol would settle in. 

The music from the band began to slowly die, some Senators would sing along with a few off-key lyrics. Some passionate diplomats were still discussing trade routes, their flame never letting out. 

You had made a few loops around the hall since then, you needed action but you weren’t going to get any here. Perhaps in your benefit, mend-gel still applied onto your wounds. Monian had tried to pull you into more conversations, but you had politely declined every time. 

You made your way to one of the arching balconies, your hands gripping the railing, the cold biting at your skin. 

Speeders floated by like sparks in the dark night. 

You inhaled. Exhaled. 

And for a moment. You wondered what it would be like to just jump. Not to die. Or to fall. But to vanish. 

To disappear into someone —or something— that was never claimed by the Order, by Dev or by him. 

Senators began to drift out in pairs behind you, laughter echoing faintly down the hallway. 

It was time to leave. You turned away from the balcony and made your way to the lift, pressing a button and the doors hissed open. You stepped inside along with a couple unknown Senators. The lift buzzed and you felt your weight drop as it began to fly downwards. 

An individual beside you cleared their throat while another kept giggling to themselves quietly, probably too tipsy. 

Once you finally descended, the lift opened and you stepped onto the ground. Making your way out, your eyes scanned the courtyard until you spotted Monian. 

Monian’s eyes met you just as fast and you offered him a courteous nod. 

“I’ll walk with you,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to get ambushed by another senator.”

You gave him a tight smile. “I think I can handle myself, Senator Vale.” 

He waved his hand in front of you, “Oh, I don’t doubt that.” He began to walk with exaggerated grace of someone trying very hard to not look drunk. But his left step had the slightest drag, giving him away. “Sometimes…It’s not about handling. But being seen.” He leaned in closer to you, his lips curled in amusement. 

“Uh huh…” You nodded, not interested in his antics. 

You both began to walk down the path, Senators outside chatting amongst themselves, others bidding goodbye and some calling for their taxis. Laughter was heard into muffled distance 

That was when he did it. 

His arm slipped around your waist. 

Tightly. 

Casual. 

Confident. 

Like it belonged there. 

Your body froze but your legs kept walking. His arm felt cold yet it burned around your waist. You tried shifting away, subtly but polite. 

It was still there. 

You brought your hand up to your belt, pretending to brush it off. Hoping he’d take the hint.

He didn’t. 

Instead, his grip tightened around you. 

“You really should learn to accept compliments, Commander,” he murmured. “And attention. You’ve earned it…” His lips near your temple. 

“Senator.” You warned, your left hand met his hand around your waist, pushing him away but he didn’t budge. 

“You’re crossing a line.” You hissed. Your voice barely a whisper but your eyes burned. 

You caught the attention of a passing politician –just for a second. A woman dressed in a red dress that sat above her knees. Her gaze lingered. A frown. And moved on past you. 

“Am I?” He slurred. Too pleased with himself. 

“Let me go.” You snapped, your voice dangerously low. Your heartbeat quickened as you felt his thumb brush against the fabric of your waist, your ribs still in pain and now aching from the pressure of hands. 

“Don’t be like that,” he said quietly, he was so close to you that you could feel his breath reek of alcohol. “People are watching.”

“I know they are, which is exactly why you should let go.”

He leaned in again and whispered in your ear. 

“I’m doing you a favour,” he breathed. “Perhaps people will stop seeing you as a Jedi or a soldier. But as a woman.” He said to you as if he was doing you a favour. 

You wanted to take your blaster from your belt and point it at him. But all you could do was stand there— your fingers gripping his own and struggling as he began to push you back. You cursed as he began to use his other hand. 

“Take your hands off of her.” 

The voice was loud. 

You knew it the second you heard it. 

Without warning, Anakin snarled and pushed Monian back. He stumbled over his feet, his grip finally free from you. 

Monian paused and regained his balance. “Ah. Predictable.” He brushed off his clothes as if Anakin’s touch was dirty. “Jealousy in Jedi robes,” he mocked. 

You stepped away from Monian and drew closer to Anakin. Your body screamed with relief with the broken contact but your jaw stayed set. You weren’t going to let Monian think that he had gotten to you. 

Anakin stayed silent, his deathly stare never leaving Monian. 

Monian raised both his hands in mock surrender. “Easy. No harm done.”

Anakin stepped forward with you by his left and Monian straight away. 

He was there, like a wall. Towering over both you and Vale. 

Anakin then turned his head just slightly towards you but he didn’t look at you.

“Go wait by the corner.”

You didn’t move. Your hands were still shaky from what had just happened but our eyes moved between both Anakin and Monian. But the way he said it felt more like a command rather than a request. 

You nodded and inhaled, stepping around Vale, keeping your back straight and your chin high. You didn’t look back but you felt it. The Force rippled like waves. 

“Touchy for a Jedi,” Monian casually said. 

As soon as you were out of sight and you couldn’t see him, Anakin moved. Fast. 

One hand shot out and gripped Monian by his collar, shoving him back against the marble wall. Monian froze, his breath hitching. Anakin;s face was inches from his face, his teeth clenched. 

“You think this is a joke?” He seethed, low and brutal. “You think you can put your hands on her and walk away with a smirk?”

Anakin’s cloak fell slightly from his shoulder while his other arm pressed hard against Monian’s chest. 

“I should break your nose.” Anakin spat. 

Monian swallowed and gave him a glare of his own. “And here I believed Jedi weren’t supposed to get emotional.”

Anakin’s expression didn’t shift. 

“Get angry and make threats.” Monian added, his words clinging to the only thing he had left. “I could report this. Chosen one or not, you land a hand on a Senator and the Council won’t be able to save you.”

Anakin’s grip tightened, his knuckles turning white underneath his gloves. “Report with what?” He hissed. “Your drink-stained shirt? Your slurred words? Or maybe–” his gaze flicked to the corner of his eyes “---the three Senators watching us now? The same ones who watched you touch her.” 

Anakin didn’t budge his grip, just like how Monian didn’t let go of yours. 

“They look concerned,” a bead of sweat finally slid down by Monian’s temple. 

“Good.” He said. “I can answer to the Council once I’m done. Can you say the same for what you just did?”

Silence. 

Anakin let his words hang in the air as Monian continued to struggle against him. 

Then, Anakin abruptly let go, his hands fell back to his side and he stepped back. Monian clutched his shirt like he could straighten it and his pride at once. Anakin didn’t say another word. Not wanting to spend another second with trash like him.

He turned around and began to speed walk in your direction. To the only thing that had tethered him to the Temple in years. 

You. 

Anakin turned a corner and found you there standing alone by a window. The moons of Coruscant casting a night glow on your face. One of your hands continuously rubbed your forehead in anxiety. 

Your eyes snapped up as you looked at Anakin. 

“Did he do anything else before I got there?”

You exhaled and Anakin took a few more steps towards you, his eyes scanning your distraught face. “You shouldn’t have caused a scene.”

“Answer me.” His voice had more weight. 

You tilted your head down. “I handled it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You finally looked up at him, your arms tight at your sides. “What do you want me to say, Anakin? That you were right? That I was too stubborn to admit it?”

He stepped closer. 

“I want to know if he did anything more.”

Your throat tightened, tears pricking at your eyes. “Why does it matter?”

His jaw clenched and fire burned in his eyes. “Because if he did–” He stopped himself from continuing. 

“You would’ve killed him?”

He didn’t answer. 

Because you both knew the truth. 

His jaw twitched and his hands stayed clutched at your side. He was fighting himself. 

Finally–

“If he had touched you again,” Anakin began, his voice low. “I wouldn’t have just embarrassed him.” Your lips parted to say something but you couldn’t. It was the truth. It was his honest truth and you knew he meant it.

You turned away, your arms brought up to your chest as you looked over at the city. The lights all blend into one. 

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said quietly. 

“Doing what?”

You sighed, “thank you, Anakin. Truely. But… Showing up like this–” your hand waved. “--Acting like you get to—” you stumbled over your words. “Like I belong to you still.”

Anakin took another step closer to you, enough to begin to feel his warmth. 

“I don’t think you belong to me,” he said. “But I won’t let anyone treat you like you’re their property.” 

Your heart thudded in your chest. 

“I can take care of myself,” you whispered. 

“I know that,” he said. “Believe me, Y/n. I do. But I’m not going to stop trying to protect you because you don’t want me to care.” 

You breath caught. 

“You shouldn’t care.” You murmured. 

Anakin took another step closer to you, too close now. You fully turned to face him and was met with a look of concern in his eyes. 

“I can’t.” His voice barely above a whisper. So soft that it felt dangerous. 

The silence was deafening. It was both heavy and tense. Mixed with emotions you couldn’t ignore. 

Your mouth opened but nothing came out. 

His eyes stayed on yours, unblinking and sharp. 

You couldn’t speak. Not when his hand was so close to your waist, like Anakin had to physically restrain himself from wanting to pull you close and burn the air between you. 

But he didn’t. Because even now, he knew how close was too close. 

And still…he moved. But barely. 

Just a tilt of his head. A shift forward. 

You weren’t breathing anymore. But you felt his warm exhale brushing on the corners of your mouth. 

The space between you two had narrowed to only inches. It was close. Not close enough. 

Anakin’s gaze flicked down —once— to your lips and then back up. 

“You’re not shaking,” he said, his voice low. “Not like before.”

“Just barely,” you managed to breathe out. 

It broke something in his face and mouth fell open like he might say your name but he didn’t. 

“Tell me you don’t want me here,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Say it, and I’ll go.”

It wasn’t a demand. It was a plea.

You blinked at him. No words came out. They couldn’t. You wanted to but you couldn’t lie. Your body craved him, missed him. So you didn’t say anything. 

His breath grew soft against your lips, both your bodies tethered to the floor. Neither of you moved forward. Not back either. 

Your head didn’t dare move unless he did first. And Anakin did the same. As if both of you were testing the currents. 

Then—

A quiet shift of the force. 

A whisper of silk. 

“General Skywalker.” 

Anakin flinched and his breath hitched just slightly. 

You turned to look at the voice. Padme stood, poised and unreadable. Her hands were clasped in front of her gown and her posture was too straight. Her eyes took in everything. Everything. 

“Senator,” Anakin cleared his throat, stepping back half a step, as if he was caught in the middle of something forbidden. To which he was. 

Padme’s gaze flickered to yours for a second and then back to Anakin. 

“Forgive the interruption,” she said, “but the Chancellor’s office is requesting a report on this evening’s security presence. I was informed you were both still on assignment.”

Still on assignment. 

Right.

Anakin’s jaw was tight, “understood.” He didn’t look at you and not at Padme either. His gaze was directed at the floor. 

Padme nodded. “I’ll walk with General Skywalker.”

His breath hitched, barely. Anakin looked over to you. His eyes searched yours like he was waiting for you to stop him. 

But you didn’t. 

Your throat tightened. 

And then—

“I’ll see you around,” he said softly. Like he wanted to promise you but didn’t know if he had the capacity to keep it. 

Then, quieter, almost to himself, “...Goodnight."

Like nothing had happened. 

He stepped back, he was forcing himself to. He didn’t want to leave but his own duty was pulling him away.

And he began to walk away, not before he glanced back at you, just once. His silhouette retreated into the night, Padme’s dress and his own robes brushed softly against each other. 

You stood there alone. 

What had just happened stung your skin and your soul.

It still burnt. 

A/N: THIS WAS LONGGG YALLLLL i hope u guys like it as always hehe also when i put a gif of aotc anakin i hope it doesnt confuse u guys its set in the clone wars 💔this whole padme thing will be explained dw guys plz mwa

And not proof read guys there’s probably some mistakes 💔

LMK WHAT YALL THINK!

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms @hiphopdancer101universe @starfire21 @devotedlypaleluminary @miksxz @lacherrysouldy @lotushzl @biddycums @wandasblacknails @moonixlity @icanmeltanigloo @isntthatsweetiguessso @kiyotofish @balsalmic-vinegar @thereeallink @sylusisbae @queenanababy

if u want to be added or removed lmk! Pls if u want me to be untagged u can msg me privately don’t be shy I feel like a lot of the earlier tags had no idea the series would be this long 😭😭😭

[northopalshore]

Jupiter in the

Midheaven persona chart

Jupiter in the Midheaven persona chart tells you about what people adore & respect you for most for i.e your biggest influence in terms of your professional or public appearance. The degree or sign it's in may also tell you what about your career that is revered or celebrated. All content seen here was accumulated through my personal observation. Please do not copy my work ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔฅ🔉

Masterlist| MC Persona Chart masterlist | Venus persona chart masterlist

🪷 Aries (°1,°13,°25) | 1st House

Your rough & tough personality, your no bullshit principle of life & that brazen attitude of yours is what people respect most about you. While some may sugar coat their lives and experiences to make it look pretty or more tolerant, you don't. You're loud, proud & take pride in your ways/experiences and what you've been through. People will respect your struggle and will to survive however you did. Or even just by saying or doing shit nobody else will do. You are raw & truly show yourself as is (albeit quite boldly even if sometimes you share.. too much). You are proud of yourself & do not filter your personality for anything or anyone & that's what people respect. You're a do-er, and most times actions do speak louder than words.

Ex: Cardi B has Jupiter Libra (°13 Aries) in her 4th house. I think she's a great example to give. You definitely see how her fans respect her authenticity & her flaws. Though some people see her as "loud & annoying" those that pay attention know that she's more than that. She's authentic, sweet & can call out bullshit/unfairness when she sees it. She's also vulnerable with her fans & in interviews. She's also notably a mother and has been very outward (sticking to it) on that in recent years.

🪷 Taurus (°2,°14,°26) | 2nd House

Your confidence, sense of responsibility & humility is a highlight of your public image. You may also be very vocal about self love or women's rights & people really connect with that. Your opinion is highly valued , and that groundedness you possess easily allows you to reach people. People find it easy to trust you & depend on you. People also respect you for your ability to put out the right words to move them, or even just move yourself! You are resilient and smart, especially when it comes to expressing yourself through the things you have. People with this placement also make great business owners (& may be respected for that as well). This placement is also good for writers & artists (those that are in journalism or where they speak/write about real experiences) in terms of reputation.

Ex: Namjoon is well known for being the leader of BTS. He has Jupiter (°14 Taurus) in Scorpio the 6th house. Aside from his leadership position in BTS, he is also a man with a good down to earth image. Didn't he accidentally create a "core" what was it. Namjooning? I heard that he wasn't fond of it though; because it felt like he was being commercialized for his lifestyle almost. I've seen some clips of interviews where Namjoon would always hold down the fort for the rest of the guys. He's also known for that mature sensibility he has. His thoughts are also very (aside from the freaky side of him heard through his music lol).

🪷 Gemini (°3,°15,°27) | 3rd House

People adore you for your voice or your writing. Your entertaining personality, your sense of humor and your ability to vocalize your intentions well. For that, people think you are smart and funny. You ask deeper questions, and challenge the people's thoughts/opinions. People adore how well-read & knowledgeable you are! Those with these placements usually are writers, actors or educators (or their job requires them to work with words, teaching or putting their thoughts out there). People adore the things you share or say/ write & even just how you talk in the professional world (under public perception)If you are an actor, you'll find that your lines are quotable due to the fun or catchy quality it has. While Taurus's words are based on experience & gut feeling, yours is based on intuition & research most of the time.

Ex: Marilyn Monroe has Jupiter (°22 Capricorn) in Pisces 3rd house. Though people did mistake her for being the dumb blond stereotype, she was in fact a very intelligent & progressive thinking woman. Especially considering the 50s were still extremely conservative. She has earned a lot of respect for both her beauty & brains.

🪷 Cancer (°4,°16,°28) | 4th House

People find you very emotionally intelligent, and find a lot of comfort within you. People may see you as a mother or a female figure (or just a comforting presence) in their life. They adore how despite the pain or tough experiences you've been through, you still remain kind, generous and open to other people. Being strong in your own way. People also adored your femininity, and reassuring energy. You are not afraid to be emotional, to share your feelings and that vulnerability and people respect you for that. Also, this can make people emotionally invest in you as well or connect with you emotionally. Makes people very fond of you too from what I've seen.

Ex: Markiplier has Jupiter in Cancer (°1 Aries) in the 11th house! Which explains his deep connection with his viewers and reputation for being a softie (there are lots of videos of him crying while expressing his love & gratitude for his supporters). I remember stumbling on one of his older videos in the past, I can't remember the title.. was it I believe in you? Or you can do it? Whenever he opens up, it just feels comforting. You get that intimate feel & know it's coming from the heart. Why? That Aries degree is a no bullshit degree (which also explains the big brute/act first think later tough guy part of him as well that equally adored).

🪷 Leo (°5,°17,°29) | 5th House

You are most respected & likely also adored for your endurance. Aside from your looks, aesthetics and sex appeal of course. Leo's original traits really shine with this placement, you are able to take a lot of pressure & hits and still come out stronger than ever. No matter what industry you are in or what you do for a living, people may look at you as a source of inspiration or "model worker" due to your independence, practicality & creativity. Even in the most mundane job ever, you do it best or give it your all and people can see that.

Ex: The best example I can give you for this placement is Taylor Swift. She has Jupiter in Leo (°2 Taurus) in the 11th house. Aside from her genius lyricism, you cannot deny that what she's MOSt respected & adored for is her positive, resilient nature. People used to talk a lot of shit about her in the past though she did have her own right to a couple crash outs, but in the end she always found a way to get through it & come out better than before.

Also, Christian Yu has Jupiter (°3 Gemini ) in Leo hehe~ if you're familiar with DPR, you'll know. Please look him up! This manifested a bit later for him in general, even though it was definitely there before; it's like redoing things that you've done in the past & giving it new life. Which to me explains that retrograde of his.

🪷 Virgo (°6,°18) | 6th House

Your humble personality, your regime, your hard work & long-term efforts is something that you will gain a lot of respect for. People see that you are one with the things that you do, mind body and soul. Nothing that you do is made for the sake of fun, but rather to achieve something & that is very commendable. You are a perfectionist, and often become the people's support i.e the person everyone runs to for help or advice. People respect how trustworthy & reliable you are. When your assistance is needed, you will always show up or at least show them the right way to do it. Expect to see this pop up in the charts of self made individuals, those that actually deserve their place wherever they are (& quite possibly deserve more than that too). The only downside is that you might get overworked, because you're the person everyone runs to when they need something. If people lose track of what to do, they just hand it over to you lol.

🪷 Libra (°7,°19) | 7th House

People often admire you for your charming, fair personality & looks. It's your agreeable attitude when going about life and how you carry yourself when it comes to your presence. You are the type to "do the right thing" a lot and have a good sense of morals & do not tolerate injustices. Surprisingly this shows that you are more attached to activism ( which is usually seen with Aquarius but not this time around apearantly). Your romantic nature, your love life and sensuality is something people adore or respect about you. In some way, it's your pursuit or romanticism that charms people your way. You could also be respected because of your connections with certain people; your company, business, contract, or even literally your marriage/spouse.

Ex: Prince is a prime example for this in my opinion. Jupiter (°27 Gemini ) in Libra the 4th. His rendezvous with the women he adored also contributed to this adoration as he is not shallow or artificial when it comes to love, sensuality & expression. He was a smart, man with a purpose; there was weight in the things he said & not to mention he knew/mastered how to play multiple instruments & different sounds/genres. Sometimes different genres in the same album or same song! I think he will forever remain iconic in that sense. Many people were fond of him and connected with him on both an intellectual & emotional level and that gained him a lot of respect. Purple Rain is still a sexy staple! Trust me, just watch the musical & you'll get why he's perfect for this example!!

For that spouse or connections part (because hell no am I calling him attractive), there is no better example than Jay-Z . He has Jupiter in Libra (°26 Taurus) 2nd house. I know he's most respected for his business & brand. & ehem, he's literally married to BEYONCÉ wtf. Both of them are powerhouses and that only elevates people's adoration/respect for him. Aside from his very interesting connections (who were also, in fact influential in their own way regardless of their controversy o course). You can't deny that he is a brand that will never leave the celebrity world.

Kim Kardashian has Jupiter (°15 Gemini) in Libra in the 2nd house . Out of all the Kardashians, she has the most iconic lines in the family. She's also a proud woman, a business woman & has been studying law since 2018. Despite her controversy, she is still respected for her eye for business & her powerful connections and just her as a brand. Also, she was most noticeable as Kanye's wife (or rather ex-wife at the moment). She definitely did the right thing ngl.

Guess who also has this? Jungkook. Hah. He has Jupiter (°12 Pisces ) in Aquarius in the 7th house. He is mostly associated with BTS for a large portion of his life & that part will never leave him even if they no longer produce music together in the future. That's part of his legacy. Though, you can expect to see him with his wife in the future but working in a different way (not really leaning into how he did it before) I don't think he'll be "on stage" much after marriage but present in a different way. Side note, but I thought it was funny how both he & Cristian Ronaldo have almost the same Jupiter placement; Aquarius Jupiter (°7 Libra) in the 12th.

🪷 Scorpio (°8,°20) | 8th House

You are most adored for your powerful presence & untouchable energy. In some cases, this could be tied to rap or raw sexual charm. You have a very addictive personality and ability to make anything a "hot item". People may think that you possess a very exclusive energy as well and being able to be in your circle makes them feel lucky or better by association. This placement could mean your ability to be bold (dgaf energy), influence, rap or "control" over something often leaves people in awe of you. You are a force to be reckoned with & people know that. People with this placement change the game in any industry they are in while many others respect it, you also gain very passionate haters/jealousy as well.

Ex: Both Jennie Jupiter in Capricorn (°8 Scorpio) 12th house & Beyoncé Jupiter in Scorpio (°1 Aries ) 10th house (Beyoncés updated birth time), have Jupiter in Scorpio/Scorpio degree. Both are undoubtedly amended for their powerful stage performances and hypnotizing influence over their respective industry.

Michael Jackson & I have the same placement for Jupiter (°20 Scorpio & °8 degree respectively) in Scorpio 4th house! MJ is a power house when it comes to his career. He had the ability to make anyone & everyone obsessed with him. That power, drive & energy gained him word-wide respect. Also he is known for being a sweetheart, with an innocence rarely ever seen in the industry & always had a love for children and childlike innocence (Despite it biting him in the ass later due to controversy). People adored him for that strong stage presence and kind personality.

As for me, well. You'll see!

🪷 Sagittarius (°9,°21) | 9th House

You are most adored and respected for your diversity, your creativity in storytelling & ability to branch into a wide range of professional fields/skills. People do not only associate you with one position; as you are usually a multitasking genius! Also, people respect you for your ability & drive towards advocating rights, issues and hypocrisy. You reconceptualize what others may have misunderstood & took lightly to. Activism, speaking out against exploitation & supporting social causes. This is what people respect most about you.

Ex: Melanie Martinez has Sagittarius Jupiter (°5 Leo) in the 12th house. She is most respected for her unique artistic vision, creative control, and ability to blend music with storytelling. She thrives in tackling deep themes, builds immersive worlds (through Crybaby's perspective), and stays true to her individuality/brand/vision. In all of her songs, there is always a message intentionally made to reach out to those that need it.

🪷 Capricorn (°10,°22) | 10th House

People adore you most for your talents and dedicated attitude towards your career. Like Jupiter in Aries you do not have a single bullshit bone in your body, and people can see that. People have a lot of respect for you and how you handle yourself in the professional world. Your business and strategic planning/management is something people see and admire most about you. You just know what to do i.e what's good for your image & you are very careful with how you present yourself. In other words, you know the game & how to play it.

Ex: Megan Thee Stallion has Jupiter in Capricorn (°3 Gemini) in the 2nd house. She's funny, relatable, down to earth but still holds herself & her self worth high. She's confident & smart too people and people love how she is not a quitter. She sticks to what she says & she says what she means!

🪷 Aquarius (°11,°23) | 11th House

Your unique, genuine (true to self expression) appeal & aesthetic has a way to pique people's interests. Something about your work has that distinctive flair that people associate you with. Like if you are in the music industry , it's the blend of sound that you use. If you're an artist, it's literally your art style or the exclusive pallet that you use. You have the ability to influence trends and subcultures on the internet. People love how you act the way you want and stay true to your desires & thoughts no matter what industry you are in. You also tend to challenge the norm when it comes to how a person of your status/stature should behave. Can translate to many different scenarios, from a DMV attendant being quick with their work or an older teacher acting lively & enthusiastic even though her coworkers have all lost their spark.

Ex: The best example to give is Lana Del Rey with Jupiter in Aquarius (°10 Capricorn) in the 5th house. She inspired the Sad girl/Americana Tumblr girl aesthetic back in the 2010s and had a lot of people on a chokehold for that aesthetic. Something about that vintage cinematic charm & classic Hollywood aesthetic just bodes well with the internet. Even in recent years, she was the main influence for the "Coquette" style due to her coquette-esque music. Her music is also undeniably a stand out when compared to other musicians of the time. That juxtaposition comes from her brazen attitude (& heavy smoking) despite having such a sweet angelic or ingenuous appearance/energy in her songs.

Also, note that she has a Stellium in the 11th house in her MC PC (Venus in Cancer, Mercury in Leo & Mars in Leo) which heavily contributes to that as well.

Know who else has this placement? Jungkook. Surprised? No.

🪷 Pisces (°12,°24) | 12th House

With Jupiter in this placement, people adore your dualism & mystical appeal. No one really knows what you're up to or what your intentions are behind the personas they see, but you always have a way to make people curious about you. Your sweet, shy personality also makes people fall for your charm quite easily. Your art & aesthetic is the most "eye-catching" point of interest in your career (in whatever industry you may be in one way or another). There could be a haunting ingenuity that comes with it or Venus-like influence as well. If you are a programmer, people love the depth that your work can accomplish along with the compelling cinematography. Your career/reputation could be related to spirituality as well. This makes people feel very connected to you.

Ex: This is a pretty out of place example compared to what I usually give, but Charles Manson has Jupiter in Scorpio (° 18 Virgo) in the 12th house. He is an infamous cult leader who had a lot of charisma (which inevitably helped grow his already manipulative influence). Now, I don't think it's actually something to be "respected" but he is quite famous for that trait of his. I know some freaks look up to him for that. Which really, reaaally shouldn't be the case. That Pisces -Scorpio combination is just power given to the wrong hands.

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🔍 Additional note

For those of you wondering if the Midheaven persona chart works the same way as the Ascendant Persona Chart, no it does not. They are vastly different. I've explained in my Ascendant Persona Chart guide & observations post about the latter but essentially; The MC PC entails your grand scheme reputation or public image (which is often tied to your career but not limited to)

While the ASC PC concerns people's perceptions of you on a personal level. In that post I mentioned, I like to say it's how your natal placements are seen through other people's eyes.

Thank you for reading ♡ support?

@northopalshore

@northopalshore MC persona chart 2025 all rights reserved. Disclaimer

[jsooly]

taken in by the sullys (7) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, you catch up on some home videos of you and jake while he was human, much to the delight and fascination of the younger sullys

thank you to @ashton-trashton for the idea!

+ can't wait to write the rest of your requests! enjoy this while i continue writing death in the family! <3

(1) / . . . / (6*) / (7- ur here! ☆)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

2165 (you were 14 years old)

as you grew older, you had more questions about the past

jake wasn't too happy with that, especially when you started showing interest in the memory of your birth mother

he was never misleading with you, though, and answered any question you had enthusiastically

he always knew you would be curious eventually, but to experience it just meant you were growing up... and possibly away from him

he's jealous

he just loves you so much and gets sad thinking about the future, one where you might not be as close to him as you were as a child

"why do you always get that look on your face when talking about her?" you swung your legs back and forth on the stubby rocky ledge near the river.

the quiet hum of the passing water didn't reflect the whirlpool of confusion within you. you would solidify your identity in your adolescence, a task that would prove difficult among your kind on earth, much less on pandora.

jake rested his arm beside you, leaning as he watched the younger ones play in the water. "what look?"

you scrunched your face, mimicking the way he cringed whenever you brought her up. jake chuckled softly at your impression.

"you've always been my baby. it's hard for me to think of you as someone else's." jake explained, picking a leaf from your hair and tossing it to the side.

you pondered on that idea. his statement would have irked you a while ago. you weren't his biological daughter, a fact that startled you when you were old enough to understand the weight of it. equating it with being an orphan, a burden to jake and neytiri, you stewed in turmoil for years until they loved the doubt out of your mind.

"that makes sense, i guess." your voice tapered off, responding to show him that you were listening more than to contribute to the conversation.

jake huffed a short chuckle, pulling you into his side and nuzzling into your head affectionately. "don't worry too much about it. you're ours, since the beginning and 'til the end."

while you understood, it didn't stop you from searching for remnants of the past, a task that was easy since the sully kids were allowed to pass in and out of the avatar grounds freely

when kiri was a bit older, they started connecting her to grace via the video logs

on one occasion kiri spotted you in the background, your scandalous laughter followed jake’s playful voice

"look!" kiri's finger jammed into the LED computer screen, tapping furiously as if she wanted to direct your attention to the every pixel that contributed to your image. "tsmuke, tsal's nga!" (sister, it's you!)

you squinted, looking past grace in the foreground and spotting yourself and jake rolling around. a smile snaked its way onto your face as you heard the background chatter, vaguely remembering moments like these. "huh. that is me."

"we need to look for more." kiri said, her golden eyes set with determination. she grabbed your wrist and pulled it towards the keyboard, silently urging you to search the video log collection.

you chuckled, amused. "okay, okay! i'm looking." you relented, scouring the files for familiar dates or settings.

so many. you didn't even realize the extent of these video logs. each member of grace's team did one, often multiple times a day, and you were always there in some shape or form. it hit you that the first 3 and a half years of your life were largely documented on camera and you didn't know about it.

you started to go through them methodically, starting from the very beginning. most of them starred grace complaining about the higher ups for lacking the competence to allocate resources better, now that she's stuck with a child. but within minutes, she was speaking about incorporating you into her routine with a warmth and softness.

you cringed when you witnessed how maladjusted you were to the mountain lab. you were cranky all the time, aggressive with your caretakers, and above all, lonely and sad. grace and her team had duties to do, and for the most part 'took care of you' by making sure you had stuff to eat and giving you a book to read.

you didn't hold it against them. they did what they could to look after you.

you were parked in front of the computer for hours on end.

"uh, y/n..." norm peeked around the corner, a towel slung around his shoulders. "your dad's calling. wants you home."

"uh-huh." you drone, shaking the mouse to life and catching a glimpse of the time left for the log. you fought the urge to grit your teeth upon seeing the number. "i got two minutes left, i'll head out after that."

"okay, be safe. night night."

"night." you hummed, wishing the progress bar would fall off screen to prevent norm from catching that there was actually about half an hour left for the video. what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

time ticked by and it was as if there were a gentle hand easing your head towards the desk, weighing you down and down until you had the sense to shoot back up again. you rubbed your eyes roughly, blinking wide to force yourself awake.

it wasn't much help. you finally settled down against the desk—gravity must be stronger, since you couldn't find the strength to get up...

it'd be a death sentence to trek back home now. jake appeared shortly after as if he knew.

"y/n..." he sang softly, circling around you cautiously. any annoyance he had at the late hour vanished when he saw your exhausted face. he poked your shoulder.

"hm?" you sprung up, eyes still half-closed. drowsiness gnawed on your brain, and for a moment you forgot where you were.

jake chuckled, squatting beside you and supporting you from falling off your chair. you fell onto his shoulder, mumbling a half-hearted apology for not coming home on time. his eyes flickered to the screen as he took a breath from his gas mask.

"huh." his head tilted a bit when he saw his human self on the screen. it had been so long, he was starting to forget what he looked like; the pale skin, buzzcut, wheelchair... he didn't feel any regret leaving that jake sully behind at all. "why're you watchin' this, baby?"

you smacked your lips, your senses returning to you momentarily. "why, is it bad?"

"no, no. it's not bad, just..." he struggled to find the words. "we were dealing with some pretty heavy stuff, kiddo. fighting and all that."

you frowned, shrugging. "but you won, so it's all okay. besides, you looked pretty cool, dad." you hummed, directing his attention to his tattoos on screen. "can i have one of these?"

"absolutely not." jake scoffed, playfully swatting your hand away from the screen. "hurts like a bitch." he swore, then froze up. "uh... don't repeat that. it's a bad word."

"you've said bitch on camera, like, a hundred times already." you deadpanned. "and some other ones, like—"

"we don't gotta repeat 'em, baby." jake's mind reeled hearing you swear for the first time, the urge to scold you or laugh at you battling in his mind. the confidence and ease with which you cursed made him think it was not your first time swearing at all.

jake's amusement was far greater, so he laughed and pulled you into a tight embrace. "especially not around your mother, got it?"

his hug was like a warm bath on an early school morning, just a few seconds in comfort was enough to knock you out. you dropped like lead.

"got it?" he repeated, peeking at you in his arms and resisting the urge to squeeze you affectionately when he heard your soft breathing. he leaned back on his haunches, preparing to get up.

but the bright blue light of the video logs snared his attention once again. his own curiosity got the better of him. with a drawn out sigh, he fastened his mask around his face just in case he dozed off, and pressed play.

needless to say, jake was not successful in bringing you back home

leaving the lab was a challenge since you didn't want to leave without seeing the rest

jake asked norm to make a copy the log vault, for both you and kiri to watch

ever since then, you were addicted to it and pulled many all-nighters (much to jake's dismay)

it was even worse when the other kids gathered around, equally interested

"awww," lo'ak giggled. "y/n was so tiny!"

neteyam and kiri snickered alongside him. all you could do was roll your eyes playfully. seeing a human baby was a novelty for them, especially since they were the size of a toddler from birth.

"you mean is so tiny" kiri grinned, clinging to your back as she peered at the screen. "not much has changed."

"ha ha." you deadpanned, giving them a teasing glare, turning your attention back to the video.

"no, no, y/n. don't put that in your mouth." jake glanced off camera, his eyes anticipating your next movement.

you slurred some vowels together off camera, snapping back at him in your own way. he gave you a look. "i mean it, kid. drop it."

there was some shuffling off camera and jake sighed, his hand darting out to grab the pen from you, tossing it to the side. "you're interrupting my log here, you know." he huffed a laugh.

you walked towards him, bumping the camera off center, the view now askew. it caught jake's grin, his arms opening up to catch you and set you on his leg. "now, if you're gonna sit here, you're need to be quiet. grace will kill me if i don't get this thing done. okay?"

you nod, your eyes already trailing over all the new papers and equipment on the desk.

"okay." jake grunted, straightening the camera before sitting back in his wheelchair. his hand was firmly around your stomach, holding you in place before you had the mind to wander off and fall somewhere out of reach.

a smile tugged on your lips watching the scene before you. your dynamic with jake hadn't changed much; in fact, he was even more of a sucker that he often let you do as you please. you, like his other daughters, had him wrapped around your finger.

"it is... june 15th, 2154." he sighed, wracking his brain for what he learned and accomplished during his drive. "i went hunting with neytiri again—"

"he's talking about mom!" lo'ak gasped in realization, even more eager to pay attention.

"—she's been teaching me everything. how to move, to listen, to feel... it's humbling. even more humbling now that neytiri has chosen to take the 'learn fast or die' approach. the more my training is pushed deeper and deeper into the forest, the more i hear that i'm like a baby. every time i do something good she somehow misses it. but every time i stumble, she's looking right at me as if i'm hopeless."

jake ponders for a moment, his features set with a soft kind of... affection. "neytiri moves like the whole world bends to her will. she's... incredible." he clears his throat suddenly, startling you in his lap. you give him a weird look.

the sully kids exchanged uncomfortable looks as they watched their father pine after their mother in real time.

"ew." kiri said simply, her nose scrunching. neteyam and lo'ak nodded in agreement.

"incredibly terrifying." jake revised his previous statement, his gaze flickering to you. "you know she calls me a moron? skxawng." he laughed to himself, running his free hand over his face. "i hear that word so much, i'm starting to think it's my new name."

the camera caught you rolling your eyes.

"yeah, see?" lo'ak jerked a thumb at the screen, accompanied by a soft snicker. "even baby y/n knows dad's on some bull—"

"dad's what?" jake entered the marui, raising an eyebrow.

lo'ak scrambled behind you, kiri shoving him away from her place of refuge behind your back as neteyam rolled his eyes.

jake sat beside you all, grabbing lo'ak's arm and pulling him into a playful headlock. "you making fun of me, son?"

lo'ak burst with laughter, using all his strength to try and squirm out of jake's arms. "dad, let go!" he complained between giggles.

"we're just listening to how you fumbled with mom." kiri explained.

"fumble?" jake pursed his lips. with him distracted, lo'ak popped out of his headlock and climbed on his father's back. "i did not fumble your mom. half of you wouldn't be here otherwise."

"sure, it worked out..." you gave your siblings a conspiratorial look. "but dad, i'm sorry, you were such a loser."

jake gawked at you, blocking out the gasps and giggles from the rest of the children momentarily.

you laughed nervously before pulling up your proof. you scrubbed through the video. "here's where you start taking about mom," you fast forwarded 15 minutes. "look, you're still rambling about her." you skipped through the rest. "actually, you never stop going on about her."

"so? she was the only part of my day that i looked forward to, obviously i'm going to have a lot to say." jake retorted, rolling his eyes.

"for someone who doesn't tolerate idiots, she picked a big one to mate with." you said lowly, earning a grin from neteyam beside you.

"hey, i heard that!"

"are they bullying you, majake?" neytiri gracefully ducked under the entrance of the marui, baby tuk in her arms.

"mom, mom, you've gotta see this." kiri beckoned neytiri over. she shook your shoulders. "put it back so she can see."

you happily rewinded the clip as the whole family gathered around the computer.

jake bounced you on his leg to calm you. he was nearing an hour on video, and you were growing restless. and yet, he couldn't stop talking.

"she's terrifying in the way you'd wanna sit up straighter when she's around. which i do. a lot. she'd scold me otherwise. she scolds me a lot, actually. for the most part, it seems like i can't do anything right around her."

he shook his head, cringing with embarrassment. "i even tried to make her laugh today. worst decision ever. flew right over her head."

lo'ak snickered. "dad has no game."

"dad has lots of game." jake corrected, huffing. "your mother is just very difficult to impress."

neytiri smiled, cupping jake's face warmly. "don't listen to them, jake. you are my favorite loser."

the marui erupted with giggles as jake dropped his head down, shaking it in defeat.

every time you feel outcast or shunned, you returned to the video logs.

you knew jake had no regret for his human body. he thought it was broken and useless. he had always felt more alive in his na'vi body.

but for you, the images of the past were a great comfort.

present day

jake must have forgotten the log was running, because eventually he didn't acknowledge the camera or speak about pandora.

you were upset again. upset you were stuck in this narrow tin can they called a lab. you never bothered them—you learned it rarely got you the response you wanted. they were busy, working adults. they tried their best.

you were always a priority for jake, though. even if he did leave for hours on end, never once did he try to busy you with something while he did his tasks. more often than not, you were on his leg or in his arms while he was doing his logs.

he pulled you to his chest, patting your back as he hugged you tightly. "yeah, this place isn't exactly a dream for me either. i get it."

he sighed, chugging a canned energy drink before settling back down in his chair. "i know it sucks being on your own. but don't i always come back?"

he held you up in the air, smiling up at you. "don't cry, kid." he chuckled, wiping your cheeks. "you're making me sad, too."

you calmed down a bit, enough for jake to lull you to sleep.

he leaned back in his chair, shifting as he got comfortable to doze off with you. he yawned loudly. "it's you and me against the world, kid. promise."

the video froze as the log finished. you caught your dead eyes in the reflection of the dark screen, staring back at you. you shut the computer off as you hugged your knees to your chest.

the dried saline of your tears hadn't left your skin for hours. the only word bouncing around in your head was liar as you fought the urge to turn back on your promise to return for dinner. you didn't want to go back. you didn't think jake deserved a chance to fix your feelings so soon.

you weren't sure why you pulled up the logs in the first place. you were aware it would only grow your irritation. beneath it all, you were longing for the peace and comfort from your childhood. you found yourself back where you started all those years ago, alone and left behind.

. . .

thanks for reading <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce @strawbaerriesvt @avatar-lover @ryiana @lxon-kxnnedy @zukki33 @chalahyung01 @ssc7514 @shmaptainbonky

© jsooly ‘25

[sparklestormandsoda]

Hey bestie ..Okey so hear me out . Do you know that one episode of mlp where An old friend of Applejack's, Coloratura, has become a huge pop star and Applejack fears that the singer's manager does not have her best interests at heart .

Short summary if you don't know the full plot

Applejack helps organize the Helping Hooves Music Festival and discovers that the headliner, Countess Coloratura, is actually her childhood friend Ra Ra. But Ra Ra has changed a lot—now she’s a flashy pop star with a controlling manager named Svengallop, who micromanages her image and performances.

Applejack suspects that Svengallop is manipulating Ra Ra and confronts her. At first, Ra Ra doesn’t believe Applejack, but she eventually catches Svengallop mistreating others and realizes he’s only using her for his own gain. She fires him and decides to perform as her true self—without the gimmicks.

Could you maybe use that plot in kpop demon hunters x reader where the name is a super famous pop star or idol from north America and she's zoey old friend that's going on tour in south Korea.

They could maybe meet up cause of a planned collab between them and Zoey introduces her to rumi and mira and as they work together the girls begin to notice that Countess Coloratura(could be her stage name ) manager clearly taking advantage of her and using her name and fame to get what he wants while also intentionally ruining all the nice things she wants to do (eg maybe the money from her tour and part of her collab with huntrix was to go to school children that needed more/new instruments)

Also side note , They can be romantic or platonic anything works for me so long as you're comfortable writing this .

LMAOO ty for the short summary

this is such a cool idea tho

There was always a kind of hush before the chaos.

Not the kind that was quiet, exactly, but the kind where even the air felt like it was holding its breath. Seoul's skyline blurred past the black van windows, golden twilight splashing over glass towers and neon signs. Inside the vehicle, Reader sat still, perfectly composed, makeup flawless despite the 14-hour flight and the press that mobbed her the second her LAX plane touched Korean soil.

She’d smiled for every photo. Signed the poster shoved through the crowd barrier. Threw a wink over her shoulder just like Darren told her. And now, inside the bulletproof glass, her reflection was a frozen portrait of poise.

Except for her hands. Her fingers tapped an anxious, quiet rhythm on her thigh — four counts, then a pause. Again. Four, pause. The beat of a song she hadn't dared write yet.

"You're scheduled to meet the Huntrix girls in twenty-five," Darren said from across the van, flipping through his tablet without looking up. "Don’t say anything about the donation thing. It’s all being revised, and I don’t want it becoming a PR problem."

Reader’s fingers stopped tapping. "I wasn’t going to—"

"You always mean well," he cut in, finally meeting her eyes with that PR smile he wore even when no cameras were watching. "But let’s keep the focus on the music, yeah? Big collab. Cultural exchange. Dreams coming true. That kind of thing."

She didn’t answer. Not because she agreed. But because disagreeing was pointless. She simply turned her face back to the window and watched the city blur again.

It was always easier to stay in character.

The Huntrix headquarters was hidden behind a dance studio in Gangnam — unassuming on the outside, but pulsing with energy inside. Mirrors lined every wall. A training room sat behind a hidden door, cloaked with enchantments and charm runes. But tonight, it had been scrubbed clean of magical residue. Just a simple rehearsal space, lit warmly and waiting.

Zoey was the first to spot her through the glass.

Her jaw dropped, eyes wide with disbelief, before she bolted for the door. “NO WAY—!”

“Zozo!” Reader laughed, barely catching her in time as Zoey launched into a full-body hug, nearly knocking off her designer shades. “Still tackling people like we’re 15, huh?”

“You look exactly the same,” Zoey gushed, breathless and glowing. “Except, y’know, more famous. I can’t believe you’re really here!”

Behind her, two more figures appeared — Rumi and Mira, both in oversized sweats and dance shoes, clearly mid-rehearsal. Rumi gave a small wave, shy but intrigued. Mira simply leaned against the doorway with crossed arms and an unreadable look.

Zoey grabbed Reader’s hand and pulled her inside like no time had passed. “Guys, this is Reader — my old friend from that summer music camp in Vancouver. We used to harmonize under stairwells and steal bagels from the dining hall.”

“You used to steal,” Reader corrected with a grin, offering her hand. “Hi. It’s really good to meet you both. I’ve been listening to your stuff nonstop lately.”

“Likewise,” Rumi said, voice a bit breathless. She looked starstruck in a way that made Reader flush slightly.

Mira gave her a nod, then asked dryly, “You always bring your manager into the studio?”

Reader blinked, glancing behind her.

Darren had followed them in, already typing into his phone. “I’ll just be over here,” he said without looking up. “Monitoring.”

It was meant to sound helpful. But the room went a little colder.

Zoey covered the tension with a laugh. “Okay, rehearsal time! Let’s run through the first verse together. We already mocked up some harmonies for your parts.”

Reader nodded, slipping easily into work mode. She dropped her purse, pulled out her custom in-ears, and approached the mic like it was a second skin. Rumi cued the track. Mira counted them in. The room filled with layered vocals and tight harmonies, the song smooth and dreamy — something about finding stars in strange places, about bridges built across oceans. It was good. Really good.

But halfway through the first verse, Reader faltered.

Her line came in a beat late. Her voice cracked slightly, almost imperceptibly.

Darren looked up from his phone, frowning.

Reader cleared her throat and tried again. “Sorry. Jet lag.”

“No worries,” Rumi said softly, touching her arm. “We’ve all been there.”

But Reader noticed the way Darren’s jaw clenched. The silent look he gave her — not angry, exactly, but... disappointed. Calculating.

The rest of rehearsal went smoothly. Reader danced with them, sang in sync, laughed when Zoey forgot her lyrics. But the moment they called for a water break, Darren pulled her aside near the mirror.

“You cracked,” he said under his breath.

“It’s rehearsal,” she replied, wiping her forehead with a towel.

“You can’t afford slip-ups in front of them. You’re not a guest here — you’re the standard.”

Reader’s chest tightened. “It’s one missed line, Darren.”

“And it’s a week until your first Seoul show. The label’s watching. The sponsors are watching. You don’t get to be tired. Not now.”

From across the room, Zoey saw the conversation — saw Reader nod slowly, eyes dimming a bit. Saw Darren pat her shoulder like it was all just business. Mira saw it too. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t look away.

After rehearsal, the Huntrix girls invited Reader out for tteokbokki at a small street stall near the river.

Darren declined on her behalf before she could answer. “We’ve got a press call early. She’ll catch up with you girls later.”

As he ushered her toward the car, Zoey jogged up and pressed something into her hand — a small folded napkin with a scribbled doodle of the four of them as tiny chibis, each holding a mic.

“Keep this,” she said. “We’re your people too, now.”

Reader smiled. But her fingers were shaking when she climbed into the van.

Back at the hotel penthouse, she stared out the window for hours, the city glittering below like a spilled jewelry box. Her phone buzzed.

Zoey: “Hey. I know I’m not supposed to ask this but... was your collab budget really supposed to go to that school charity?”

She froze.

Zoey: “I just heard from the rep. They said the music fund got cut completely. But I remember you said—”

She didn’t answer. Her throat closed up.

Across the suite, Darren’s voice drifted from the adjoining room. On the phone, laughing.

“—no, no, she doesn’t even know it’s been reallocated. She’ll forget about it in a week, trust me.”

Reader stood perfectly still.

For the first time in months, maybe longer... she felt something ancient and wild stir in her chest. Not fear. Not defeat.

Something closer to fury.

__

Rumi noticed it first.

Not magic. Not aura. Just… the way Reader winced when she sat down. How she never really drank water. How her eyes flicked to Darren every time she spoke, like she was waiting for permission.

It was subtle. Calculated. Easy to miss if you weren’t trained to pay attention — and Rumi was.

The day it really hit her, Reader had just finished a killer run-through of their chorus choreography. Sweat clung to her skin, her breaths ragged, but she still managed a smile for the cameraman filming behind the glass.

Darren didn’t smile back. He tapped on his phone, then muttered something into his headset.

Not even a "good job."

Rumi watched the whole thing in silence.

Later that afternoon, Zoey pulled Reader aside during a break.

“Hey,” she said gently, “are you… okay?”

Reader blinked, startled. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re kind of… shutting down when he’s around,” Zoey said softly. “And I saw the look you gave when he canceled your dinner with the UNICEF girls.”

Reader’s shoulders stiffened. “That wasn’t really—”

“Reader.”

That stopped her. The way Zoey said her name. Like they were fifteen again, whispering songs into the dark, hiding out from thunder and stage fright.

Reader looked away. “He said it would be a distraction. That I should focus on the show.”

Zoey folded her arms. “Wasn’t part of this collab meant to fund music programs for kids?”

“It still is,” Reader said quickly. Then, slower: “...I think. At least, it was supposed to be.”

Zoey’s eyes narrowed.

“Darren told me it was all taken care of,” Reader added. “He said they didn’t want the campaign tied to me anymore. That it would be messy press.”

“But you wanted it,” Zoey said. “You were so proud of it.”

Reader’s lips trembled slightly. She bit down on them hard.

“I don’t make a lot of the final calls anymore.”

After rehearsal, Mira leaned against the studio wall, arms crossed, watching Darren bark orders into his headset as Reader quietly gathered her things.

“He doesn’t see her as a person,” she muttered to Rumi. “She’s an asset.”

“She flinched when he touched her shoulder,” Rumi said.

Zoey joined them, her brows furrowed. “She told me he rewrote the UNICEF donation deal. And she only found out when the rep emailed her directly.”

Mira looked like she was ready to throw something.

Rumi’s voice was quiet but firm. “If this keeps up, she’s going to break.”

Zoey nodded. “Not if we get to her first.”

Back at the hotel, Reader sat on the plush carpet in her suite, legs tucked underneath her, still in her rehearsal gear. Her phone glowed beside her, unanswered messages from press teams and brand reps stacking up like bricks.

She didn’t care.

The napkin doodle from Zoey sat in her lap — four tiny cartoon versions of them holding microphones, smiling wide.

She used to smile like that. Not for cameras. Just because something felt right.

Her fingers curled around the edges of the drawing.

A knock at the door made her jump. Darren.

“I need to go over some last-minute notes for tomorrow’s press call,” he said as he stepped in without waiting. “Also, I got confirmation we’re dropping the song with the charity chorus. They couldn’t guarantee you’d be the only featured artist.”

Reader stared at him. “That was the kids’ track.”

“And we don’t need your name attached to a choir. You’re the Countess, not a school volunteer.”

Her stomach twisted.

“That was the one thing I fought to keep.”

“Well,” he said, brushing lint off his sleeve, “sometimes we lose battles in service of the brand.”

She didn’t answer.

He moved toward her laptop, already opening files. “Anyway, let’s clean up the visuals for the Seoul show. Your new dress sponsor wants more leg.”

Reader stood up slowly. “Get out.”

Darren turned.

“I said get out,” she repeated, voice calm. Shaking, but calm.

He looked at her like she was a child. “Reader, I know you’re exhausted, but let’s not—”

“I’m exhausted because of you. You don’t let me breathe. You control my schedule, my image, my damn voice.”

He stared at her, surprised. But not afraid. Not yet.

“I want my name back,” she whispered. “And I want that donation back. I don’t care what deal you made. I’m not your puppet.”

Darren's jaw tightened, but he stepped back.

“This is going to be a PR mess,” he warned. “You think you’ll last ten minutes on your own?”

“I don’t know,” she said, picking up the napkin Zoey had drawn. “But I’d rather burn out as myself than shine forever as something you created.”

Downstairs, Zoey got a text. Reader: I think I’m finally ready to fight.

She showed it to Mira and Rumi without saying anything.

Rumi smiled. “Let’s help her do it right.”

__

The next morning started the same as any other press day.

Reader’s glam team swept into her suite like a breeze of hairspray and highlighter, buffing and bronzing while stylists zipped her into designer pieces she didn’t pick. Darren watched from the corner with a latte in hand, phone in the other, barking notes to the label rep through Bluetooth.

But Reader’s reflection stared back at her differently today.

Not “Countess Coloratura,” global pop star, darling of digital billboards. Not a manufactured product in rhinestones and perfection.

Just Reader. Tired. Angry. Awake.

And ready.

The press conference was held in a sleek glass ballroom downtown, packed with reporters, influencers, brand reps, and a few K-pop stars in the front row. The collab with Huntrix was being hyped as “The Cultural Bridge of the Year” — a symbol of global unity through music.

Reader sat between Zoey and Rumi, the table flanked by Mira and Darren at opposite ends like opposite poles. Only one of them was smiling.

When a reporter asked about the missing charity tie-in — the one that had originally been announced as the core of the project — Reader inhaled.

Time to lie, Darren’s eyes warned.

Time to shrink.

But Reader turned her mic on and said, loud and clear:

“It was never supposed to be removed.”

The room shifted. Rumi looked up. Mira sat forward.

“That partnership — with the Seoul Harmony Music Foundation — was something I personally pushed for,” Reader continued. “Because I didn’t want this collab to just be about numbers and media tours. I wanted it to matter. But somewhere along the way… that was taken out of my hands.”

A murmur rippled through the press.

Darren leaned toward her mic, cutting in with a polished chuckle. “What she means is that, due to scheduling conflicts—”

“No,” Reader said, cutting him off.

She turned to the cameras.

“What I mean is: I’ve been silenced too many times by people who were supposed to help me. Told what to wear. What to say. Where my money should go. But that ends today. I’ve spent too long pretending I had a voice when I didn’t. From now on, I speak for myself.”

Zoey reached for her hand under the table, gently squeezed it. Rumi smiled. Mira let out the smallest smirk, like, that’s my girl.

And Darren?

He just stared, slowly realizing the grip he had was slipping — and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do with all the cameras rolling.

The story exploded by nightfall.

Clips of the moment went viral on social media — #LetReaderSpeak began trending within hours. Fans flooded the foundation’s site with donations. Journalists dug into Darren’s prior management deals, finding a long trail of “burned out” stars with eerily similar patterns.

The next day, Reader’s label issued a statement: We support our artists' voices, and any breach of their autonomy is unacceptable.

Translation? Darren was fired.

The night of the collab performance arrived under a velvet sky.

Reader stood backstage, surrounded by Huntrix, dressed in the outfit she chose herself — a sharp white suit with silver detailing, no excessive shimmer, no showy hemline. She wore flats, not heels. No fake lashes. Just her.

“I still feel like I’m going to pass out,” she admitted with a nervous laugh.

“You’re not,” Mira said firmly, adjusting her mic pack.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Rumi added, squeezing her shoulder.

“And if you forget the lyrics, just flash the peace sign and pretend it was choreography,” Zoey joked.

They all laughed.

The lights dimmed.

The stage roared to life.

Reader stepped onto center stage and took the mic.

But she didn’t start singing right away.

“I used to think that I had to be someone else to deserve your love,” she told the crowd. “That if I wasn’t perfect — if I wasn’t shining — then I wasn’t enough.”

Fans listened in quiet awe, lightsticks swaying in silence.

“I let people turn me into a character. A brand. A product. But not anymore. This next song is for the kids we couldn’t help last month. And for every person out there trying to speak through someone else’s script. Tonight… I sing as me.”

And then, with Huntrix joining her one by one — first Zoey on backup, Mira harmonizing strong and clear, Rumi’s voice weaving beneath hers like a lifeline — Reader performed a stripped-down, raw version of the song that had almost been erased.

No dancers. No auto-tune. Just voice, and truth, and soul.

By the final chorus, the crowd was screaming her name.

Not Countess Coloratura.

Reader.

Backstage, after the curtain fell, the girls wrapped her in a tight group hug.

“You did it,” Rumi whispered, proud and teary.

“You burned the script,” Mira said. “And wrote your own.”

Zoey just grinned. “Told you we were your people now.”

Reader laughed into their shoulders, finally letting the tears fall.

Not because she was broken.

But because she was free.

sorry for js getting to this now - i was gonna do it earlier but i ended up grinding 99 nights and now its 2 am LOL

lmk if you wanted to be added to my kpdh taglist!

ya girls broke and living off of monster energy so anything helps- Buy me a coffee <3

kpdh taglist: @spookyanxiety, @forgetfulsmols,

[midnightsdarkangel]

Im back again with another theory lads, one I have wanted to share for a LONG time.

THE LACY THEORY, I hope you all enjoy following me down the rabbit hole. Im going over all the information I collected on the DDVAU server, All information comes from the public chat, the offical playlist and the double hearted comic. That being said Lets begin this:

So lets start off with the big question: What is Lacy? Most likely you wont know of it outside of the discord server, I wanted to wait till I had a bit more evidence and information to present before I showed it out but I think I have enough complied. So!

Lacy is the unoffical name of a ship that will appear in Double Hearted. It was first mentioned in regards to the DDVAU Playlist which has been said that each song will give insight either to the plot, or a character development. The characters involed are: Grian, Scar, Martyn, Jimmy, Tango, Pearl (and Gem now added)

Its described in the songs as a messy situationship. So far Marru has confirmed it has its own playlist with songs in order of a timeline. These songs are:

-Lacy by Olivia Rodrigo

-Footnote by Conan Grey

-The Ballad of Lucy Grey by Rachel Zegler

-It took me by surprise by Maria Mena

-Obsessed by Olivia Rodrigo

With this as well we have this Image (it is noted that Maruu edited this photo to make sure not to give away who the characters are. I was given permission to show as its in the server)

So. Who are these two?

I heavily believe its Grian and Martyn. But why do I jump to that so quickly? Lets start with the drawing first. A while back in one of the earlier livestreams, we got this image:

This takes place in college, and as you can see. Grian has much longer hair there. I was able to take the drawing and line up that the hair strands matched Grian's.

Also, @rebelrenee36 was the one to discover there was actually another image of this drawing from the top half. I wont be posting that one here but we did see enough to conclude that Grian was one of the people in the picture.

But then why did I think it was Martyn in the second image?

Major shout out to @coatree who brought the idea up to me which resulted in me being insane about figuring it out.

I want to take you all to a song called Unravelling- the crane wives. It was one of the rare few songs that got confirmed to a character and we were told it was a Grian song.

In unravelling, the verses talks about different people in Grian's life who had shown him compassion and love. But then theres this:

At the time I needed to make a process of elimiation on who this was, but chapter 20 has given me the answer:

Martyn was the one who left Grian.

Its still a bit farfetched right? Lets take a look at the playlist songs. We know that Oh No by Marina, is a canonical song to Martyn, and I was able to assess that Martyn has a very sort of ride or die risk mentality, and when you compare this to The ballad of Lucy Grey?

Danced for my dinner?

and the gamble line fits along the lines of the Martyn songs the server has managed to find connections to.

When I started this connection, I started to notice some things:

Martyn is STARING at Grian and Big B and I had always wondered why but now I start to wonder...was he jelous?

Then if we take the art from the phones you see in Grians lock screen he has this image:

Martyns hand is on Grian's shoulder.

(also its funny to me that Big B and Martyn share the colour scheme outfit but reversed)

Then we finally got chapter 14, Martyns introduction and what is he like?

He is genuinely concerned for Grian and I think the only time we see urgancy from this man because the second Grian is ok he is chill the entire time, and we KNOW that Martyn hasnt shown back in the captial for such a long time now

Its no surprise Grian was taken back seeing him return:

I want to note two things as well in this chapter that really helped me form this theory, first of all: Martyn's blushing

(mf isnt subtle IM LOOKING AT YOU SIR)

The second comes from this

THIS MF ABSOLTUELY HAS HISTORY WITH GRIAN.

Its the fact that he knew what Grian wanted without Grian ever having to say a word. These two defintiely have a strong bond, plus the fact when Gem asks if Grian is comfortable with everyone being in the room when Grian discusses his abilities he says yes. Yes to mumbo who is his best friend, yes to Jimmy his cousin and someone he cherishes a lot and Martyn.

He is comfortable not only showing his wings off but also discussing his powers, something that he has kept wraps from EVERYONE.

and then chapter 20....oh my god I wasnt prepared for this.

mf thinks about Grian before Grian even reaches out

2. i love how protective he is for Grian

3. Sparrows father, someone VERY protective of Grian, glares a lot at martyn, which funny enough remember who else gave Martyn a dirty look for being near Grian?

HIS BEST FRIEND MUMBO.

4.

GRIAN BLUSHES WHEN MARTYN COMPLIEMENTS (unintentionally) CUTEGUY. LORDD

There is defintiely more to this theory, we dont know why they broke up, why Martyn left but Its clear these two have history. I have so many questions that I cant wait to see with upcomming chapters.

And that is my insanity, thank you and goodnight.

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 14

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: In the calm of your new days of peace, you spend what time you can with Bucky, who's guarded as ever.

Warnings: Home sickness. Mention of injections.

Authors Note: Getting into post-traumatic domesticity. Please enjoy, comment, and be kind. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

“The moon landing was fake?” Bucky frowned at you from his seat on the bed. 

“No-” you snickered at his naivety. “I said people theorize that it was fake.” 

In the past few days, you had taken to explaining important events throughout history to Bucky. You had begun to question how much about the world he actually knew about. He explained to you that when he wasn't in cryo sleep, he was only out for a few days at a time. 

For him, the past few decades have been like blinking in and out of history.

“There's actually been six moon landings.” You explained. “So even if the first one was fake, there's been plenty more to make up for it.”

Bucky tilted his head at you curiously. “Why do people think it was fake?”

“Well, there's a few different reasons. Some people think the shadows are off, and that it must be a staged set. In the footage of the first men walking on the moon, they stabbed the flagpole into the ground-” you explained, waving your hands about. Bucky tracked the movements with his eyes. “The flag moves slightly, like there's a breeze. But there's no air on the moon.”

“So why did it move?” He squinted at you.

“There was a second pole sewn into the top of the flag horizontally, to give it a cinematic look for the images. Or at least that's what they say.” You explained, smiling at the ridiculous theories. “Honestly I have no idea if it was real, anything could happen- something I’ve realized recently.” You picked at the edge of the bed sheet that laid on the floor.

“I never thought there would be people to actually walk in space.” He muttered, glancing out the window. 

“Neither did I- and I was born after it was already done.” you chuckled. He glanced back at you, his lip curled in a slight smile. You tried not to show your surprise at the reaction. “You’re so old,” you blurted.

He huffed out a shocked laugh, shaking his head slightly. “I know,” he muttered. 

“So, what was it like? Back in the day.” You pushed, trying to see if it would be too far. 

“What do you want to know?”

“What did the sky look like?” You asked, your eagerness at his openness not hidden very well. “Modern light pollution makes it hard to see the stars. There's places with less light, and the sky is said to be amazing there.”

He blinked at you, not expecting that to be your first question. He relaxed a little, his shoulders slumping. 

“It was…” He hadn’t thought about it in a while. He hadn’t let himself think of the small things, the peaceful strolls at night, or the music festivals, or the trips to the bars with Steve. “It was brighter, I guess.” He nodded to himself. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it much, but it was clearer. You could see the smaller stars a lot better. Like freckles.” He explained.

You grinned softly, nodding along. “I think that’s one thing I would have liked to see, back then. People always talk about being born in the wrong generation, but I think I was born at the perfect time.” You told him, still picking at the blankets threads. “But I would have liked to see the world back then, the sky, the nature. I bet the ice caps were huge then.”

“People want to live back then?” He tilted his head at you. 

“Yeah, it’s a personal opinion people have. A lot of people miss older traditions, or the state of society back then. The politics, the economy. Or even just for the clothes. It’s something a lot of people talk about.”

Bucky squinted, chewing on his bitten lip. “Mm,” he hummed in acknowledgment. You could almost see the cogs turning in his head. You realized then, that he probably felt the exact same, in his own way.

The past was his home, and more than anyone, he probably wanted to go back.

But he couldn’t. He could never go and see his childhood home, or his family. He couldn’t go visit the places he used to, even if he was free to do so.

It was all gone.

“Do you miss it?” You whispered the naive question.

“I wouldn’t belong there, even if I could go back.” He turned his gaze back to the window. To the stars. To the sky that was once so familiar. 

To the one thing that hadn’t changed.

Bucky sat with his hands in his lap, his gaze lingering on you as you moved around him. “I guess it slipped my mind, with everything going on, but I should have checked a lot sooner.” You mumbled, stepping out of the bathroom.

“When was the last time you had a dose of the serum?” You asked, standing before him now. 

“A few days before Washington.” He told you. You glanced down at the crook of his flesh arm. 

“Any side effects? Muscle spasms, headaches, shakiness?” you reached a hand out. “Can I?” Bucky nodded, tugging his shirt off in response.

“No, no side effects.” He told you, setting his shirt in his lap. 

You took his arm and began gently pressing your fingers to his pressure points, waiting to see if he had the appropriate reactions. You moved up his shoulder to his trapezius muscle. “Any tenderness?” you walked your fingers down, then prodded gently between his ribs.

He shook his head, his gaze glued to the side of your face as you worked. 

You’d noticed his staring problem a long time ago. It used to make you nervous- and god does it still. 

“Okay, hold your arm out to the side.” You waited for him to obey. “I’m going to push down, don’t let your arm fall, okay?” He nodded in response. 

You placed an arm on his forearm, and one on his bicep. You tried a slight push at first- he didn’t even budge. You then pushed down hard. Once again, he didn’t even shift. Out of sheer curiosity, you tried with all of your strength to shove his arm down. Bucky watched, amused, as you put all your weight on his arm. 

Your feet left the ground for a moment. His arm acted like a steel pole. 

“Jesus-” you huffed, letting go. “You’re actually- I mean, wow.”

His lips curled at the edges in a soft smile. “Can I lower my arm now?”

You nodded, setting your hands on your hips. “Did you have to try at all?”

He shook his head, setting his hands back on his thighs. “No.”

“Well- that's great then.” You nodded, trying not to flush at your outburst of curiosity. “I didn’t think you’d fail the test- but it's a necessary one.” You gestured. “Usually, if someone’s muscles are degenerating, or even just concerningly weak, they can’t stop their arms from falling under gentle pressure.” You explained. 

He nodded, tugging his shirt back over his head. “So, does this mean your serum worked?”

You nodded, sitting back on the mattress. “I think so, but I can’t be sure. It could still just be a temporary fix. It could be working as an annual vaccine type of thing, so the effects might wear off after a while.”

He nodded, his metal fingers fidgeting absently on his knee. 

“Or it could be permanent. I’d need to run your blood and do some scans to know for sure.”

“I can accept that.” 

“I can’t,” you huffed. “I wish I could take you to my lab- or a doctor here- just something.” You grumbled. 

His gaze flitted to the floor. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky.”

He straightened, his brows furrowing. “Don’t be.”

“I just-” you pulled your knees up to your chest. “I wanted this to mean something.” The solemn feeling hit you quickly, washing over you like a bucket of ice water. You were taken to help him, and if you couldn’t do that, then it was all for nothing. Your life was upended, stolen from you, for nothing.

“It’s not your fault.” He told you, his voice softening. “I don’t care if it didn’t work.” Your gaze flickered up to him. “If I get sick, then I get sick. That’s not on you.”

“It’s not fair.” You tell him.

He tilted his head at you, his expression softening bitterly. “Nothing is.”

A/N: Hope this doesn't bore you guys. More stuff and excitement to come!

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983

[aspenscore]

Author: Aspenscore

Title: A Mania Of Joels

Creative Commons License: A Mania Of Joels © 2025 by Aspenscore is licensed under CC BY 4.0. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

Size: 384x512

(Really hoping the March 15 deadline includes March 15. I'm posting this before midnight on March 14 in my timezone, but it is already March 15 for Joel.)

Process TL;DR:

I've decided a group of Joels is called a mania.

My favourite part of Joel's season has been his many characters, as well as the Hermit Baths On Hermitcraft podcast, so I decided to combine those two things in this drawing.

This piece started as a bunch of sketches at work and took me about 20 hours to draw, plus an additional 8 hours fighting tech issues (including a crash that lost me the completed drawing (luckily I took this screenshot just before)).

Despite my struggles with that + screen rec software, there'll be a timelapse video of my drawing process coming soon on my channel!

Re: the title, I've decided a group of Joels is called a "mania" (like how a group of horses, for example, is a "herd").

One of my favourite things about Joel's season are all the fun intros and characters he's created, which inspired me to create something that showcases some of the main Joels we've met so far. I also really like the Hermit Baths On Hermitcraft (Another Podcast Hosted By A Straight White Male), so I figured the bathhouse would be the perfect place for a mania of Joels! I would've loved to include all the Joels, but by my count, there are at least 26 distinct Joels in this season so far, which is far too many Joels for me to fit in one image (and several of them are hard to distinguish based on appearance alone).

Since I could only include so many, I tried to choose Joels who are either recurring characters, or relevant to other things Joel has done in his videos. With that in mind, on this episode of Hermit Baths On Hermitcraft we've got Joel Who Asks You To Subscribe, News Reporter Joel, Bad Boy Joel (the statue counts as being in the season imo), Bartender (Horse Killer? :0) Joel, Officer Joel (RIP Detective Joel, would've loved to include him but it wouldn't be lore-accurate for him to be alive), Joel Who Totally Isn't Obsessed With Etho, Frogger Joel, Podcast Host Joel, and Singer Joel.

A few details I wanted to highlight:

News Reporter Joel always has a headline scroll bar with him. He doesn't know how or why. It's just there.

Joel Who Totally Isn't Obsessed With Etho not only has the Etho shirt on, but he's also in etho cosplay (headband) and has Etho face floaties (no idea where that came from but once I'd thought it I couldn't un-think it).

I'm most proud of Frogger Joel's outfit. He's got a froggy hat, frog crop top, lilypad shorts, and frog shoes with lilypad tops.

Singer Joel's kimono was originally going to have a pattern of symbols relating to Joel's season, but then I realized those wouldn't show up very well with the lowered resolution. The planned symbols included music discs, xp bottles, axolotls, slime balls, honeycomb, frogs, horses, glow squid, and glow berries.

Podcast Host Joel's abs are drawn on. Gem said it so it's canon.

Bartender Joel's vest is the same colour and pattern as that horse head...

And now for the process! I know a lot of you probably aren't that interested in it, but I spent a lot of time on this so I'd at least like to record my efforts.

This piece actually started on paper, because I work a lot and I knew I wouldn't have time to do the whole piece if I didn't at least do some advance planning during down time at my job. However, all I had at work was some scrap paper and a pencil (I couldn't even find an eraser the day I started this!), so I needed to find some way to get the aspect ratio correct without a ruler. While there were no rulers at work, I was able to find some mini origami paper, and since that's a perfect square, I was able to use it to replicate the sizing I'd chosen. I sketched out the general background layout, used two of those lines + the edge of another piece of paper to determine the vanishing point, then re-drew the rest of the background according to the point I'd determined. These techniques worked shockingly well, and when I scanned the drawing and checked my measurements in my drawing program, they were surprisingly accurate!

With the scan uploaded, along with a page of outfit design sketches I had also done at work, I ran into my next hurdle: screen recording software. To keep a long and agonizing story short, I draw on an old tablet that has very little storage, RAM, or processing power, so OBS + my drawing program were not an option. The drawing program itself doesn't have a timelapse feature either, so I had to go find another piece of software that would meet my needs. I even tried using my tablet as a third screen for my PC, which could absolutely handle the processing and storage needs of this project, but the latency was far too high for that to be a feasible option. Trying all of these options took at least 8 hours and at one point had the side effect of permanently messing up something on my main PC monitor that causes it to reset all its settings periodically (if anyone has any idea what's going on with that, I'd love to not have to re-do my settings every couple minutes or so).

My tablet's limited storage also resulted in me almost losing a portion of my footage, but you can rest assured that I've managed to save all of it, and if it's useable I will be editing it down into a timelapse + process video to upload to my channel! The video will probably include a lot of the information here, but hopefully it'll be a bit more interesting and engaging! (I was originally going to link the video here instead of writing all these paragraphs, but the drawing took so long I haven't had time to make the video).

Finally, after spending basically all of my free time at home during the past two weeks working on this drawing, I finished it just a couple hours ago.

I hit save.

And got an error message.

Storage issue.

Since the image resolution is intended to be reduced anyway (for minecraft painting, but also just how tumblr treats images), I grabbed a screenshot of the finished piece before my tablet crashed and rebooted. It saved some of my work, but not all of it, so this is now the only complete version of the piece in existence.

At the end of the day, I'm just glad I finished it on time and am happy with the final product. If you've read this far, thank you so much for your patience with my rambling, I hope you enjoy the final piece as much as I do. And thank you to Joel for creating such fun videos and awesome builds! I look forward to the rest of your first Hermitcraft season.

[simpxxstan]

to you (yjh one-shot)

pairing: model!jeonghan x f.reader

genre: friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst, smut (MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!)

summary: jeonghan loves to play cupid. he's thoroughly successful at it as well. you know it's just his incredible luck, and you can't wait for him to trip and fall. even if you'll be the first one to stop him from falling.

word count: 16.2k

rating: 18+

warnings: seokmin and joshua are sexually and romantically attracted to men in this fic(this is not meant to represent/imply anything from real life). infidelity (not by jeonghan or reader mc), heartbreaks, body image insecurities, bad familial relations, jeonghan comes from a rich family, slight love triangle between jeonghan and mingyu, jeonghan is slightly self-centred, joshua is a mean guy and breaks hearts. smut warnings: oral sex (m. receiving), nipple play, protected sex.

a/n: this fic is largely inspired by jane austen's emma. it's an amazing book so pls do read/watch the tv renditions (personally recommend the 2009 bbc version). if you are familiar with, you might think of this fic as somewhat from mr. knightley's pov. i've not kept the plot exactly same ofc, but there are a lot of similarities. hope you enjoy reading it! your feedback, likes and reblogs make my day <333

One fine morning, when you were busy harvesting the freshly grown radish from your backyard, a boy who was about as tall as you and had a mop of brown hair that made you cross because it was so unkempt, peeped from the other side of the backyard gate. He was waving at you, and had a bright smile on his face. 

“Who are you?” You asked, with as much courage as you could, for a five year old. 

“Hello! I'm Yoon Jeonghan!”

“Why are you here?” 

He stuttered, and pointed his hand to the big mansion that marked the otherwise quiet locality as posh, the landmark for all delivery people, and the pride of the neighbourhood. “I live there!”

“Yaah! You're not allowed here.”

“Why?” He pouts.

“I'm busy now. I can't entertain guests.”

“What are you doing? That's what I came to see!” He's smiling again. 

“Harvesting radish that I planted last month!”

“Really?! Wow! You're a farmer!”

You smile with a little bit of pride. “Yaah! How many rooms do you have in your house? Eomma says you have 10  rooms!”

“No…” he pauses, and you're hopeful that he'll just prove your mom was merely exaggerating. “There are 14 rooms!” He then continues, making you even more annoyed.

“Yaah! Then why don't you go live there! Why are you disturbing me!”

“You haven't even told me your name. Why are you being like a mean Ahjumma!” He whined and slapped the gate once. 

“I don't tell strangers my name!”

“Okay keep your secret name.”

“Yes. Now go to your big house.”

“I don't want to! I don't like it! I want to live in your house!”

You're really angry now. First he disturbs you, and then tries to steal your house too! “Yaah! You're a bad guy!”

“No! I really like cozy houses like yours.”

“But when I grow up, I want to live in a big house like yours.”

“No! I want to live in a house like yours. Cozy and warm.”

“You're crazy Yoon Jeonghan.”

He smiles sweetly, before making a tiny heart with his fingers, making you cringe. 

“Won't you let me in, friend?”

“You're not my friend.”

“Aaah…. Right. I must be your Oppa!”

“Oppa? Yaah!”

“What a rude dongsaengie, aigoo! How old are you?”

“I'm not your dongsaeng!”

“No! You are! I was born in 1995. You?”

You bite your lip when you realise you indeed are younger to him.

“Just because I was born in 1997 doesn't mean I'm your dongsaeng. You'll always be Yoon Jeonghan to me!”

He shrugged before giggling. “It's okay, dongsaengie. We can be informal like friends!” He throws another heart at you, and you cringe again.

“Now will you go home or will I call my mom to shoo you out?” Your hands are on your hips. 

“No! I'll leave then. Bye bye chinguya! See you tomorrow, Y/N-ie!”

You huff as you see him skip along the road and enter the gate of his-

Wait. Did he just say your name? 

_

And that was how, twenty years ago, you had met Yoon Jeonghan. And your friendship had stuck along, surprisingly (to you, not to him. He always nodded smugly and very knowingly, as if he knew something more about the secret to how you two had tolerated each other for so long. And you wouldn't be surprised to know he did know more. He always did.)

You had thought to yourself many times. Maybe because you and Jeonghan were the perfect yin and yang. There was enough pride from your end to make up for his shamelessness. Enough street-smartness and easygoing charm from him to make up for your coquettish, brisk attitude. Enough ambition from you to make up for his laidback, lazy nature. Enough laughs from him to make up for your forever anxious self. Enough optimism from you to share the light between the two of you. 

Just like that. You clicked like puzzle pieces, and you loved each other to bits.

Well, mostly.

You certainly didn't love Jeonghan any bit when he was behaving like this. This Cupid thing he adorned whenever he was around people of your age. His matchmaking and romantic agenda, as you liked to call it. It was nothing but a stroke of luck that his brother had married the exact girl that Jeonghan had predicted he would marry (three years before they had started dating, as he reminded you often to prove that it was truly his instinct and nothing else) and the silly fool had taken it straight to his dick and given his already large ego an extra-large pump.

His latest prey was Lee Seokmin, the new boy who had recently joined your friend circle, courtesy of Kim Mingyu, who was his childhood friend somehow. Seokmin was what one could call a young, impressionable mind. He was innocent to an extreme degree, and so illogical and gullible that he believed every damn thing that came out of Jeonghan's compulsively bluffing lips. You hardly knew what he was telling Seokmin, but they were both very animated while talking about it. Ever since you two had met Seokmin at a party three weeks ago, he had followed Jeonghan about like a puppy discovering the joys (and pains) of the human world, and Jeonghan had pretty much adopted him. 

So you take matters into your own hands. When you bump into him in the kitchen of the party you two are at now, you whisper to him, your hands on your hips, “Jeonghan, if I see you mess around with that kid-”

“Which kid?” He asks, an innocent look on his face. “Don’t play innocent now. You know very well I’m talking about Seokmin.” “Aigoo, Seokminnie! He’s such a lovely boy!” “Yes, and we’d all like him to remain lovely, if you please. Don’t go around putting foolish ideas into his head.”

“What foolish ideas?” 

“Jeonghan, I know you’re trying to set him up with Joshua. You know Joshua is a textbook playboy.”

 “Shhh! I think this one’s different. He’s actually bewitched with Seokmin.”

“Bewitched? You’re exaggerating, as usual.”

“Y/N!! You’ve gotta trust me, I have a gut feeling. Now, let me do God’s work, please don’t disturb me, Y/N-”

“Matchmaking is God’s work?”

“Yes! It’s called finding soulmates!”

“And how are you so sure Seokmin is into Joshua?”

Jeonghan pauses, smiling slyly. “Oh my god. You don’t know that yet, do you?” “No, but-” “Jeonghan!” “I know that he’s into guys. Listen, it’s not like I’m forcing him into anything. All I want is that he has some fun in his life! Can you believe it that he’s never had a relationship in his life? He’s too much of a good boy. And he’s told me he thinks Joshua is pretty attractive. The whole gentleman thing is rubbing off on him!” “I have a bad feeling about this.” “You know what, Y/N? You think you’re the only one who can do things correctly. You and your stuck up judgements. Can you please open your mind a little and let loose?”

There. He’s guilt-tripped you successfully. Now you’re on the verge of thinking whether you’re really stuck up. Under better senses, you probably would lean on your instinct that Jeonghan is messing around with you, but now, no. You’re three wine glasses down, and you’re a lightweight anyway. The insecurities have started kicking in.

“Anyway, why are you so protective?”

“I’m not,” you cross your hands across your chest, exhausted from the banter.

“It’s ‘cause of that Mingyu guy, isn’t it? You want to protect Mingyu’s friends?” He’s walking up to you, smiling again, as wicked as the devil. 

“What? I can’t care about a nice guy all on my own? What are you implying-”

“Please. We’ve all seen how you talk to Mingyu.”

“God. I’m so tired of this, Jeonghan.” And so, you walk away. You really are too tired. You’ve seen his brain do acrobats in this one field, and although he may have had successes till now, you’re sure doom is on the way. It’s sickening. Especially now that he’s pushing his agenda on you too. 

_

You’re woken up at six am in the morning to the irritating sound of your ringtone. Squinting, you pick the phone up. It’s Jeonghan. 

“Hello?”

“Were you sleeping, Y/N-ie?”

You pause. You seriously consider cutting the call off right now, because you know that tone. That is Jeonghan’s laidback tone, he’s not in an emergency, he’s not in a crisis. He’s called just to hear your voice, and you’ve been on the receiving end of too many calls like this in your life. 

“Jeonghan, what do you want?”

“Are you still pissed at me?” He’s pouting and you know it.

“Yaah,” you huff out, sitting up in your bed. “I’m not. Just. It’s 6 am for fuck’s sake, Hannie. Did you need anything?”

He’s silent for a second. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s fine.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t fall asleep, and the rain outside keeps making me tense. I decided to call you because I was feeling a little lonely.”

“Hmm. Do I need to come over?”

“Hell no. I have a girl over. She’s naked, and I don’t think you’ll want to see-”

“Wait, what? You have a person at your house?”

“Yeah, we slept together-”

“Then why the fuck are you awake?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you awake and calling me?”

“Umm, because I was thinking of you when I couldn’t sleep?”

“Don’t people, like, sleep very well after sex?”

“After good sex, yes. After what we did last night, no.”

Another pause. 

“Not that I’d know. But isn’t she going to feel upset you’re talking to me instead of, I don’t know, cuddling her or something?”

“Really, Y/N-ie. You want me to cuddle a stranger instead of talking to you? That’s how much you hate me?”

“Han, do not twist my words. You stayed up all night hooking up with someone and now you’re calling me, this is not how people behave after sex in movies-”

“Life isn’t a movie, Y/N-aah. You’ve told me this yourself.”

A slightly long pause.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” he says. 

“No, I’ll just get into the shower now. I had to wake up at 7 anyway.”

“Ugh, but it’s a Monday!”

“Adults work on Mondays, Hannie. Why don’t you take a walk in the park or something and relax a bit? Work out. Get the energy out. It’ll improve your sleep.”

“Hmm, thank you Eomma. Enjoy your long day of work today! Make sure you earn a lot of money!”

“Hmm, bye bye Yoon.”

“Bye Y/L/N.”

The call disconnects and 6.15 stares at you from your screen. You’re tempted to scream into your pillow and curse Jeonghan for stealing your sleep time. But now you can’t afford to go back to sleep otherwise you’ll lose one of your precious 20 days of leave as well. The opportunity cost is definitely higher, you think, as you stumble and make your way towards the washroom.

_

“Oh Mr. Mingyu, someone’s early I see.” You enter the small office which is bustling with energy even in the morning. “Ms. Y/N, good morning!” Mingyu greets you with a bright smile as you sit down at the desk next to him, and you offer the second cup of ice americano you brought on your way. “Coffee?” “Of course, why not?” And his accented English never ceases to make you laugh. It’s funny how hard he tries to converse in English, even though it’s not even required in your job, but you guess it’s part of his charm- the hard-working good-natured himbo everyone is in love with. 

“How was your weekend? You didn’t come to the party at Soonyoung’s party last night.” You ask Mingyu. “Oh, my sister is in town. I went to pick her up from the train station last week and we spent the entire evening roaming through night markets.” “That sounds nice! Maybe I can meet her finally, after hearing so much about her.” “Yes! That’d be good. She’s here till Thursday. She’s actually here for an interview at a college for the designing program she wants to pursue.” Mingyu’s eyes are lit up with the brightest lights, putting even the sunlight in the room to shame. “Wow! I’m so happy for her.” “Yeah. Are you free tomorrow after work? I wanted to take her to see the cherry blossoms, and you could come too?” “Perfect. That works.”

Mingyu nods happily, before settling down in his seat, still buzzing with excitement. His puppy-like buzzing is endearing, but you quickly turn your eyes away from him, when you notice at least three other pairs of eyes staring at you from across the room. You gulp and glare back, and the eyes look away. You’re well aware of the gossip that surrounds your and Mingyu’s friendship, but you couldn’t care less. As long as it doesn’t interfere in your actual friendship. 

_

“Cherry blossoms? With his sister? Absolutely not!” 

“I didn’t really ask for your opinion, Jeonghan-ah.” You stare him down from where you are sitting across him with the chess board in between you two, and he takes a sip from his juice before playing his next move. 

“You don’t think it’s a date?” 

“A date? With his sister along, how could it be a date!” 

“You’re too oblivious. You can’t see what’s right in front of your eyes.” 

“And what may that be?” 

“Kim Mingyu is, obviously, into you.” 

“Excuse me.” “Excused,” he scoffs, before motioning to you to speed up your next move. You play your move too quickly, and he jumps up in glee, instantly locking you in checkmate. “Fuck!” 

“Pay attention, cutie. Do you want more juice?” 

“Hmm, it’s really good, Hannie.” “I know,” he giggles, before pouring more juice into your glasses. “I want to see cherry blossoms too. I’ll come along with you three, hmm? I’m sure Mingyu won’t mind.” 

You peer curiously at him. “Okay. Yeah, he won’t mind. But I didn’t know you wanted to see the cherry blossoms.” 

“I saw it in my feed today. It’s all the rage right now.” 

“Yeah, it is.” 

“Which is why I’m sure it’s a date. It’s what happens in all k-dramas!”

You can’t argue with Jeonghan, so you don’t. 

“You know, I think it is a little odd that you think Mingyu is into me. We’re really just good friends. I know he’s a little flirty, and very touchy, but that’s just him being comfortable around me.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “My instinct about humans is always better than yours, Y/N-ie. You know it.” “Sure.” “Let’s just wait and see how things turn out, hmm?” He gently pulls your hair back into a bun using a hair tie that’s wrapped around his wrist, and you whisper a thank you, because you hate it when your hair is in your face, and you didn’t realise that he knows about it. Well, you must’ve talked about it sometime or the other.

“Do you want takeout, or should I just make some omelette to mix into rice?” “Or we could just eat ramen.” “I thought you were on a diet, Han-ah?” You gape at him, and he pulls a face. “One cup of ramen won’t do anything.” “No, let’s stick to your diet, hmm? Because we won’t stop at just one cup of ramen, you know that.” He gently places his head on your shoulder in mock crying, and you pat his head before heading towards the fridge to take out eggs. 

“By the way, I have a fair coming up next week, will you come to help me?”

“What will I get in return?” He asks, while popping an olive into his mouth. 

“My friendship. My gratitude. My love and affection-”

“Tangible, please. None of this intangible stuff.” 

You gasp dramatically and relent, “Okay, I’ll treat you to tteokbokki. You’ve been craving ever since your diet started, haven’t you?” He makes an inhuman squeal, but you’re sure it’s one of joy because his eyes go up in twinkling crescents. “Oh, Y/N-ie, you’re the best! What would I do without you?” You laugh, and ask him to turn on the television, before breaking the eggs into your fry pan.

_

It was a mistake telling Jeonghan about your outing with Mingyu. It was a mistake even letting him come along, thinking oh, Mingyu is his mutual friend too through me, so he’ll definitely not mind if Han comes along. Mingyu did not mind, but you minded a lot. Because not only did Jeonghan come along wearing his most expensive Chanel outfit and his most limited edition perfume which you’ve never smelled before, but also brought along his most obnoxious attitude. 

Mingyu’s sister is an innocent darling, nearly six years younger than Mingyu, but his literal split image. And Mingyu is, as usual, accommodative. But there really is something wrong with Jeonghan tonight, you think. Every sentence he utters is passive aggressive, opinionated and designed to annoy. 

I think the air is too stuffy tonight to enjoy the cherry blossom show perfectly. 

I’m wearing my cherry blossom scent tonight, it was a gift from the last event I attended.

Mingyu, don’t hog Y/N all to yourself, let your sister meet your friends too. 

Oh, I don’t drink coffee these days. I’m into earl grey iced tea. Do they have that here?

“What on earth is wrong with you tonight, Jeonghan-ah?” You whisper-scream to him, as you draw him to one corner as Mingyu and his sister go towards the cafeteria to buy drinks for the four of you. “Why?” He says, casually pressing lip balm on his own lips, before extending the stick towards your lips, attempting to put the same balm on your (undoubtedly, chapped) lips, but you shrug away. 

“You’re being an arse. You know, it’s already a stretch that I brought you along here. So, don’t be obnoxious to everyone, especially Mingyu because his sister’s here!” 

“I’ve not been obnoxious for even a second, Y/N-ah! I’ve been so cheerful, so amiable, so wholesome tonight. I have not spoken my true mind for even one second, I’m literally speaking only pleasant words.”

“Oh, really? And what is your true mind?”

“That Mingyu is being too touchy with you.”

“Jeonghan! This- god- is that all you gathered from our lovely evening together, that you’re trying your best to spoil?”

“I mean- he makes it hard to not notice, does he not? He’s literally all over you, even when his sister is here. You should be thankful I’m here to keep company to his sis, otherwise imagine how bored she’d be as a third wheel.”

Right then Mingyu and his sister return with drinks for the four of you, and you resume your walk around the show. So you can’t reply to Jeonghan fittingly, but you notice that on the rest of the evening, you notice that his attitude has softened a little, especially when he talks enthusiastically to Mingyu’s sister about the program she’s selected, and even thanks Mingyu for letting him come along on this outing. 

When he drives you home that night and drops you off at your doorstep, he has the oddest smug grin lazily spread on his face. 

“I was right, then.” He tells you as you walk around the car to say bye to him at his window.

“Hmm?”

“It was a date.”

“Not this again, Jeonghan.”

“Hmm. Sure. Just so you know, I’m rarely wrong.”

“It was not a date. Not with you ruining every single conversation we had.”

“That was the point, wasn’t it? Goodnight, Y/N.” 

And then he drives off with a sharp salute, leaving you with nothing to say. 

_

Jeonghan doesn’t know you’re annoyed enough by him to not reply to his texts during work hours (which you otherwise would). So he doesn’t take the hint and calls you as soon as your work hours end, and you step out of your office into a world painted by the sunset.

“You didn’t say if my haircut looks good?”

You sigh, and you hope it’s loud enough for him to hear.

“Oh god, Y/N, are you still mad at me for that evening with Mingyu? What, did he say something today?” 

“No. He’s too nice to say anything, of course. Anyway, is it really so hard to wait for a few hours to see if I like your haircut or not?”

“Sorry. But I want to know. I’ve cut my hair short after ages, so-”

You take a quick look at the photos he’s sent you. “Hmm, yes you look great.”

“Really?” You can hear the upward lilt in his voice, and it makes you smile. 

“Yes really. Jeonghan-ah, I have that fair tomorrow. Will you be coming?”

“Is it through Saturday and Sunday?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to come throughout the two days, of course. You can just come tomorrow evening, if you’re free.”

“I am. I had a shoot today in the afternoon, after which I went and chopped off my hair instantly.”

“Good decision, Hannie.”

You can hear his satisfied voice grunt in the background. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow? I have a lot of packing work tonight, okay? I won’t be able to call or text.”

“That’s okay. I won’t disturb you. Work hard, Y/N-ie.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Han-ah.”

_

Although you might grumble when Jeonghan forgets the name of the plant when a customer arrives at your stall although he’s been your helper for so many fairs now, you’re really very grateful that he makes time to come. Sure enough, as the sun wears down after a particularly sweltering afternoon at the fair and you’re really craving an iced tea, Jeonghan arrives with a bright smile on his face and two glasses of boba tea for the two of you. 

“Your part-timer is here, Miss.” He says, and you hug him. “So happy to see me?” “No, this is for the boba tea.” And you fall back on your chair, chugging down the boba tea as if it’s elixir. He sits opposite to you, picking up an orchid plant that’s hanging on the wall next to him. “How was the footfall today?” “Not great, if I say the truth. But I’m hopeful for the evening. The morning was too hot anyway.” “Hmm, and what’s this one called? Never seen this flower before.” “It’s called vanda. Pretty, isn’t it?” “Hmm, really! But why doesn’t it have any pot or any soil?” “It’s epiphytic, so-” “Epi what?” “Epiphytic. It absorbs moisture from other plants near it and from humidity in the air.” “Wow. E-pi-phy-tic. Fancy new English word.” 

And you’re right. The customers do start strolling in as the atmosphere becomes cooler and the fair more crowded. Although there’s not a whole lot of variety at your stall, you have an edge because you generally sell rare varieties, which are less frequently visible in the other plants’ stalls at fairs. A lot of people think it’s an odd hobby for you to have at such a young age, but Jeonghan knows its the only way you pay homage to your mother, who had helped you fall in love with gardening at a very young age. After her death, you’d had to sell the house in the countryside and move to the city for a job, so you didn’t have a garden of your own, but you made do with plants you grew in your balconies and windows. That’s why your collection was more unique than the general lot- you provided beautiful, rare plants that fit right into modern life- fuss-free yet diverse. 

“This is a vanda orchid!” You see Jeonghan enthusiastically pitch to an ahjumma from the corner of your eye as you’re busy packing some hydrangea plants for another customer. “It’s really easy to keep in your house. It’s epiphytic, which means it absorbs water from its surroundings. So you don’t even need to keep it in a pot. You can just leave it in between other plants and regularly water the plants around it to keep a humid atmosphere, and it grows on its own! So little care!” And along with Jeonghan’s winning smile and persistent pitch, the ahjumma has no option but to fold almost instantly. 

That marks the beginning of a busy evening. The crowd suddenly increases and each of you soon have no time to breathe. It’s at moments like this that your gratitude towards Jeonghan increases- he may ask you the names of plants every two minutes, or make up some random facts about a plant while trying to sell it (pretty sure it would be called out if you did it, but the customers just blindly buy into whatever Jeonghan tells them). When passing behind, he gently pats your butt before bending behind you to retrieve something from the storage area. When you’re free for a second, you tap your hand on the small of his back, asking him to take a break as you take over the customers. It’s nearly nine o’clock before the crowd finally dissipates and you both can take a breather. 

“Good work, Han.” You gently card your fingers through Jeonghan’s newly trimmed hair. 

“Boy, am I glad I cut my hair before coming here. I’d sweat the hell out just by standing here with my old hair.”

“Hmm, it is much more manageable.”

There’s a pause as you both become silent for a long minute. From around you, you can see other stalls shutting down and the sounds of the fair quieten down. Your fingers form a pattern as you gently massage his scalp and his lower neck. You’re too busy taking in the scenery around you that you miss the way his eyes flutter close. 

“I had brunch with mom today.”

You sigh. 

“It felt good to show my new hair.” 

You turn around to look at him, and he opens his eyes. “What did she say?” 

“Nothing. She doesn’t say anything anymore, as long as I keep my hair for her shoots.”

“But it’s still hot outside.”

Jeonghan mumbles, “When has that mattered for her?” He turns away and suddenly gets up. “Y/N-ah, all the other stalls have shut down. Shouldn’t we pack up too? And anyway, the tteokbokki place won’t be open for long…” 

You laugh, and relent. “Okay, let’s feed the baby his treat, hmm? Thank you for coming and helping me out! It was pretty hectic today and we made a lot of sales, thanks to your charms that even the ahjussis cannot resist.” 

He smiles, “Well, what can I say, it’s not easy to be God’s favourite-” He can’t finish his sentence because you punch him softly on his chest, and he bursts out in giggles. “Let’s go get food, Han-ah.” “Hmm, let’s go!”

_

“Hannie, are you free tonight? There was an offer at the convenience store, so I bought two boxes of that pizza you like.” You ask him while you walk into your home after picking up groceries from the store. 

“Nah, I have plans with Seokmin today.”

“Seokmin?!” You ask, a little surprised. “You two are going out together? Wow, I didn’t know you were so close.”

“Oh! We’re inseparable. He’s too fun a guy to let go.”

You sigh. “Wow. Okay okay, enjoy, hmm?”

“Yeah. Do you wanna come? Shua will be there too.”

“Shua?! You’ve started again!”

“Literally no,” you can hear his laughter, and he says, “I didn’t even know Shua would be there until like an hour ago.”

“I bet the plan was made only an hour ago.”

He laughs again, “I’ll have to go now, okay? I’ll be late otherwise.”

It turns out to be a very high-end party of models in which Jeonghan has been invited, and he’s brought Seokmin as his plus-one. You get all this information from the news tabloids on your instagram, which flash extra-large sized photographs of Jeonghan and his new friend Seokmin, who everyone’s curious about. You then see stills of Joshua laughing away, dressed to the nines, arm-in-arm with Seokmin and Jeonghan. Of Joshua whispering something into Seokmin’s ears and Seokmin turning red even under the dim neon lights of the party. Of Joshua and Seokmin making an intense eye-contact, and Jeonghan smirking over his glass of whisky. 

Wow. 

His plan must be a success. Seokmin and Joshua do look like they’re going to hook up. 

Well, you’re just going to have to take the details from Jeonghan later, if that happens. 

You don’t stay online after that, so you miss all the photos of the late entrants of the party. 

_

It’s seven in the morning, and you’ve just woken up, when there’s a knock on your door. “Jeonghan?” Not only is he standing there with his eyes red and his clothes messed up, but you can also see hickeys blooming all over his neck, in shades of purple and red that look pretty against his milk skin. 

“I came here to see if I’m alive.”

You tilt your head towards one side, raising your eyebrows. “You seem alive to me.”

“Good, because I’ve gone to heaven and come back.” And without another word he enters and throws himself face-down on the couch and passes out instantly. 

You don’t wait around for him to wake up, and you figure his metaphorical statements can be cleared up after you’ve come back from work, so you leave him like that.

When you’re back, tired after a long day of work, you see him still lying there, except he’s changed that one shirt and sweatpants he’d left at your place a few months back, at your last sleepover, and he’s watching something on his phone. When you peer close from behind him, he doesn’t even notice you. Which is odd because Jeonghan is usually an alert sort of guy. 

It’s a video of a woman interacting with Jeonghan at last night’s party, her dress a blaze of flames, her dark hair falling in cascades around her lithe frame, and she giggles elegantly at something Jeonghan says, before he takes her hand in his own and kisses on her knuckles, and the video cuts off right there. 

“Who’s that?”

Jeonghan jolts up at that, dropping his phone on the ground, and letting out a tiny yelp. Then he sits up and lightly punches your arm. “You scared me.”

“I literally came in through the door, what if I was a thief and you hadn’t even noticed me?”

“Why would a thief come into your house, what are you doing for its security, huh?”

“God,” you sigh. “I see you’ve made yourself at home. Who were you looking at?”

He walks towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

“Heaven. I went to heaven last night.”

“Yes, you told me. What happened, can you explain simply?”

“I met her. That’s what happened.”

“Who?” you ask again, ignoring the dazed look in his eyes as he looks out of the window. 

“Her! Did you see her?”

“I did. Is she famous? Am I supposed to be knowing her?”

“Well. I don’t know. I don’t think you would know her. I mean, I’ve never met her before then clearly, you wouldn’t know her-”

“Then tell me who she is.”

“Han Sujin. She’s the daughter of the owner of Han Electronics.”

“Really? Wow. Must be filthy rich.”

“Is that all you gathered?” Jeonghan turns around to look at you incredulously, and you retort, “Well what else is there to gather?” “Maybe the fact that she looks like an angel?” “She does look gorgeous. Did you sleep with her last night?” Jeonghan sighs. “No. I slept with someone else, but I’ve not been able to get her out of my mind! This has never happened before!” 

You stare at him. “You’re right, it has not.” 

“Am I falling in love, Y/N?” 

“I don’t… know? It’s a little too early to say, isn’t it?” 

“I’ve been dreaming about her for twenty four hours now, I’m pretty damn sure it’s love.”

You gulp, realising he’s not going to hear your voice of reason now. So you switch the topic. “What happened with Shua and Seokminnie?”

“Huh?”

“Joshua? Seokmin? You set them up last night, I know.”

“Oh that.” He runs a hand through his hair. “That went well, as far as I remember. Well, I didn’t really notice them much after she came in. They went off to get drinks, Joshua’s hand was gripping Seokmin’s bicep very suggestively, so I’m sure that went well.”

“You were so blown away by this woman that you missed out on your little pet project?”

“Shame, isn’t it? But no matter. I’ll call Seokmin tomorrow and find out about it. Y/N-ah, do you know anything more about Sujin?”

“I literally just told you I don’t even know her-”

“Ugh! I have to meet her again, somehow!” And he lets out a dramatic huff of exasperation before lying down on the couch again. 

_

“Seokmin?” You’re surprised to see Seokmin at Jeonghan’s place when you drop by on Friday night. “Y/N! Jeonghan didn’t tell me you’re coming.” “Nah I just came by on an impulse. What are you doing here?” He stands up, his face red with excitement. “Joshua invited me to his housewarming party!” He pauses for a second, waiting for your reaction. He’s clearly expecting a very happy reaction, so you humour him with a bright smile. He doesn’t see how fake the smile is, and he claps his hands with yours. “Oh, isn’t it going to be so much fun, Y/N-ah?”

Just then Jeonghan walks into the room, and calls out your name. 

“Did you hear? Seokmin is in the circle now!”

“Yes, that’s pretty cool. But then, who wouldn’t want Seokmin as their friend,” you smile. 

“Not friend, Y/N. Seokmin is Joshua’s specially invited guest. He sent roses with the invitation!” 

There’s another loud squeal from behind you and you turn to see Seokmin rubbing his face with his hands, making it even more red than it is already. 

“I saw y’all had fun at that last party.”

His blush goes down till his neck and collarbones. “Yes, it was such a high-end party. There actors, models, singers, idols, and chaebols everywhere! And the food was so awesome- although I’ve never eaten any of them before and I don’t think I’d be able to eat them anywhere else because they looked too fancy.”

You giggle. “But would you go back a second time?”

Seokmin thinks for a second, before whispering scandalously, “If Joshua wasn’t there, I don’t think I would.” 

You laugh at that, extending your hand for a high-five. “Same! They get boring after a point because I simply cannot fit in.”

“That’s true! Although Joshua introduced me to so many people, I don’t think I could make eye contact with any of them.” 

You continue laughing at that. “But I gather you really had a good time with Joshua.”

Jeonghan intercepts. “Good time?” He scoffs. “They made out in the backseat of my car.”

Seokmin whines at Jeonghan’s slightly strict voice, “We didn’t have any other spot because I came with y-”

Jeonghan laughs, “I’m not mad, hey! It’s just funny that Joshua chose to make out in my car and not his-”

“That’s because his car was farther away and the valet took longer to bring it along.”

Seokmin gets a call and he excuses himself for a second. You take that opportunity to turn around and look at Jeonghan, who’s sitting right behind you. “So?” You raise one eyebrow, “Looks like your plan will come through.” “When am I ever wrong?” “But be careful, this is first-” “Oh god. Even after coming so far, you’re going to ask me to be cautious?” “ Because you need to be. Seokmin is such a soft soul- do you see how excited he is just by receiving flowers from Joshua?”

Jeonghan stands up. “But I don’t recollect Joshua ever sending flowers to anyone before. And I’ve known Joshua for long enough, you know.”

You sigh, twisting your lips in displeasure. 

“Still. I just don’t want anyone’s hearts to be broken by your meddling.”

_

An invite arrives at your house as well. There are no roses, but at least some beautiful gerberas. But Jeonghan’s meddling does not stop. Nor does it slow down in pace. Before Joshua’s housewarming party, Jeonghan ensures that Seokmin and Joshua bump into each other at least three times. First, on Monday, at the coffee shop Joshua and Jeonghan often eat brunch together after hungover weekends. Second, on Tuesday, at a pop-up store Joshua has been invited to inaugurate. Third, on Friday, at Jeonghan’s mother’s flagship store, where Joshua was invited to browse through the latest collections at the same time that Seokmin was taken by Jeonghan to choose an outfit he’d like for the housewarming party. 

It’s getting a little too forced. Seokmin doesn’t see it because of his rose-tinted glasses of infatuation. Jeonghan doesn’t see it because he’s desperate for success. But you do see it. Seoul is not a small city. It’s incredibly hard to run into the same person three times in the same week, right after making out with them. But you also know that Jeonghan will turn a deaf ear to any of your words now. 

So you don’t broach this topic of conversation for the rest of the week, until the day of the housewarming party. As always, you’re never too sure of what to wear to any of these parties of Jeonghan’s friends, because you’re sure all these models have their secret dress codes planned and you always seem out of place. It’s not that you don’t enjoy dressing up, and you also have the advantage of being able to borrow dresses from Jeonghan’s mother. But somehow, you never fit in. Or perhaps you don’t try hard enough and you don’t want to put in that much effort either. So you settle for a baby blue dress with little yellow butterflies embroidered throughout. It’s a safe bet for a cocktail party, so you’re hoping it’s not going to be a wild night. 

Jeonghan arrives at your door right when you’re about to leave for the party.

“We’re going together?”

“Have we ever not gone together?”

You open your lips to say that you had thought he’d be going with Seokmin, but he interrupts you. “You look good.” You notice that he’s wearing a grey silk blouse that fits him like a glove, paired with golden earrings. “So do you.”

“The paparazzi are saying I would look better with my old hair.” He bites his lips and averts your gaze. 

“Where did they see you?” 

“Oh, I was getting out of my house. There were a few people outside.” 

“The paparazzi don’t matter.”

“Yes. They don’t matter. But for what it’s worth- they’re not lying.”

You sigh. “Let’s go, Han-ah. We don’t want to be late.” You’re well aware of the insecurities Jeonghan has about his hair, so you don’t want to say anything more. You remember all the times when Jeonghan’s cried next to you because his mother is obsessed with him having perfect looks, because she knows very well that her designer brand blew up ever since Jeonghan started modelling for it. You also remember Jeonghan being bullied by boys in high school because of his long hair, in response to which you’d cut your hair to a crew cut, making an odd visual when you both walked through school corridors. You know that the reason that Jeonghan spends so much time at your house in spite of having his own house, is because he wants to be as far away from his mother as possible, who only sees him as a source of revenue. And you’ve tried but given up trying to mend his relationship with her, primarily because Jeonghan’s mother disapproves of his friendship with you and considers you as the reason why her son does not listen to her. 

“Wow. Joshua has spent a lot, clearly.”

The penthouse is absolutely stunning. Definitely as expected from South Korea’s top model. The guest list seems to be hand-picked, with the paparazzi stopped outside the gates, providing full privacy to the guests. And yet again, you’ve dressed quite differently from what everyone is wearing. You’re now fully convinced that there’s a secret dress code that they don’t tell non-celebrities to purposely make them feel left out. 

But Joshua is the perfect host. He greets you almost as soon as you two enter, successfully avoiding all the cameras flashing at the entrance. 

“It’s so beautiful. Love the asymmetric design, and all the glass detailing outside.”

Joshua smiles that disarmingly charming smile of his, as you sip on the glass of champagne. “I’m so glad you liked it. Now that I’ve impressed someone in the housing industry, I know I’ve invested in the right property.” 

“You certainly have. The view is also idyllic, displaced from the general crowds, but you still get a view of the Han.” 

Jeonghan groans next to you, clearly bored with the talk, but Joshua’s smile widens at the praise. 

“I’d like you to come around someday in the morning, when the sun is still up. The view is even more spectacular.”

“So cool, I’d be able to see the design even better then! Thanks. You know Mingyu, my colleague? He’d really appreciate the design.”

“Oh yeah, he did praise it highly.” 

You pause for a second. “Sorry- he- he’s seen it already? Did he design it, by any chance?” 

Joshua laughs. “No, but he’s here as Seokmin’s plus-one.”

You turn to look at Jeonghan, who also looks at you at the exact same moment, eyes wide. “Wow, I did not know that,” you gulp, before laughing the embarrassment off awkwardly. 

“Yeah, they’re up near the mini-bar. Now, if you’ll just excuse me-” and Joshua walks away with a polite smile, waving hi to someone in the distance.

“I did not see that coming.” Jeonghan says. “Seokmin must’ve lost his nerve and brought him along. Good, now Joshua will be more jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Didn’t you see how Joshua’s smile tightened when he talked about Mingyu?”

You stare at Jeonghan for a solid second, before looking away because he did not break the gaze, determined to prevail. 

“Let’s go and find Mingyu and Seokmin, hmm?”

_

You do stick to Mingyu’s side throughout the evening, as Jeonghan goes out to mingle and Seokmin is soon called to Joshua’s side as they go to see the other side of the house. 

“Wanna bet?”

You’re stuffing your mouth with the croutons on the cheese fondue plate you’d received along with your glasses of wine, while Mingyu ravishes the delicately baked egg tarts he’s seemed to fall in love with. 

“On what, Gyu?”

You were wrong earlier. Seokmin and Mingyu do not look out of place. Seokmin is wearing an all black outfit, the shirt with a low neck which accentuates his excellent figure, while Mingyu wears a charcoal grey turtleneck and glasses, which you’ve never seen him wear before except when he’s working on something intently. They both look exactly in place, especially Mingyu. You’ve noticed multiple people send flirtatious smiles towards Mingyu, but he keeps his eyes on yours while the two of you talk at the edge of the bar. 

“On Joshua and Seokmin. I bet that they’ll be dating by the end of the month.”

You laugh. “Sure. What do you want if you win?”

“I don’t know. Loser takes the other out to dinner?”

“Cool. But Mingyu… by the end of the month… you may be short on cash.”

“Me?! Hah! I’m not going to lose. Have you seen how Joshua’s undressing Seokmin with his eyes?”

You tilt your head in amusement. “Did you know that lust does not equate dating?”

“I do! But Seokmin isn't the type of guy to like someone based on lust purely.”

“I agree. But Joshua might just be.”

Mingyu squints his eyes, then shakes his head. “I doubt. He sent roses, you know. That can only mean one thing.”

“We’ll see.” You clink your glass to Mingyu’s before sipping it. Your eyes trace the large lawn area to see if you can spot Jeonghan, but it’s hard to find him under the dim lights. Thank god for Mingyu, you think. Otherwise you’d be bored to death tonight, and drink yourself to death on the open bar. 

“Say, Mingyu. Who do you think will get married earlier from our friends? We’re all pushing thirty now, you know.”

“Twenty-five isn’t pushing thirty.” He pouts, clearly upset at the idea. “I don’t want to be called an ahjussi anytime soon so don’t say things like that.”

You pinch his cheek, which deflates his pout into a smile. “My question still stands.”

“Well, I think Seungcheol will get married first. He’s really smitten with his girlfriend, I don’t see why they’re not married yet.”

“Hmm, I agree. He’s the oldest amongst us as well.”

“By that metric, Jeonghan would be married next. I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Do you think Jeonghan would ever? He’s told me many times that he's not interested in settling down.”

“That’s all big talk. Going to change the second he meets someone he likes. And from what I hear, that may not be too far-”

“Oh here you are!” The man in question arrives at the spot, cheeks flushed with excitement. There’s a woman walking right behind him. It’s her, you realise. The girl from that night, the girl he was so desperate to meet again. So he has met her again, you see. 

“Sujin, this is my best friend, Y/L/N  Y/N, and her colleague, Kim Mingyu.” You do a light bow, while the woman in front of you smiles elegantly while bowing in return. “I’m Han Sujin. Such a pleasure to meet you two. Are you also in the modelling world, Mingyu-ssi?” 

Oh. 

You don’t miss how her question is directed to Mingyu only. 

Mingyu grins, “No, I’m an architect. Y/N and I work for a housing estate firm.”

“Oh? Such a shame. What a waste, isn’t it, Jeonghan-ah?” You wish Mingyu would shrug his hand away as she drags one carefully manicured nail along the edge of his bicep. You wish Jeonghan would also react, but he doesn’t seem to move at all except one smirk. Perhaps this is normal for them? You don’t know why it’s annoying you then. Maybe because you don’t like this undue attention she’s giving Mingyu, clearly flirtatious as she leans into him to whisper something into his ears which you miss as you zone out of the conversation. Maybe because Jeonghan is still looking at her as if she’s a goddess, which is so uncharacteristic of him, leaving you second-guessing every damn thing you’ve understood about him till now. The ugly head of something raises its head in your chest, but you don’t know what it is so you really can’t quash it either. You wish it wouldn’t be so- you wish you could be normal about this, whatever this minuscule interaction has been. But you decide in your mind. You don’t like this woman at all. 

But as the night winds away, one thing becomes clear to you. 

There’s no one else who has the same opinion as you. They’re all clearly in love with her. Folding over for her. And perhaps you understand- she’s everything you expect a rich, high-class, beautiful, elegant and socially supreme woman to be. She’s the perfect woman, the epitome of one’s dreams. 

No wonder she’s the first woman Jeonghan is falling in love with. And falling in love, he is. It’s in the cherry eyes he’s throwing her, the way he’s blushing everytime she introduces him to someone all while clasping her fingers around her arm, the way the small of his hand rests on her pristine back which is left naked in the backless dress she’s wearing, the way she seems to have inside jokes with him because you can’t catch half of the things they’re saying but they seem to be laughing a good deal over it. 

You don’t wait for Jeonghan to offer you a ride home. You know he will not. So when Mingyu offers to drop you home after dinner, you jump to his offer.

_

Something changes from that night onwards. Two things had clearly happened that night. First, Seokmin and Joshua did sleep together. As per Mingyu’s details, when Mingyu had gone to Seokmin’s house the next night to pick up something, he’d found Joshua casually lying on Seokmin’s bed, wearing Seokmin’s favourite red jersey and no pants, and both of them had been covered in hickeys, but he had not been able to ask anything else because Joshua was right there. 

Second, Jeonghan had definitely become enamoured with Sujin. Such that over the rest of the week, you barely see him, only communicating through a couple of texts here and there. His instagram story receives more updates than you do- and his soft launching definitely fails because his dates with Sujin are so obvious. 

It doesn’t matter. 

You make yourself busy with work. It doesn’t matter when the entire

It doesn’t matter that you have another fair coming up this weekend and you clearly remember telling Jeonghan about it a few days back. But he doesn’t come to help. He doesn’t even call before the fair, to wish you luck. For that matter, he doesn’t even call after it. 

It doesn’t matter that your mother’s death anniversary comes and goes, and Jeonghan breaks the four year old tradition of the two of you visiting her grave and spending the entire day together.

It doesn’t matter that Jeonghan has never gone this long without meeting you, but it doesn’t matter. You’re twenty-five. You’ve lost friends before, you can make do with losing another one. 

_

“So, it’s the last Friday of the month. I remember a bet…”

You sidle up to Mingyu’s desk as the work day comes to an end, gently sitting against the edge of his desk. 

“Fuck. I can’t believe I lost it, Y/N.” He leans back against his chair, stretching his arms behind him. He’s wearing a short sleeved polo shirt today, so his biceps strain against the sleeves. You wonder again how many hours he dedicates to the gym every day. 

“Well. It doesn’t matter now, does it? You’ve lost it, now don’t act like a sore loser. Where are you taking me out?” 

“So it’s a date?” He suddenly stands up, so that your eyes are at his chest level, and your breath is knocked away. 

“Where did that come from?”

“I’m the one taking you out, so it’s my rules.”

You smile. “You could’ve told me before. I’m dressed shabbily today.”

“Huh? I think this blouse suits you perfectly. The red makes your lips look… brighter.”

You gulp, as Mingyu takes another step towards you, almost locking you into his desk. “Pack up so we can leave early, Y/N. Don’t wanna miss our reservation.”

_

“This looks expensive.” You feel underdressed for the high-end Mingyu has brought you to. “Are you sure this is the place you booked your reservation at?”

“You heard them saying that this table was for Kim Mingyu, didn’t you?”

“Still.” The place is too cold, it makes a shiver run down your spine.

“Have you ever been here before? What’s good?” You ask Mingyu when you’re offered the menu card by a server, and Mingyu asks her for the special wine of the restaurant as if he’s already tried it before. 

“The pasta is good. But I particularly enjoy their paella. But of course, it’s your call-”

“Dude, I can't even read all these english names. I’ll eat whatever you recommend. It is your treat afterall.”

“Alright then.” So Mingyu orders two plates of seafood paella and the pesto pizza. 

“Seems like you came all prepared to lose the bet? A reservation here could not have been easy.” “Well, it was some luck. But it’s kinda unbelievable that I did lose the bet. How has it been twenty days since they’ve been hooking up but still not dating? Maybe they’re just, like, secretly dating. And not announcing it. ‘Cause Joshua is a celeb and all.” “Perhaps. But I would think Seokmin is close enough a friend of yours to tell you if he did get into the first relationship of his life.” Mingyu pouts, his eyebrows furrowed as he drinks some of the wine that just got served. 

“I just hope he doesn’t get his heart broken, Gyu.”

The man in front of you shakes his head. “Don’t worry. Seokmin may be innocent but he’s cautious. He wouldn’t go in deep if he wasn’t sure of Joshua’s feelings too.” He gingerly edges his fingers towards your palm resting on the table, and gently caresses your fingers, sending shivers down your spine. “Y/N, let’s take our mind off the bet for some time, hmm? If I’m taking you out for the first time, I want it to be a date, and I want it… I want to do it the right way. Will you let me do it the right way?” 

Your breath hitches in your throat. Mingyu doesn’t have to make it more explicit, you understand well enough what he’s trying to say. But you still ask him, because you can’t wrap your head around it. 

“What do you mean, Gyu?”

He smiles, his cheeks glowing with happiness. “It means I’m asking you for a chance, Y/N. I like you. Let me show you how much I like you. Will you let me?” The intensity of his gaze and his gentle but firm grip on your fingers mean that he’s waiting for a response, but you’re literally taken aback and speechless. That took a quick turn. You had hardly expected that Mingyu did actually like you. All that banter and friendly touching? It was not your fault for thinking any good-looking man with flirtatious tendencies probably did that with every woman he saw. 

Fuck, Jeonghan was right about Mingyu liking me. Wow. What would the look on his face be when you’d tell him about this?

As soon as Jeonghan’s face crops up into your mind, the pleasant buzz of the situation dissipates into an anger you cannot understand. The faint traces of a drunk conversation from months’ ago float into your mind. 

Men like him aren’t worth chasing, you know.

Men like him? Why do you say that so condescendingly, Jeonghan?

Because I don’t understand the hype about him. Sure, big arms and height and all. But he’s after all just an average man. Using greasy pick up lines, wearing printed t-shirts, looking to marry and have three kids as soon as possible, and then grow old with dogs in a house he’s still paying the loan for, until retirement and then popping off. Just like that, he’s gone. Nothing remarkable about him for people to even remember him. Jeez, I really do not get the craze for unpolished men like him. I didn’t think you’d also be like other women and like him.

Ridiculous, ridiculous opinions. At that moment, you’d dismissed his statements as his usual drunken ludicrousness, but now an intense anger grows in you. As you see Mingyu sitting in front of you, his fingers still clasping yours, eyes shining with genuine fondness, you think how wrong Jeonghan was. Mingyu may not be a celebrity. He may not be a model with thousands of fans looking for him. Sure, he may be making just a regular paycheck at the end of the month. 

But he still wants to take a date out to a fancy high-end restaurant you know is beyond his affordability. He still wants you to give him a chance and he’s willing to work hard for it. He’s not an entitled bitch who thinks he can dump off a twenty-year old friendship for some random hot woman he met the other night, because he’s too busy thinking with his dick, too busy exploring the feeling of an infatuation because he’s never felt anything like that before and-

Mingyu gently rubs your fingers, breaking you out of your head. 

You heave in a deep breath, and say, “Yes, Mingyu. I… I can’t say anything about my feelings right now, though-”

“And that’s okay! I don’t want to force anything on you either. Your feelings are your feelings. Give me one chance and let me change your mind.” 

Mingyu’s smile is ever so genuine, his canines poking out of the side of his mouth. He picks your hand and slowly brings it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. 

And you should melt at the sweet gesture. You should melt at the feel of his soft, full lips touching your hand. You should melt at how big his hands feel against your smaller ones, the way his big fingers grasp your smaller wrist.

But it gives you deja vu from a distant memory and you avert your gaze. 

Thankfully, the pizza arrives just then and you two can dig in. 

_

When the bill arrives, Mingyu doesn’t even let you see it. You let him pay it, knowing his ego is too proud. Somehow, the fact that this was the outcome of him losing the bet has escaped your mind and you’ve realised it was all a ploy to get you out on dinner. 

“Did you design the bet in order to take me out to dinner?” You shyly ask him, as you both make your way out of the restaurant towards the spot where his car is parked.

He laughs, and whispers back to you, as you sit down in his car. “Guilty as charged. Did you really have no idea of my feelings?” 

You smile, no idea why the two of you are whispering but it feels strangely alright. It makes you feel like a high school forbidden romance, and he’s treating you like those ambitious teens who want to give the best date to their crush like you see in movies. With all the attention and compliments he’s given you over the last two hours, he hasn’t made you a tad bit uncomfortable, rather you’re quite floating on clouds right now. No one has ever made you feel you so wanted. Especially at a time when you feel particularly unwanted. 

“I did not, I swear. I thought it was your usual thing. The banter and all.”

He laughs again. He seems to be laughing a lot more than usual, and that’s okay with you. It adds to his warmth and his charm, and you like the sound too. 

“I think I fell for you ages ago. Ever since you shifted to that desk next to me.”

“Hell no. That was eight months back.”

“Uh-huh. What’s wrong with that?”

“It took you eight months to ask me out, Mingyu?” You scoff at him, squinting your eyes. “You’re a sore loser then. That’s way too long to crush on someone at this age.”

“I am a sore loser, I didn’t have the guts.” He giggles. His hand extends over the console to find your hand resting on your thigh, and he gently wraps his fingers around yours. “To be honest, I thought you were dating Jeonghan at first.” You let his fingers be on your hand, and you squeeze his meaty fingers. “That’s ridiculous. Jeonghan and I have never been that sort of thing.” “Really? I mean, it’s not obvious. But I kinda figured it out when we started mingling in the same circle and going out for parties with common friends and all. Seokmin and I both thought you and Jeonghan were a thing until we noticed how often he slept around with others.” 

You shudder. You don’t want to talk about Jeonghan now. God, Jeonghan was so wrong. Average man? No. Sincere man. Mingyu was a genuine man, and what was wrong in wanting to get married and have kids early? At least he didn’t have a vanity the size of the moon and an absolute disregard for others’ feelings. 

“Mingyu, you know my house is on the other side of the town. You don’t have to drive all the way up there. I can take the bus, it’s not that late.”

“What?” He squeezes your fingers, which have remained entangled in his own. “No. Of course I’ll drop you. Why would I want to cut our time together short?” That makes you blush wildly. You can’t believe the kind of cheesy stuff that comes out of his mouth so casually, almost fully seriously. 

“Mingyu! Stop saying things like that.”

“Why? Does it make your heart flutter?” 

And there’s a red light, so he turns to look at you, and you realise he’s close enough for you to smell his cologne. He smells good even at the end of the day. The cologne is from a cheap brand, the artificial fragrances make that obvious. Nothing like Jeonghan’s expensive bergamot fragrance you’ve gotten used to. But you’re not going to think about him. So you don’t. 

You lean in closer towards Mingyu. 

“You know, it’s not a working day tomorrow.”

His eyes go slightly dilated as he stares back at you. His grip on your hand tightens as you inch closer. “Yes, and?”

“Do you want to watch the World Cup finals game tonight, together?”

A very cocky, but an excited smirk spreads across his face. “Are you sure? Of course I want to.” His voice is still a whisper, but his excitement makes it shrill and cute. “Do you want to come to my place? I have snacks and soju at home, we can have a full binge session while we watch the match. Which team do you s-”

“Hey, pretty boy! Don’t speak so fast.” He pouts, but it’s extremely cute. “Mingyu, it’s a green light.”

He looks away from you and suddenly jerks into place, and you laugh. “You’re such a baby, Kim Mingyu.”

_

So you do end up at his place. You change into a spare set of clothes that he lends you, and you two spend a solid three hours laughing and watching the match. By the end of it, your eyes are red from staring at his large TV but you both fight sleep to watch the penalty kicks and the final winning shot. And when the last penalty kick is hit, and the team you both have been supporting is declared the winner, you both jump into the air, your popcorn spilling everywhere, but the giggles and the dopamine makes it worth it. You end up sleeping on the couch, and Mingyu on the carpet on the floor, semi-drunk after finishing three bottles of soju between the two of you. And then you’re out like a light, with no dreams and no disturbances even though the couch isn’t really comfy.

The next morning, you wake up to the sound of a doorbell. When you open your eyes, you see a ton of sunlight streaming in through the windows. Must be at least ten in the morning for the sun to be this bright. Mingyu is still asleep, his legs tangled with the blanket he brought last night, and his hair mussed up. Not wanting to wake him up, and realising that you look decent enough to open the door, you peep through the eye-hole, before gasping and immediately opening the door. 

“Seokmin?”

“Y/N?” There’s a croak in his voice, like it’s broken. His eyes are wide, like he hasn’t been expecting you. “Sorry- I- Mingyu and I were watching the match last night so I slept here. We didn’t sleep together or anything-” “No, you don’t have to explain. Is Mingyu here?” “Yeah, I’ll just be leaving. You can talk to him, don’t mind me!” 

Mingyu wakes up at the sound of your conversation, and comes to the door equally surprised to find Seokmin standing there. He takes up the rein of the conversation and it’s only now that you notice how gloomy Seokmin’s face looks- clouded with worries and a seriousness you’ve never seen in him before. It’s an odd look because you thought it impossible to ever see Seokmin look downcast like this. 

“Is something wrong?” Mingyu asks him softly, drawing him a little away from you, and you understand. It may be a private thing between friends, you wouldn’t want to intrude. 

“No, it’s okay if Y/N hears.” Seokmin clears his throat and turns around to face you. 

“Joshua… cheated on me. No, that- that’s wrong. We were never together, he said. So he was never exclusive. We were never exclusive. So he’s been cheating on me since the first day… No, what I mean is-”

“Fuck.” You mutter under your breath, as you see Seokmin struggling with his words, his eyes on the floor. “Are you sure, Seokmin-ah? Did you see him-”

“I went to this house this morning. To surprise him. We were supposed to meet yesterday but I had to cancel, so…” he runs a hand through his hair. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” And your heart breaks at the misery painted across his face, so you pull him into your arms and he instantly breaks down and starts crying in your shoulder. You can see Mingyu looking equally distressed, so you pull him into the hug too, and the two of you take turns to comfort Seokmin as he sputters out the rest of the story in between sobs. 

“Hadn’t you spoken to him before about dating and all, Seokmin-ah?” Mingyu asks him, but Seokmin shakes his head. “I hadn’t… because I was too scared he would reject me. Of course, I was okay with us not having tags until he wanted to… of course, I understand that he is a celebrity and these sorts of things are probably okay between them but… It still hurts, I’m sorry.” “You should not be sorry, Seokmin-ah. It’s literally not your fault that Joshua was an absolute jerk,” you say, patting his back. “Mingyu, can you take care of Seokmin-ah? I have to go talk to Jeonghan about this.” “Jeonghan?” Seokmin looks at you with wide eyes, and you simply nod without elaborating. “Joshua will regret losing you, Seokmin.” 

Jeonghan will regret his meddling.

_

When you arrive at Jeonghan’s house, you find that his mother thankfully is not there. It wouldn’t matter anyway. In their four storey mansion, you and his mother have rarely clashed when avoidable. Although you let yourself in, you find Jeonghan’s bedroom locked, slow jazz music clearly audible. 

You bang on the door. 

No response. 

“Jeonghan, open up.” 

The door opens after a solid ten seconds, with a curious Jeonghan peering down at you. “Y/N?” He’s shirtless, his pale, glowing skin shining in the sunlight. “Is she here?” “Who?” “That woman.” “No.” You snort. Look at him, all blissfully unaware about the damage he’s done. You notice how he doesn’t open the door fully to let you come in, which is absurd. “You won’t let me in? Have we ceased to be friends?” “No, I- sorry. Come in.” “What?” “Those are not your clothes. You don’t own red clothes. You don’t even like the colour red.” You look down at your clothes and realise that you’re still dressed in Mingyu’s clothes. “Yeah, they’re Mingyu’s.” Jeonghan looks up from where he’s standing, trying to put on a shirt. He stops midway and walks closer towards you, “You’re wearing Mingyu’s clothes?” “Yes, and?” 

The beauty of Yoon Jeonghan hits you with full force as he steps into your personal space, all up close until you can count his long eyelashes. You can see the way his gaze hardens, his eyes darken, and his jaw locks itself, making his face more serious and less delicate. “Did you sleep with him?” “Jeonghan, there’s something else I came to talk to you about-” “Did you?” His finger grazes your chin. The touch is not unfamiliar, but not familiar either. It sends a shiver down your spine as you take a step back, without breaking eye contact. 

“I don’t have to answer you, Jeonghan. Not after you decided to go MIA after meeting one woman-”

“I did not go MIA.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Yoon! Fuck, do you have no conscience, lying to my face like that? Why did you stop calling me? Stop coming over? Avoided every time I planned to meet up with you?”

“I was busy.”

“With what? What on earth could make you so busy that you missed my mother’s death anniversary? What on earth could make you so busy that you felt it was normal to not talk to me properly for days? Years of friendship, broken by what? I want to know, Jeonghan! Was it her? Does she ask you not to talk to me?”

“No, what? Why would you bring her into-”

“Then why? Are you really the same Jeonghan who wanted to video call every week even when you had gone abroad for that study program? Are you really the same Jeonghan who swore that even if you got married with ten grandchildren, you wouldn’t lose contact with me?”

“Y/N, listen to me.”

“No, I’m not going to fall for your lies-”

He steps in front of you and gently places his left hand on your mouth. “I’m sorry.” There’s that intense gaze again. He wraps his other hand around your arm, holding you in place. “Listen to me, once, please?” You look away, and you make the mistake of looking down at his chest. You didn’t realise he was still shirtless. And while it’s not a view you’re seeing for the first time and it’s never really phased you before, you swear your mouth goes dry seeing the way a single silver chain hangs in front of his collarbones. 

“What is it, Jeonghan? What do you have to say?”

“I’m sorry, I made a mistake.”

There’s a pause, where you expect him to say something else, but he doesn’t continue. “That’s it?” You raise an eyebrow, and you see his jaw twitch. 

“Yes. I don’t have an explanation because there isn’t any. I was infatuated with Sujin until I found out on the internet after our photos of kissing went viral last night from a club.”

“Until you found your photos went viral? What happened, did your agency cut you off?” 

“What- no, of course not. My agency has it under control.”

“Then? Fans pressurised-”

“No, dammit. She’s not been talking to me since the incident. But she’ll come around. She’s probably a little shocked because of the paparazzi.”

You sigh. “Well. At least your life’s under control.”

“What do you mean?” Jeonghan’s eyes slightly furrow as he leans into you. Your nostrils fill with that typical scent of his, but it’s the first time you can smell his masculine scent too, perhaps because he is shirtless. But you refuse to be taken off guard, so you harden your gaze and look back into his stare with full force. 

“Seokmin…”

“What about Seokmin?”

“Joshua’s been fucking other people apart with Seokmin.”

Jeonghan steps back. “Seriously?”

“Yes. You’ve broken his heart, Jeonghan.” You can’t help from throwing him your most disappointed look, reflecting your real feelings. “You knew that he is a playboy and I’d told you that he would not take Seokmin seriously. I told you to not meddle, and look at what you’ve done now.”

Jeonghan falls to the bed behind him with a loud thud. His voice cracks when he asks you, “Is Seokmin okay?” 

You bitterly shake your head. “It was his first relationship. Think of how he’d feel after finding out the man he loves didn’t love him all along.”

_

There was nothing to be done that day, except you going back to Mingyu’s place, both to return his clothes, but also to check on Seokmin. You brought soup and some more comfort food, and found Seokmin sitting in one corner of Mingyu’s bed, wrapped in a blanket but still shivering because of the tears that kept flowing down his cheeks from time-to-time. 

Jeonghan goes to meet Joshua. You don’t know how much good that’s going to do, considering that Joshua is a stubborn man. And to be honest, you wouldn’t want Seokmin to go back to Joshua either. There was a high chance that the sensitive younger boy’s feelings would get hurt again, and you didn’t want to take that chance. 

And you’re proved right. When Jeonghan comes to Mingyu’s house after talking to Joshua, he begs forgiveness from Seokmin, who doesn’t blame him at all. He instead cries a bit more, blaming himself and his innocence, and his inability to understand Joshua’s feelings correctly. Hearing him cry, Jeonghan cries too, the two wrapped up in each other, as you and Mingyu leave them alone to sort out the mess. It is a mess, but nothing Jeonghan says makes it better. It doesn’t matter how many times Jeonghan tries to explain to Seokmin that it’s not his fault, because Seokmin has shut off all voices of reason. 

So you take Jeonghan away from him. He’s quiet throughout the journey back home, swimming in his guilt. And your heart breaks a little seeing him. 

He doesn’t respond to your voice when you ask him to get out of the car and come into your house, so you open the door and gently take him into your arms and carry him inside, his arms limp in yours. 

“Hannie?” You ask him when you’re finally inside and you’ve seated him on your kitchen stool. 

“I let him down. I let you down, Y/N.”

His eyes gradually look up at you, and you can see the raw vulnerability in his doe eyes. But you cannot comfort him. A part of your heart aches to touch him, to let him know that it isn’t his fault either, but another part of your heart thinks that he deserves it. His self-important ass should take a blow from time-to-time, and realise that everything in the world does not revolve around him.

So you don’t reply to him, only walking away. You busy yourself with other chores around the house, doing the laundry, cleaning the rooms, washing the dishes. And Jeonghan just sits there in that chair throughout, waiting for you to finish your work, as he looks at you with sad wide eyes. 

You don’t miss what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to throw puppy eyes so that you can forgive him. But you won’t forgive him. It’s only when you finish making dinner and place some of it before him on a plate, that you speak to him. “Eat up. Both of us haven’t eaten anything since the morning.”

He doesn’t look away from you, not making a move towards the plate. 

“Jeonghan. Looking at me like that is not going to mend things.”

“Like what?”

“Like that. Puppy fucking eyes. I’m not going to melt because of that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re feeling sorry. I feel sorry too, if it makes you feel any better. In spite of knowing what kind of man Joshua potentially could be, I didn’t do anything to caution him. I’m as much to blame as anyone else.” 

“No, you’re wrong. It is my fault, through and through.”

You push the plate of food towards him. 

“Enough of your self-pity. Now, eat, please.”

Hearing your stern tone, he silently picks up his chopsticks. And then you only talk to him after he’s finished his entire meal. “Do you want more? You must be hungry.” “Hmm, if there’s any more.” So you give him some more, and finally, when he’s done, some of the natural glow comes back into his face. 

“Do you want to go home now? Or-”

“Can I stay here? I don’t want to go home.” When you don’t immediately respond, he adds, “I can sleep on the couch.”

“Have you ever slept on the couch, Han?”

He looks away. “I’ll wash the dishes.” So you leave him to do that and go into your bedroom to brush your teeth. He doesn’t come into the room for the next hour, not until you’ve changed into your night clothes and snuggled into your warm bed with the covers pulled up to your chin. On any other Saturday night, Jeonghan and you would wear matching face masks before going to bed. On any other Saturday night, you would eat liquor chocolates before bed, as a guilty pleasure. On any other Saturday night, Jeonghan and you would watch youtube videos till you slept. 

But tonight is not any other Saturday night. There is still a rage simmering in your heart. So you text Mingyu good night, but you don’t even look at Jeonghan when he finally comes into the room. Even as you feel him finally shuffle into bed and the other side of the bed dip under his weight, you don’t turn to look at him. Almost thirty minutes later, you finally turn around to stretch your body, hoping that the smoothness of Jeonghan’s breathing means he has finally dozed off to sleep. 

You’re wrong. As soon as you turn around, you see his eyes flutter open to meet yours, his face shining under the moonlight flitting in through the window. It’s at moments like this that you realise that he was truly born to be a model. He looks beautiful, even restless like this, even on stressful nights, when his eyes are clouded and the usual flush in his cheeks is lessened. 

Somehow seeing his eyes on you makes your heart calm down. 

“Did you really sleep with him, Y/N?”

Huh? This is what he wants to ask you? Is this what he’s been restless about? You can feel your heart race up again with irritation. Why is he pressing on about this? How dare he, when the only reason you’re spending time together with your best friend after weeks is because he’s made a grave mistake and he wants you to forgive him. 

Is this why you’re not forgiving him, yet, Y/N? Because you want to hold on to him at any cost? A voice in your head asks you. You dismiss it quickly. 

“After everything, this is what’s keeping you up?”

“Just please answer me, Y/N-ah.”

You take a breath.

“No I didn’t, Jeonghan. But we did go out on a date last night.”

In the darkness, you miss how his breathing speeds up and his jaw clenches. You just see him stare at you for a long minute. Then you turn back around and close your eyes. You hope he’ll be gone the next morning. 

_

He is gone the next morning. 

Well, gone from the room. You find him sitting on the couch, reading something on his phone. 

“You’re up early.”

He looks terrible. It’s clear he’s not slept well, if at all. 

“She called.” 

The coffee machine pings, indicating that your cappuccino is ready. 

“Who?”

“Sujin.” 

You pick your cup and turn around to look at him, leaning on the kitchen counter. “Oh good. Do you want eggs or ramen-”

“She has a husband. He lives in New Zealand.”

You almost drop your cup, as Jeonghan stares at you with the full force of his gaze. “She wants to break off ties immediately. She doesn’t want to stay in touch.”

“God, I didn’t know people were this casual about relationships these days. First, Joshua… then Sujin. I am sorry to hear-”

“Don’t be. I don’t feel bad. I don’t know, should I feel bad?” He walks up towards you and slowly takes a sip from your cup of coffee. He’s standing really close to you, and you can see the way his hair is growing along his neck. 

“Jeonghan, but you liked her?”

“I did, I suppose. But I can’t find myself to care that she’s gone. The restlessness in my heart is not caused by her at all. And, the longer,” he takes another sip, “I think about it, I think, I’m glad she’s gone.”

“What?”

“Because she took me away from you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. “What are you saying, Jeonghan-ah?”

“Y/N, I- I don’t know what came over me. I swear I didn’t want to miss your mother’s anniversary. I knew you had a fair last week and-”

“Jeonghan! It’s fine, don’t fret so much. I’ll eventually get over it,” you laugh, trying to desperately avoid the intense gaze which is pinning you down now. 

He takes a step closer to you, his hand extending to touch your neck gently, feeling the hair near your neck. “You might. I won’t be able to look myself in the eye in the mirror, fuck, I won’t even be able to look at you with a clear mind until you forgive me.”

And then there’s a strange sensation in your limbs. A sensation to touch him too. It’s not like you’ve never touched him- but this time, you don’t want to touch him like you’ve touched him for all these years. You want to touch the way the faint morning sunlight is kissing his cheeks. You want to touch the gentle ends of his brown hair which are slowly growing in length. You want to touch his lips, chapped evidently, but still rosy and delicate. How would it feel to kiss him? Would he kiss you back?

“Jeonghan, you don’t know what you’re saying. You feel hurt because of Sujin and you want a quick fix.”

“Fuck, no, Y/N! Stop misunderstanding me, please! You don’t get it, do you? When I heard that you and Mingyu went on a date, I realised it.”

“Realised what?”

“That you’re mine. And I’m yours. I can’t imagine belonging, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else.” You don’t have any words to say, just leaning back as he gently caresses your neck and hairline. So you stay silent, as you let his touch ease your mind. It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels as if his fingers just belong there. You crave the way he touches you, and you think you agree with what he’s saying. “Y/N, I… there’s a reason why I’ve never fallen in love with someone. Because, I didn’t need to. And because nobody was you. I’ve been a fool to not realise it earlier- but you’re literally my soulmate. We match, yin and yang, you’ve said this before yourself. And nobody makes me feel as loved as you do. Nobody makes me as happy as you do. I’m sorry I got carried away with the infatuation, but I know in my heart that it was nothing but physical attraction with Sujin. And I don’t even care for it. She has no place in my heart. Nobody does, except you.”

“But Sujin is perfect. You-”

“But she’s not you. She may be perfect, I don’t know. She’s definitely not perfect for me.” 

He leans in even closer, until you’re breathing the same air as his own, and his palm gently massages your neck. “I know who’s perfect for me.”

And then he steps back. He fucking takes a step back, leaving you high and dry, leaving you perched on his words, a glint in his eyes and all misery gone from his face. “I’ll wait for your reply, Y/N. I’ll wait for you to give me a chance. Unless, of course, your heart has already gone to Mingyu-”

You take a step forward. “Mingyu has never meant anything for me. I don’t … feel anything for him. You know that.”

“But you went on a date with him?”

“I… I didn’t put too much thought to it. We were going out just normally and he suddenly said if we can make it a date. And I had no reason to not give into his request-”

“But do you like him? Giving into his request and wanting the same thing as him are two different things, Y/N.”

You stay silent for a second, considering his question. It is a perfectly valid question, a question that had tormented your mind throughout the ‘date’. You hadn’t paid it much mind because of the sudden incidents after that, but when it comes back to your mind now, you realise…

“No. I don’t like him like that. And you know that too.”

There’s an evident shift in Jeonghan’s eyes, his gaze becoming warmer. “I do. But he is a better man, Y/N-ah. Better than I could ever be.”

There’s a long pause after his words, both of you waiting like prey and predator, wondering what the other’s move would be.

And then you take quick steps towards him, gently moving towards him timidly, until his back is against the wall, and you’re pinning him down on it. His lips part and he leans downwards, and that’s enough bait for you to fall for it, hook, line and sinker. So you meet him halfway and kiss him. You press your lips against his softer lips, the same lips you had wondered what it would be like to kiss, the same lips you had wondered if it would kiss you back. 

When you both finally break the kiss for air, you whisper to him, “I don’t want a better man, Jeonghan. I want you.”

So you kiss him again. And again, until his kisses become insistent, and he gently pries open your lips with his tongue. When his tongue enters, he flips you so that your back is against the wall, and he gently cages you with his hands on your hips. Then he takes his sweet time exploring your mouth the same way his gentle hands roam all over your waist and hips, pulling you up towards him, so that his hands wrap around you back as well.

“Fuck, Y/N, why haven’t we done this earlier?”

“Because we were friends?”

He laughs, a warm, tinkling sound in your ears, as he bends down to kiss your neck, making you gasp with each touch. “Fuck being friends, Y/N. I love you. I don’t think there’s ever been a day when I haven’t loved you and wanted to live the rest of my life with you by my side.”

“Hannie, what you’re saying-”

“Does it feel wrong? Do you want me to stop? I will stop if you say so, love.”

Love. He’s called you nicknames before, but something about the way he says it now makes you weak in the knees. 

In the past twenty-four hours, you’ve realised you were wrong so many times. Like right now, you realise that it was never Mingyu who made you feel the most wanted. It was because you were craving for Jeonghan’s attention that made you feel like Mingyu’s attention was unique. It was, is, and will always be Jeonghan. Had been him when he’d seen you through the shabbiness of your home, through the simple lifestyle your single mother provided, through your worst days when you’d isolated yourself from the world because you were too scared to face your demons. Had been him when he’d shown you that friendships can exist beyond a single classroom’s companionship, that love doesn’t always have to come in the form of big gestures and gifts, that life is always better with someone by your side. 

And you can’t imagine anyone else by your side, except Jeonghan. 

“It feels so right, Hannie. Don’t stop kissing me, please.” 

He chuckles, a deep, glorious sound, as he captures your lips again, his fingers daringly fiddling against the clasp of your bra that’s evident through your thin t-shirt. You gently edge yourself off the wall, bracing your back, pressing your body against his. “Fuck, don’t do that, Y/N. I’m not going to be able to keep my control if you do that.”

“You don’t have to control yourself, Han-ah. I want you as much as you want me.”

He kisses you again after that, a searing kiss that makes your body warm with liquid passion, and then he unclasps the bra from behind in one go. Then he kisses your jawline, leaving tiny bites as he pulls of the straps and your bra drops to the floor where you’re standing. Your body suddenly feels cool, so you press your chest against his, nipples rubbing against the fabric of his t-shirt and hardening, and he notices it.

He mutters something under his breath, before asking you, “Can I?”

“I don’t know,” you throw him a smirk. “Can you?”

“Fuck,” and then his hands grasp your breasts from over your tshirt, gentleness all forgotten as you arch your back to press into his squeezing hands as they rub circles into your nipples, feeling so warm against the cold air of the house. He trails his kisses down from your neck, through your collarbones, and finally over your shirt on your breasts, leaving wet patches all over. The erotic sight turns you on, as his spit gently lingers on the thin material of your shirt, leaving everything translucent. 

“Babe, let’s take you to the bedroom, please? I don’t want our first time against your kitchen wall.” His voice is hoarse in your ear, desperate groans you could never imagine Jeonghan to be emitting, but here he is, his low voice working wonders to your body. And you whisper a yes, before he drags you into the bedroom and nudges you to fall against the bed. He quickly pulls off your shirt, damp all over by now, and takes in the sight of your bare upper body. “God, you’re so fucking pretty, Y/N. Prettiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen,” he whispers, making you blush with the way he’s casually talking dirty to you. Then he latches his lips onto one of your breasts, sucking your nipple, while a hand pinches your other nipple, making you scream out at the sudden pleasure. And it’s his name you’re screaming. He looks at you with crazed eyes, his bangs falling over his eyes, but he doesn’t leave eye contact even as he switches sucking and nibbling from one breast to another. The soft skin of your tits are all wet and blooming with hickeys by the time he’s done, leaving your panties sticky and your breathing erratic. 

“I want to feel you too, Hannie.” You whimper, and he giggles. “God, you’re so cute, babe. Can you take off my shirt, cutie?” You sit up instantly and take off his shirt. And his chest is as pretty as you remember it. But this is the first time you’re having such a visceral reaction towards his bare chest, as you gently lick and leave open mouthed kisses all over his neck and chest. “Baby, so good-” his voice breaks, and it makes you feel powerful. The blood rushes to your brain, and you quickly unzip his pants on an impulse, feeling the loose fabric slip down, leaving his boxers in front of your face, his dick already weeping through the thin fabric of his boxers, leaving a stain. “Hannie, I want your cock, in … my mouth.” You know the effect your words are having on him, as he grips on to one bedpost to steady himself. “Yeah? Pretty baby wants her mouth on my cock? God, just do it already. Don’t tease, f-” his voice gets strangled again as you lick the stain on his boxer, before gently taking his red cock out of his tented boxer. “So pretty, like you, Hannie. Delicate and pretty, and oh,” you gag on your first attempt. “So long.” Unexpectedly long, so you can’t fit him in one go. Still you try to take as much as you can, and his hands wrap around your hair. When you bob your head once, a low groan leaves Jeonghan’s mouth as his grip tightens on your hair. “If you do that, Y/N-ah, I swear I’m going to cum right now.” You don’t listen to him, you continue to suck his length off. His pretty length, which is leaking more and more pre-cum as you continue to suck it and lick off the tip, as you enjoy the sounds Jeonghan makes just for you. 

An insecure part of you wonders if Sujin did it as well. So you ask him, in all your vulnerability. 

“Did Sujin do it like this? Or was she better?”

Hannie’s hands stop in your hair. He gently pulls his cock out from your mouth before sitting down to your level on the bed. Then he roams his hand all over your skin as he pushes you down to lie on your back. “Y/N, believe me when I say this. Sujin didn’t make me feel even an ounce of what I’m feeling right now. I feel so safe, and wanted, and sexy when you even moan for me, and I swear I almost came on the spot when you took off your shirt and showed me your body.” 

His hands delicately wrap all over you, as he places his weight on you. Your heart warms at his words, so you grab his face to kiss him. And kiss he does. Slow, passionate kisses, as you lift your hips to feel some friction against his milky smooth thighs. Kisses which end up in him biting your lower lip as he pinches your nipples almost cruelly, making your toes curl up. Kisses which bend down to your chest as he sucks on your buds to make them hurt less, and his hands move towards gently pressing a finger against your folds. 

“So wet, pretty baby? For Hannie?” 

“For Hannie. All for Hannie.”

And he enters the entire finger inside you without a moment’s pause, making you moan out his name in an almost pornographic moan, arching your hips, as he uses his thumb to gently rub your clit. “So pretty for Hannie. You were made for Hannie, all of your beautiful body and your beautiful mind. What would I do without you, love?” 

“You would never be without me, baby.” And he kisses you again, as his fingers work your folds open gently, first one, and then two, and slowly, without you even realising, with the way his fingers piston into you, you’re on the brink of your orgasm. So you cum all over his fingers without warning, and he chuckles as he feels the warm sensation over his fingers. Then he sits up, and rubs the remnants of your wetness over his dick and jerks himself off a little, making his proud length stand up even taller. 

“Fuck, Hannie, put it inside me already. Feel-feeling empty.”

He kisses your cheek. “So cute, but so dirty, god. You’re empty? Wait. Do you have condoms?”

You nod. Indicating the top shelf of your bedroom drawer. He retrieves a pack quickly, and as he rolls the condom over his dick, he sits tall, watching how you’re writhing under him for his touch. 

“Does this boost your ego, Han-ah?”

“So much. To think that you’re like this for me. Fucking unreal.”

“Shut up,” you giggle shyly, before grabbing him and kissing him slowly, as he gently enters you inch-by-inch. Once he’s seated all the way inside, he breaks the kiss. “Does it hurt?”

“No. You can move, Hannie.” You blush with how he tries to angle his hips correct from the very first thrust, biting his lips in concentration. He’s really trying to make this the best experience for you two, and it warms your heart. But he doesn’t have to get so worked up about this. 

So you whisper to him, “Hannie, come into my arms please. Wanna hold you, wanna feel you close.” “I’m here, I’m here baby,” he says, leaning closer to you, his thrusts becoming slower, but you can feel him deeper like this. 

And soon, your moans become higher and higher pitched, as do his. He kisses you through every second of it, even when you’re both chasing your climax. “Fuck, baby, I’m going to cum now, can you cum with me?” You nod, reaching out to rub your nipples, as he kisses the sensitive spots on your neck. And within seconds, you’re both seeing stars, as you feel an intense orgasm run over you and his lazy thrusts through it all. 

It takes you a long minute to recover, and you see that Jeonghan’s cleaning you up with a soft cloth. “Hannie?” “Sleepy?” “Hmm,” you reach out for him, and he comes to cuddle in your chest. “But it’s still early morning, how can I sleep now?” “Let’s just cuddle, hmm? You need some rest at least before we go for round two,” he gives you a cocky smirk, and you blush at his words. God, he made you feel all mushy and gooey inside. 

“I love you, Hannie.”

“And I love you, Y/N-ie. I always have.”

[ijustwannabecool]

Somewhere Only We Know - Part 2

Lando Norris x Reader

Based upon this request:

Hi!!! First of all, I love love loooove your stories. I don't know if you're open to writing for Lando. Just wanted to maybe suggest this: we all know he's spiraling at the moment, maybe someone who he meets and steadies him? I know he has that typical athlete fboy image. But maybe someone who he changes for and really helps him mentally as well. Seeing that change from an outside perspective from people in F1 or fans would be pretty cool. Just a thought that popped up! Thanks! Will be anxiously waiting for your next uploads!

Summary... He wasn’t looking for anything when he found you — just a diner, a coffee, a moment to breathe — but somehow you became everything. This is the story of how he fell, how you stayed, and how together you built something louder than the noise trying to tear you apart.

A/N: I hope this story does justice to your request! I wrote it like a book, so it has chapters within the story. Also, the story was so long that I had to split it into two parts because Tumblr would not allow me to post it. I had such a blast writing it, and I hope you all have just as much fun reading it. As always, thank you so much for being here, for supporting these little worlds we create, and for sharing your love with the characters too.

Happy reading, and have a beautiful day today!! 🖤✨

If you enjoyed the story and feel like supporting my writing, you can donate a strawberry matcha through my Ko-fi! 🍓🍵 (No pressure at all — your kindness is already everything.)

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

DO NOT READ THIS PART BEFORE READING PART ONE!!

Chapter 14: Breakwater

The morning crept in slow and gold.

The lake shimmered in the early light, mist curling over the surface like a living thing.

Inside the cabin, it was warm — blankets kicked off, window cracked open, the air smelling like rain-soaked wood and coffee brewing somewhere down the road.

—

Lando woke up first.

Y/N was curled into his side on the small couch they’d crashed onto sometime after their second — or was it third? — kiss.

Her hand was pressed against his chest, fingers splayed over his heart like she was claiming it without even trying.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Just breathed her in. The softness of her hair against his jaw. The steady rhythm of her breathing.

The way the world outside could have burned to the ground and he wouldn’t have noticed because she was here.

His.

Finally.

—

She stirred after a while, blinking sleepily, her nose scrunching in a way that made him smile so wide it hurt.

"Mornin'," she mumbled, her voice rough with sleep.

"Hey," he whispered back, brushing his thumb gently over her knuckles.

For a moment, they just lay there — no rush, no noise, no weight.

Just them.

Y/N’s voice was still raspy when she teased, "Are we gonna pretend yesterday didn’t happen?"

Lando shook his head immediately. "Not a chance."

She smiled wider, her cheeks flushing pink, and burrowed closer into his side like she belonged there.

God, she did belong there.

—

They spent the morning wrapped around each other, half-tangled in blankets, trading lazy kisses and half-hearted arguments about who was responsible for getting breakfast.

"You drive," Y/N said, poking his ribs with a sly smile. "You’re the adult here."

"I’m not even qualified to own a plant," Lando protested, laughing as he caught her hand and laced their fingers together.

Eventually, they bundled up and wandered down to a tiny diner by the lake, the kind of place where the menus were handwritten and the waitress called everyone "sweetheart."

They sat across from each other, stealing bites of pancakes and grinning like idiots.

For a few precious hours — there was no McLaren. No cameras. No headlines.

Just this.

Just them.

Until the real world found them anyway.

—

It happened as they were walking back to the cabin, hand-in-hand, feet crunching over gravel.

Lando's phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again.

He ignored it at first — until it buzzed so violently it practically jumped out of his pocket.

He sighed, pulling it out — and froze.

Y/N noticed immediately.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, stepping closer, peering up at him.

Lando's jaw tightened as he tilted the screen so she could see.

Tweets. Instagram tags. News pings.

Photos.

Blurry at first — then clearer.

Them.

Leaving the diner last night. Laughing by the lake. Holding hands this morning.

The captions were already spiraling:

"New romance for Norris?" "Who is the mystery girl stealing Lando’s heart?" "Spotted: F1 star cozying up at hidden lakeside retreat."

Lando stuffed his phone back into his pocket like it burned him.

"You don’t have to do this," he said roughly, voice cracking a little. "You don’t have to stay."

Y/N just looked at him steady.

Sure.

She stepped even closer, slipping her fingers into his.

"Lando," she said softly, voice clear and unwavering, "I’m not here because it’s easy."

Her hand squeezed his once — firm, grounding.

"I’m here because it’s you."

And just like that — he knew.

No matter how high the waves got, no matter how loud the world screamed, no matter how messy it became —

They would fight for this.

Together.

———

Chapter 15: All the Noise, None of the Doubt

If you asked him, Lando would have said nothing changed.

Not really.

He still showed up for sim days and engineering meetings. Still suited up. Still pushed the limits. Still smiled for the cameras.

But something was different.

Not the way he drove — the way he lived.

The way he smiled wider when his phone buzzed. The way he laughed easier when he caught a glimpse of a photo Y/N sent him — some ridiculous thing, like a squirrel stealing a sandwich or her terrible attempt at latte art.

The way he counted the hours until he could see her again.

They carved out a world in the quiet spaces between all the noise.

Secret coffee dates. Late-night FaceTimes. Quick texts during media days

Soft mornings at the cabin when they could sneak away. Long car rides filled with bad music and even worse singing.

Tiny kisses stolen in parking lots. Fingers brushing under tables.

Nothing flashy. Nothing loud.

Just them.

Of course, the rest of the world wasn't blind.

At the factory, Max smirked as he caught Lando smiling down at his phone again.

"You’re disgusting," Max said, tossing a balled-up napkin at him.

Lando batted it away, not even pretending to hide the grin on his face.

"You’re just jealous," he shot back.

Max laughed. "Maybe. But I’m not the one getting meme’d into oblivion every time someone spots me looking like a lovesick idiot."

Lando flipped him off good-naturedly.

But later, alone in the simulator bay, phone screen glowing with a new picture of Y/N doodling all over his face in an old karting photo he sent her, he thought maybe he didn’t mind.

The media started circling too.

Soft at first. Little jabs in interviews.

"So, Lando, any truth to the rumors about a new girl?" "Someone special keeping you motivated this season?"

He ducked and weaved, smiling without answering, learning how to protect what mattered without lying.

They didn’t need to know. Not yet. Not when it was still this precious, still blooming in his hands.

But it was getting harder to keep their world untouched.

Photos slipped through sometimes — blurry ones of them at a gas station, a coffee shop, a grocery store.

Fans guessed. Fans speculated.

Some supported. Some didn't.

The noise was getting louder.

—

One night, they sat on the hood of his SUV under a wide, bruised sunset sky — the cabin just a small speck in the distance — splitting a bag of crisps between them.

Y/N leaned back on her hands, kicking her heels against the bumper.

"You know," she said lightly, "if you ever want to run... I’d go with you."

He turned to look at her, something sharp and warm catching in his throat.

"You serious?"

She nodded, smiling sideways at him.

"I’m not scared of the noise, Lando," she said. "But if it ever gets too loud for you... we’ll just find somewhere quieter."

He stared at her — this girl who had walked into his life on a rainy night with bad coffee and a soft voice — and realized that no matter how loud the world got, with her, there would always be a way back to silence.

To home.

To them.

—

He reached out, tangling their fingers together, resting their joined hands on the hood between them.

"I’m not running," he said quietly. "Not from this. Not from you."

She squeezed his hand, her smile small and sure.

"Good," she said. "Because you’re terrible at directions."

He laughed — a real, full laugh — and tugged her closer until she was tucked into his side.

And for the first time in a long time — maybe ever — Lando knew he wasn’t just surviving.

He was living.

With her.

———

Chapter 17: Our Little World

It wasn’t about hiding. Not really.

It was about protecting.

About keeping something beautiful just for themselves, tucked away where no cameras, no headlines, no strangers could touch it.

Their little world.

Their rules.

When they were apart — race weeks, sponsor events, the constant hum of everything — they stayed connected in the ways that mattered.

It became a routine without them even realizing it.

Late-night texts.

Y/N: Did you eat real food today or just Red Bull and regrets?

Lando: Pop-Tarts totally count as real food.

Y/N: Get a vegetable or I’m calling Max.

Lando: Terrifying. Ordering salad now.

Early morning FaceTimes.

"Hi," she’d say, hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Hi," he’d whisper back, already smiling just hearing her voice.

Sometimes they didn't even talk. Just kept the call open while she painted, while he packed, while they existed on opposite sides of the world but somehow closer than ever.

When they could steal days together — God, those days felt like breathing again.

—

Tiny traditions started to form:

Y/N leaving doodles tucked into his suitcase before he traveled. ("I better see this stuck to your laptop," she teased once, drawing a lopsided cartoon of him driving a spaceship.)

Lando slipping notes into the sketchbooks she left lying around. ("Your art’s better than any trophy," he scribbled once, messy and embarrassed but meaning every word.)

Sharing playlists. ("This song is you," he texted her once, sending a track that was all messy beats and golden chords.)

Movie nights where they talked over half the film, cuddled under a mountain of mismatched blankets, and fought about who stole the popcorn.

("You," Lando accused, mouth full. "Me?" Y/N gasped. "You’re inhaling it like you’ve never seen food before!")

They built a language only they spoke — inside jokes, stolen glances, silent conversations across crowded rooms.

—

But the world kept buzzing louder outside.

Photos kept surfacing. Speculation grew.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She teased him about it sometimes, flicking through tabloids at the grocery store.

"‘Lando Norris and Mystery Girl spotted looking cozy at Starbucks,’" she read aloud dramatically one day, showing him a grainy photo of them with frappuccinos.

He snorted. "That’s peak romance. Frappuccinos."

"You sure know how to spoil a girl," she said, nudging him.

He grinned, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles right there between the cereal and the canned soup aisle.

"I’ll buy you two next time," he whispered.

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away.

The world could shout all it wanted.

She knew where home was.

—

One night — late, after a brutal race weekend that left Lando physically exhausted and mentally shredded — they lay tangled together on the tiny couch in his Monaco apartment.

Y/N traced lazy circles over the back of his hand, her voice soft against the darkness.

"You know you don’t have to pretend with me, right?" she said.

He turned his head, watching her with tired, adoring eyes.

"I know," he said quietly. "You’re the only place I don’t have to."

She smiled — small, warm, breaking his heart a little more in the best way.

"You’re stuck with me, Norris," she teased, nose brushing his.

He kissed her gently — sweet and tired and so full of everything he couldn’t find the words for.

"Good," he whispered against her lips. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

And for now, that was enough.

Their little world held strong — soft, stubborn, untouchable.

For now.

———

Chapter 18: Say It Like You Mean It

It started with a headline.

Bigger this time. Louder.

Not whispers anymore — shouts.

"Is Lando Norris Losing Focus? Friends Fear New Romance May Be a Distraction."

And worse — comments. Speculation. Ugly words flung like stones.

They picked her apart — her looks, her job, her life — like she was nothing but an accessory to his downfall.

Lando saw it before Y/N did. His phone buzzing nonstop. His manager sending cautious texts. Max even texting him once:

Max:

You good, mate? Ignore the shit. You know whats’s real.

He barely read the rest. He couldn’t think straight.

He was supposed to protect her.

And now — they were using her name like a weapon.

—

He found her at his place, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a stack of his race gear he’d dumped there last week.

She looked up the second he slammed the door behind him, her smile fading when she saw his face.

"Lando?" she said, standing quickly. "What happened?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just crossed the room in three strides, pulling her into his arms like he needed to be sure she was still real.

"Lando," she said again, softer now, hands sliding up his back. "Talk to me."

He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing hard.

"They're saying shit," he muttered. "About you. About us."

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

"I know," she said gently.

He blinked. "You know?"

She smiled — sad and strong all at once. "I’m not blind, Lan. I knew what I was signing up for."

His chest tightened painfully.

"I hate that it touches you," he said, voice rough. "I hate that I brought you into this."

"You didn’t bring me anywhere," she said. "I walked. I chose this."

"But you don’t deserve it," he whispered.

She squeezed his hand. "Neither do you."

—

An hour later, he sat in his car outside the McLaren building, staring at his phone, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

His manager had sent another text.

PR Team: No need to comment. Stay quiet. Let it pass.

But Lando couldn’t.

Not this time.

He opened Twitter. Stared at the blinking cursor.

And typed.

@LandoNorris: You can say whatever you want about me. But leave her out of it. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me. End of story.

He hit post before he could second guess himself.

Then tossed the phone onto the passenger seat like it was on fire.

He didn't care about the fallout.

He cared about her.

—

When he got home, she was curled up on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders, flipping absently through a book she clearly wasn't reading.

He dropped onto the couch beside her, heart hammering.

She set the book down.

"You posted it," she said softly.

He nodded once, his throat too tight to speak.

She smiled — small, shaky — and climbed into his lap without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I’m not going anywhere," she whispered against his ear.

He closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair.

"You better not," he whispered back.

Silence stretched between them — not uncomfortable. Just heavy. Full.

"I love you," Lando said, the words tumbling out — messy, raw, desperate. "I love you so much it scares the hell out of me."

She pulled back, cupping his face in her hands.

"Good," she said, smiling through the tears gathering in her eyes. "Because I love you too, you idiot."

He laughed — choked and wrecked — and kissed her like he was drowning.

And maybe he was.

But if he was going under — he was taking her with him.

Together.

Always.

———

Chapter 19: The Afterglow and the Storm

The first few days after saying "I love you" felt like living inside a bubble.

Warm. Safe. Weightless.

They clung to each other like kids hiding under a blanket fort, pretending the real world couldn’t reach them.

—

Late one night, lying tangled together in his bed, Y/N pressed her nose into his neck and mumbled sleepily,

"Are we gonna talk about it?"

Lando smiled into her hair. "Talk about what?"

"You know," she said, poking his ribs, "the whole 'I love you' bomb you dropped on me."

He laughed, grabbing her hand and bringing it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"I regret nothing," he said.

She lifted her head just enough to glare playfully at him.

"You didn’t even give me time to process."

"You kissed me back!" he protested.

"I panicked!" she teased, laughing.

He rolled them over, pinning her gently to the bed with a grin.

"Say it again," he murmured, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

She pretended to think about it, tapping her chin dramatically.

"Hmm... I love—"

He leaned closer.

"You," she finished, nose bumping his.

He kissed her — soft and slow and smiling the whole time.

"Best panic attack ever," he whispered against her mouth.

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Idiot."

"Yours," he said.

"Mine," she agreed.

Always.

—

But outside the walls they built, the world kept spinning.

And not all of it was kind.

—

Another headline dropped the following week.

This time nastier. Sharper.

"Lando’s Focus in Question Again: Sources Say Romance Is a ‘Major Distraction’ for McLaren’s Golden Boy."

And worse — an anonymous "source" claiming Lando was “changing” — not as serious, not as hungry.

It was bullshit.

Lando knew it. The people who mattered knew it.

But still — it stung.

—

He found her sitting on the balcony that night, sketchbook in her lap, a cup of tea cooling by her side.

She looked up when he slid the door open.

"Hey," she said softly. "I saw."

He sank down onto the chair beside her, rubbing his hands over his face.

"You don’t have to keep doing this," he muttered.

"Doing what?"

"Dealing with the fallout," he said, voice tight. "It’s not fair to you."

She shut the sketchbook and set it aside.

"Lando," she said gently, "I don’t love you because it’s easy."

He looked up, heart aching.

"I love you because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me," she continued. "Even when it’s messy. Especially then."

He blinked hard, swallowing the lump rising in his throat.

"You’re sure?" he asked, voice cracking just a little.

She smiled — small, fierce, beautiful.

"Positive," she said. "Now shut up and come here."

He crossed the distance between them without hesitation, letting her pull him into her arms.

They sat there — curled up together under the dark sky, the world screaming beyond their little balcony, but the noise unable to touch them.

Not when they had each other.

Not when they had something this real.

—

Later, scrolling through his phone before bed, Lando grinned when he saw her latest text pop up.

Y/N: Tomorrow = karting rematch. No excuses, Norris. Prepare to lose.

Lando: You’re dreaming.

Y/N: I'm building a trophy shelf.

Lando: You're delusional. I love you.

Y/N: Love you more.

He turned off the screen, smiling into the darkness, and fell asleep with her heartbeat steady against his ribs.

And for once — the noise didn’t win.

They did.

———

Chapter 20: A Quiet Place, A Loud World

Their little world kept growing.

Not hidden. Not ashamed.

Just... theirs.

—

Late one night, curled up together on the battered old couch that had somehow become more home than anywhere else, Y/N pressed her cheek to Lando’s chest and whispered,

"Tell me a secret."

He smiled into her hair.

"Like what?"

"Like... something no one else knows."

He thought about it for a minute. Then said, "I used to dream about quitting."

She lifted her head, surprised.

"Quitting what?"

"All of it," he said softly. "The racing. The noise. The expectations. When it got bad, I used to think about just... disappearing."

Her eyes softened, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek.

"But you didn’t," she said.

"No," he said. "Because... because maybe I was waiting for something better to find me."

He looked at her — eyes wide, vulnerable, raw.

"And then you showed up," he whispered.

Her throat tightened painfully.

"I love you," she breathed, blinking back tears.

He smiled — small and broken and whole all at once.

"I love you more," he said.

—

They started talking about futures after that.

Not big sweeping plans. Just... dreams.

"What if we lived somewhere quiet?" Y/N said one night, curled into his side, tracing invisible lines over his chest. "A little house. A dog. Maybe a cat if you stop pretending to be allergic."

"I’m definitely allergic," he mumbled, half-asleep.

"Liar."

"Fine," he grinned. "But only if I get to name it."

"Deal," she said, laughing. "But I get veto power."

"Deal," he agreed, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

They talked about road trips across Europe. Late-night drives with no destination. Sunday mornings spent fighting over who had to make pancakes.

It wasn’t if anymore.

It was when.

But the world wasn’t content to stay quiet forever.

The invitation arrived three days later.

McLaren Gala. Mandatory Appearance. Formal Attire Required.

An event. A spotlight. A battlefield.

And this time — they couldn’t hide.

—

They talked about it that night, sitting cross-legged on the bed, laptops open, tabs pulled up of tux rentals and dresses she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel comfortable wearing.

"You don't have to come," Lando said quietly, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. "I’ll cover for you. Say you're sick. Say you’re busy. I don’t care."

Y/N closed her laptop and looked at him.

"Lando," she said firmly. "I'm not hiding. Not if you're not."

He searched her face, something wild and terrified and hopeful tangled in his eyes.

"You’re sure?" he whispered.

She reached across the bed, threading their fingers together.

"I’m sure," she said.

A beat of silence.

Then she smiled — wide, mischievous, a little shaky.

"But if we’re doing this," she said, "we’re doing it properly."

He laughed, the sound cracking open something deep inside him.

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning we’re gonna look so good they’ll have no choice but to talk about how lucky you are," she said, sticking out her tongue.

He lunged forward, tackling her onto the bed, both of them laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe.

The night of the gala, he saw her standing at the top of the hotel stairs — black dress hugging her curves, hair swept up, eyes catching the light like stars.

She was breathtaking.

Terrifyingly, heartbreakingly beautiful.

He met her at the bottom of the stairs, taking her hand in his without hesitation.

"You ready?" he whispered.

Y/N squeezed his hand once, sure and steady.

"With you?" she said. "Always."

—

The cameras exploded the second they stepped onto the carpet.

Flashes. Shouts. Questions.

But he didn’t let go of her hand.

Not once.

Not when the world stared. Not when people whispered.

He kept her close — proud, steady, unapologetic.

And when they finally slipped inside, breathless and laughing, he pulled her into a shadowed corner and cupped her face in both hands.

"You’re the bravest person I know," he whispered.

"You make it easy," she whispered back.

He kissed her, soft and sure, and if anyone caught it on camera, he didn’t care.

Let them see.

Let them know.

This was real. This was forever.

And nothing was going to tear it apart.

———

Chapter 21: The Space Between Heartbeats

They didn’t plan it.

They just... needed it.

Needed to get away. Needed a place where they weren’t Lando Norris and the girl everyone was watching. Where they could just be Lando and Y/N.

So they ran.

—

They packed the bare minimum — jeans, hoodies, sunglasses, battered sneakers — and drove hours out of the city until the world thinned out around them.

Fields. Mountains. Empty roads.

The cabin was tiny. Hidden in a tangle of trees, overlooking a glassy stretch of river.

Perfect.

Untouchable.

The kind of place where no one knew their names.

—

The first night, they sat on the porch, legs tangled together under a shared blanket, the sky spilling stars across the darkness.

Y/N leaned against him, her voice sleepy but sure.

"I missed this," she murmured.

He kissed the top of her head. "Me too."

"You know," she said after a long pause, "sometimes it feels like the rest of the world... doesn’t matter here."

He smiled into her hair. "That’s because it doesn’t."

—

Inside, the cabin smelled like woodsmoke and old books.

They moved around each other easily — brushing teeth side by side at the creaky sink, arguing half-heartedly over which side of the bed was "better" (it was the left, obviously, and Y/N won, obviously).

No makeup. No cameras. No rules.

Just them.

—

It happened quietly.

Softly.

Not rushed. Not planned.

—

Lando brushed her hair back from her face as they lay sprawled across the bed, the old mattress squeaking under their weight.

She smiled up at him, lazy and beautiful, and whispered, "What are you thinking?"

He ran his thumb gently along her jawline.

"That I’m really fucking lucky," he said.

Her smile faltered — not because she doubted it, but because sometimes love still felt too big to hold.

"You know you don’t have to say that, right?" she said quietly.

He frowned, shifting closer.

"I’m not saying it because I have to," he said. "I’m saying it because it's true."

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing him in.

When she opened them again, they were shining.

"I love you," she whispered, voice cracking.

"I love you too," he said instantly, like breathing.

He kissed her — slow, careful — and she kissed him back like she was anchoring herself to the only thing that had ever felt steady.

—

Clothes fell away in clumsy, breathless pieces.

Laughter slipped between kisses.

Fingers shook a little — not from nerves, but from how much it meant.

Every touch said it louder than words ever could:

I'm here. I'm yours. I'm not going anywhere.

When he finally sank into her, it wasn’t frantic or desperate.

It was slow. Reverent. Real.

Their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.

No noise but the soft rustle of sheets and the quiet, broken whispers they shared between kisses.

—

"You're everything," he breathed against her skin.

She pressed her mouth to his shoulder, holding on tighter.

"So are you," she whispered back.

—

Later, tangled in the sheets, hearts still pounding, Y/N pressed her fingers over the steady thud of his pulse.

"The world can get louder," she said softly, tracing a circle over his chest. "I don’t care."

Lando caught her hand in his, kissed her knuckles.

"Let it," he said. "We already won."

Outside, the river whispered over stones. The trees creaked and sighed.

Inside — only the space between heartbeats.

Only them.

———

Chapter 22: Borrowed Time

The next morning felt like waking up inside a dream.

Sunlight spilled across the bed in soft puddles, the air cool and crisp through the cracked window.

Y/N stirred first, her arm thrown haphazardly across Lando’s stomach, her face smushed into his chest.

He was already awake, just... watching her. Committing every little detail to memory. The way her nose scrunched when the breeze hit her toes. The way her lips parted slightly, breath slow and even.

He never wanted to forget this.

Eventually, she cracked one eye open.

"You’re staring," she mumbled, voice raspy from sleep.

"Can you blame me?" he said, grinning.

She groaned and buried her face further into his chest.

"Gross," she said. "You're so gross."

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"You love it."

"I tolerate it," she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

They stayed like that — tangled up, half-asleep — until their stomachs rumbled in unison.

Y/N lifted her head, mock serious.

"Pancakes?" she asked.

He nodded solemnly. "It’s the only way."

—

They destroyed the tiny cabin kitchen together.

Flour everywhere. Eggshells in the sink. Syrup dripping down the counter.

Lando flipped a pancake so dramatically it hit the ceiling.

"LAN," she shrieked, laughing so hard she doubled over.

"Ten out of ten landing!" he yelled, throwing his arms up like an Olympic gymnast.

"You’re banned," she said, snatching the spatula from him.

He just grinned and stole a kiss while she was distracted, syrupy fingers slipping against her waist.

They ate standing up, giggling, licking syrup off their hands, stealing bites from each other’s plates.

It was stupid. It was messy.

It was perfect.

But reality doesn’t wait forever.

—

Later that afternoon, as they lounged lazily on the porch, Lando’s phone buzzed against the wood.

He ignored it at first.

Then a second buzz. A third.

Y/N reached over, grabbing it before he could.

"Who's spamming you?" she teased, pretending to squint at the screen.

Her smile faded.

"Lando," she said quietly, holding the phone out to him.

He took it, frowning.

A string of notifications.

Emails. Texts.

His PR team. Zak. Even a few drivers.

New headlines splashed across the top:

"Norris Romance Heating Up: Is the Pressure Getting to McLaren’s Star?" "Sources Suggest New Relationship May Threaten 2026 Contract Negotiations."

Beneath it, pictures — Him and Y/N at the gala. Holding hands. Laughing.

Frozen in a thousand flashbulbs.

Turned into clickbait.

—

He set the phone down carefully, like it might bite him.

Y/N didn't say anything right away.

Just scooted closer, resting her head against his shoulder.

"You’re gonna have to deal with this forever, aren’t you?" she said quietly.

He sighed, staring out at the river.

"Yeah."

A long beat of silence.

Then:

"You don’t regret it, do you?" she asked, so softly he barely heard her.

He turned immediately, cupping her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.

"Not for a single second," he said fiercely. "I’d choose you every damn time."

Her eyes softened, filling with tears she didn’t try to hide.

"Good," she whispered. "Because I’d choose you too."

—

They sat there as the sun dipped lower — the world buzzing just outside the treeline, the future heavy but waiting.

Not easy.

Not quiet.

But together.

And that was enough.

———

Chapter 23: Choosing Forever

It wasn’t a decision they made overnight.

It wasn’t made with big speeches or ultimatums.

It happened like everything else between them — quietly, naturally, inevitably.

Y/N sat on the floor of Lando’s apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes, holding up one of his old race suits like it was a sacred artifact.

"You’re seriously keeping this?" she teased, grinning.

"That’s vintage," he said, grabbing it from her hands and pressing it to his chest like a wounded soldier. "Historical."

She laughed, tossing a hoodie at his head.

"Fine. But it’s going in the 'shrine' closet."

He grinned, tackling her onto the pile of clothes, both of them laughing too hard to breathe.

They were doing it.

Building a real life. Moving in together.

Not because they had to. Not because the world expected it.

Because it was the next right thing.

Because home wasn’t a place anymore.

It was each other.

Of course, the world didn’t exactly make it easy.

The pressure didn’t stop.

If anything, it grew sharper.

A headline broke two days later:

"Sources Inside McLaren Concerned About Norris’ Focus Heading into 2026."

An anonymous quote — someone "close to the team" saying Lando’s relationship was a "distraction."

That he was "different."

That he was "softer."

The whispers turned into noise. The pressure turned into weight.

Team meetings got tense. Fans speculated. Media circled like vultures.

He got the call late one night.

Zak.

Serious. Careful.

"Lando," Zak said, voice crackling through the speaker, "we need you focused. The board's watching everything right now."

"I am focused," Lando said, jaw tight.

"You need to look focused too," Zak said. "Publicly. Especially now."

Translation: Choose carefully. Choose wisely.

Choose.

—

He hung up and found Y/N sitting on the couch, scrolling through a ridiculous meme account she swore kept her sane.

She looked up immediately.

"Bad?"

He didn’t answer. Just crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside her, burying his face in her shoulder.

She ran her fingers through his curls, silent, steady.

"You don’t have to say anything," she whispered.

He lifted his head, heart pounding.

"I want to," he said.

He cupped her face in both hands, holding her like she might disappear if he let go.

"I choose you," he said fiercely. "Over the noise. Over the pressure. Over everything."

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them.

"I choose you too," she whispered back.

And that was it.

Not a flashy decision. Not a press release.

Just two people choosing each other again and again and again — no matter how loud the world got.

———

Chapter 24: Win or Lose, It's You

The race weekend was brutal before it even began.

Everywhere Lando turned — reporters. Questions. Speculation.

"Has your relationship impacted your performance?" "Is the pressure getting to you?" "Is this the distraction McLaren was worried about?"

He handled it. He smiled. He answered carefully.

But inside, a knot twisted tighter and tighter with every word.

—

Y/N stayed out of the spotlight, like they agreed.

She didn’t want to make it harder. Didn't want to become another headline.

But she was there — quiet, steady, just beyond the paddock fences.

He caught glimpses of her between practice sessions — sitting cross-legged on the grass, sketchbook open in her lap, pretending not to watch his every move.

Their eyes would meet.

She'd smile — small, sure, like a lighthouse through the storm.

He'd breathe again.

—

On race day, it rained.

Not a drizzle. A full, chaotic downpour.

The track slick. The sky angry. The world holding its breath.

It was the kind of race that chewed up rookies and spat out veterans.

Every mistake magnified.

Every move scrutinized.

And Lando — Lando drove like his heart was on fire.

Not reckless. Not desperate.

Alive.

Sure.

—

Midway through, after a pit stop from hell, he dropped three places.

The team buzzed in his ear.

"Focus, Lando. You can still fight back."

He closed his eyes for half a second — saw her sitting in the rain, soaked but smiling, refusing to leave — and opened them with new clarity.

For her.

For them.

For himself.

He fought his way back — aggressive but smart, carving through the spray and the chaos.

Lap by lap. Corner by corner.

Until — P2.

Not the win.

Not the trophy.

But victory all the same.

—

After the checkered flag, soaked to the bone and shaking from adrenaline, he found her waiting by the barriers.

No cameras. No microphones.

Just her.

Y/N pushed the wet hair out of his eyes and smiled.

"You," she said, cupping his face, voice breaking, "you were incredible."

He laughed — half a sob, half a grin — and pulled her into a hug so fierce it lifted her off her feet.

"You’re my win," he whispered into her ear.

"And you’re mine," she whispered back.

They stood there — soaked. Laughing. Crying.

And for once, it wasn’t about headlines.

It wasn’t about contracts.

It was about this.

Them.

The only finish line that ever mattered.

———

Chapter 25: No More Hiding

The photos hit social media within minutes.

Not official portraits. Not staged PR shots.

Someone caught it — Lando, still dripping from the rain, still in his race suit, wrapping his arms around Y/N outside the paddock barriers, burying his face against her neck like the cameras didn’t even exist.

And for the first time — they didn’t care.

They didn’t flinch.

They didn’t run.

—

The internet exploded.

"Lando Norris and his girl: Paddock’s New Power Couple!" "Norris shows where his heart really is after stormy podium finish." "Real ones only: Lando and Y/N melt fans’ hearts after emotional race day."

The world finally saw it — not rumors. Not scandals.

Love. Real. Raw. Loud.

And they didn’t apologize for it.

—

The next day, Y/N sat beside him during a press day — quiet, off to the side, thumbing through a worn book while he fielded questions.

A journalist finally asked it straight:

"Lando, care to comment on the... touching moment we all saw after the race?"

He leaned into the microphone without hesitation.

"No comment," he said at first — then paused, glancing toward where Y/N sat curled up in a hoodie three sizes too big.

He smiled — wide, wrecked, unapologetic.

"Actually... yeah," he said.

He adjusted the mic slightly, the entire room hanging on his every word.

"I’m just lucky she puts up with me," he said, voice steady. "That’s all there is to it."

The reporters laughed. Cameras clicked.

But Y/N knew — because he looked at her when he said it — it wasn’t a joke.

It was the truth.

Simple. Unshakable.

Them.

—

Later, when they escaped the crowd and crashed onto the couch of his hotel room, Lando tugged her against him, pressing his mouth to the side of her head.

"No more hiding," he murmured.

Y/N smiled against his shoulder.

"Weren't hiding anyway," she whispered.

He laughed softly.

"No," he agreed. "We were just... waiting."

"For what?" she teased.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

"For the right person," he said simply.

Her heart cracked wide open in the best way.

"I guess we both won," she whispered.

He kissed her — soft, sure, forever.

And in that kiss was every promise they didn’t have to say out loud.

Because they already knew.

Together.

Always.

No matter what.

———

Epilogue: A Place to Land

Six months later.

The apartment was still a work in progress.

Half-finished photo walls. Plants that survived only because Y/N whispered threats at them. Lando’s old race suits shoved into the back of closets she was slowly conquering.

It wasn’t perfect.

It was home.

—

Sunday morning spilled sunlight across the kitchen, dust motes dancing lazily in the air.

Y/N leaned against the counter, sipping coffee out of a chipped mug Lando had refused to throw away because it "had character."

She wore one of his old shirts — faded, too big, sleeves slipping past her elbows.

Lando shuffled in a few minutes later, hair messy, sweatpants low on his hips, yawning like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"You look like death," Y/N said cheerfully, raising her mug in greeting.

He flipped her off half-heartedly and stole the rest of her coffee with a grin.

"Morning, sunshine," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She snorted, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

"Big day," she teased.

He groaned dramatically.

"Don't remind me."

They had a dinner to attend later — something small, just close friends and family — to celebrate his latest podium.

A real, hard-fought one.

The first one after everything — after the storm, after the noise, after choosing each other loud and proud.

Y/N set her mug down and looped her arms around his neck, rocking them gently side to side.

"You nervous?" she asked.

He shrugged, nuzzling into her shoulder.

"Not about the dinner," he said quietly.

She pulled back just enough to look at him.

"But about...?"

He smiled — that small, shy, completely wrecked-by-love smile that still undid her every time.

"About asking you something later," he said.

Her stomach flipped, heart slamming against her ribs.

She opened her mouth — then closed it.

Then opened it again.

"Lando," she breathed, hands tightening around his hoodie, "if you’re asking what I think you’re asking... you already know the answer."

He kissed her — soft and slow and sure.

"I was hoping you’d say that," he whispered against her lips.

Later, tucked into the chaos of their tiny, perfect apartment, a small velvet box sat hidden at the back of a kitchen drawer.

He wasn’t nervous about it.

Not really.

Because some things — the real things — don't need grand gestures or fireworks or perfect timing.

They just need a place to land.

And he had found his.

Right here. Right now. With her.

Forever.

—

One year later.

The living room was a mess.

Half-unpacked boxes. A dog barking at a rogue sock on the floor. Lando wrestling with a flat-pack bookshelf like it had personally insulted him.

Y/N leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a stupid grin pulling at her mouth.

"You know," she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully, "most people read the instructions."

Lando looked up, hair sticking out wildly, an allen key clutched between his teeth.

"Instructions are for quitters," he mumbled around it.

She snorted, walking over and plucking the key from his mouth.

"You," she said, dropping a kiss onto his forehead, "are a menace."

"And you," he said, grabbing her wrist and tugging her into his lap with a dramatic grunt, "love it."

She laughed, arms wrapping around his neck automatically.

"You’re lucky you’re cute," she teased.

He grinned — wide, wrecked, unashamed.

"You’re stuck with me, remember?" he said.

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," she said, resting her forehead against his.

—

The dog barked again — a yappy, ridiculous sound — and Lando groaned.

"You wanted a dog," he reminded her.

"You named him Max!" she shot back, laughing.

"It was that or Toto," he shrugged.

She laughed harder, burying her face in his neck.

"You’re an idiot," she whispered, affection bleeding through every word.

"Yours," he said.

"Mine," she agreed.

Always.

—

Outside, the world spun on — headlines, races, flights, pressure.

Inside, they built a life in stolen moments. Messy. Perfect.

A home with fingerprints on the walls, dog hair on the couch, and love tucked into every corner.

A place to land.

Always.

———

The end! :’)

[takumaswife]

first off, LOVE that you're coming back, I'm so happy that you've started writing again, good job 🩷

I've literally been so DESPERATE for a Bangchan smut fic (idol au)

what do you think of a 'one night stand/casual sex turns into something more' trope?

something along the lines of chan running into reader (or yn or whatever) at a restaurant when he's with the 97 liners and she's w her group, a late leaving situation turns hot and messy leading to sex at chan's dorm.

ik it's too specific but I can literally visualise the entire event taking place hehe

only work on it if YOU want to, no pressure love 🌻🚬

One More Taste - Bang Chan

Genre: idolxidol, fem!reader, SMUT, and some fluff.

Word count: 3063

MASTERLIST

A/n: I'm so sorry if this is bad. I wanted it to be perfect because this is actually the first smut I've written since I was like..14 and on wattpad (those were crazy times💀) but I hope you enjoy!

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

"Come on, Y/n, we've been working so hard, we deserve a night out." Your group mates begged. It was true, the long nights of practice. The staying up until 3am to perfect the songs. To constant interviews that you just couldn't say no to. Being the leader was tougher than it looked. Looking at the four faces surrounding you, you sighed and nodded your head. "Fine, we can go. But remember, if you get drunk, you sleep in the bathtub." You spoke firmly, looking at each girl. There had been a few times everyone went out to celebrate special moments in your career, and someone always got too drunk that they would get sick.

Everyone decided to go to a nice restaurant in Hongdae. It was nice enough to have even a private area for idols and celebrities so they could also enjoy time out. Talking to your manager, you told him to be on call since the younger members tended to drink more and would need a ride at some point. You also just wanted him to deal with their antics while you got to relax. They did beg you to come out, so why should you have to babysit.

"Who else do you think might be there?" Dae asked. Everyone was currently in the shared dorm bathroom, doing hair and makeup. "Hm, what if we see Taemin, or even Johnny and Mark!" Yunhee shouted. You chuckled at how excited they were of the possible chance of running into their favs at the restaurant. "If you see anyone, you can say hi, but the moment you start getting crazy, you're out." You spoke to the two younger ones. They immediately started pouting. You understood how excited they were, but with being the leader, you had to keep your group in check and make sure they acted right for the groups image.

"Well, it's Saturday night, Hongdae will be filled with other idols, so I have hope!" Dae spoke with a smirk. You rolled your eyes, continuing on your hair. Your makeup was more natural looking instead of super bold. Maybe for a club you would do more bolder, but for a relaxing night, you just wanted something simple. You gave yourself loose curls and picked a long sleeve, short black dress with an open back. A little modest but little risky, just your style.

Taking a last look in the mirror, you smiled at the sight. You felt pretty, comfortable, and confident. The diamond set of earrings, necklace, and bracelet decorated your body. "Oh, someone looks like she's trying to find a man tonight." Venus spoke with a smirk as she peaked into the bathroom. You immediately shook your head and smiled at her. "Even if i did want a man, I don't think he's ready for four kids." You teased, causing her to laugh. You grabbed your bag and followed her out of the dorm. Your manager had a black SUV waiting for the five of you at the front.

The car ride was filled with the girls talking about the night out and how excited they were. You, however, scrolled through your phone, looking at Instagram. Despite the idea that Idols should only follow their company and members, you followed other idols and different celebrities. You just found it boring seeing only the few posts your members would make. You wanted to watch other idols' lives.

"We are here. Now, rules." Your manager spoke as he turned around to face everyone in the back seat. "No crazy stunts, stay together, if you feel unsafe at any moment, call me. And for the love of everything.. stay out of paparazzi's way.. we don't need a scandal just as your careers are starting to take off." He explained, rubbing his head as he was stressed. All making a promise to be good, you all stepped out of the SUV.

The restaurant had a special entrance in the back alleyway for idols and celebrities, away from fans and photographers. As your group walked in, yall were greeted by the private dining manager who showed your group to your table. "Ladies, take a look at our menu and your server will be with you shortly."

Looking through the menu, everyone was conflicted on what to order. "The wagyu sounds great." Yunhee spoke, continuing to look. "I might actually just do the Rosemary chicken, I heard it was pretty popular from reviews." Joli spoke. You, yourself was conflicted. Everything sounded delicious.

"Good evening, ladies." The waitress greeted as she sat glasses of ice water in front of each of you. "My name is Sohee, I'll be serving you tonight. Can I start you off with any drinks?" She asked as she took out her notepad to write everything down. Everyone ordered a little cocktail as well as appetizers to share.

So far the evening was going well, and the appetizers were amazing. When it came to ordering your entree, you were still indecisive. You asked to go last. But it was only a minute or two until she was back to you. "Uh.." you were still trying to decide. "I would recommend the 'Marry Me Chicken', it's very good." You heard a male voice behind you. Turning around, you were starstruck seeing Chan. He was someone you looked up to during your trainee days. You were always watching his lives when you had time and listening to their music. "O-oh, then yes, I'll try that." You responded. The waitress nodded and stepped away to put in your orders and get everyone another round of cocktails.

"Let me know what you think after you try it." Chan spoke, only earning a nod from you. You were flustered and shy, the girls of your group immediately teasing you. Chan smiled as he walked over to their table, the whole group waiting for his arrival. "At least one of us got to see our fav." Joli smirked, your cheeks heating up from the embarrassment.

Dinner was going well, the food was actually very good. The drinks were fantastic. It was more of an evening than you could have asked for. "Well, I told manager that I was going out tonight so. You girls in?" Venus asked as she stood up after collecting the card the company gave them to use for tonight. The rest of the girls agreed to clubbing, but you decided to skip out.

As the girls left, you got up from the table and walked to the bar the restaurant had. You sat on the stool and looked at the options. You didn't drink much during dinner so you thought about making up for it by staying a drinking a bit more. "Can I get a mojito?" You asked, the bartender nodded and started on your drink.

"So, how was the chicken?" You heard a voice behind you. You turned to see Chan taking the stool next to you. "Oh, it was absolutely delicious. Thank you." The bartender sat down your drink and you immediately took a sip. "I never formally introduced myself, I'm Chan." He held out his hand. You immediately took it and gave a small shake, "Y/n. I'm actually a big fan." You responded. You could see Chan's face turn red as he smiled softly. "Oh really? I could say the same thing. I like your recent comeback a lot. You guys have grown so much since your debut, you're doing amazing." The compliment took you back. He liked your music? He was a fan? "Well thank you, I appreciate it. Hearing it from you, definitely makes me feel like we're going in a great direction."

You and Chan spent about an hour talking and drinking. Both your groups had vanished and the two of you were left alone. Somewhere during the chat, the two of you started taking shots. And with you being not a casual drinker, you felt the effects of the alcohol fast. Even Chan was slurring a few words as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, guy, but I'm not going to be able to serve you two anymore." The bartender informed you two. You and Chan instantly frowned and started collecting your things. Chan ended up paying for all the drinks as you were taking out your card, making you glare at him. "Christopher, Nooo~" You whined. Chan only laughed and signed the receipt. "Come on." He laughed as he led you out the back door through the special entrance.

"I wish we could have drank more. I was enjoying your company." You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. An idea popped into Chan's head. "We can go to my dorm! We have lots of soju and a few hard liquors that Hyunjin won't mind us borrowing." He offered. You didn't think it was a good idea, your manager warned you about being caught for any scandals. But the alcohol taking over your body said, a few drinks wouldn't hurt.

Well, what was supposed to be a few drinks ended up with your body pressed to the wall and Chan's lips devouring your neck. Moans filled the room as he found your sweet spot. The sound only made the devil in Chan come out, marking the spot in the deepest shade of purple he could. The bulge in his pants pressed against your thigh, his own moans flowing as your thigh rubbed against his hard on.

Chan realized the game you were playing and pulled away. He glanced your body up and down, biting his lip. He needed you. Chan picked your body up and threw you onto his bed before towering over you. His lips back onto your neck before trailing down to your chest. You felt him going further down until his head was between your legs, face to face with your clothed core. The wet patch on the fabric had his cock pulsing in the confinement of his pants.

Sliding your panties down your legs, he threw them aside, now lost somewhere in his room. He immediately started eating you out. His tongue moving through your folds to collect every drip of your juices. Your taste was addicting to him. Without thinking, you immediately started grinding your core into his face, wanting more of him. "F-fuck~" You moaned, your fingers finding their way into his hair. Chan tongue teased your clit, making your back arch from the feeling. Not having an orgasm in quite a while, you were already close. Chan knew you were close once your thighs tightened around his head. He wanted to make you wait, but he was enjoying your taste more than he thought. Within seconds, you cumming on his face to which you only recieved a groan. Chan pulled away from your core, your slick covering his lips.

Reaching up, you pulled Chan down with all your might, "please fuck me." You begged, you needed more. You wanted more of him. Chan enjoyed seeing you beg for his cock. It boosted his ego. Sitting up, Chan removed his clothes as well as yours, throwing them in the room to be lost like your panties were.

His cock was bigger than you thought. And definitely bigger than the last men you were with. He spit into his hand and stroked his cock, looking down at your wet core that was aching for him. "Are you sure you want to go this far?" He asked. You only nodded and spread your legs wider. Chan chuckled and aligned himself with your entrance, slowly pushing his cock into you. A loud moan flowed from your lips as he filled you up. Fuck, he was big. Even your secret toys weren't this big.

Slowly, Chan started moving his hips against yours, wanting you to get use to the feeling before he picked up his pace. It only took one moan for him to lose himself. His hip were slamming against yours, the feeling almost immediately making him cum. You felt very different from his hand which is all he had lately due to being so busy and not really having someone in general to fuck. His hands held your hips up at an angle, fucking you deeper than before. The tip of his cock beating against your g-spot was pushing you over the edge. But even if you came, Chan wasn't stopping until he was pleased with how much cum he filled you with. Leaning down, Chan took one of your nipples in his mouth. Sucking and tugging on the sensitive bud. Your voice would be hoarse tomorrow from all the lewd sounds your were screaming out. Chan made sure your nipple was swollen and puffy before switching to the other. Your back arched from the pleasure and you could tell you were about to cum. "C-chan-" You tried to speak but we're just interrupted by your moans.

Chan ignored you, wanting to feel you cover his dick with your juices. All it took was for his thumb to tease your clit as he fucked you that gave you one of the most intense orgasms you've had in a very long time. Chan pulled away with a smirk. The man above you was different. His eyes were darker, his voice deeper. "I'm not finished with you." Sitting up, Chan removed his member from your core and moved off the bed, standing at the edge. He held your hips, growling as he pulled you towards him. Lifting one leg your rest up against his torso, he aligned his member back at your entrance, teasing with his tip. Chan laughed as he saw you whimpering everytime his tip passed your hole.

Once he was sure you weren't expecting it, he shove his cock into you, immediately rolling his against yours. The bed now banging against the wall with how hard he was fucking you. You really hope Hyunjin didn't come home because you would be so embarrassed having to leave and him seeing you in a messy state.

Chan's fingers began playing with your clit, your body shaking again with the amount of pleasure. You would have to remind yourself to tell him how it was the best sex you've had. You were but off when you felt a hand wrap around your throat. Looking up, Chan was staring down deep into your eyes. "Look at me. I want to see that look in your eyes when I make you cum." He growled lowly. Being the shy person you were, it was absolutely little hard to have a stare down with a man, let alone a gorgeous man. But everytime you looked away, Chan forced your eyes back on him. His fingers would tighten around your neck everytime you tried to look away as a warning.

Chan knew you were close as he felt your core constricting against his cock. It was pushing him to the edge just as much as the clit teasing was pushing you. The moment Chan saw you were on the edge, he slammed his cock up against your g-spot, mentally wishing he could leave a bruise. Almost as if he was claiming you in and out. Your body convulse with the orgasm, your eyes focusing on Chan's before rolling back. Chan released his load right into you, filling you up. You watch as his dark eyes started to lighten from his orgasm.

The only sound in the room was your two heavy breathings. You two just laid there for a moment, your eyes on each other's but it was more soft than lustful. Pressing a small kiss to your forehead, Chan pulled out, watching his load drip from your swollen pussy.

Leaning down, he locked the dripping cum up from your slit and smirked. Your mind was in a date. What the fuck just happened. You sat up and looked around, biting your lip. You were pulled from your thoughts when you saw blue fabric in front of your face. "Here, you can put this on." Chan spoke, handing you one of his oversized shirts. Quickly you slipped it on as you felt shy. He also gave you pajama pants to borrow as he also changed.

You were expecting him to kick you out, but when he laid down and pulled you into his arms, his hand rubbing your tummy, you got confused. Chan didn't say a word, he just continued to hold you before wrapping the bed covers over your bodies.

The next morning you woke up, an arm wrapped around you tightly. All the flashbacks coming back from the night before. You slowly turned around to see the male already staring at you. "G'morning." He spoke. His voice hoarse from sleep. You went to speak but your voice was almost non-existent. Chan chuckled and kissed the side of your head.

You and Chan laid there for a few hours before deciding to get up. You knew you needed to get back to your dorm, considering all the calls and text you missed on your phone. You texted your manager where to pick you up. "Uh, thanks for the...fun night?" You questioned, not really knowing what to call it. "Oh, no. Thank you. It was..very fucking good." He replied, causing you to laugh. As you got to the door of his dorm, you got awkward and didn't know what to say. So Chan took the leader. "Would you like to go to dinner sometime? Like just us? We don't have to do all..what we did last night of course. I just really enjoyed us talking at the restaurant last night." Thinking over his words, you nodded and handed him your phone. He put in his number and handed it back. "I'll text you." You spoke before leaving the dorm.

It was the walk of shame to your managers car. "You have to be kidding me.." He groaned as he started driving you back to your dorm. "At least we take birth control." You mumbled.

As Chan made his way back to his room, Hyunjin looked at him and rolled his eyes. "You could at least let me know not to come home. For fuck sakes, dude, you two sounded like actual fucking animals in heat." Hyunjin shouted as he went back to his room, slamming the door. Chan only laughed and walked into his own room, waiting for your text.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 14)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smut💦📍 Part 15 - Silence smut💦

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Where we left off: Alastor and Reader had a misunderstanding and a heavy talk on the back porch. He’d let it slip how deeply he felt but it was muffled by your thighs.

Part 14 Someone like her

Brady says the magic words after finally meeting his elusive radio man. But was that a good thing?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, masturbation, Ace Alastor is trying his best, little smut to start the day, Brenda exists, Reader is also trying her best but it’s less hot, mentions of abuse, thinly veiled racism, Insecure Alastor, an axe, Alastor is the deer and gator」

MDNI ☎️💚🏡

Forehead pressed against the wall of the bathroom, Alastor’s hand gripped the base of his cock and squeezed.

He’d been trying to masturbate more, hoping to prolong things when with you, but the action was just so pointless. Yes it felt good, but so did scratching his back when he had an itch. But there was no itch here. He couldn’t mentally stay in a romantic mindset when it was just fingers and running water. What intimacy existed there? What was the point? Male orgasms were for procreation and pleasure, were they not? He wasn’t going to knock up the drain or make the shower quiver so this seemed just wasteful. 

Images of your pleasured face ghosted behind his eyes. Nothing pointless about that. A twitch to the otherwise bored flesh in his grip. 

Wasteful.

Your laugh at watching Alastor march through the bedroom sopping wet and butt naked choked you when your eyes lowered to see he was also rock hard.

“Oh.” Was all you managed before his shower was soaking through your cotton top and powder blue skirt. “Oh.” Ravenous mouth at your jawline.

“I didn’t want to waste it.” His hips rutted into your side, the evidence of every place he touched were large and dark wet spots on your clothes. “Do you want to —?”

His fingers were already crawling down your thighs and gathering your skirt up. 

You always forgot his strength when looking at him. Until he was holding you up by the hips, for example, fucking you against the bedroom wall. Wet skin slapping against your thighs, panties swinging around your ankle with every thrust. A lovely way to start a Monday. 

The weekend had been spent with a very attentive and clearly apologetic Alastor. His hands had been more present on your body, always holding your hand or pulling your legs over his lap as you both read. Dinners with his feet tangled with yours. Nights with his head buried in your hair.

The words were moaned through his own mind, scared to let them go again.

I just love you so much.

Every time you sighed his name, he clenched his teeth to keep it back. He wouldn’t weaponize it. He’d struggled to keep the compelled confession buried into your lap before, but he could keep it together until the moment was happy and without the bitter taste of his disappointment still lingering on your tongue.

An enlightened gasp dripped into a breathy moan as you realized this must be the make up sex the ladies always talk about. You’d never understood the concept before then. 

He felt you tighten around him, yes, a much better use of arousal. The good thing about his years of experience before you was he had time to learn. To know when to quicken his pace and when to focus on depth. Quality over quantity, he thought.

His mind stayed there long after you finished and he went into work. Leaving you behind was difficult, a small wiggling worm of fear deep in his skull that’d you’d vanish if his body wasn’t touching yours. 

You’d taken off some time from work, partly out of sheer embarrassment and partly to keep the theater safe from Brady. Which meant when he left for work, you kissed him goodbye at the door. You both laughed into the small space between your lips immediately afterwards. 

“Hush.” You warned him, and he pretended to zip his lips shut and slip the imaginary key into your skirt pocket. 

Alastor was happy to hear Brady had been told he had a handful of nothing but he knew his clock was ticking. You’d recounted your time in the station and how angry and disappointed the other detective had seemed with Brady. Brady would be popping up as soon as possible, you warned. There was no way he was dropping the issue. He’d be knocking on Alastor’s office door in no time. 

Much sooner than Alastor had prepared for, but he was ever the performer. 

Brenda far too loudly announced two detectives were there for him. She was side eyeing them with a sneer he could almost appreciate when she popped her head in to yell it. 

“I’ll be right out.” Alastor set his work down and took a deep breath. Every piece of him wanted to rush from the room and strangle Brady on the office floor. He’d seen him many times before but the pesky detective didn’t know that. A tremble of excitement he shook away. Smile on, he left the office.

His observations came quick and loud as he saw Brady’s face in the daylight for the first time.

Bright eyes. Tired. Light hair. Pale. Clothes wrinkled. Sweat stains even though it was autumn already. 

The man beside him was new to Alastor, and Alastor couldn’t tell yet what to do with him. Taller, older, darker complexion. His expression was relaxed in comparison to Brady’s stressed one.

“Good afternoon, detectives. Alastor. It’s a pleasure.” He extended his hand but only Freeman moved to shake it.

Brady was staring with blatant scrutiny. Alastor was quite tall, and much leaner than he had anticipated. His hair was perfectly in place, with clean skin and neat glasses. Was this the right man?

“Edward Freeman. I am a big fan, sir. Your voice is made for radio.” Freeman shook Alastor’s with both of his own, not noticing his partner’s wide eyed horror. “Such a pleasure. I promise we won’t take too much of your time.”

Alastor could have cackled directly into Brady’s face but managed to keep himself in check, “A face for radio too! Ha ha ha,” his laugh was loud, genuinely amused with himself, “Well it’s always a treat to meet a listener.”

Brady thought he’d black out. He’d began his day humming with anticipation, the high of having a name and occupation making him dizzy all weekend. The shock of Freeman immediately cozying up to his prime (and sole) suspect was throwing him off balance.

He’d brought him along so he could show him he’d gotten the right man. He’d thought —- he’d been so sure Alastor would be some second rate employee with rough hands and thick arms. Not the pretty host working behind some desk. Weren’t there large spools of cable and big contraptions radio station employees lugged around? Where were those men?

A string bean of a human in thin circular glasses was charming the wits off his partner.

“Brady. We’re here to discuss an important matter regarding your girlfriend.” Brady leaned in to separate the other two men and their budding camaraderie.

“Girlfriend?!” Brenda choked on her coffee, her desk just some feet beside them. “You’re confused. I’d know if he had a girl.”

“Thank you, Brenda.” Alastor said through a forced smile, “She is right though. I am unattached. Lifelong bachelor.”

“That’s interesting. Because when we picked her up at the burlesque theater,” he was cut off by a shriek.

“Nude dancing?! Sir! My—-you! Alastor would never! He is a man of means and class! I-,” Brenda’s hands were aimlessly shuffling time cards. “The only theater he frequents is the cinema.”

“Brenda.” Alastor laughed, not taking his eyes off of Brady, “Please. Let the man finish.”

“But you’d never! This is slander!”

“No slander. We picked her up for prostitution and her,” again he was drowned out by the receptionist. 

Brenda was on her feet, a second from foaming at the mouth, “Out! You get out of this office at once!” 

“Sure, why don’t we take this to the station.” 

“You want a local celebrity,” Alastor’s eye twitched as Brenda screeched out the words, “to be marched down there like a common criminal! I’m calling the station, you’re mad.” 

“Thank you, Brenda!” Alastor hissed, words heavy, “Let’s continue this in my office, gentlemen.” His arm swung out to gesture to the open door. 

Brenda was left fiddingly with her pearls in horror. 

Alastor followed the men in and leaned back against his desk casually, offering them the two chairs. 

“So, now that we’re … free from that, what were you saying?” He tried to chuckle away the chaos, one hand gently smoothing his hair back.

“We took in a woman last week for prostitution. Charges dropped but  — her friends said you were her beau.” Freeman leaned back too, crossing his legs at the ankle as they stretched out in front of him, “Radio man named Alastor? Not too many of those so, thought we’d just come by and check.”

Brady stood near the door, refusing to sit. “So. Gonna tell me there’s some more Alastors in New Orleans? Or gonna be straight with us?”

Alastor nodded, sighing through his nose. You’d filled him in already on the story.

“Burlesquer, right? Pretty thing with the long lashes and sharp tongue?” He looked up at Brady over his glasses, looking as boyish as a man his age could. 

“So you are her fella?” Freeman’s back straightened. He hadn’t expected that.

“Wouldn’t go that far… I’m embarrassed to admit it but yes I did take out a singer some time ago. Dancer too, I was told. But, I,” his hands slid in his pockets and he shrugged his shoulders, “I had a lovely time with her.” He gave Freeman a shy smirk, “I just didn’t want anything serious. Paid for her cab last time I saw her but I didn’t give her a dime for anything else.”

Brady stared at every inch of the man before him. His white button up was loose at the arms but wasn’t appearing to hide some powerful physique that said ‘I drag bodies around town.’

“We were told you’d been going to see her for quite some time.” Brady had been prepared for every reply.

Alastor furrowed his brow and pretended to think, hand coming from his pocket to adjust his glasses, “Talking about the nice little joint near the park?”

“Yeah.” Brady smiled. “So you admit it.”

“I loved going there. I first noticed her over a few weekends. Asked her out there, too. But after a few nights out she seemed a little… not worth the trouble, I’ll say.” He grimaced, “I really sound like a rake, huh?” He looked to Freeman, asking for the man’s acceptance with his eyes.

Freeman chuckled at the suggestion, “Not at all! Good looking man such as yourself, nice job, no wife. I’d be sowing my oats so to speak too. We’re just hunting down some people for questioning regarding a missing manager.”

Brady thought his head would snap with how quickly he turned to Freeman. He was saying too much.

“He’s uh, drats what’s her name?” Freeman turned around to Brady. Brady looked up to Alastor expectantly.

“Oh! She gave me some fake name. Winter or… August. I didn’t press the matter.” Alastor walked back to his desk and sat down, trying to get eye level with Freeman who was the easier of the two to play, “Missing manager? I frequent a lot of clubs looking for talent. Maybe I knew the guy. What’s his name?”

“Tommy Dupre.” Brady said it sternly. “And I’m the one leading the investigation.”

A twitch to the corner of Alastor’s smile, “Sorry detective, I assumed this here was your superior. He just has … an aura of experienced professionalism to him. Now where was I… a manager,” he shook his head, “Was he at The Bandstand by any chance?” His fingers were flipping through his rolodex of business cards. Brady noted how clean his nails were. But not suspiciously so, not something that seemed overly tended to. He shook his head again more firmly then. “No, never formally met the man at least.”

“He was your burlesquer’s manager.”

Alastor leaned back and crossed his arms, “I never went to her work and I truly don’t visit burlesque theaters. Can't risk my reputation.” Few people out of the club scene knew his face and name so that was a load of shit, but he hoped they wouldn’t stop and consider that much. “We run a clean show here.”

“Here’s the issue, sir.” Freeman patted the tops of his thighs, “Your Ms. Doe-,” Alastor’s brow furrowed in momentary confusion.

“Oh! Ha, clever. I see what you did there.” He laughed, it was light and made Freeman nod his head in thanks.

“She got roughed up real bad by Mr. Dupre around the time ya’ll were seen together.  He disappeared soon after. So, naturally….we wanted to see if you knew anything about what happened to him.”

“Doesn’t shock me to hear that.” Alastor's voice was high pitched and airy. His nonchalance was grating to the younger of the two detectives.

Brady rolled his eyes. Alastor was definitely the man Beth mentioned; a daisy. The kind of man to fret over a stained tie or wet shoes.

“People in …those kinds of establishments can’t expect civility.” His nails were digging through the cotton of his pants. It made him sick to say it. How many days did he kiss your bruises? How long had they lasted? Longer than Tommy, that was for sure. Outlived him by quite some time. His smile spread. Brady noticed it, clearing his throat. 

“What’s the smile for?”

“Ah,” Alastor hid his mouth with the back of his hand, he couldn’t bite back the glee of remembering Tommy beg, “Sorry. I’m just feeling quite grateful I didn’t stick around to be pulled into some dame’s drama. This is exactly why I remain untethered.”

“Wish I’d had that foresight…I’m only joking. My Donna’s a blessing and a half.” Freeman quickly retracted the comment. 

A moment of quiet as they all looked at each other. A natural dead end.

Freeman turned back in his chair to look at Brady once more, this was his impromptu interview. He’d begged Freeman to take the early lunch. Brady promised him this was the guy and that if it wasn’t, he’d never bring it up again.

So he was staring at his partner waiting for the never again to start. 

Brady chewed the inside of his cheek, mind bouncing through thoughts and theories and observations.

This man in front of him was soft. He was feminine in some aspects, definitely quite lanky and seemingly devoid of real muscle. Brady hadn’t imagined his killer to be concerned about style or fashion, yet this man clearly put a lot into his appearance. He couldn’t imagine him killing anyone… perhaps a gun?

“Got any hobbies?”

“Kenny.” Freeman chided.

“Sir.” Brady added it sarcastically.

Alastor whistled, “Besides jazz and piano? I fish. Uh,” Alastor looked for threads of truth to add to the web, “I garden quite a bit, actually. Love to dance.”

Of course he did.  “Sports?”

“I don’t watch nor listen to much of that.”

“No,” an exasperated sigh, “Do you play any sports?”

“Oh!” Another casual laugh that grated Brady’s senses, “No, no. I wouldn’t pretend I’m an athletic man.” 

“Hunting is a popular pastime around here, you ever go out shooting?”

“No sir, not my scene.” Alastor leaned back and swiveled his chair side to side. 

No hunting, really? Brady’s brows rose in suspicion, “….you from New Orleans?”

Freeman crossed his legs, a simple act that somehow conveyed a rising loss of patience.

“Born and raised, detective. Native son if there ever was one.”

He slipped out his notepad and slapped it against the fleshy part of his hand. Brady’s spirit was withering. 

A mistake?

“Understood.” Pushing off of the wall.

“Sorry to cause all this fuss over … my tryst with a dancer not too long ago.” Another bashful bachelor smile. “But it was just that. Fun. I never met her employer. I never even went to her shows. As for the place by the park-,”

“Beth’s.”

Alastor grinned to hide the flinch, “My doe, as you put it sir, was a real canary. But I haven’t been back there since I stopped seeing her. I’m sure if you asked they’d tell you the same.” The phone rang and Alastor apologized, putting a finger up, “Yes, Brenda?” The incessant woman asked what was taking so long. He smiled and nodded, “Thank you, tell them I’ll just be another minute.”

“We’ll be heading out. It seems I need to— to re-examine some things. Dig a little deeper.” Before Brady could retrieve his card to offer it to the radio host, Alastor was handing him his.

“Call anytime, but word to the wise. Brenda will answer first.” Alastor let out a loud and singular ‘ha!’

He rose to walk them out and Brady extended his hand again for him to shake, his stomach curdling at the touch. When the detective squeezed and shook his hand so hard his arm was moving up to the elbow he just laughed. He kept his own grip loose.

The limp and slender hand in his was disappointing. A final nail in his coffin, soft metal bending as it was struck.

Freeman smiled and hopped up, “Been a pleasure!”

Alastor took back his hand from Brady and wiped it off against his vest as soon as the men were turned around.

“Apologies for the disturbance, ma’am.” Brady kept his gaze down as he passed Brenda. Freeman set his card on her desk as he walked past.

“That’s a bunch of applesauce.” She hissed, refusing to stand.

Alastor’s mother taught him many things. Of this world and the other. Of the spirits always roaming and waiting. Of blue ceilings and birds hitting windows.

She warned him of people with heaviness,  people who gathered bad energy like rain on a flat roof. That weight attracted likewise things. A gravity would form and pull in more and more darkness. 

You’d mentioned a storm, and now Alastor was hearing that drip drip drip of the cracking roof. 

He’d been taught to steer clear of those people with that darkness, because you don’t want to be there when the roof caved in. 

She’d likened it to the sword of Damocles, don’t be so close you get cut when the blade finally drops. Don’t become collateral damage. 

When his skin touched Brady’s, he felt that heaviness. The gravity. We’re you both slipping down the sloping pull of his swirling negativity?

He felt the urge to spit, which was uncouth and unlike him. Brenda was talking loudly to him but she was deep under the ocean and muffled perfectly well. His drunken mind had been wrong about many things, but one line of thinking had been on the money.

Something had to be done. An accident playing out in slow motion before him, threatening to take you both down with it. 

A chill, insidious and violent made him turn on his heels and shut the door with force. There it was again, that fight or flight feeling. Twice in nearly as many days. Never did Alastor feel insecure in situations of life or death, not literal life or death that was. He didn’t care about dying. 

The thought of losing you was that first trigger, but what was causing this one? What was his gut trying to warn him about now?

Distance was needed. He needed to get as far from that detective and his gravitational pull as possible. Perhaps not physically, but in every other sense. There was safety in that, he could feel it just over the disorienting whirl of fear. 

If fear was a lark in his chest it’s little spine cracked and popped as it grew and mutated into a rageful osprey, anger opening his lungs and sinuses as blood rushed with renewed vigor. This was Brady’s fault, entirely. He was ruining everything. Alastor finally had what felt like all of the thj he wanted and deserved (anger dampening his usual insecurity of what was meant for him) and Brady was going to tear it apart. 

There was a struggle to decide how to proceed. He thought perhaps telling you would bring him clarity, but if you asked him to not do anything at all he couldn’t be sure he’d be able to stop from lying to your face about his intentions. 

A flash of confidence knowing he’d never lied to you died quickly, oh, he had lied to you. He’d lied to you in the alley before leaving to prepare to kill Tommy. He’d said it was the greater good of the community. A stain on his otherwise pristine morality when it came to you. 

“How could they?”

Alastor’s head popped up, Brenda had opened his door unannounced and continued her raving. 

“How could who do what?” He asked, smile small.

“Those detectives! Accuse you of debauchery!” 

He imagined telling her how his morning started, fucking the nude dancer against his bedroom wall, arleady shacking up out of wedlock. Maybe it’d kill Brenda? That’d be convenient. 

“I wonder if they are even real cops…I promise, I won’t let that nonsense back into this office, Alastor.” She gave him a thumbs up and left, leaving the door ajar. 

Daylight was already creeping away sooner and sooner as the seasons began to change. The first day Alastor was gone and you were completely alone in his home for an extended period of time was passed in an awkward boredom. There wasn’t much to do…his house was kept tidy, food didn’t take much time, and you had no means to get into town. So you listened through his record collection, carefully turning the vinyls over with delicate fingers. You’d heard oils from your hand could ruin the grooves. No idea if that was true, but you couldn’t risk it. Alastor’s job kept relatively regular hours, so when you knew he had most likely left work you headed out front to wait. It was a foreign thing to do, and a little embarrassing. Dogs waited for their masters to come home. You stuffed the comparison down, knowing you were once again comparing apples to oranges. Worse than that, dogs to yourself. 

“Welcome home!” You waited for the car door to close before greeting him, worrying over the timing. He froze between the car and the wooden steps. You stopped your swinging on the porch swing, noticing how odd it was to see someone completely still like that. You remembered the deer along the road. “What’s wrong?”

Every thought flew out his head and into the early setting sun. An odd deja vu came over him. He hadn’t heard those words in literal years. “No one has said that to me…since my mother died.”

Oh. 

Oh. That was….sad. You grimaced. “Should I not say it then?”

“No!” He came to life, “I mean, yes. No, You should say it. If you want. It’s nice.” Staccato sentences as he took the three steps in just two. He leaned over on a novel instinct for a kiss, and you leaned up to meet him. 

Another moment as you parted and both of you realized how odd the situation was. The killer and his dancer playing house. For a brief second, maybe heaven mistook you for something normal and good. When you smiled, trying to not say the obvious as you always did, he decided to not mention Brady. His first night coming home to you shouldn’t have to compete with that news. Tomorrow, he decided. He’d just….leave out which day Brady had stopped by. Not a lie, just an excluded, superfluous detail.

As you ate your dinner and he recounted his day, you made a decision of your own. 

“Hey, Saturday, can you drop me off downtown for a bit? I need to change my shoes and do a little shopping.”

You needed the gift, to set the mood for your confession. You’d survived your first fight, you didn’t combust into a ball of fire when you kissed him goodbye for work, it made sense to do it now. 

“Oh, did you want company? I don’t mind going out.” His little smile made it hard to deny him.

“Ah well, my friend is still staying over at my place and she may get uneasy with a man around. And my shopping….is at the kind of places men shouldn’t go. Frilly lacy places.” A terrible liar. “You should do something fun for Alastor! I’ll be maybe…four hours or so.”

He chewed slowly, since the misunderstanding he was a little more nervous than usual. You didn’t want him to join you, were you worried Brady would see? He shook his head, confusing you.

“...excuse me?” You laughed, “No?”

His head popped up, he still sometimes forgot you were right there and not on a phone, “Sorry, I was thinking about what to do with myself. No problem, sweetheart. You can just call me when you’re ready and I’ll head back into town. I’ll stick around the house, get some stuff ready for winter.”

“Perfect!” Perfect. 

So it was decided. He would tell you tomorrow that Brady came by his office. And you’d tell him Saturday that you were in love with him. 

That was the short lived plan. He couldn’t manage to wait. When the silence of the night settled and you had turned over to try and fall asleep, he broke. 

“I really hate keeping secrets from you.” His fingers were pulling and pushing at the edge of the blanket. 

You have secrets? You turned around and sat up. 

“Brady and his partner came by today to my office, like you’d expected. I didn’t want to ruin our day, knowing how rarely we will live traditionally. But it’s just bothering the hell out of me.” His hands came to cover his cheeks and crawl into his hair out of stress. An overreaction, the weekend having truly discombobulated the man. 

A beat of confusion, tense for Alastor but void of anything for you, until you burst into a relaxed laughter, “You’re ridiculous. You were really eaten up huh?”

“It isn’t funny!”

“It’s a litlte funny.” you pulled his head down onto your lap, “You coulda told me. It doesn't ruin anything. I told you he was going to look for you. I didn’t think he’d do it the next business day, but still.” He shifted his body to lie on his side and let you take off his glasses and set them on your side table. “Do you think he still suspects you?”

He thought about it. A little.

Maybe.

Brady seemed dejected when he had left, but he could see the wheels turning in his head as he was still searching for a way to make this puzzle pieces fit. 

“Probably. His partner seemed to believe me. A listener, it turns out.” Alastor pouted, still upset at your laughter. 

“That’s hilarious. I bet it pissed him off to no end, right?”

“He looked shocked. It was difficult to not laugh.” He let his legs fall off the side of the bed so he could turn onto his back and look up at you. “I told him you were a fling, that I had my fun and then disappeared because you were trouble. I said nude dancers getting beat up should be expected. I don’t mean that.”

“Of course you don’t. I remember your face when you saw through my makeup. Sure didn't look expected to me.”

His legs drew up, knees pressed together. “Was it still a good day?”

“You told me what was on your mind instead of driving yourself mad about it. It was a perfect day.” The open window let in enough light to see his stress melt away from the corner of his eyes. 

He sat up and kissed your nose, “Thank you. You can sleep now.”

“Oh, I've been asleep the whole time. You’re gonna have to do this all again in the morning.”

“That’s not funny.” 

You kissed his cheek and he smiled away the frown before settling back onto his side of the bed to earnestly sleep.

Flowers, you thought. You should buy flowers on Saturday, too. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Alastor nerves hadn’t settled yet, even if he slept well beside you. Every day he came home and you were still there felt like he’d been holding his breath the entire drive. During lunch he’d call the house so you could talk and eat together, in a sense. The conversation eased him, a confirmation you still liked him. An embarrassing fear he couldn’t let you on to. 

He didn’t understand you spent the week calling record shops in search of something specific. Plotting exactly how you’d do it. You’d mastered the phonograph in the room beside the kitchen and found an old vase in the back of the cupboard. 

The panic didn’t settle for you either though. It just shifted to the confession from Brady. As if through osmosis, Brady was now Alastor’s main concern as soon as their hands shook. You were less scared, as he really did seem to be dismissed by his colleague from what you saw. Dejected and forlorn from what Alastor had described. 

Alastor was honest with you that he left work early to check on Brady midweek. He was practically dancing through the kitchen when he reported Brady went home on time for the first night in what could have been weeks. And he did so looking like shit.

And he felt like shit. When they left the radio station, Freeman gave him the silent treatment the entire ride back to work. He opened his mouth to offer an alternative theory, perhaps you or Alastor had a brother, but Freeman immediately shut him down.

“Stop. Enough.” He snapped from his desk. “It is over, Kenny. Let it go. Maybe some monster is out there doing all this crazy shit you think they are but it’s not this man nor this lady so just fucking drop it.”

He sat quietly the rest of the work day, thinking over everything again. It still felt right, but Alastor didn’t look right. Maybe it was a group, some new gang in town. Perhaps Alastor had some business with them. 

Staring at his neatly folded map of downtown, his fingers slid over the last known locations of the various missing people over the past year. 

Is downtown just inherently dangerous, he wondered. He supposed the map lined up with the jazz scene, and where there is dance and liquor there’s crime.

He went home to his wife and startled her with his promptness. While she was elated, he felt hollow. Purposeless. Freeman had warned him he’d invented this conspiracy to make work more interesting. Maybe that was right. Life was boring. Everything was so steady and stable. Nothing exciting anymore. It’s possible. He could have imagined a connection. 

But his wife accidentally stoked the dying flame of his suspicions. 

When he told her everything, about Alastor and the dancer he chased down and the missing Tommy, she hummed. 

“He could be like that Holmes man in Chicago.” She smiled from across the meat and potatoes she’d slow cooked over the day.

Brady asked what she meant. 

“He killed all these people at his hotel. On the outside he was a very fine looking man! Respected doctor, or something.” She took her time to chew, leaving Brady waiting for the point, “Turns out his hotel had some secret dungeon where he killed people. I’m fuzzy on the details, but, he hung for it. Maybe your guy has a secret room in his house or a cabin in the woods.”

He would have kissed her but he was too tired to move. As she continued on, changing to the topic of novels and then movies, he pushed the potatoes around his plate. 

No way work would listen to him if he suggested it. He’d lost all of his goodwill. But, as a citizen, he could maybe just….look into the public records for the radio man. Any convenient structures he owned. No one needed to know, no embarrassment if he was wrong again.

Just, one more check. To be absolutely sure. For his peace of mind. 

“So he murdered the actress for threatening to reveal he was only half white! It was a real shock. I swear talkies just get more and more intriguing.” She beamed sweetly across the table, happy to have him home, “By Hitchcock. Isn’t that a hoot?”

He nodded absentmindedly, “Sounds fun, dear.”

She let the misplaced comment go, and moved to turn on the radio. Something to fill the silence. She wondered if her favorite program was on, though it was a little late for that. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day finally came, your highly anticipated and scheduled confession. Saturday morning you slipped on your shoes, pushing back thoughts of everything they’d seen, and slid into the car. You had a game plan. Apartment, get your stash and change out your shoes. Head to the phonograph shop on Calliope and grab the record. Flower shop, something bright and fragrant. Stop by the theater for a bottle of whatever they were willing to part with. Call him from there to pick you up behind the building.

Flawless.

Honestly, the easy part.

Alastor dropped you off in front of your building and you kissed him hurriedly. You didn’t need Ephi bounding down the steps and introducing herself. 

You didn’t need Ephi, full stop.

“I’ll call you from the theater so I can wait inside. Lo-,” Your mouth opened to say it, as you’d been practicing it in your head all week, “Lucky me I’m still welcome there.” A quick save.

You waved him off and bounded up the steps. Ephi answered when you knocked, hair disheveled and still wearing the dress she must have worn out the night before.

A familiar dress.

“Who said you could wear my clothes?!” You kicked the door closed behind you.

Ephi fell back onto your bed with a creaking of the metal springs, “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

Barely a second into the room and you were already reeling with anger. What a skill she had.

Shoes off, you threw them on top of the closet out of her natural reach and searched for something flatter. Not too flat though. Alastor always looked too good for you to look like you didn’t care for what was fashionable.

Deep breaths, you grabbed the dresser with both hands and wretched it from the wall, startling Ephi back awake.

“What the fuck? Are you taking the furniture?! It’s a fucking dress.”

Relief as you saw the handkerchief still taped to the backboard of the shelf. Ripping it off, you shoved it into your bag. No need to count it, had Ephi found the cash the entire thing would be gone already. 

“Are you hiding money around your apartment…,” it wasn’t a question so much as an oddly worded accusation.

Your march to the door paused, briefly entertaining carrying your remaining clothes around with you but abandoning the idea. Let her borrow them for now, you were busy today.

You were gone without a goodbye, anger simmering away and evaporating with every block. 

As the distance between your problem and you became greater, the gap was closing in on Alastor and his.

He was in the kitchen splashing his face with water,  dusty from sweeping the porch, when he heard a car door slam shut. Not a normal sound for him to hear. Even more out of place than a ‘welcome home’. A moment of concern as he quickly dried his hands, maybe you had gotten a ride home already. It was possible he missed your call, but he’d kept the windows open to hear the phone. 

When he came to the front door, no one was there. A car was parked a ways behind his own though. Alastor stepped out and looked around the wrap around porch before turning back and going to the back door. Past the stairs and the kitchen doorway, he could see the shape of a man. He was standing in front of the greenhouse with both hands on his hips, staring at it. Bright hair reflecting the sun.

The screen door whined as Alastor opened it, announcing him much sooner than he had wanted. It was finally happening. The moment that was both inevitable and fiercely guarded against. 

“Census information is quite easy to find with a name like yours.”

Alastor tried to muster a hospitable smile, “Detective Brady. To what do I owe the sudden visit?”

Brady turned around and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, “I need to go get a warrant?”

The air between them tightened. “Not at all, did you want to come inside?” 

Brady nodded, a smug smile and a wink, “Sure do.”

Alastor returned to the kitchen for the key, grabbing a small paring knife and placing it in the back pocket of his slacks. Sharp and quick. 

“Wasn’t expecting guests…,” he admitted as he came back down the clean steps. He was never expecting guests, but he had been expecting this. 

“Good.” Brady clapped his hands together, “Quite the building ya got here.” He followed Alastor in and immediately looked up to the tall ceiling. “An uncommon thing to have. Only seen them at real fancy public places.”

Alastor turned right, following the winding path of busy shelves and potted trees with a practiced ease. Brady watched him slip between two large plants and hesitated.

With a hand on his gun, be pushed through.

“Ya know what my wife and I were just talking about?” He followed close behind. He couldn’t see Alastor but he could hear the leaves rustling. “H. H. Holmes.”

“Another missing manager?” Alastor asked from the other side of some crowded shelves.

“It’s thought he killed 9 people up in Chicago.” Brady emerged from the makeshift jungle to see Alastor standing in the center. 

“Busy man!” Alastor stood with his hands behind his back, sheathed in his pockets. “This is where the magic happens!” He nodded to the stainless steel table. “My gardening space.”

Brady looked at the table, then up to the high ceilings again. He took a step toward the table and crouched down.

His heels sunk in. Standing, he pressed his shoe in the soil around the table. Backing off he then tested the ground some feet away. It was noticeably firmer. “Ground sure is soft over there.”

“Water! Turns out plants love the stuff. Who knew!” Alastor’s fingers curled around the knife’s handle, “I prune, propagate, and repot them here and rinse it off after. Due to the shade of the table, the ground tends to stay wet longer.” He wondered if Brady had told anyone where he was. Maybe Freeman? 

The whole thing could be expedited by letting him bleed out on the greenhouse floor. Just a few swipes and this could all be over. He could maybe even have him gone before you called. 

Another little secret. Just one. Brady’s life was an insignificant detail.

Plausible, the detective thought. Brady examined the floor closer, unaware of Alastor’s eyes locked on his neck. He didn’t see much of a soft spot. It’d be improbable to bury all the bodies in such a small space. He’d have to dig too deep. 

“So you actually do like to garden?” He asked.

Alastor laughed, “No, that was a lie. This is all meticulously maintained for aesthetics.” 

Brady’s own laugh was dry in reply, the joke not funny or appreciated, “Night gardening?” He pointed his chin up to the light hanging above them.

“I prefer early mornings, before work.” Alastor leaned back on his heels, he’d waited for this conversation for years. It was almost fun. Brady didn’t know how predictable his arrival had been on some vague level.

Brady nodded and motioned for Alastor to lead him out. He didn’t want the man behind him.

As they snaked their way out again, Alastor fought the sickening feeling in his stomach to just do it. 

But he’d never acted quite so impulsively. He normally had a few hours to think it out beforehand. 

He’d been thinking this out for months now in a way, though, hadn’t he?

Alastor locked the door after Brady stepped out and Brady looked around the land. He couldn’t see any fences, but saw on his way in just how spread out the other homes were. 

“How far is the property line, if you don’t mind me asking? Seems to be quite a large parcel.” He had a rough idea from the paperwork he’d found. 

“It’s about 15 acres, from what I recall.” It was exactly 14.2 acres according to the paperwork. He knew every step by heart. 

As he watched Brady eye the land with a dismissive glance, he realized he’d never killed anyone at his home. It didn’t seem to be a good idea. Like they’d taint the land. Plus, killing the cop in the backyard was about as opposite of what you’d asked of him as he could get. 

The detective slapped his notebook against his palm and whistled, “Radio pays well, huh?”

“Better than a detective, maybe. But this was all my mother’s land.” He said it with pride, one hand leaving his pocket to gesture at the house and beyond. 

“Your mother. And she… how exactly did someone like her get her hands on a plot like this?” Brady squinted at the tree line, knowing full well how he said it. “Quite a bit of land for someone of her… background.” He quickly turned his full body to Alastor, “You see that movie, ‘Murder!’, by Hitchcock? My wife was saying how interesting it was over dinner the other night. Your receptionist mentioned you like the movies.”

Alastor bristled, he’d seen the film and picked up the tone being taken,  “Did you want to see anything else, Kenneth? Or did you drive all the way here to quiz me on your wife's morbid interests?”

“Detective Brady.” He corrected. 

“Maybe in the Orleans parish.” Alastor took a step toward him. He reveled in the confused expression Brady made. “Oh you didn’t realize when you crossed the lake? This is St. Tammany. You’re out of jurisdiction.” Another step. “So I’ll call you whatever I damn well please.”

Brady finally noticed the dwindling space between them and the shadow of the house creeping over Alastor’s face. “Maybe I should head out and get that warrant.”

Alastor’s arms went out in a shrug, “Ah, well, good luck finding a judge to approve you harassing a law abiding land owner for…what exactly? A drugged out criminal who stopped showing up to work? Forgive me for not holding my breath. Now kindly get the fuck off my mother’s property. “  

Brady shook his head, not able to do much more. He couldn’t process the truth in what Alastor had said. “Have a good day, Alastor.”

“And you have a safe night, Kenneth.”

Brady stopped, hand curling into a fist that Alastor didn’t fail to notice. 

“Is that some kind of threat?” It was the way he dragged out the two words. The gleeful range in which he said them. 

“Not at all. A warning really, there’s been some unhinged man harassing dancers lately. Demanding their private information, accusing them of silly crimes. Has the station not heard?” Alastor’s finger came to his chin inquisitively, “Perhaps I should give them a call. Who was your boss again. Freeman, was it?”

Brady felt his stomach drop, “What did you say.” If Alastor hadn’t been with you since before the assault, how did he know that Brady had been struggling to track you down?

“As a man about town who runs in important circles, word travels fast of bothersome people. Helps us learn where to avoid.”

Brady was still holding onto hope that Alastor was your man but now, his throat ran dry. He got more than that.

A man who ran in various circles of the nightlife scene. 

A man above the fray, a position afforded to him by the respect of his job.

A man people talked to often, therefore a man people saw everywhere. So it was never odd that he was always in the places where people went missing. He was ubiquitous. Where the jazz played, Alastor was there. 

A man with no wife to complain so his nights were free. 

A large piece of land. A chip on his shoulder. 

“You son of a bitch…I didn’t tell you Tommy had been involved in drugs. I was right.” The sentence got quieter and softer as he trailed on until he could only whisper, “You killed him.”

Alastor watched the color drain from Brady’s face as the realization hit, but the ‘son’ comment blanketed his frontal cortex and dampened impulse control, “On second thought; yes.”

It was just an expression, son of a bitch, but it’d been the wrong one to use so carelessly. Alastor’s heart was pounding in his ears and behind his eyes.

The detective kept his gaze locked on Alastor as he fished out his keys. His hand shook violently as he tried to get the car door key in his fingers. “Yes what?” Glancing down for a fraction of a second to check he had the right one. 

“That was a threat.”

Alastor’s hand twitched, he fought the rage bubbling up his throat. His vision was beginning to turn red around the edges. He could hear Aubrey squeaking out the first syllable of that damn word just behind his left ear.

Perhaps he was the blade hanging over Brady’s head. 

With even paces he walked over to the stump where he chopped wood and pulled the axe out, “Ya know! Something about you makes my fucking skin crawl.” He pointed it at Brady, the detective taking note of the arm strength needed to hold the unevenly heavy tool steady and parallel to the ground. “I do hope for your sake this is our final meeting. You should leave now.” His head titled to the left, “And keep your nose clean, Kenneth. It’s a dangerous time for bad men in New Orleans.”

Brady walked backwards to his car as Alastor advanced briskly with the blade still raised. When they reached the front porch Brady turned and booked it, glancing behind to see Alastor standing beside the porch on foot worn grass.

As the car started Alastor dropped the axe until it’s flat top of the blade rested on the ground and he leaned his weight onto it akin to a cane. His free hand’s fingers waved goodbye before dropping down to his side limply. He stood there with eyes fixed and body still as a predator waiting for its opportunity. How many gators had Brady watched from the shore with just that look? He peeled out, sight unseen as he blindly backed onto the unpaved road, and made a beeline to the nearest phone. 

He had to tell someone. He was right. He had been right the whole time. Alastor killed Tommy Dupre. And there was no doubt in Brady’s swirling mind that you knew that fact. 

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk  , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  @fizzled-phoenix   , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl  @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog  , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[sharksarewaterdogs]

Huntrix Headcanons!

I don't think we've got canon ages for them so imo Rumi's the oldest (2 mos older than Mira), Mira the 2nd (9 mos older than Zoey), Zoey the youngest. They started demon hunting/pop star training around the age of 14, and debuted at about 16.

The girls had a bit of a rocky relationship at the start. They liked each other, but were very awkward at making connections.

Rumi was basically homeschooled hard by Celine with the express purpose of becoming the best demon hunter and told to hide her demon heritage, so she didn't interact much with other kids. She leaned hard on acting the part of new friend/normal girl/kpop-star-&-hunter-in-training to the point where she tended to be overly superficial and awkward.

Celine had a very specific image in mind for her to grow up into (an idealistic version of her mother), and Rumi was very much a rule-following kid trying to fit the image. She also grew up with a specific idea of what it would be like to be part of a hunter trio, and is very excited to have that kind of close bond and wants it to click right away. She's very much a people pleaser, so, despite generally being an obedient kid for Celine, she is overly ready to take part in any shenanigans the girls suggest as a way to prove herself to them.

Child-of-divorce Zoey was used to having to swap between homes a lot, which inhibited her ability to keep strong friendships. She also was frequently bullied as a kid; she's had a lot of insecurities about expressing herself, so she would vacillate between being hyper-expressive and extroverted and being really shy and quiet, which gave her an unpredictable vibe that initially unsettled the other two.

Zoey was a latch-key kid, given a lot of freedom by her parents. She is very likely to suggest shenanigans for the fun and chaos of them, but, rather than being rebellious on principle, she's used to not having to follow a strict lifestyle and not having large consequences for misbehavior.

Mira was used to being a social outcast and the black sheep of her family, and lost her one best friend shortly before they met (more on this later). She imprinted on the girls like a duckling ("these girls are weirdos but they're MY weirdos"), feeling very protective and fond of them very quickly, but she was also incredibly shy and insecure around people she actually wanted to impress, so she didn't really express this.

Mira and Zoey were initially rather intimidated by Rumi bc she was pop royalty & had training in both hunting & music pretty much from birth.

Zoey and Rumi were initially very intimidated by Mira, given her rebellious and deadpan nature, and the fact that she tended to be very quiet and appeared emotionally reserved (dangerous quiet kid energy).

Mira was (of course) a rebellious kid who liked to stick it to authority figures on principle, but Zoey and Rumi being so easily persuaded into mischief put her in the awkward position of being The Responsible One more often than she liked.

Celine was almost always the one to do Rumi's hair and makeup, so Rumi wasn't actually experienced at doing them for herself. Mira helped her with learning to do different hairstyles on herself (tho she usually sticks to her signature braid), while Zoey taught her makeup. She, in turn, helped give them pointers on fighting.

Mira & Zoey also took her shopping for the first time for clothes that she got to pick out in her own style.

Mira had one close friend as a kid who she lost to demons, which is part of why she became so quickly very protective of the other girls, and fueled an intense bitterness towards demons.

Zoey was on the run from home after a fight with her parents when she met Celine and joined Huntrix (Celine got her parents' permission).

A demon who knew Rumi's dad stumbled on her when she was little (like 4 or something) & recognized him in her. They tried to lure her away before Celine killed them. That's when Celine first revealed the full truth of Rumi's marks and what she had to hide.

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter 26: Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Summary: You get caught up in town with Micah when running for supplies, and Arthur is none too pleased about it. 

*This image is not mine but comes from Pintrest, posted by Duknan

Word Count - 14, 290 (Sorry this is a long one!)

A/N: This one took me awhile and I was about to post it, and then decided to rewrite and reorganize some passages. I know there are strong opinions of Micah Bell out there, but don't hate on me. This will have some sympathies towards our favorite antagonist. Just trying to delve into his character a bit.

Special thank you, as always, to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my cheerleader and beta-reader.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter - still in progress but there are a handful of future chapters that were posted ahead of time

The convoy of wagons and horses carefully snakes its way down the narrow mountain path from Colter. The crisp, frigid air is filled with the sounds of creaking wood and squelching mud as the horses plow through melting snow and sludge underfoot. The last remnants of delicate snowflakes dance in the wind, skipping about like crystalline winter fairies before landing on riders and wagons alike. 

Dutch has decided that you all have been hiding up in the wicked winds and snow of the Grizzly Mountains for long enough and it is now time to leave due to several factors. The robbery of the train belonging to Leviticus Cornwall was a success, there is a new addition to the group with Mrs. Adler (who is still recovering from the loss of her husband and home), John is slowly on the mend from the wolf attack, but most importantly, there are O’Driscoll’s afoot in the area. While Dutch is not intimidated by Colm O’Driscoll, he is certainly well aware that his own gang is wounded and not up to snuff as they usually are. It’s best to move the group while he can, getting you all to a more temperate area, and regroup with a new plan for the gang’s future. 

While Arthur is still a little cantankerous about what happened in Blackwater and, of course, the events after, you and he have at least reconnected to some extent, which has calmed your nerves a bit from the calamity that led to the gang’s abrupt escape to the mountains. It is hard enough to deal with what has happened without having to fret over your still fairly new relationship with a man who has spent years barricading himself off from anyone else. 

Sometimes, you can steal Arthur away and get him to relax with you, finding comfort in warm embraces and delicious kisses, to feel warm, strong hands holding each other when it seems like the world around you is about to fall apart. But it doesn’t take much once Arthur is away from you to ignite his vexation once more. 

Dutch currently leads the gang through a shallow end of the frigid river and across the rocky riverbed, which wreaks havoc on the wheels of the old wagons. This is probably not the most pleasant path, but it is a more direct route to your destination and the sooner you are off this damn mountainside, the better. 

But of course, as luck would have it, the wagon that Arthur and Hosea are driving barely makes it to the other side of the bank before one of the wheels breaks. The vehicle groans and wobbles before the wheel pops off entirely, causing it to lurch, the axle stubbornly planting itself into the gloopy, frigid mud. 

“Ah, shit!” Arthur hollers, tossing the reins down in a heap at his feet in frustration. 

Upon hearing the loud snapping of wood, and Arthur’s even louder cursing, the convoy stops. “Everything alright back there?” hollers Bill from up ahead, twisting in his saddle to try to get a better view. 

“Does everything look alright to you?” Arthur shouts sarcastically, losing his patience by the second.

“Well, what’s going on?” Javier peevishly asks, curious as to how long this will delay them as he’s eager to get out of the cold and on to the new camp.

“I broke the goddamn wheel!” Arthur’s breath huffs sharply out of his nose like a bull as his burly frame jumps down from the wagontop and he lumbers around the side to assess the damage.

A grunt of aged exhaustion bubbles from Hosea’s weathered lips as he too climbs down from the driver seat where he’s been sitting next to Arthur for the last several hours. The old man works the stiffness out of his joints as he moves to stand next to Arthur, blowing warm air into his hands and flexing as he adjusts his gloves. “Well, no sense grumbling about. Let’s get it fixed, then.” 

At this point, Charles Smith has sauntered over to see if he can lend a hand. While Arthur, Hosea and Charles toss playful banter at one another while fighting with the unwelcomed repair, you eagerly capitalize on the moment of reprieve to climb out of the back of the wagon to stretch your legs and back. Taking advantage of being in his close proximity, you opted to ride with Arthur rather than riding your own horse or up with the girls in their wagon, but your butt is not thanking you for that decision at the moment. 

Rolling your neck as you rub the tired muscles nestled there, you catch sight of the O’Driscoll that Arthur had caught up by Mrs. Adler’s place. Curious about the new arrival, you take a moment to study him as he stands tethered to the chuck wagon. He seems skittish and frail like a baby duckling trying to stay close to its nest. He doesn’t seem to be all that impressive and even though Dutch thinks this young man may have some valuable information, you are more inclined to think he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Arthur is convinced that this little man is trouble, but you are not so sure. To Arthur, the only good O’Driscoll is dead O’Driscoll. But something in the man’s terrified and untrusting eyes tells you that he hates Colm O’Driscoll more than anything. 

While the torture has not ensued just yet, the gang has not exactly been hospitable to this hostage. With the others distracted, you take the opportunity to approach the O’Driscoll yourself. You observe him with a piqued interest as you get closer to him. He doesn’t seem to be that dangerous as he shutters and shakes, nervous of every move around him. The hazel eyes nest in deep sockets, ringed with dark circles, and continually dart all around him. And it dawns on you that he is not looking at the convoy of people who hold him captive, but at the treeline and distant hills. It’s as if he’s more worried about the outside threat from someone else than he is about being left with the Van Der Linde gang. 

“Hello,” you say softly, your voice low so as to not startle him. The man doesn’t reply when you catch his attention, but just stares at you with wide, distrustful eyes.

But you meet his uneasiness with your usual gentle smile. “I brought you some bread and water.” He watches your hands float to the canteen around your shoulder and then to the linen napkin in your palm. His eyes widen even more with a spellbound awe, the gurgling sound of his painfully hungry stomach filling the awkward silence as you push the items into his cold hands. “It’s okay. Here.”

His hands are still bound, but at least Bill tied them in front of him and thankfully, he is able to hold the food and canteen on his own without you feeding him. You hand him the items, but quickly step back, mindful that this is still an O’Driscoll in front of you. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, his voice feeble as he swallows the bread down. His eyes are sunken and dark from lack of food and his clothing is tattered and ripped. He is a sad sight, indeed. “This is m-mighty kind of you, ma’am. I know you all don’t have reason to trust me. But I-I appreciate the kindness just the same.”

A chuckle crosses your lips as you watch as the O’Driscoll quickly shoves the bread through his chapped lips. “Well, we may be a group of outlaws, but we’re not heartless. But if you do know something, it would be wise of you to tell them.” His chewing slows as he takes in your warning, nodding slightly in acceptance of his fate. “You’re Kieran, right? That’s your name? I’m Y/N.”

“That’s right. Kieran.” A small smile begins to bloom across his dirty face, a shred of relief fluttering in his chest like a butterfly at the act of mercy. But he is soon distracted from your kind face to the commotion going on behind you. 

“That man.” Keiran nods past you, eyebrows raised in apprehension at the individual who is still ranting and cursing while fixing the broken wagon. “That’s Arthur Morgan, isn’t it?” 

Your demeanor instantly drops at the idea that this potential enemy knows Arthur’s name, alarmed at the mere thought of Arthur being endangered. Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why do you ask?” 

“Nothing! I-I don’t mean nothing by it,” Keiran quickly yammers. “It’s just-”

“Just what?” You take a slow, deliberate step closer to him. He cringes when he sees your fiery eyes darken and your shoulders set defensively. 

Kieran casts his fearful eyes downward, afraid he may have offended the one person who has shown him any kindness in this situation. “It’s just…I’ve heard talk of him, is all.” 

“What kind of talk?” Your once pleasant and sympathetic tone has turned hard and untrusting now that Arthur is threatened. 

“He’s just…an enigma of sorts.” Kieran risks a cautious look up at you again, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he wobbles in the cold air. “I heard talk of how he’s bested men when he was way outnumbered, against the odds. H-how he has what’s been told a “dead eye”. You know, where you can aim your gun and…and kill a man with such accuracy that it’s unreal. I heard he can beat a man to death with his bare hands within five minutes! That he once wrestled a wolverine-”

“It wasn’t a wolverine,” you interrupt Kieran’s nervous rambling with a sigh. ”It was a bobcat.”

“Oh.”

“And yes, he is all of those things.”

Kieran nods at your confirmation of his fears. “It’s just funny to see somethin’ you’ve been warned about in the flesh. Like seein’ the devil in person, you know?”

“Well, let that be a lesson to you, then,” you warn, crossing your arms over your chest, tucking your jacket closer to you. “I wouldn’t piss him off.”

“He seems real kind to you, though.” A shred of hope glimmers in Kieran’s eyes that maybe this demon he’s heard so much of is not so bad. Or, that this angel of mercy standing in front of him may be the key to calm that demon. 

“Yeah, well, he likes me. There aren’t too many that can say that.”

“Y/N!” Suddenly, you hear Arthur’s gravelly voice calling out your name. Turning your head in his direction, you see Arthur standing with a look of concern plastered across his weathered features. “Get away from that piece of shit and get back over here. C’mom, time to move!” He sharply waves his arm at you, impatient to have you back at his side. Arthur still doesn’t trust this O’Driscoll, which means he wants you nowhere near him. 

“Well, Kieran, it was nice chatting with you.” You give him one last tired smile before collecting the canteen and turn to head back to the wagon. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Kieran calls to you, his fitful eyes following you as you retreat back to where Arthur looms in the not-so-far-off distance as he eyes the prisoner with a cold and hateful gaze. Arthur’s countenance doesn’t waver when you smile up at him, placing a loving hand on his forearm. The only crack in his angry, rugged wall is when he gently places a large gloved hand to the small of your back, ushering you into the back of the wagon once more. 

Hosea wants to stay in an area called Horseshoe Overlook and with no other idea readily in mind, Dutch agreed. It’s still a bit of a journey from the base of the mountainside so it is suggested that the gang takes a brief stop while someone heads over to the nearest town on the way to the Overlook. Supplies were low before you even left Blackwater all those weeks ago, and you’ve been scrounging ever since for the duration of your stay in Colter. Pearson needs his food stock replenished, and you need medical supplies as everything you had stockpiled has gone to caring for John after being attacked by the wolves.  

Safest to travel in small numbers, you offer to go yourself. You know what to look for on both the food and the medical supplies. But Arthur is not about to let you go anywhere on your own in an area he is unfamiliar with, so without question, he will be escorting you. 

“Micah, why don’t you head over there with them?” suggests Dutch, puffing away on a cigar, the smoke encircling his dark curls like a vaporous crown from where he sits perched upon his horse, observing the small group of you that has collected in front of him to discuss what the next move will be. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with around here, best to send backup just in case.”

The mere idea that Micah should ride along with you makes Arthur bristle. “I don’t need any ‘backup’, Dutch. Certainly not from him,” he growls, waving a flippant hand towards Micah.

“Fine with me, I don’t want to be baby-sittin’ you anyway, cowpoke,” sneers Micah in response, his hands instinctively settling upon his gunbelt. The gang hasn’t stopped for more than twenty minutes and the air is already charged with the animosity between the two men. 

“That was not a suggestion,” Dutch muses back at the two pouty overgrown children. “Now, get going and be careful. We don’t need any attention right now.”

“We’ll be fine, Dutch,” you quickly interject before either Arthur or Micah can launch another insult. “Come on, you two. Let’s get this done, shall we?” Shaking your head playfully at the two bickering outlaws, you head over to saddle Blue for the quick detour.

The lemon-yellow sun of the late morning dodges between rolling clouds as the three of you head out, riding in silence, with Arthur along your side and Micah trailing behind you. The nearest town is about an hour’s ride and is more of a trading village for those like yourselves, traveling between the mountain pass and down into the more populated territories. Upon arrival, you are quick to notice that there is no flourish or panache here. It is a series of rows made up of simple buildings, each marked with their specialty. The outlying area is littered with small houses and cabins nestled into the hillside for the full-time residents. But the trading post is meant for in-and-out traffic, a quick stop between destinations. 

“Huh, seems…’quaint’,” you hum, looking over the dusty little village, watching the people lumber about their tasks. 

“That’s one word for it,” mutters Micah, clearly unimpressed with the destination. His mustache twitches as he sucks his teeth in disappointment. 

“Let’s just get what we need and get outta here,” reminds Arthur, his gaze skimming over the open area. He sits rigid atop Buck, his worn gambler’s hat pulled down over his crystal-blue eyes and assesses any possible threats. “We don’t need to be lingering too long out in the open.”

“You’re such an old woman, Morgan. What could possibly happen in a shitty little town like this?” complains Micah, waving his hand impatiently at the small expanse of buildings.

Arthur pitches back an equally bitter glare. “This old woman will put her boot right in your ass if you keep running your mouth, Micah.”

“Boys!” you snap sharply, raising your hands up at each of them to halt their childish bickering. “Let’s play nice just for a bit, hmm?”

A mocking grin rolls across Micah’s face as he urges Baylock forward past the two of you, causing Arthur to roll his eyes in annoyance. 

“Come on, handsome,” you coo sweetly to Arthur. “Forget about that fool and let’s find ourselves some food.”

He turns towards you, tilting his head up just enough for you to catch a lifted eyebrow from under the brim of his hat. “Should I be offended you use the same pet name for me as you do that damn horse of yours?”

A cheeky grin decorates your face, making your eyes glitter mischievously. “Considering how much I love this damn horse of mine, you should be flattered.” You reach down and pat Blue’s neck, drawing a knicker from his wide chest.

Arthur absolutely adores your playfulness, but the mirth slowly drains from his eyes as his gaze returns to Micah who is heading over to the gunsmith. “It’s a good thing you’re here, Y/N. Otherwise, I’d tear that weasel a new ass the minute I get my hands on him.”

“I know, I know,” you muse as you follow his line of sight. “But like you said, let’s get this done and then you don’t have to deal with him for awhile, yeah?” Arthur only nods in agreement as he nudges Buck to follow you down the narrow street to the nearest hitching post outside of what appears to be the closest thing to a general store. 

While you and Arthur go about securing some canned goods and clean bandages, Micah has been busy procuring more ammunition from the smith. Reconvening at the horses, the three of you pack the saddlebags with the new supplies. You casually walk around to the other side of Blue to stuff the last bit of goods into the dusty leather bag and you let your gaze wander, taking in the simplicity of the little town.

As you scan the front of the post office, which sits next to the general store, your eye catches something. You do a double-take as the blood drains from your face, eyes wide as saucers. 

“Oh hell,” you whisper under your breath. Your blood runs cold as ice when you see a sketch of your likeness and your alias scrawled upon a browning piece of paper that is nailed to the bulletin board of the post office. 

Noticing your change in mood, Arthur follows your sight-line and sees the object of your trepidation. He cautiously walks over and yanks the poster down, reading it over as he returns to the horses where you and Micah are standing. And Arthur is none too happy about this, either. You give Arthur a worried and guilt-ridden look as his lips flatten into a hard, angry line as his hands fist around the parchment, crumpling the edges. 

Bounty to be paid of one hundred dollars

By decree of Sheriff Franklin Langston, be on the look out for this woman known as Mrs. Evageline Callahan. Wanted for robbery of the Red Rock Savings and Loan and the assault of a law officer. Wanted alive. 

The bounty notice details the robbery in Red Rock where you had planted yourself as a decoy before helping Arthur crack the locks and safes, and the local Sheriff there has targeted you as an accomplice. But what the notice does not go into detail about is how the sheriff tried to play on your supposed vulnerability. He had escorted you to a hotel room under the pretense of “protection”. But it quickly became obvious to you that his protection was the furthest from his mind.

While locked in a room with the scoundrel, you secretly drugged him before he could take advantage of you and you slipped out from under his unconscious nose, walking right out the front door with no one the wiser. No doubt the respected lawman’s pride is hurt that not only was he fooled by a woman, but a woman who got the best of him in the end. 

Anger and worry swirl violently within Arthur’s chest, making his heart beating rapidly. He has tried to keep you out of harm's way, but it seems he’s failed. He stupidly thought that he could be an outlaw and still keep you innocently protected from the life that comes with it. You are the one thing that he holds most precious, like a delicate flower in the cold morning frost, to be safeguarded at all costs. 

He had asked you not to do that job. Begged you, in fact. But how could you tell Dutch Van Der Linde ‘no’? And with you there to pick the locks of the vault at the bank, Arthur and the others were able to come away with a hell of a lot more cash than they would have without you. And, with no casualties, too. But that has also opened the door for you to be implicated as an accomplice and now on the law’s wanted list. 

Micah looks over Arthur’s shoulder at the offending paper being fisted in his gloved hands. “Well, what do ya know, she’s an ’outlaw’ now,” he chuckles. “Shit, this day just keeps getting better and better. Don’t look so glum, there, cowpoke.” He lands a teasing swat along Arthur's arm. “Thought you’d be happy knowing you two really are made for each other.”

“Shut up, Micah!” you and Arthur both yell in unison.

“Arthur? Arthur, I’m sorry,” you mutter sheepishly as you place your hands on his bulging forearms. But your plea only makes his teeth grind in anger at himself even harder. 

“What you got to be sorry for?!” His nostrils flare slightly when he turns his flashing eyes to meet your anxious gaze.

“Well…”

“Hey!” 

Before you can finish your thought, someone’s sharp voice cuts through the crowd. Whipping your collective heads in that direction, the three of you see an older man standing outside the general store, pointing his bony finger at you, his bespectacled eyes wide with shock. 

“That’s her! That woman they’re looking for!”

Your whole body freezes, paralyzed with fear as the man’s voice carries through the dusty street, announcing your presence to everyone. A crowd of curious onlookers descends upon the square at the noise. Arthur quickly places himself in front of you like a shield and you shrink behind him, cowering as your hands come up to grasp at the back of his coat as if you could draw courage from his sheer bulk.

“We don’t want no trouble.” Arthur addresses the crowd, holding one hand up in peace. “But if anyone makes one move towards her, there will be trouble.” Your breath catches in your throat as Arthur draws himself up to his full height, widening his stance and shoulders pushed back to make himself even more massive than already is. His neck tightens as his chiseled jaw clenches painfully. His hand instinctively hovers over his holstered gun, a clear warning to those around him. Likewise, Micah takes a defensive position flanking Arthur’s side to hide you from the crowd, both hands just itching to take hold of the weapons on his hips. 

It’s as if time stands still, not even a bird making a sound, as a breeze flits through the street, rolling dead leaves about like discarded paper. Arthur can feel your fingers trembling through the thick material of his coat. Your terrified eyes dart in all directions, waiting for someone to make the next move. The bitter, coppery taste of blood creeps into your mouth as you bite down on your bottom lip in anticipation. But you don’t have long to wait. 

A single gunshot rings out, planting an ill-aimed bullet a mere yard from your feet. Gasping in panic, you jump backwards into Blue’s side, causing him to whinny loudly as he rears up in fear. Arthur’s arm immediately spins as if of its own accord to find the source, the offending shooter instantly crumbling in a heap with a red weeping hole in his chest. 

A woman’s scream cuts into the tension-charged air as things explode into chaos everywhere. Arthur and Micah pull their weapons, firing in a whirlwind of motion with you placed behind them.

“Move!” Arthur roars, shoving you to your feet as you scramble in frantic movement.

The three of you sprint through the streets, trying to elude the townsfolk. But shots are fired from all around, causing you to constantly change directions. Shots ring out, whizzing past your head, and you let go of Arthur’s jacket to cradle your head, but by doing so, you eventually get separated from him. 

You get a glimpse of Arthur as he throws himself behind a stack of barrels seeking shelter from the onslaught while you and Micah tuck yourselves behind a wagon on the opposite side of the street. But every time Arthur tries to make a break to you, a spray of bullets knocks him back, holding him in place. 

“We gotta get outta here!” hollers Micah over the deafening pandemonium, grabbing your shoulder and trying to pull you towards himself. 

“Not without Arthur!” you scream back, shoving his hand off of you. 

But you watch in horror as a group of men descend on your outlaw. With the townsfolk distracted with Arthur, Micah grabs your arm, pulling you to your feet. “We gotta go! Big man can take care of himself!”

But you dig your heels in like an obstinate horse. Your eyes shoot back to Arthur, his keen scrutiny moving between the mob and your petrified face. He lifts his hands and begins to fire at the men coming down the street, trying to keep their attention away from you and Micah.

“Get the hell out of here! Go!” he yells at you, waiving you to move on. Too numb with the fear of leaving Arthur to move of your own accord, you absentmindedly allow Micah to drag you away from the square. 

Micah leads you down the narrow street amongst the shouting of everyone around you, keeping along the buildings and firing into the crowds to ward off any following. Shards of glass and wooden splinters cascade into your hair as a rain of bullets from all directions ricochet off of the buildings and fills the air with choking clouds of smoke that burns your throat every time a shriek of panic escapes your lungs. Your feet scramble to keep up, desperately trying not to lose your footing and drag Micah down with you. Your head ducks into Micah’s side, blindly following wherever he leads you as your hands maintain a death-grip on his jacket.

You and Micah bolt in various directions, your worn boots zigzagging in the dirt, trying to elude the mob, but it seems there are guns pointed at you at every turn. This may be a tiny town, but they do not tolerate any trouble here, the whole town arming themselves to protect against any threat. Shop owners, the blacksmith, any able body pops out with a gun in hand and aimed at you. Micah skids to a halt more than once to change directions, seeking out an escape route. 

The spray of bullets pushes you down yet another alley between the saloon and the small hotel, dodging between smaller barrels and crates that litter the ground. You lost the mob by ducking down this corridor, but dread freezes your breath when you find yourselves at a dead-end. You pause gasping for air with your hands on your knees as your head swivels, scouring the alley for a way out. Off in the distance, you can hear the shouts of your pursuers all around you. And they are getting closer by the minute. 

Micah’s back rounds like a cat getting ready to pounce, his shoulders hunched and coiled tight like a spring. His eyes narrow and dart, assessing his surroundings.

And then the damnedest thing happens. Surprisingly, Micah pushes you behind him, holding his arm protectively over you and places himself between you and the oncoming crowd. 

“Get ready.” His voice is low and serious, not carrying the usual arrogance and tasteless jokes that spill from his filthy mouth. “Here.” And he pulls another gun from his belt, shoving it in your direction. You stand there staring at the piece in your hand as if it is a foreign object, its cold metal almost burning your skin, before looking to him once more for more explanation.

Micah holds his two guns, both hands angled upwards and ready to fire at the first person to breach the corner, expecting a full-on shootout to erupt in the narrow alley at any moment. 

“When they come, bullets will fly and you gotta be ready to move,” he says over his shoulder to you. “You shoot the first thing you see comin’ round that corner and don’t stop. We’ll push our way out. We need to cut a path and make a run for the horses.”

But being separated from Arthur, you suddenly become dizzy and short of breath. “Wait, there’s got to be another way!” Your voice elevates in pitch and volume with a vehement shake of your pounding head. “We’ll get gunned down for sure if we go out there!” 

“No time. I gotta get you out of here, princess.” Micah’s sudden concern for your safety confuses the hell out of you, silencing your protests. “Unless you know how to hide in plain sight?” 

In a split second, his comment causes an idea to form in your mind. A crazy idea. How do you hide in plain sight? And before he can even comprehend what is happening, you wrap both hands around Micah’s face, drawing him to you and crash your mouth into his. You pull him along with you as you backpedal towards the side of the building. 

Taken off guard, Micah stumbles a bit as you pull him overtop of yourself when your back hits the hard wood-siding of the saloon. His eyes shoot wide open with shock, but he quickly reciprocates your actions. Micah doesn’t question your plan or motives in the slightest despite the danger you find yourselves in and, taking full advantage of the close proximity to you, he thrusts his tongue into your mouth. You whimper at the sudden intrusion as the stale tobacco scent that carries on his mustache fills your nostrils. You can taste his foul breath as his saliva mixes with your own and you try not to gag. 

Almost immediately, you begin to second guess your little scheme and your trembling hands land on his shoulders about to push him off of you, but the sounds of the encroaching crowd right outside the alley halts your decision. Your eyes split open and look past Micah’s shoulder toward the street and you begin to see the blur of running men, the sunlight glinting off of the guns in hand in their attempt to hunt you down. So instead of pushing him off of you, your fingers quickly fumble as they pull Micah’s jacket and hat off him, tossing them to the ground at your feet, for he’d be recognized for sure if anyone sees that white hat and coat of his. 

The hollering and commotion of your pursuers gets louder and louder. Your heart pounds in your ears, sweat beading at your temples. While you are in a panic about being found and gunned down like dogs in the alley, Micah seems to have completely forgotten about the mob on his heels. Having dropped his own guns at his feet once you were pressed against the building, his rough hands are now free to grasp and pinch at your hips as he pushes his pelvis into yours, grinding into you. 

The crowd of people are at the end of the alley now and in desperation to sell the facade, you lift your leg up over Micah’s hip, pulling him in tighter to you and cover his face with your hands to shield him from the hoard of men that run past the alley entrance. Thankfully, the mob surges past you without so much as an afterthought, thinking that the two of you are just another drunken lot behind the bar who are too impatient to get a room.

The wave of commotion eventually recedes, the shouting and hollering slowly getting more faint as the mob moves down the street. As soon as you feel you are in the clear, you instantly try to push the disgusting outlaw off of you. 

“Stop.” The muffled demand pushes past your lips which are being devoured, Micah’s tongue swirling around your mouth. You shove his shoulders, but he doesn't move, his face still smashed against yours. 

You try to turn your face away from him in an attempt to break the sloppy kissing that Micah is desperately trying to prolong. “Stop it.” You push at him again, but his greedy hands clamp down painfully on your hips, refusing to give you up. 

“Okay, that’s enough!” you holler, using your anger to summon all of your strength and roughly shove him from you. Heat flushes throughout your whole body as you try to draw slow, calming breaths into your lungs. Micah stumbles backwards a bit at the change of direction, with a huge, smug grin plastered on his dirty face. 

Just the mere sight of the greasy man makes your skin bristle with goosebumps. A hateful, contemptuous scowl spreads across your heated cheeks as you spit into the dirt. “You’re a bit of a lunatic, you know that?”

Micah licks his lips as if he’s just tasted a most delectable dinner, his tongue dragging along that repulsive mouth of his as he rocks back on his heels. “I prefer the term ‘eccentric’. Besides, that little performance was all your idea, Y/N”. He waves his finger accusingly at you. 

“Ugh, what the hell is wrong with you?” you groan, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as a choking sound erupts from the back of your throat.

“So many things, sweetheart...so many things.”

“Let’s just get the hell out of here, please. We need to find Arthur.” Micah’s conceited grin instantly drops from his face at the sound of Arthur’s name, his sullen eyes following you as you shove past him and stomp your way back towards the street. 

Sticking close to the shadows and hugging the storefronts, you carefully make your way out of the village, scanning for Arthur or any of your pursuers. 

“There! Over there! There’s two of ‘em!” Your blood runs cold and your heart nearly stops when the shouts of one of the townsfolk alerts anyone within earshot to your and Micah’s location.

“Fuck!” Micah immediately clamps down your hand and sprints, dragging you to your horses which are only a few yards out of your reach now. Upon reaching the hitching posts, Micah hurls you in front of him towards Baylock who is nervously pawing at the ground. The horse tosses his head in agitation, his haunting blue eyes rolled and ears pinned back.

Suddenly Micah lets out a stifled grunt, lurching forward when a bullet bites into the flesh of his shoulder. Like a bear that has been provoked, he angrily spins around, roaring at the top of his lungs and rapidly firing into the oncoming cluster of men, mowing them down in a spray of red to buy you time as you frantically climb into Baylock’s saddle. 

With one last defiant shot into an unlucky local’s skull, Micah swings himself up behind you and you take off, heading for the obscurity of the woods and leaving the dirty little town behind. 

Your heart thunders loudly in your ears as Micah’s horse pushes hard through the woods to head back to camp. The sunlight peppering through the trees is like a kaleidoscope of color, blurring and swirling and making you nauseous as Baylock races through the brush, snorting heavily as he carries his burden. Your hands are white-knuckled as your fingernails dig into the leather of the saddle horn. 

In your adrenaline haze, you vaguely feel Micah pressed against your back. Your body begins to go limp and Micah wraps an arm around your waist to secure you from falling and getting trampled under the horse’s hooves while his other extends in front of you, hand fisted around the reins and urging the horse on. 

You’ve been riding for thirty minutes with no other riders on your heels when you finally pull your mind together. “Stop! Micah, please stop!”

“Can’t stop now, princess!” He shouts from behind you. 

“Please!” You grasp his hand in yours, squeezing desperately. “I have to stop!”

Your touch instantly resonates with Micah, the feeling of your fingers along his skin radiating through his arm like electricity, and he immediately pulls back on the reins. The horse skids to a halt, dancing in agitation at the abrupt cease of motion. “Woa, boy, woa”, Micah snaps sharply. 

You desperately try to catch your breath, your chest heaving for the brisk air as you fold over the saddlehorn. For once in his life, Micah mercifully sits quietly behind you, waiting for you to regain control of your breathing and taking notice of how your body moves pressed against his. 

“We have to go back,” you finally manage to breathe out.

“What?” he snaps. “Have you lost your mind?! Ain’t no way in hell we’re goin’ back there!”

“But we left Arthur back there!” A mixture of fear and pleading infuses your voice, matching your tear-rimmed eyes that shine in the fractured sunlight of the trees as you look over your shoulder at Micah.

“He can take care of himself!”

“But what if-“

“Look, you want to go back there, Y/N, be my guest.” He waves his arms back in the direction that you just escaped from to emphasize his point. “But you’re goin’ on your own! I already got my ass shot getting you out! Or did you forget that?” 

You bite your lip at his statement, guilt flooding your chest.

“Best thing to do is head back to camp and wait for Morgan there.”

You hate to admit it, but Micah is right. Arthur had a crowd on his tail but nothing worse than what he’s had before. With you out of the way, that leaves him free to worry about his own ass. You know Micah won’t help you find Arthur, and you will be of little use to Arthur now, anyway. And to his point, Micah does have a bullet in his shoulder right now because of you. You both need to get back to camp safely so you can assess the damage. That is where you will be the most useful.

“Alright. You’re right,” you brokenly whisper, casting your eyes to the forest floor in defeat. “Let’s head home.”

“Now, you’re making some sense,” he smirks, his dirty blonde locks swaying over his shoulders as he nods in victory. Micah digs his heels into Baylock’s side and the horse spurs forward once more, heading into the thick of the woods. 

The idea of leaving without Arthur is like a knife in your chest and feels so horribly wrong to you, like a betrayal. The trees begin to blur again and seem to be almost suffocating as they surround you, offering you coverage, but also yet another obstacle to your heart's desire. 

You twist your neck to look past Micah and back towards the town. There is no sign of the townsfolk, but no sign of Arthur, either. Your heart sinks as you slowly turn to face forward again, a silent prayer on your lips. 

—--------------------------------------------

*This image is not mine, but was posted on Pintrest by Len

You and Micah ride into the makeshift camp, quickly dismounting and make your way into the circle of wagons. You are met with looks of confusion and a cacophony of questions from your fellow gang members when they note your frazzled state and Micah’s bleeding shoulder, not to mention that Arthur is not with you. But before you can even string coherent thoughts to answer your friends, the sound of hoof-beats fills the air. Your head snaps back to the tree line and you see Arthur barreling through the trees at full speed with your horse in tow. His eyes, bright and shining, dart in every direction, scanning the group of people, hoping to find your face.

Trembling hands cover your mouth as your eyes flutter with the wave of relief to see him safe. Letting out a huge breath, your wobbly legs sprint towards Arthur. Buck hasn’t even come to a full stop yet before Arthur springs from the saddle, his worn boots barely touching the mud-packed earth before he strides in your direction.

As soon as you are close enough, you hurl yourself into his large frame and throw your arms around his shoulders, your face buried in the crevice of his neck with a choked sob, his heady scent of sweat and leather engulfing your senses. His arms immediately wrap tightly around you, lifting you clean off the ground, relishing the feeling of your warm, able body against his once more. 

“Y/N! Are you alright?!” Arthur finally puts you down and leans back, holding you at arm’s length to get a good look at you, his keen eyes skipping around and taking in every inch of you from head to toe. 

“Yes, I’m fine, Arthur,” you laugh incredulously. “Are you alright? What happened? How did you get out of there?”

But Arthur just shakes his head, waving off your question. Because it doesn’t matter to him if he is alright. It is you that is his sole focus. “‘Bout lost my mind leaving you with this idiot.“ He throws a nonchalant wave in Micah’s direction. 

Your lips press together in a slight grimace. “Well, to be honest, Micah saved my life. If it wasn’t for him, I would be in jail or gunned down in an alley right now.”

Arthur’s body freezes, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he didn’t hear you correctly. “Come again?” He turns to look at Micah who just grins, arms crossed over his puffed-out chest. 

“Don’t look so surprised, Arthur,” Micah gloats. “Although, a little gratitude for saving your woman’s life would be nice. But, don’t worry.” He holds his hand up as if to halt any further argument on Arthur’s part. “Y/N thanked me enough already.” He shakes his eyebrows suggestively with a knowing curl of his lip.

Micah's hungry gaze sweeps over you and you feel Arthur's entire body tense. “What the hell is he talkin’ ‘bout?” He spins on you now, eyes flashing and demanding an explanation. 

You can feel your cheeks burn red-hot and your chin drops to your chest to avoid looking at either Arthur or Micah. And with a deep, regretful sigh, you relate the story of your escape to Arthur, including how you had to kiss and paw at Micah in hopes of blending into the background behind the saloon to evade the town’s attention. 

Arthur stands there listening to your story without a word. His whole body radiates like lightning in a bottle, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathes deeply, the muscles in his jaw twitching. You watch him carefully as he processes this unwelcome information, his fists clenching open and closed like a pump. 

You can see Arthur’s thoughts flashing like a roaring wildfire across his face. You're not sure if he’s going to punch Micah in the face, or tear into you for pulling such an outlandish stunt. He can’t be jealous, as that was certainly not the intent of your actions. But then again, Arthur doesn’t want anyone else even looking at you, let alone touching you. Least of all Micah goddamn Bell. 

Seeing Arthur’s clearly visible disdain for the situation, Micah cannot help himself but to twist the imaginary knife in the outlaw’s gut right now. “What’s a-matter, Morgan? Jealous?” His beady eyes twinkle with a sinister mirth that would make the devil himself blush.

Arthur shoots a death-stare back to Micah. “What the hell do I have to be jealous of you for?” 

Micah simply shrugs, the smugness just oozing from his very being. “Maybe ‘cause your woman kissed me? Maybe she liked it more than she’s letting on?” And his vulgar eyes flick to you, causing you to gasp at the audacity of his statement. 

And that is the last straw. 

Finally, the stress of the day causes Arthur to snap like the tension of a high-strung bow and in a second he lunges at Micah with a speed that belies someone of his stature. The other men of the camp are quick to intervene, prying the two outlaws apart as arms and fists grapple at each other in a blur of force. You try to wedge yourself between them once Bill and Javier carve an ample enough gap for you to squeeze into. You plant your wide-open palms on Arthur’s chest, pushing back against him with all your might. But it is like holding back a waterfall, too powerful and too full of chaotic energy to contain. 

“Stop it! Knock it off, both of you!” You come up on your toes, trying to catch Arthur’s burning gaze and distract him from Micah. “Arthur, please!” His chest heaves, but the moment his eyes land on you again, it's like a switch has been pulled. You center him as always, rationality starting to return to his fractured mind. 

With Arthur calmed to an extent, you turn your ire onto Micah. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” But the scheming outlaw can only stare back at you, an argument sitting on his tongue, and yet nothing comes out as if weighing his next words carefully. 

“I ain't dealin’ with this bullshit,” Arthur seethes, staring down Micah as his arm wraps around your shoulder, curling you into himself and turning you towards your shared wagon. 

But Micah Bell just cannot help but throw oil on the fire. 

“You’re not even gonna stitch me up after savin’ your pretty ass, Y/N? Typical. You don’t give a shit about anyone else, but Arthur. Mighty ungrateful.” He waves you off dismissively, shaking his head in disappointment. 

Before you can even stop him, Arthur spins out of your grasp, closing the distance between himself and Micah in a mere few steps and grabs ahold of a fistful of Micah’s shirt. The weasel can say what he wants about him, but Arthur will not abide any derogatory comments towards you. 

“You’re as stupid as you are ugly, you know that?!” hollers Hosea to Micah, his weathered fingers clamped around Arthur’s shoulder, trying to push him back once more. 

Arthur’s arm shoots up, about to land a fist into Micah’s mocking face, but it’s halted in place as both of your arms encircle his bicep to keep the dangerous limb at bay. 

“He’s right, Arthur. It’s the least I could do.”

Your shaky, yet definitive voice stills Arthur as he turns to look at you in confusion. “What?!”

An apprehensive sort of smile floats across your lips as you cup your soft, warm hands around his face. “Why don’t you get something to eat, head over to our wagon and calm down a bit. Your head is out of sorts right now. In the meantime, I’ll deal with Micah, yeah?”

But Arthur isn’t having any of it. He just shakes his head at the very notion of it. “I just need some time alone with you, is all,” he says sharply, starting to pull you away from the others. But you can’t let things end here like this. 

“I know.” You stop your feet from moving to prevent him from dragging you off. “But can you give me a minute, please? Let me get Micah patched up first,” you plead.

“Now, wait a minute,” growls Arthur, his brow drawn in frustration. “I thought you’d be coming with me?”

“I am and I will.” You nervously shift your weight from hip to hip under Arthur’s intense gaze, trying to keep your voice low and calm to mask the rapid beating of your own heart. “Let me take care of Micah first and then I’ll come with you.” 

Arthur’s sapphire eyes dart past your shoulder to see Micah standing there in surprising silence, loving the delicious tension he’s created and anxiously waiting to see the results. 

“No, he can handle things by himself. He's a big boy,” huffs Arthur. “Or let Ms. Grimshaw do it. C’mon now,” he insists, harshly pulling at your arm. 

“Arthur, just wait a second, will you?” you push, starting to get a little annoyed at the possessiveness. “Let me finish what I’m doing then I’m all yours.” 

“You know what, forget it!” he hollers, throwing his hands up in frustration as he steps back from you.

“Arthur, please, just give me a damn second, will you?!” Your hands try to grasp his forearm, but he’s quick to yank himself out of your reach, as if the very idea of you is detestable right now. 

“Nevermind!” And Arthur storms off, throwing his hands in the air in surrender, leaving you standing there staring after him. You watch his broad shoulders lumber quickly towards the wagon, his whole body radiating an angry energy that is dangerous for anyone to be pulled into. 

You should go after him. But then again, he is so angry right now, maybe it’s best to let him cool off, first. He’s probably right, you should just let Ms. Grimshaw handle Micah’s wound. But you do owe Micah a debt. He did save you from that mob. And in a gang, debts need to be paid. 

With a deep, regretful sigh, you tilt your head back and close your eyes, knowing you’ve just made a grave error in judgement. Arthur isn’t the only one who has a hard time navigating matters of the heart. Like your own father, you tend to be more pragmatic than sentimental sometimes. But you are only trying to keep the peace. 

“Well?”

Micah’s voice cuts into your temple like a nail hammered through a board, pulling you back to the matter at hand. You open your now-throbbing eyes to look over at the smug man, who is standing with an expectant look on his face. 

“Come on,” you mutter with an eye roll. “Get yourself over to the table and let’s get this over with, please.”

—-------------------------------------- 

*This is not my image, but posted on Pintrest by Clem

Unfortunately, since the gang has yet to make a permanent camp, your med tent is not fully set up. You pull out a table and a few crates of the meager medical supplies that you have and whatever you were able to shove into Blue’s saddle bag while in town. Digging through what is available, you pull out your needles and thread and a bottle of whisky you keep for sterilization. 

You’ve chosen to set up this makeshift operation far enough away from Arthur, lest he and Micah get into it yet again. But it’s close enough where Arthur can keep an eye on what you’re up to. And simply seeing you in such close proximity to Micah makes Arthur’s skin crawl. 

“Alright, let’s see what the damage is,” you sigh with the weight of resignation heavy in your tone. “Unbutton your shirt, please.” You toss the instruction over your shoulder as you pour fresh water into a bowl and shake out a clean rag. You can hear the shuffling of fabric and Micah’s pained grunting behind you. When you turn around, you freeze, eyebrows shooting to your hairline, to see that instead of just pulling back his shirt, Micah has stripped himself of the garment altogether, sitting there topless in just his trousers and a satisfied grin. 

You simply stand there, knuckles turning white as you grip the cloth in your hand, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. “Really?”

He innocently shrugs. “Just want to make sure you can get to what you need, Y/N”, he says, motioning to himself, a wicked grin creeping along his mustached lips. 

A measured sigh and eyeroll leave you as you slowly make your way over to him, careful to leave a gap between the two of you as you move behind him. 

You have to give him credit, Micah tries not to flinch when your fingertips dance along the open wound on his left shoulder, assessing the depth of the bullet hole. The cool rag must send lightning through his entire body as you clean the ugly gash embedded into his skin when he shudders under your careful touch. But the fact that you work gingerly is not lost on him. Ever so vigilant to his surroundings, Micah can feel how you delicately touch him, trying not to inflict further damage. His head tilts back slightly, those usually distrustful eyes closing for just a brief moment in silent gratitude. 

You keep your discerning eyes focused on the minute work, and therefore you do not notice Micah watching you, his gaze skipping over your face and down to your fingers, small and unmarred unlike his own. He watches you out of the corner of his eye as you work the thread through the needle, the lips of your perfect mouth pulled taught in concentration.

But soon enough, you push the needle through his flesh, pulling the thread through the pulpy meat of his shoulder and proceed to stitch the wound closed. You work efficiently, but quickly, desperate to get this chore done so you can then deal with Arthur who’s stare you can feel burning a hole into you from where he is vigilantly watching like a hawk from your shared wagon. 

Sensing when the deed is almost complete, Micah clears his throat and begins with awkward chit chat, trying to prolong your attention by asking about your horse, talking about how it must be better to be out of the cold of the Grizzly Mountains, anything that springs to his mind. His fingers drum along his thighs as his knee begins to bounce.

At first, you just dismiss the odd behavior, trying to focus on the final stitching of the wound. Micah winces slightly, biting his lower lip, as the stitches get pulled a little tighter than they probably should in your frustration at his incessant babbling. Micah Bell has rambled more to you in the last fifteen minutes than he has spoken to you in the entire time you’ve known him. 

With your task now complete, you clip the thread with your scissors, tucking the needle into the water bowl to be cleaned properly. You walk around to stand in front of him, wiping your hands with the wet cloth in exasperation.

You narrow your eyes at him, suddenly very suspicious of his good nature. “What do you want, Micah?”

The outlaw looks at you a moment, his head tilts slightly to the side considering your question carefully as he pulls his shirt back over his shoulders. “I’d like you to sit and talk to me.” 

His answer floors you, so simple a request with no foul comments to follow. But there has to be more to it than that. “Sit? That’s it?“ you ask in disbelief.

“MmmHmm, and talk to me. You seem to enjoy everyone else’s company, yet we never talk.” He leans back a bit, hands resting on his knees. 

A humorless chuckle escapes your lips before you can even try to stifle it, accompanied by a skeptical lift of your eyebrow. “There’s a reason for that.”

He just shrugs, frustratingly quiet to your answer. 

“What on earth would we ever talk about?”

“What do you and Morgan talk about?”

“That’s none of your business”, you snap sharply.

That familiar, annoyingly smug grin crosses his face once again as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Do you talk about me?” he needles, shaking his eyebrows.

“Only about what a pain in the ass you are,” you respond flatly. 

“Ahhh, so you do talk about me.” 

You shake your head, crossing your arms in frustration at the absurdity of this whole conversation, confused as to what he’s getting at. “Arthur and I talk about everything and nothing.” 

“Alright,” he concedes, pointing at you. “Let's do that, then.” 

“What is this, Micah?“

He holds his hands up in surrender, a feigned innocence. “This is me trying to be the better man.”

“Better than who?” you challenge. 

“Don’t worry Y/N,” he chuckles at your defensive reluctance to his parley. “I won’t jump ya. Unless you want me to.”

For the life of you, you can’t figure this man out. One minute, he’s a disgusting pig. The next, he’s trying to be your best friend. Either way, Micah Bell makes your skin crawl as he’s just as creepy when he’s trying to be nice as he is when he’s an ass. 

“Fine. I’ve seen the way you treat your horse. A man who loves up on his horse can’t be 100% bad.” You give him the slightest of grins before you can even stop yourself.

“That's the spirit!” He smiles triumphantly and waves a finger smartly at you. “I can't be 100% bad.” 

Assuredly, what you do not realize is that to Micah, you could’ve just given him the world. A kind word or gesture, even just the smallest inkling that you don't completely hate him, makes his black heart race just a bit more. 

To you, you see the effort of this conversation as a way to get past the ugliness with Micah. To him, he sees this as a window of opportunity, a moment of weakness in your armor where he can sneak his way in. 

But as you stand there motionless, unsure of what to even say next, your hesitancy at Micah’s peace offering is more than enough of an answer for him right now. A defeated chuckle ripples from his tobacco-stained teeth with a slight shake of his blonde head to go with it. 

“You know what, Y/N? Forget it. Forget I even asked.” The furrowed line between his eyebrows relents a bit as his eyes soften just ever so slightly as he concedes to what you suspect that he already knows deep down. He pulls his lips inward as if debating on what to say next, leaving an awkward and pregnant silence between you. Your gaze skips about, looking for any reprieve other than staring into Micah’s cold and unreadable expression that can unnerve you like a mouse caught by a viper. “Go on, then. Scoot on back to your beloved,” he says with sarcasm and just a hint of disappointment. 

After cleaning up the needle and thread, you head back to your shared space with Arthur to find him brooding, leaning against the side of his wagon as he cleans his gun. He says nothing at first, but you can sense his hostility. You smartly don’t say a word, but set about getting yourself ready for the evening.

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” you finally ask. 

But Arthur won’t look at you. Like a silent, stoney mountain, he remains stoic and ominous, his rough fingers still working over the weapon in his hands. Cursing under your breath, you reach over and snatch the gun out of his hand to get his attention. Those steel-blue eyes instantly snap to your own. Brows furrowed with elevated agitation, his hand shoots out to grab for the piece, but you pull your hand back to keep the object of his distraction out of reach. He stares you down, lips pulled tightly with a sharp snort escaping his nose.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” His voice carries low and rumbles deep within his chest. 

“Of course I’m on your side. I’m always on your side, Arthur.”

“That so?”

“Of course it is! How can you even question that?” you ask, shaking your head, taken aback by his doubt.

“You’re mine,” he says darkly, his blue eyes settling with the piercing, glowing quality of a stormy sea. 

Arthur’s possessiveness is not something new, often rearing its ugly head, but his ire is usually directed at others, not you. And while the idea of being wanted by someone is endearing, you also resent his distrust. “I am not some horse that you own, Arthur,” you warn. 

“I should come first with you.” He points at your heart. “I shouldn’t have to share you with anybody.”

“Are you really going to stand there and lecture me about sharing my time with other people? Really, Arthur?” Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, suddenly incensed by his accusation. “Let’s talk about you, then! How many nights am I going to our tent alone and lonely? All because you’re running around for god knows what?”

Arthur’s lips pinch together in an instant, eyes burning at your audacity to throw such a thing in his face. “Hey! That’s different! I am providing!” He shoves his thumb sharply back into his rising chest. 

“And I’m not?” you counter defiantly, with a snapping shake of your head, a flush of heat blossoming across your face. 

Arthur bites his lip before he says something really stupid, the argument right there on his tongue, dangerously close to exploding like a powder keg. His hands plant on his hips as he paces around the small area in front of you, the nervous energy clearly tearing throughout his body and unable to contain it. “What, you two are all friendly now?” Arthur retorts bitterly, waving off in Micah’s direction. 

“Sweet Jesus, Arthur you can’t seriously be jealous?” Your fingers come up to pinch the bridge of your nose before dropping to your side with a deflated slap, your face turned to his in earnest. “No, we are not ’friendly’ but I don’t want to fight with him all the time, nor do I want to endure the disgusting comments anymore.” 

You begin to fidget with the pendant of your mother’s necklace you always wear and Arthur’s anger shifts in a new direction. “Has he been messin’ with you? I told you I’d take care of it if he hassles you.” 

A deep sigh escapes your chest as your gaze raises to meet his once again. “I don’t want to cause a problem around here, Arthur.” 

“You are not the problem,” he hisses. He steps up closer to you now, standing only a foot from you, so close that you can feel his hot breath blow across your chilled cheeks.

“Why are you so riled up about this?” 

“Why? That snake has his mouth all over you and you’re asking me why I’m riled up about it?! Why are you not riled up about this?” Arthur's eyes suddenly narrow at you, his head tilting just a fraction, as he looks you over like you were a mark. “Unless he’s right and you did like it.” The very idea of it causes your eyes to shoot open and your chest tighten as the air gets sucked out of your lungs. 

“Don’t you even start with that!” you hiss sharply at such an insinuation. “Now, you listen to me, Arthur Morgan. There is nothing, NOTHING, between myself and Micah Bell. You got that?” 

Arthur’s silence pulls the escalating argument to a screeching halt. He stops and takes a moment to really look at you, your chest rising and falling with panting breaths, your eyes shimmering with offended, hurt-filled tears. Arthur closes his eyes, hanging his head shamefully, clearly realizing he crossed a line. “I’m sorry.”

“Arthur, why are you so upset about this?” you push softly, setting your hand on his forearm. 

“Because there ain’t much difference between him and me, that’s why!” he hollers, finally reaching his breaking point. The revelation sets you on your heels. Your large, love-filled eyes blink rapidly as you attempt to process this new level of self-doubt in him.

“You can’t honestly think that?“ you breathe in wonderment. “What, you think I’m going to leave you for him?” 

“No,” his tone lowering with a flat and unsettling calm. “I think you’re gonna leave me because you realize I’m just like him.” 

The anger within you from moments ago immediately dissipates like ether as this boulder is dropped. “Arthur, you are nothing like Micah.” 

“Really? What makes you say that? Huh? What is really all that different between us?” He stands in front of you, hands on his hips as he towers over you, demanding an answer.  

You cross your arms, holding Arthur’s hard gaze. “Well, now that you mention it, you’re both a couple of asses.” 

“Ha ha, very funny,” he bites back with sharp sarcasm. “I’m serious, Y/N. What makes us all that different?” 

“Well, for starters I’m not in love with Micah. Arthur, I can’t keep having this same conversation with you.” You press closer to him, placing your hand over his heart. “This. This right here is what I want.” You can feel the rapid fluttering under his ribcage, the heat of his skin through the worn fabric of his shirt as your fingers splay open like a dove’s wingspan. “The way you make me feel when I look at you, Arthur, is why I won’t look at another man.” 

His brows furrow as his eyes fall to your hand, noting how your fingers lay against his chest as if they have always belonged there. Slowly his gaze meets yours, as if searching for the shred of doubt that he is always afraid of finding there.

“You are a good man who does bad things, Arthur. That doesn’t make you a bad person,” you confirm with a calm and enchanting tone. Your hand floats from his chest to cup his face, the curls of his beard prickling the skin as his strong jaw sets upon your palm. 

“Oh, well that’s convenient, isn’t it? You got an answer for everything, don’t you?” Arthur sighs as he shifts his weight. “I guarantee anyone else outside this gang will beg to differ on that one,” he pouts, giving a dismissive flick of his hand in the air. 

“I thought I’ve made it very clear that I don’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks. Stop worrying about what could go so wrong and start thinking about what could go so right, Arthur. We need to work on that.”  You reach your arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly to you. His hard body presses to your own pliable one and you can feel the hard line of his chest and torso, his thick thighs. His coat, which is like a second skin, carries notes of forest pine and leather, a comforting aroma that instantly feels like home to you. Your fingers curl through Arthur’s hair as you cradle his head, your nose buried in his honey locks that will forever smell of woodsmoke, bringing your soft lips to his ear. “I would die without you, Arthur.” 

Slowly, Arthur’s body relaxes and melts into yours as you whisper in his ear, your warm breath catching against his skin. His rigid chest softens as he presses you against him, desperate to keep you close as if he’d fold you up into his rib cage to wrap you around his very own heart. Sometimes, for Arthur, the worst place for him to be is inside his own head.

A smile cracks at the corner of Arthur’s mouth at your previous statement. Suddenly, the monster of self loathing within him goes silent once more, retreating back into the dark caverns of his heart, as he dips his head into the crook of your neck and wraps his arms tightly around your waist, squeezing with just enough pressure. Once again, you have calmed and centered him, quieted his swirling storm of self-sabotaging thoughts that continue to plague him. 

You turn your face into him, placing a multitude of gentle kisses along his neck, drawing a faint groan from him. “It was either kiss Micah or die,” you whisper in Arthur’s ear before placing your lips to the cuff.

Arthur huffs out a grunt that rumbles in his chest and tickles your own as you still stand pressed together so tight that not even air could seep between you. “Still not seeing the choice.” 

You giggle at his understated playfulness. “It will haunt my dreams, now. Literally the stuff of nightmares.” You pull back from him to gaze into his troubled blue eyes, your thumbs drawing across his cheekbones before your fingertips roll gently through his beard. 

“I love you, Arthur. Don’t you ever doubt that.” Your smile carries a warmth and love for him in this moment that is larger than the very universe itself, like he can see the stars themselves in your sparkling eyes. Arthur gives you a feeling of being safe. And in turn, you offer him that feeling of being cherished. For all we ever want in this world is to be healed, to find that other half that speaks to your soul. To be with that person who will hold your vulnerabilities in their hands and breathe life back into you when you feel lost.

But a dark cloud dusts his features once more. “I gotta admit, Y/N, I’m scared of the kinda love I feel for you.” Arthur’s voice drops to almost a whisper, as if he’s afraid to admit it outloud, the syllables caught in his throat.

“Why is that?”

“Because I know it will ruin me.” He brushes his large hand over your hair before tenderly holding your face. “And I know I’ll let it.” 

The emotion overtakes you and you drop your gaze before he sees the tears gathering in your lashes. Because it occurs to you that you’re not sure if he wants this relationship or not. You can clearly see the turmoil in his eyes from it. His new life with you could cost him his old one with his gang. 

Arthur is a soul torn between two worlds. He wants you, but he also wants “the outlaw life”. You are not making him choose, but he feels that he needs to. For you. To keep you safe. And you are not sure if you want to broach this subject again with him, afraid that if you push it, you may not like the answer you get.

You wish Arthur could see how wonderful he is in your eyes, how happy he makes you. Arthur may not be perfect, but he’s perfect for you. Those blue-green eyes light up your whole day. You don’t just see a man standing in front of you. You see your whole world. 

Arthur is the one who is the most special to you. The one you will lose sleep over. The one you will never tire of talking to. He is constantly on your mind. He makes you smile without even trying. Arthur is the only one you do not want to lose and to always have in your life. 

The world may view Arthur as nothing but a despicable outlaw, one forged in lawlessness and brutality. But they do not see what you see. He is a man born out of conflict, a product of his environment. He is stiff and frightening in the eyes of others, an unyielding and merciless force to be reckoned with. But to you, he is vulnerable and tender. Arthur carries the brunt of the ugliness in this world, and yet still claws at the hope of finding a shred of happiness for himself. 

You gently press your forehead to his, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck. “I wish I could make you understand, Arthur.” You hold him to you for a brief moment before looking up into his face, your eyes wide and searching. “You have stolen my heart. You are worth so much more than you think. You are the very reason I keep going. You crossed my path when I needed you the most, after I lost everything. I couldn’t do this without you. You are everything I need. And I don’t ever want this to end.”

Arthur softly draws the cool evening air into his lungs as his tired eyes float across your face, mapping every line, every radiant detail that he has come to covet so dearly. The setting sun shines its copper light down upon you, casting your frame in a warm and almost unearthly glow, as if you are a spirit from another realm altogether, not even meant for this world let alone for the likes of him. 

“I really had no idea what I needed ‘til you showed up in my life with every bit of it in one package,” he laments. “One day, there you were, shining brightly like the sun.” He smiles despite himself at the memory of it, lifting a thick, calloused finger to gently pull a wisp of your hair from your eye before settling his hand along your graceful neck. “And for the first time in a really, really long time, I had hope that I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life in the dark.”

Arthur is not a man of many words, but when he does speak in those private, hushed tones with you, it makes your eyelids flutter like butterfly wings. “Please, Arthur. Let me be the temptation that you never deny yourself. I can be your safe place where your darkness can shine without judgement. Without fear.

“I know this is hard for you, Arthur. And I’m not trying to make it any harder. If anything, I’m trying to make it easier for you. I don’t care that we sleep outside on a cot in a tent. That just means I get to hold you closer to me to keep warm. And I don’t care that you’re an outlaw. Because, if anything, that means you will do anything to protect me. But I need you to trust me, Arthur. Just as I have learned to trust you.”

Arthur brings his fingers up to pinch at his temples as if trying to keep his head from exploding. “Why do you put up with me?”

“I thought I just went over that.” You smile at him. “Because Arthur, I may be yours. But that means that you are mine. Remember? I told you that in Colter.”

“Hmmm, that’s right. You did mention something about that,” he grins, his cheeks running pink as he remembers that wonderful night up in your little ramshackle cabin in the mountains. “I guess you were pretty adamant about that.”

“When it comes to you, Arthur, I am always adamant.” Your fingers lace behind his head, woven into his thick hair again as you gently pull him down to your velvety lips for a deep and passionate kiss. When you separate for a staggered breath, you begin to whisper sweet nothings to him, peppering strategic kisses along his chin and neck, along his cheeks and nose and along those plump lips again. “You are mine to kiss…to hold…to yell at…to whisper to…to worry over…to trust…to be angry with… and to love beyond measure.” 

—-----------------------------------

Later, the evening has draped its dark blanket around the earth once more. The crisp air fills with the sounds of the first signs of the frogs coming out for the Spring, their chirping so loud, yet seamlessly melded into the landscape at the same time. There is a humid thickness that settles over everything, bathing everything in a dewy layer that carries the smell of yet-to-fall rain. 

This is just a quick layover before you reach Horseshoe Overlook in the morning. No sense in setting up a fixed camp, so everyone has a bedroll on the damp ground and congregates around multiple fires, huddled for warmth under their blankets. Everyone is blissfully asleep before the day begins anew again with another set of challenges. 

You and Arthur have set up your little nest against his wagon, his bedroll laid out with blankets and a little fire going in front of you to keep you warm overnight. The two of you lay intertwined, perfectly content to be together and away from everyone else. You have finally drifted off to sleep, curled up against Arthur, his bulk and warmth a calming presence. He sits with his back propped up a bit, watching you doze so contentedly as you lay across his torso. His left arm cradles you protectively to him, his fingertips dragging lazily along your arm and shoulder. 

The fire is still stoked fairly well at this late hour, casting its soft golden hues across your sleeping form as the heat of the flames envelopes you both. Arthur stares into the fire, watching the hypnotic flames lick up and around the wood, its coals flaring crimson and pulsating like a heartbeat. 

He reaches over to his satchel, careful not to move too much and disturb your slumber, and pulls his journal out, lying it upon his thigh and opening the precious pages to write. His thoughts are still swirling from earlier:  seeing your image on a wanted poster, leaving you with Micah, and then later fighting with that idiot. But it was seeing you with Micah afterwards that has set his nerves ablaze. But Arthur doesn’t want to burden you with it any more than he has already. You are stressed enough as it is, he doesn’t want to add to it. Losing Jenny and Mac was hard for you, causing you to doubt your abilities as a doctor. You’ve been terrified of losing John to his injuries. You almost drowned trying to save Lenny from the icy waters in Colter. And now, you are hunted, just like the rest of the gang. It burns Arthur from the inside out to see such pain and turmoil behind those serene eyes of yours, always a window to your very soul. So as usual, he opts to pour his thoughts into that leather-bound book of his like it is a church confessional. 

We came down the mountain pass today. Sure glad to get out of that awful cold. But, of course nothing is ever easy for us. Maybe rightfully so. The wagon busted a wheel and had to get that fixed. The gang needs things so Dutch sent Y/N to the nearest trading post before the closest town to see if she could round up some food and medical supplies. She’d know better than anyone what we need. Of course I took her, but for some damn reason Micah was sent along with us. That man just irritates me to no end. I don’t know why Dutch keeps him around, but who am I to say anything?

But unfortunately one of my worst fears came true. We was in that village and there on the post wall was a wanted poster of Y/N. That damn bank robbery back in Red Rock. I was hoping to keep her safe from all this ugliness, but looks like I failed at that. Now she’s bound to a life of looking over her shoulder, same as the rest of us. I never wanted that life for her. Seems like everyone who gets near me gets pulled into my kind of trouble. 

But that wasn’t the worst of it. Y/N got pulled from me and had to rely on Micah to get her out because I wasn’t able to do it. In the midst of trying to escape, she had to kiss that ugly bastard. He had his hands all over her. Makes me see red just thinking about it again. But the worst part is that she had to tend to him once they got back to camp. He wasn’t ugly to her, which is a surprise, but in fact made me even more uneasy. I don’t know what’s going on in that twisted mind of his, but I fear he may have Y/N in his sights. That worries me because I can’t be around all the time to protect her and I have no idea to what lengths he’d go to get what he wants. Things are bad enough after Blackwater, I can only hope I can keep Y/N safe from Micah as well. I do love her so. I think I had to live through what love is not to really understand what it is. She’s a damn fool for loving a man like me, but I’m too selfish to let her go. And I’d die a thousand times if I lost her. I pray Dutch has a plan to get us all out of this mess once and for all. And then maybe, just maybe, Y/N and I can start a real life together. 

—--------------------------------------------------------

Several yards away, across the make-shift camp, Micah sits cross legged on the cold, damp ground, poking at his fire with a stick. Half-heartedly satisfied with the glowing embers, he reclines back against his saddle and rotates his arm in the air, trying to stretch the stiffness from his newly-repaired shoulder. A sharp pain cuts through his nerves when his skin pulls taught at your carefully-placed stitches. Micah stifles a yelp as his hand shoots to the wound, his face wincing until the radiating wave of pain finally subsides. The pain is a stark reminder to the tumultuous thoughts that plague his mind that he’s been desperately trying to bury since this afternoon. 

With a long, tired sigh, Micah lifts his weary eyes across his campfire and instinctively seeks out your sleeping form that is currently tucked into Arthur’s side. He observes how your face carries such peace and tranquility as you slumber under your lover’s protective arms. Micah shifts uncomfortably as if he can’t be contained within his own skin as the day’s events roll about in his mind, replaying over and over again like that goddamn gramophone of Dutch’s. 

He hates you. At least that’s what Micah tells himself. But he doesn’t really. You just make him feel things that he claims don’t exist. Or at least, tries to. It is that lingering taste of you on Micah’s lips that has innocently seduced his cravings for you to run wild in his soul. And now that he’s tasted you, he realizes how starved he really is. 

It is becoming clear in Micah’s mind that he is quickly becoming consumed by you, just as Arthur has, attracted to you in ways that he can’t explain and long forgot. He craves your attention like a man in the desert craves water. And he thinks about you more than you realize. 

You are both the first and last thing on Micah’s mind each day. You are becoming his weakness, just as you are Arthur’s. He aches for the feeling of your fingertips along his dry, scarred skin. The reality of it is, his heart breaks a little more every time he hears your name. And a piece of his soul dies when he hears Arthur’s, and not his, on your perfect lips. It is a whole different kind of pain when one’s heart cries, but their eyes don’t. But Micah will stare into the blinding sun before he looks into the mirror to see what can be done to fix that.  

Micah has always known that the two of you are like oil and water. But he was hoping that deep down, maybe you were just looking for an opportunity to hate him a little less. But he sees now that will never be the case. And that is the thing about it. Not only do you despise his very guts, but you are also that enamored with Morgan. And there are few things Micah can do about that. 

Micah would often watch you with Arthur when he thought no one was looking. It is much more than love you have for Arthur. You take care of him, you look after him. You make sure he is fed and clean. You mend his clothing with such precision and care. You rub his shoulders when he aches and your soft fingers dance along his forearms when he’s returned after a bad job. 

It is like a knife in Micah’s heart to know that you would never do these things for him. You could cruelly break his heart of stone without even realizing it. But that’s all he has to give to you, as he has never given it to anyone else. In fact he’s not sure any woman ever would accept it. But he’s come to terms with that because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. But what infuriates Micah is that he’s sure that Arthur doesn’t either. 

Micah pulls his bitter gaze back to the flames in front of him, his lips twisted in a pinched and frustrated expression. He flings the stick he used to stoke the fire into the heated bed of coals with a huff before bringing his clenched fist to his lips. If he had any presence of mind, he’d swipe the unshed tears from his hardened eyes before anyone sees. But Micah Bell hasn’t cried in years, not since he was a kid. It’s such a foreign concept that he isn’t even aware that it's happening. 

His vision begins to blur as he watches the burning wisps of red and orange engulf the jagged wood, noticing how they elegantly wrap themselves around the ugly, charred wooden scales like silk, offering warmth and consuming it until the fire and wood are one. 

And that is when Micah realizes that you are the fire. And he has been cold his whole life. 

*This is not my image, but posted on Pintrest by Lee

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*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people.