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fangirl-dot-com · 7 months

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Across Every Universe - Part 2

Well, I didn't expect this work to get this long. It was only supposed to be short but then I worked on it all day and for multiple hours on end?? I guess I just enjoy this concept so much! These are basically the stories I wanted to put in last time, but they needed their own chapter to truly shine.

I know people asked for Arthur and reader romance, but To Do Is To Dare has always been a racing fic first and romance second. I tried to add in all the people I could without going crazy with the plot line or it would have gotten out of hand (or more than it already is). There is a lot of Max and Charles (my two favorite boys on the grid).

If anyone has anything against Lestappen - there's the door :)

Please enjoy :)

Earth 33891

“Please stand for his Majesty King Max Emilian Verstappen, King of the Netherlands and Prince of Orange.”

Max always hated these announcements. Like, why did they have to always say his middle name and all the titles that came with it? He put on a gentle smile and waved to the crowds around him. Thankfully, his dressers had decided to forgo the kingly robes and opted for a nice suit with his pins. Definitely fitting for the Dutch Grand Prix.

This would be his ninth to attend since taking the throne at 18-years-old after his father passed away. The kind always enjoyed seeing the Orange Army at the home race.

After greeting everyone, he was led to the special box. Apparently, more than one royal had decided to attend as well. Max’s shoulders loosened when his eyes landed on a familiar figure.

“Charles!”

Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc, The Sovereign Prince of the Principality of Monaco. Max was always glad that his mother only chose one middle name for him instead of three.

The prince’s green eyes widened at the sight of the Dutchman. He waved off whoever he was speaking to and all but glided across the room. The two forwent the formalities and brought each other into a hug.

Max leaned back a bit to look the Monegasque in the eye.

“What are you doing here? Monaco not enough for you?”

There was a playful glint in his eyes as Charles rolled his. The brunet gestured to a plush couch in the corner, one that Max was excited to sit in.

Charles began to speak, a small smile on his face, “Well as you know, my brother is currently dating one of the drivers on the grid. And it is her home race so Arthur wanted to come watch.”

Max nodded, understanding perfectly. He knew exactly who Charles was talking about.

Y/n L/n, the only female driver, who currently was working on her fourth World Champion.

“And where is your brother now?”

“He’s in the garage,” Charles rolled his eyes. He had wanted to go, but an ambassador had insisted that he needed to talk to the prince.

“Why don’t we head there. I always want to say hello to my race winner.”

Now, Max and Y/n had a very loving sibling relationship. The king had watched her grow up karting and made sure to sponsor her and support her through her career. Without his support, the girl would not have been able to continue. Yet, when you put the royal Dutch crest on your Formula 3 car, someone has to know that it means something.

This would be her 4th season in Red Bull, having been 19 when she joined in 2019. She was only 20 when she won her first World Championship, breaking the record for the youngest ever to dominate the sport.

Now she was 24 and is on a path to win her fourth in only five races if she keeps up the winning streak. Max was only older by 3 years, yet he watched over her like a very protective older brother.

He and Charles had made their way down to the pitlane, much to their advisors’ chagrin. They passed by the Mercedes garage to say hello to King Lewis Hamilton III and then George Russell, Duke of Sussex. The two Brits had been friends or well, colleagues, with the other two reigning monarchs for quite some time. They were currently backing Kimi Antonelli and Mick Schumacher, the current driver line up for Mercedes.

Right next to the silver garage stood a very orange and bright one. Max was excited to see Lando Norris, Duke of York also in attendance. He was very close with the two Aussie drivers, Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo.

Down the line was Williams, who was attending to a very eager Logan Sargeant, the President of the United States’ kid. Max was fond of the blond and often said hello to him whenever he got the chance in diplomatic settings.

But finally, they were able to reach the big navy garage. Max could definitely pick up Arthur’s almost French accent everywhere. But, his ears were tuned to the sound of your Dutch accent that was similar to his.

“Geitje!” he called out, finding your blond hair against the navy racing suit.

You looked over your shoulder, pausing the conversation with your boyfriend. You rolled your eyes when you saw Max in his kingly splendor. You took a few steps toward the fellow Dutch and gave him a hug.

“I told you to quit calling me that. I’m not a kid anymore, or was never a goat for that matter.”

Charles took this moment to catch up with his brother.

Max looked down at you fondly. “You’ll always be that small kid whose suit was two sizes too big on her.”

You honestly wanted to cry, but you kept the tears in. There was a race that you needed to win.

“Are you going to give me my trophy this year?”

“Don’t I every year?”

You looked up in mock thought. “Well, there was that one year that you had appendicitis and your mom gave me my trophy.”

Max lightly nudged you. “That was one year, let it go.”

You grumbled. “Well I hope that someone won’t break my trophy this year.”

Your teammate, Ollie Bearman, popped his head up from where he was looking at his tyres.

“It was one year Y/n! One year!”

You giggled at the disgruntled yells from the British Driver. Ollie had been one of your favorite teammates.

Your first year, you were paired with the golden boy himself, Sebastian Vettel, before he retired with one last championship. And then your first year as world champion, you were paired with Oscar Piastri before he left for McLaren. Ollie had been your teammate for the past two years, but you had a feeling that he’d stick around for more than a year.

You got the heads up that the race would be starting soon. You turned back to Max.

“Are you staying here or do you have to go?”

Max had a mischievous glint in his eyes and was about to reply before being interrupted.

“Actually, their royal highnesses need to return to the royal box.”

Max fought the urge to roll his eyes. You only laughed and pushed him in the direction of the exit.

“Go, I’ll see you at the top.”

“Blijf veilig, alsjeblieft,” Max softly pleaded.

He really hated that you put your life on the line every weekend for the job that you loved. He remembers the first time you had a terrifying crash when you were unconscious until they got you to the hospital. He was told that you probably wouldn’t wake up. However, you defied the odds and were back in the seat for the next race.

You responded, just as gentle, “Voor jou, mijn koning, altijd.”

When Max left, he turned around one last time and witnessed you giving Arthur a quick kiss before he put your helmet on. It was something that the two of you had been doing since you started dating almost two years ago.

The Dutch king was back to walking with Charles to the box.

“So, when is he proposing.”

He hadn’t expected an answer, but was surprised when he got one.

Charles gave Max a look. “They’re actually going to a restaurant, and he plans to propose tonight.”

Max’s eyes widened at the confession. But, he got over it quickly before gently smiling. You deserved happiness, and you found that in his closest friend’s brother.

“So will she have to stop racing for royal duties?” the blond questioned.

Charles shook his head. “Non. Arthur will step down.”

Max clapped him on the back. “Guess you and Alexandra need to start with some heirs huh?”

Charles squinted up at him. “Says the man who currently needs to propose as well.”

The prince got the last laugh as he left Max stuttering for a comeback.

You won the race like Max knew you would. The king watched as you held your head up high as the Dutch National Anthem played loudly through the crowds. He saw the crowds of orange, the only ones rivaling the red Tifosi at Monza.

The crowds were shouting, “De Langverwachte! Onze kleine leeuw!”

The Long Awaited.

Their Little Lion.

Max had always wished for a champion from his home country. Something to ode back to the sport he loved as a kid. His wish came true in the form of you. People talked as the king publicly backed the only female driver on the grid. But he knew that you were something special. He was there as you took the championship from Vettel in the last lap of the 2020 season fair and square. Obviously he was thankful that there was no safety car to ruin your race of any kind. You had coped brilliantly against your older teammate and your talent truly showed.

Max was given the signal to head out with the hand painted trophy. He was honestly kind of scared to drop it. But he made it across the stage and handed it out to you.

You proudly took the trophy from Max after you bowed in respect. He may have been your friend, but he was your king first.

The ceramic trophy was held high once it was safely in your hands. Jokingly you hugged it tight as you gently stepped down off the podium. Ollie gawked at your childishness before spraying you with the champagne.

With trophy set down a nice ways away, you took your own bottle. Except, instead of spraying Ollie, you pointed it at Max, whose jaw was on the floor as you came after him with the liquid.

If you were having fun now, you wouldn’t expect what was coming later that night.

And you said yes.

Earth 12399

“Zusje!”

Your eyes widened at the familiar squeaky and young voice. You turned your whole body away from your race engineer to only be taken down in the knees. Once you were on the floor, you laps was immediately filled with a small body that had bleach blond hair and bright blue eyes.

“Maxy, Ik heb je gemist Kleintje!”

“Uh Y/n, is everything good?” Charles’s voice sounded from above. You stared back at your teammate in the red overalls. You grabbed under the child’s arms and hoisted him up along with yourself.

“Yep! Charles meet Max. Max meet Charlie.”

Max’s small eyes widened before he tucked himself in your neck. Your hand came up and rubbed his back as you cooed. You turned back to Charles.

“He’s a bit shy in front of his favorite driver.”

You poked Max’s side and his giggles filled the room. The small one turned his head and peered at the Monegasque whose eyes were wide, looking at the child in his teammate’s arms.

“Didn’t know you had a kid.”

Your jaw dropped at his statement.

“He’s not my kid, idiot. He’s my brother,” you hissed, lightly bouncing Max up and down as you swayed side to side.

“Oooohhhh.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah oh. I’m younger than you.”

“One night stand?”

“Charles!”

The brunet laughed loudly, making Max giggle a bit with him. You looked down into his blue eyes.

“Oh so you think that’s funny hm? I’m getting bullied.”

Max only giggled more before pointing at Charles.

“Rari?”

You lovingly stared at him in your arms. “Yep, Rari.” You saw how Charles was staring at Max. “You want to hold him?”

Charles dropped everything (only his water bottle) and reached out to take Max. Once he was in Charles’s arms, Max immediately rested his head on his shoulder and gripped the red suit. You smiled fondly at the two.

“He’s so small,” Charles whispered after seeing the kid’s eyes close in slumber.

You ruffled the spiky blond hair. “Yeah, he’s only 3 though. Full of wonder.”

“Y/n!”

Ah, there was your mother. You looked over and saw Sophie walking with your other sister Victoria. Thankfully, your dad was nowhere to be found. After you found out what he had done to Max, you put in a restraining order against him immediately.

It was a hard discussion with your mom when you told her that she needed to divorce him. Tears were shed and hearts were broken. But, you never wanted to see another bruise on your younger brother again.

It was fine if he did that to you. But to Max?

Jos wouldn’t stand a chance against your anger. He had shaped you to be like him.

A racer. A winner. The best.

But being the best wasn’t supposed to be the most important anymore. And if he wanted you to be like him, then he’ll get his own anger thrown back into his face. You remembered how your fist met his eye after you found Max alone with him one night. An ugly purple thing covered Max’s tiny wrist and there was a scratch on his face.

You had just returned home from a triple header and wanted to surprise your family. Only, you came home to Max’s screams of terror and Jos Verstappen yelling. You didn’t think, you just did. Sophie and Victoria returned home to multiple police cars and an ambulance in front of the house. When they finally were told what happened, they found you covering Max’s body with your arms as you spoke to one of the paramedics. A blanket was draped around your shoulders and a bruise was forming on your face as well.

After that, you moved your entire family to Monaco with you. Your house was plenty bit and you only shared it with Charles whenever he came over to play FIFA. But now, whenever he wanted to play, you insisted on going to his house.

It might have been to protect your family. Or it might have had to do with a certain handsome brother that Charles had.

Definitely the first one.

Hence why Charles had never met Max beforehand. But that also didn’t stop the little gremlin from choosing Charles as his favorite driver and not his sister.

It’s not like you were bitter or anything.

You walked toward your family and gave the two women a hug.

“I’m glad that you could come today!” you told them, truly happy at their arrival. It wasn’t like it was a big race. You had already won the championship last week, which sadly they weren’t able to make it. But Max was still up past his bedtime when you got home after. The kid sleepily muttered that he was glad you won, even though you had beaten Charles. Yet, you reminded him that Charles had won the year before and it was sissy’s turn.

Sophie looked at Max in Charles’s arms. “He’s so comfortable. I honestly thought he’d be scared of men after what happened.”

Victoria nodded in agreement.

You crossed your arms. “I think that Max knows that dad wasn’t a good man. And well, he still loves Lando though.”

“Is that Max?”

Speaking of.

Max’s head jerked up from Charles’s shoulder at the familiar voice. His little head swerved in the direction of the papaya clad driver.

“Lanno!”

Max started to squirm in the captive arms. Charles quickly set him down, not wanting him to fall. Max immediately ran to the Briton, who picked him up with ease. At the sight of the two, Charles pouted.

You knocked him with your shoulder. “Don’t’ worry, you’re still his favorite. He bought Max a toy McLaren for his birthday and Max demanded that I paint it red and add a 16 on the side.”

Charles seemed to gleam with pride at the confession.

“Don’t tell Lando though. He’d be devastated.”

What Lando didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Hey little man. You ready to watch the race?”

Max’s head bobbed quickly.

“Are you going to watch Lanno win?”

At that, Max shook his head making Lando’s eyes widened.

“Little Verstappen I am hurt.” Lando clutched his hand to his heart in mock hurt. Max only stared at him while the McLaren driver put on a bit of a show.

Charles piped up from beside you. “Max, is Charlie going to win?”

Max, once again, shook his head. Now that made you confused, because Max always cheered for Charles. You cocked your head as you looked at your brother.

“Then who Maxy?”

The boy shyly pointed at you before muttering, “Zusje gaat jullie allemaal verslaan.”

Not that made you laugh out loud, causing even more confusion to the two male drivers. You covered your mouth as you continued to laugh. Sophie and Victoria laughing as well.

You smirked at your rival and teammate.

“He said I’m going to kick your asses.”

Max gasped as he heard your words.

“Bad words!”

Max pouted as he was put down by Lando. His little legs ran to you and his arms stretched out wanting you to pick him up. You squatted and scooped him up. Your arms tightened around him as he tried his best to hug you.

“Sorry for the bad words kid.”

“’S ok,” he slurred, getting even more tired. It was definitely his nap time. And it was time to get in your car. You handed him back to Sophie, who gave you a kiss on your head as you stooped. You gave a quick hug to Victoria before going back to kiss Max’s head.

“I’ll win for you ok?”

Obviously, he couldn’t hear you, but you would say it anyway. You turned away from your family to get ready.

“Going soft on me L/n?” Lando quipped, making his way out of your garage.

You discreetly flipped him off, to which he laughed at as he left. It took about 30 minutes to get in the car and get everything ready. You swerved your head, making sure the helmet was tight. Your eyes flitted about the garage and caught sight of your family again. Max was now wide awake and waving at you.

Your gloved hand reached out and displayed your fingers wide. The little boy reached over in his mom’s arms and clapped your hand with his small one. You were given the signal that it was time and drove off once Sophie was out of the way.

Her and Max watched as you rounded the corner in your red Ferrari, out of sight.

Sophie leaned down and kissed her youngest’s head.

“Mijn baby, zal zus winnen?”

Max’s small voice was just loud enough for her to hear.

“Ja mama, sij is kampioen.”

Earth 9596

(btw - I made the max pic because no one has good edits of him in a ferrari suit)

“Scuderia Ferrari Signs Y/n L/n for the 2024 Season”

“Ferrari Mistake? The Formula 1 Team Signs the Youngest Driver to Date”

“Ferrari Becomes the First Formula 1 Team to Sign Female Driver”

“Former F1 Champion Lorenzo Alessandrino Backs Goddaughter as Her Race Engineer”

“How Will Verstappen React to His Younger Teammate on the Track?”

You hadn’t known what to expect when you arrived at the paddock first thing on Saturday morning. You had convinced Lorenzo to bring you early so you could at least avoid some of the crowds, if not all. However, it seemed like everyone else liked that plan as well, and the paddock was full.

You hung back near Enzo as the two of you walked side by side. Your hands gripped your backpack straps hard, turning your knuckles almost stark white. Thankfully, your sunglasses kept your wide and scared eyes from the public. It wasn’t that you were scared of people. It’s what you thought that they thought about you that made you nervous.

Just 17 and baby faced.

Something that wasn’t heard of in 2024. Yet, with older drivers retiring back and forth, the FIA had to make new changes to deal with the need of rookie drivers. Hence why Lorenzo pushed to have Ferrari sign you as early as possible. You basically went from karting, to Formula 2 and didn’t even start your second season.

It came as a shock when Lewis Hamilton finally retired after only one year at Ferrari. You had thought that he’d want to get one more championship to make it to 9. But, life throws curveballs and it was headed straight to you.

Now you had to face your new teammate, a champion himself, Max Verstappen. You let out a sigh of relief when you noticed that he was talking to Charles Leclerc and Fernando Alonso. The two black Mercedes polos stood out in contrast to Max’s red one. You took a quick glance at the two drivers and realized that they were already watching you.

Your cheeks heated up as you quickened your steps to get to the garage faster. Once you were in the safety of the garage, you let out a deep sigh.

Lorenzo looked at you with a sad smile. He knew you were going to be overwhelmed for the entire day. He took his backpack off and reached down in, fingers feeling for your headphones. He took them out and handed them to you.

You immediately put them on, connected them to your phone, turned on the music, and got to work on your racing journal. You wanted to go over your notes before the race. While you were distracted, Enzo took a little walk, trying to find some coffee.

He ended up walking past the group of three drivers and smiled at Charles. The Italian knew of him growing up and was excited to see him in a team that gave him a good championship winning car.

He nodded his head toward your new teammate. “Max.”

Max’s eyes lightened at the familiar face. “Enzo!”

The two bro-hugged before parting, letting Enzo greet the two Merc drivers. When he was done, Max had a teasing attitude.

“Can’t convince you to stay as my engineer? Don’t get me wrong, I love GP, but you knew me better.”

Enzo smiled and shook his head. “No can do. Gotta take care of my kid.”

Fernando entered the conversation. “Where is she? We saw her walking but then she disappeared.”

The older man scratched his head. “Yeah, she tends to do that. She’s a bit nervous.”

Charles scoffed. “I’ll say. They shouldn’t have said anything until Wednesday. Sky Sports announced it way too early.”

The Monegasque had something similar happen to him when he first joined Mercedes. It had all been planned that he would take Valtteri Bottas’s seat mid-season. Yet, Sky Sports announced it before Mercedes had a chance to even say that Bottas had wanted to retire early due to an illness. The media had made Charles into a seat-stealing villain his first season.

The engineer nodded sadly. “I think she’s also nervous about the team.”

Max looked at him with a shocked expression. “The team?”

Enzo waved his hands. “She has full confidence. Y/n’s a bit nervous about trying to be on your level Max.”

Well, that didn’t settle well with the Dutchman. Great, he was excited to have such a young teammate: someone who he could get along with and help them grow in the sport. But now, you were afraid of him?

“She’s not scared of you Max, just nervous.”

Oh. He said that out loud.

Max glanced back at the garage. “Can I go talk to her.”

Enzo nodded before handing him a pen. “I forgot to give this to her, she’ll be looking for it. You don’t mind giving it to her right?”

“Not at all,” he responded, thankful for something that could break the ice between the two of you.

Max grasped the pen and made his way to the overly bright red garage. He really wished Ferrari would take a page out of Mercedes’s book and make everything black. But no, they had to show off the corsa rosso red.

You were too busy writing some notes down, with the wrong pen, to notice Max’s shoes now in your line of sight. The Dutchman lightly nudged your own shoe, which had your head jerking up to look at him.

Your eyes widened and your hands reached to pull your headphones off.

Max only smiled down at you. He thought that you looked like a scared mouse. He wondered if you were quiet like one as well.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked.

You could only shake your head no and scoot over as Max sat down on the concrete near you. The two of you sat in silence as you continued to scribble. Max suddenly remembered the pen in his hand.

“Here. Enzo wanted me to give this to you.”

Your fingers lightly touched his as you grabbed it from him.

To Max, you also reminded him of his sister at this age. Shy, meek, quiet. But he had seen your videos and your impressiveness on the track. Your overtakes were nothing to be overlooked. He heard you sigh as the pen now nicely glided over the pages.

The Dutchman let his eyes wander over the pages. He noticed that you were even taking notes on him as well.

You didn’t look at him, but you spoke, “If you break a bit later on turn 4, you can cut off another tenth.”

Your voice gave Max whiplash as he wasn’t expecting you to talk to him without being prompted. His mind ran as he tried to remember turn 4. When he did the calculations he was surprised to find that you were correct.

“How did you..”

“I watched your onboards from last season. You’re very, what’s the word,” you gave him a smirk, “predictable.”

Max’s jaw dropped, which caused you to laugh a bit. Max, although shocked, was glad that you were coming out of your shell a bit.

He leaned over to whisper, “Are you overwhelmed with the red as much as I am.”

You smiled as you whispered back, “It is positively draining. Why can’t they do black like Mercedes?”

Max threw his hands up. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

You pretended to think. “What if we gang up on them. They can’t resist both drivers.”

Max put on a weird accent, making his voice higher. “It’s either change the garage and everything to black or we walk.”

That made you snort which caused Max to wheeze.

Enzo was just on his way back with two coffees (both for him) when he heard the sound of you laughs mixed with Max’s. He smiled fondly at the two drivers. He took a sip before putting on his bright red headphones that he needed for qualifying. He coughed a bit, but it was soon over. Nothing like the sickness that he barely beat back in 2019. He was thankful that he got to continue to watch you grow.

Max asked, “How far do you think you’ll get in qualifying?”

You thought for a moment. “Uh, I hope to make it to Q2 if possible.”

The Dutchman lifted his hand to ruffle your hair. Your hands swatted at him as you pouted.

“I think you can get farther.”

You only shrugged. “We’ll see.”

The car was definitely your safe space. You felt as though you could finally breathe easier.

“Radio check please.”

“Loud and clear Enzo.”

“Ok, let’s get this bread.”

You shook your head as you sat in the car. “Please never say that again.”

Much to your and the team’s delight, you made it past Q1 and Q2. And you ended Q3 in the second row in P3. Max had just missed pole by mere hundredths. Charles Leclerc always had scarily good one lappers in the third session.

Max gave you a giant hug at the end of the session, very glad at your positioning.

As he had his arms around you, he thought to himself.

“Yeah. You were going to be great.”

Earth 331649

The big letters stood out to Max as his eyes began to water.

“Not Applicable for Adoption at this Time” was all the top said. He hadn’t bothered to read the rest. He knew what it was going to say. It’s what every letter said for the past few months.

They weren’t approved.

They traveled too much.

There weren’t any in their preferred age group that were adoptable right now.

They wouldn’t be able to take care of a baby.

They were…Max didn’t even want to mention the word.

He glanced at the gold band that adorned his ring finger on his left hand. The sight made his eyes water more. The paper was quickly crumpled and thrown to the side. The Dutchman leaned forward and put his hands over his face and just sobbed.

They had been trying for so long. The conversation had started two years ago as they lied in bed one night. They were nearing the ends of their careers, but they hadn’t wanted to wait until they were retired. They were sure in their marriage enough to where they both could handle a baby in their lives.

A mini them running around, playing with Jimmy and Sassy. The thought was too much to bear right now though.

The door clicked but Max hadn’t heard, he just continued to sob.

“Amore, I’m back from the shop. They had the pastries that you really liked. Amore?”

Max started sobbing harder. Before he heard knew it, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. He heard a big sigh as a head rested against his back.

“Another one?”

Max didn’t even reply, but his sobs had subsided into quiet sniffles. Charles glanced over at the crumpled paper that had been tossed to the side. He’s told Max time and time again to wait until he gets home to read them, but the older was always a bit too excited or anxious to wait. He bit his tough, not wanting to say anything that could upset the Dutchman even more.

“It will be all right.”

“Will it?” Max bit back, full of sadness and anger. But, it wasn’t anger at Charles. He was angry at the world.

“It will,” Charles hummed. However, the Monegasque was also getting run down by all the rejection letters. He didn’t know how much more he could take. But, he wanted to be strong for Max. For himself. For their hopeful future child.

“Every time Charlie. Every time, it’s always a different excuse.”

“Our time will come.”

“But what if it doesn’t? We aren’t getting any younger Charles.”

The Monegasque harshly inhaled. He stopped rubbing Max’s back. Although, he really didn’t know when he started.

He went to say something, yet his phone rang loudly, breaking the silence of the room. Charles muttered something about wanting to hang up, but his breath hitched at the sight of the name at the top of his phone. His thumb had never pressed the answer button.

He quickly put the call on speaker.

“Bonjour?”

“Ah, Mr. Verstappen?”

“This is he.”

“Is your husband here with you?”

Max perked up at the question. His eyes were bloodshot, but he was now paying attention. He scooted even closer to Charles, face almost in the phone.

Charles chuckled at Max’s closeness.

“Oui, he is here.”

“Ok, so we just got a call from the Princess Grace Hospital. We think you want to come here for this.”

Max gulped before whispering. “It is what we think it is?”

Charles held his breath as he and Max waited for the answer.

“Why don’t you come find out.”

The two of them could hear the playfulness as the their adoption agent hung up the phone. They looked into each other’s eyes before they dashed around, getting their shoes on. Max almost tripped as he hopped on one foot, his shoe getting caught on his finger. Charles chuckled as he bent to tie his own shoe.

Max was halfway out the door, still waiting.

“Come on Charlie.”

“Mon amore, are you forgetting something?”

Max patted his pockets and realized he forgot the key that were now dangling on Charles’s finger.

“Oh.”

Charles rolled his eyes as he walked toward the door, grabbing Max’s waste as he walked. The Dutchman quickly followed him to the Monegasque’s Ferrari Purosangue. He bought the SUV when he and Max put in their first adoption profile.

Max huffed as he noticed that Charles was going below the speed limit.

“Baby, can you maybe, hurry up?”

Charles only hummed as a reply. He did step on the gas a bit, but the Monaco speeds were slow as it. It wasn’t their fault that they drove ridiculously fast cars and his husband was currently high strung.

Charles put his hand on Max’s thigh and started to rub small circles, which in the long run did help Max calm down a bit.

The Dutchman had calmed down some by the time they parked in front. Charles started to get out of the car, but Max’s hand grabbed his arm before he got far. Charles recognized the look of fear on his husband’s face. His pointer finger found the golden band on Max’s finger and started to rub it.

“What if- What if- What if it happens again.”

Charles’s eyes drooped a bit at the sadness in Max’s voice.

“But what if it doesn’t?”

A glimmer of hope came back to Max’s eyes as he places a chaste kiss on Charles’s lips.

“Let’s go.”

With an unbuckle of his seatbelt, Max was out the door. Charles had to catch up to Max’s larger steps. His hand soon found Max’s as they walked in. He squeezed three times, and got three in return.

Charles look the lead as they approached the front desk. The lady at the computer had a nice attitude as she gave them a smile when she looked up from her screen.

“May I help you gentlemen?”

“Ah, yes, my husband and I got a call from our adoption agent, Mitch Walker.”

The lady’s eyebrows raised as she started to type on her computer once again. Max bounced in his place, willing the lady to type faster.

“Ah, floor three, room 89.”

“Thank you,” Charles stated, already watching Max walk toward the elevator. He chuckled as he slowly followed, knowing the elevator would arrive when he got there. Inside the contraption, Max read the list of floors.

His finger traced them until he got to the third floor.

“Charlie.”

Charles looked where his finger had landed.

Delivery floor.

Before Charles could react, the elevator doors opened. They both bolted into the hallway.

86.

87.

88.

89.

They both paused in front.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Charles grabbed the nob and slowly twisted. The room was a bit dim and Mitch was standing in the middle of the room. She turned at the sound of the door and a smile made a way on her face.

“Hi guys,” she whispered. She stepped closer and pulled a curtain that cut the room in half.

“Hi,” Charles replied, also whispering.

Mitch put her hands together. “So, we have a little someone who was given up today. If everything goes well, you two might be going home with a baby today.”

Tears welled up in Max’s eyes at her words. He choked down a sob and bit his knuckle.

“I just need you two to wash your hands and then you can meet her.”

Charles whispered, “Her?”

Mitch only nodded.

This time, Charles was the one to let out a small sob. They gingerly walked over to the sink, hands bumping into each other as they rinsed under the water. Once dry, Mitch dragged the curtain back over.

In the middle of the smaller section near a couch, lied a bassinet. With bated breath, Charles and Max peered over. Tears now welling in both their eyes. Max’s finger gently moved towards the baby’s face.

He lightly grazed the soft cheek, causing the baby to squirm. Max had never jerked his hand away from something faster. Charles let out a small and quiet laugh. The baby’s hand was open, inviting Charles to put his finger in the tiny palm.

The baby suddenly curled her fingers around the one finger, eyes suddenly opening. The Dutchman wanted to cry once again. Her green eyes peered up at him. Max’s eyes caught a tuft of hair and he gently pulled back the tiny hat. Blond hair appeared in a small bit. He gently pulled the hat back into place.

His blond hair.

Charles’s green eyes.

Charles turned to Mitch.

“Can I hold her.”

A single nod had Charles scooping the baby in his arms, and he placed her on his chest. His body leaned back just a bit to accommodate her. Max immediately took his phone out and took a picture. He was definitely going to use that as his lock screen picture from now on.

Max watched as Charles sat on the small couch in the corner. Max followed suit and sat next to him.

The baby was looking right at him.

“Hello little one,” he whispered, finding the courage to graze her face once again. A small smile appeared on the girl’s face, but it was short lived. But, Max had seen it and he was happy that it was directed at him.

“-ax, Amore.”

His eyes shot up to Charles’s face.

“Yes?”

The brunet rolled his eyes. “I asked: Do you want to hold her?”

Max could only nod. Charles gently handed her over to his husband and watched as his big hands cradled the baby. One hand was gently placed on her bum and the other on her head. He cooed at the man and baby, seeing tears stream down his face.

Mitch quietly approached the couple. “So, it seems like everything is going well. I can almost read your minds and I got your application approved. It’ll take a while for everything to come in but you are good to take her home.”

Charles stood and gave her a giant hug: big enough for the both of them. She patted Charles’s back before grinning widely again.

“You know, she doesn’t have a name yet.”

Max’s head whipped from the baby to the woman.

“We get to name her?” he questioned, heart filling with so much love. There were so many names that he and Charles had picked out. The first name would be something special, something not used before. The middle names would be in honor of loved ones past and present. And then, the baby would take both last names.

Mitch came over with a certificate and pen in hand.

“Do you two know or do you need a moment?”

Max nodded at Charles and then looked back down at the beautiful green eyes that stared up with him.

Charles did the honors.

“Her name is Y/n Julia Sophie Pascale Antoinette Leclerc-Verstappen.”

Little Y/n. Oh how the world wasn’t ready. But it would welcome her with open arms.

Earth 959589

“Shit!” you yelled, tumbling out of bed. You were late, oh you were so late. Max was going to kill you and you could say goodbye to your seat.

Before the season even started.

You tripped as you pulled on a shoe, face planting back into the bed. Your phone was currently blowing up with notifications as it rested on the side table. You hastily pulled on your Red Bull polo and grabbed your jeans. Your foot got stuck since you put your shoes on first.

Great move Y/n, great move.

You finally got a hand on your phone and answered the call.

“Where are you? Max is close to having an aneurism,” your race engineer hissed through the phone.

“I know Charles, but my alarm never went off!”

Your head was pressing your phone to your shoulder as you talked and walked toward the elevator.

“Just please get here ASAP,” he sighed. You could see the man rubbing his eyebrows, even if you couldn’t see him.

“I’m getting in the car now.”

“You better be thankful. I’ll see you here.”

When you arrived to the paddock, you went directly to the interviews, which you were late for as well. You winced as you walked in front of everyone and sat down, face ablaze in red.

Lando poked your side. At least he went with the polo so you two could be matching some. He leaned over when a question was directed to Arthur.

“Max is going to kill you.” He smirked as he leaned away. Your microphone accidentally picked up the smack to his shoulder. Some eyes landed on you as you tried to duck away.

Arthur looked over at you. “Nice of you to join us champ.”

You shrugged. “My alarm didn’t go off.”

“Sure.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse you?”

Before you could get any farther, a journalist asked a question directed toward you.

“Y/n, if I may, how is this season a bit different than last?”

Your eyes looked up as you thought of a good answer. “Uh, well, there was a lot of change within Red Bull this past winter break. My old teammate went to being my team principal. And then he somehow convinced Charles to join as well and be my race engineer.”

A scoff came from Arthur that cause you to lean to look at him.

“Are you all right Leclerc?”

The Monegasque rolled his eyes.

“I would like to have my brother back please.”

“Well, too bad I got him first. And then back to my question. Lando became my teammate and he’s giving me a run for my money.”

Lando smirked at that statement.

“Ah yes, the cheeky little bugger he is. But, I’m really on track for my second championship. Maybe next year I’ll let Lando get one.”

The journalist thanked you for your good answer.

Fortunately the press conference ended after that. Yet, it was unfortunate for you since you could feel Max’s glare from miles away. You stopped, causing Arthur to bump into your back.

“Any chance I can come hide in your driver’s room?”

Arthur shook his head yes, giving you some hope.

“No.”

You visibly deflated as you watched him walk toward the bright red garage.

A sigh left your lips as you stalked toward the garage. Charles gave you a sympathetic look as you walked past. His hand rubbed your shoulder until he gently pushed you toward Max. You winced under the Dutchman’s glare.

“My office Y/n.”

You could only follow him into the office. You took the first seat you passed in front of the large desk. Max rubbed his eyebrows and sighed. But, you panicked.

“I’m so sorry Max. I swore I turned on my alarms last night, but I was up late going over data again because I can’t let the team down again like last race. I know that I can make up the speed. And then my phone was on silent and then I tripped on my shoe and the car got stuck in traffic. I swear I went straight to the conference. I won’t be late again I promise, just please don’t take away my seat.”

Max watched in horror as you lost your composure right in front of him. This monologue only told him that you were truly scared that he’d kick you off the team because of a little DNF last race. His heart dropped as he saw tears stream down your face as you visibly shook.

He stood up quickly and rounded the desk. His hands dropped on your shoulders.

“Kid, kid. Listen to me. You’re not going to lose your seat. I was just worried when you didn’t show up and when you didn’t answer mine or Charles’s calls.”

“Oh.”

Max wanted to laugh. “Yes, oh. Do you remember all the times I used to show up late? The times that Charles showed up late as well?”

You let out a chuckle as you remembered both Ferrari drivers would show up a bit late. No one ever seemed to mind. You let out a sigh of relief.

Max stood up and walked toward the door. “Now, let’s go out there and what do we do?”

“Kick names and take ass!”

Max rolled his eyes. “Sure kid. Sure.”

Earth 1218 - Present Earth

You gasped as you sat up in your bed.

“Kid?” Max questioned, head popping up from the couch. Vegas had been super early again and you and Max didn’t want to go back to the hotel when you had FP2 soon. So, the two of you just curled up in his driver’s room. His voice was groggy as he had just gotten up from an interrupted nap as well.

You clutched your head and groaned.

“I had such weird dreams.”

“Oh. Tell me?” Max’s head was already back down on his pillow.

“You were a king, and then you were my younger brother?”

Max snorted but let you continue. He knew that you wouldn’t remember in the morning anyway.

“And then you were my teammate at Ferrari and Charles drove for Mercedes, Enzo was there. Oh, and then you and Charles were married.”

“Kid you have been watching too many Lestappen edits on Twitter and TikTok.”

You only grumbled.

“I do not. Finally you were my team principal.”

“Strange. Go back to sleep.”

Max never got an answer back, because you were already zonked. He chucked and turned back over, phone clenched in his hand as he watched the edit of Charles’s 2022 sunset lap into his 2023 pre-storm qualification. However, he didn’t know that his volume was so loud.

“He was sunshine, I was midnight rain…And I could see it all in my mind…”

“I KNEW IT! YOU WATCH THEM TOO!”

“GO TO SLEEP!”

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tadpolesonalgae · 3 months

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 18

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: pls trust me that some things will be explained in chapter 19 🙇

word count: 7,003

-Part 17- -Part 19-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Sharp, amber eyes pierce down into the male, despite having less than an inch’s difference in height.

Lucien keeps his surprise under wraps as he greets his oldest brother, stood before the slightly dilapidated building he and his companions have taken up in, a few boards nailed over one of the upper windows that had broken during a particularly vicious storm. He recalls how Jurian had scavenged some of the plain silverware and they’d drawn spoons to see who would have to climb the roof and patch it up before the autumn chill hit. It’s a fond memory, in spite of his loss.

“Eris,” Lucien greets shortly, holding position in blocking the male from strutting straight into his home as he knows the male would, given the chance. Not the building itself, exactly, but the people hidden away inside it, and he’d rather not subject them to another visit unless absolutely necessary. Neither of them are particularly well-equipped against Eris’ kind of verbal espionage, how he hunts the information he seeks and so effortlessly riles them up. Vassa is particularly prone to bursting into a flaming temper whenever the male pays them an unpleasant visit.

“It’s rude to keep a guest waiting, Lucien,” Eris drawls from overside the threshold. Even after all this time he can’t help the instinctive part of him that cringes at the razor sharp tone used to cut into his name, carve it into something jagged and serrated. Perhaps when he was younger he might have returned with ‘it’s rude to show up without invitation’, but he learned long ago it’s best to avoid any kind of verbal conflict with the male. Ultimately it’s tiring and a waste of energy, so instead Lucien offers a mildly withering glare, and asks, “What are you here for?”

Eris’s features remain sharp but blank, unshifting and drawing a clear line in the sand. Another silent demand he’s more than accustomed to, and wishes he wasn’t. “You can’t just show up without prior notice and expect to be escorted in. There are humans inside and you’ll scare them off.”

“That’s fine by me,” Eris replies, his amber eyes silently simmering with inherent arrogance. “Step aside.”

“Don’t order me around,” Lucien replies evenly, not a note of sharpness to be found, but firm and unyielding. “You’re in their lands. Besides, they’ll be leaving shortly. You can wait a few minutes.”

“It’s time sensitive,” Eris replies smoothly, neither having broken the eye contact.

“You can wait a few minutes,” Lucien repeats.

Silence stretches, Eris’ brows narrowing ever so slightly in a frighteningly scathing glare that would have sent him sprinting to his room a few centuries ago. But he’s a grown male now, so he weathers the simmering look, keeping his feet firmly set on the ground, unfaltering in his stance.

Within the silence, both can pick out the shuffle of human footfalls, the conversation that floats throughout the house, only detectable to fae hearing and each brother picks out as they trail further. It’s not until a latch clicks and a bolt is slid into place on the other side of the slightly wrecked estate that either of them shifts, and to Lucien’s invisible astonishment it’s Eris who looks away first. Even if it is to glance at the approaching Vassa over his shoulder, he notes it.

“What’s he doing here?” Vassa questions, a derisive sneer in her tone as she pins the male darkening their doorstep with a look that could turn steak to coal in seconds. Lucien glances to Eris, wondering the same thing—wondering if he’ll answer now the humans have left and he’ll inevitably be allowed in. Sharp amber eyes slice to his own russet one, cutting and demanding, and Lucien bites back a sigh at his oldest brother’s incessant insistence on being obeyed. Even after all these years he’s just as controlling as he always was, though Lucien shouldn’t be surprised—Eris practically thrives in the cutthroat coliseum of the Autumn Court.

Lucien steps aside in the doorway and Eris enters, bringing with him the harsh bite of the cold that’s sharper than it should be in the human lands. The distinct crispness that passes him as Eris strides past the both of them, removing his surprisingly plain cloak in one swift movement and chucking it over one of the hangers without looking. “I have news,” Eris replies vaguely, before striding further into the heart of the house and disappearing out of sight.

Vassa shoots a fierce glare his direction, a slight scowl between her brows. “Did you know he was on his way?” She asks, already looking about ready to try smacking the male across the jaw. But Lucien shakes his head, already resigned to the evening being ruined, knowing her impatience isn’t directed at him. “I’m sober, aren’t I?” He replies wryly, a twist of a demeaning smile on his mouth to cool her flammable temper.

After a long moment of pause, she huffs a laugh, low and raspy, some of the tension relieved from her rigid posture, fiery coloured ringlets jostled slightly from the tremble in her full shoulders. “We’d better go after him,” she says, a little more amused than she was previously, though that amusement dims swiftly at the thought of having to deal with more of the male’s unnecessary and underhanded jabs. Lucien nods, sighing once more before steeling himself, knowing he will inevitably end up in the position of mediator as he always does when people lose their calm, following after her.

“And just when the cards were finally about to come out,” she mutters under her breath, and Lucien can practically see the scowl that has already worked itself back between her fiery brows, “I was looking forward to wiping the floor with Jurian.”

The comment has his nostrils flaring delicately as mirth curves his mouth, lips twitching faintly. Between the three of them, Vassa is almost constantly on a losing streak, while Jurian frequently takes them for all they’re worth. He supposes it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is—Jurian’s mortality is debatable at best, an unverifiable grey area at worst.

“Maybe we can fit in a few rounds after,” Lucien suggests as they make their way through the hallways, headed to the sitting room where the meetings most frequently take place. “The mood will probably be in need of some friendly competition.”

“Friendly?” Vassa repeats sardonically, pausing just outside the door to the living room. “Those games are nothing short of bloodthirsty. Treating them so lightheartedly is why you never win.”

Lucien refrains from reminding her that she has yet to go on a single winning streak against either of them.

————

You shift uneasily in your seat, pulling the silk of the scarf a little tighter, making sure no patchy flesh will slip out from beneath the fine covering. Especially not over a meal.

The comment springs to the forefront of your mind, rising like the sediment that’s stirred up upon a stone being dropped into the murky bottom of a lake. You know you’ll never be first choice. You’ll never have someone who’d choose you over everyone else, and if you’re honest with yourself it wouldn’t be that bad. You’ve survived this long without being someone’s first choice, so what’s changed?

What’s changed?

A cold feels skates delicately beneath your speckled flesh at the imposing question, impossibly vast and inconceivably nuanced. So much has changed in the past two years it would be unreasonable to try and tackle it now, without even a paper and pen to aid you in the coherency of your thoughts. But maybe it’s a place to start—some small ideas to help take those opening steps, like how freshly born deer totter around on their delicate hooves, on thin, gangly legs before learning to leap and bound.

So, you ask yourself again: What’s changed?

Had it bothered you before that you weren’t first choice? Had you known you weren’t anyone’s first choice—yes, somewhere, but you hadn’t figured it out yet. Perhaps that’s why the comment stung, that you were robbed of making the discovery yourself, red-painted nails having clawed over the stone, carving scratches into the previously smooth surface, permanently tarnished and disheveled.

No, thinking back, you’ve been first choice before. When you were eight, nine-ish, when you’d run down and about in the garden with Feyre who at that point couldn’t keep up with you yet. When you’d leap over tree stumps and balance on fallen trunks, sticking your arms out unevenly and watching with a strange sense of pride as Feyre doddered behind you, mimicking your stance and holding her own arms out as she made the trek over the mossy trunk.

Then you’d gotten older, and left Feyre to play in the gardens, in the forest, by herself. Then you’d become closer with Elain a bit before your teens, the two of you often joined at the hip at parties, Nesta bearing down on the few who tried to approach, warding off any unwanted company with her fearsome countenance. You think you’d been one another’s choices then, when your mother would dress you up in complimentary fabrics, selecting patterns that would work well with one another, with little regard for the young girls she was dressing up—her own daughters.

You like to think it had been you and Elain sticking together, in those last few years when your mother was around.

That’s what’s changed.

You’re surrounded by people who have found one another.

And now your loneliness is starker than ever, yet you hadn’t even really realised it. How Feyre has Rhys and Nyx, Nesta has found Cassian, and even Elain is finding her way with Lucien. They’re the closest you’ve ever been with other people, and the closest you’ll get to other people. But they’ve all found someone else now, and you’re the odd one out. Of course you’d be the one without a mating bond, or whatever the special connection is that they were all afforded.

You’re reminded of the confession you’d let slip in the midst of your fumbling mouth back in the library all that time ago. How you’d thought maybe…possibly there was a reason you’d felt a click with him. But you suppose you should have known better. You can’t even pretend that he was leading you on, in hindsight. It was obvious he was interested in Elain, and yet you’d thought… How stupid. And to tell him, too. To want something so sacred to them, and to wish it between yourself and him. All from wanting to be first.

It shouldn’t matter to not be first, and yet it’s starkly painful. You can’t help but want that place. Wanted it so desperately you’d fooled yourself into seeing interest when in reality there was, just none for you.

Your eyes traitorously stray from the small details on the rim of your porcelain plate—tiny ink drops of blue, red, and orange dotted about the edge—to the empty seat to your left, at one head of the table.

Why had you ever made the mistake of opening up to him? Hoping for a gentle touch when your body feels like it was hewn from the most unloveable stone. The most unforgiving rock, and the coldest ice. So cold it would peel skin from flesh, so harsh it would be impossible to touch, so utterly unbearable there would be no choice but to remain alone.

“Will you pass the potatoes?”

You’re drawn from your spiralling thoughts by the golden voice, meeting twinkling amber eyes as Mor watches you with a familiar expression. Warm and welcoming despite how you’d last seen one another.

Swallowing, you nod. “Yeah, sure,” you reply as normally as you can, hand clutching the orange silk of your scarf to keep the material from sliding up as you carefully grip the lip of the ceramic bowl, passing it to her open hand. “Thank you,” Mor smiles, and you blink before remembering to retract your hand. She seems as she was before…back to the female you’d known her as. Is this…does it mean she’s accepted your apology? She’d seemed convinced of what she had told you, so you can’t quite trick yourself into believing that. But maybe civility?

Right, you can understand it now. No matter how upset or hurt she might feel, she must not want to make it other people’s problem. Causing a scene over a dinner, one of the rare moments everyone’s together—most of you, anyway—isn’t worth it. No matter how your relationship might have soured, there’s no need to make the people around you miserable, too.

Amber eyes gleam beneath the warm light, and you feel as though you can come to an agreement—one you’re ready to accept. You can both silently agree not to make it an issue for anyone else, a small kernel of warmth daring to flicker to life in your chest, the sense of connection that comes from mutual understanding despite a disagreement. For everyone else’s sake, the two of you can put everything aside. Even if it might only be temporary.

“I like your scarf,” Mor says lightly, scooping the jagged, crispy roast potatoes onto the side of her plate, setting the bowl down in a spare space, “it suits you.”

Again, you blink, caught off guard. You swallow thickly, managing a nod of your head, chest swelling as you eagerly take on the compliment, content to pretend even if it’s only for an hour or two. “Thank you,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, “I love your necklace.” Which is true, though in honesty it wouldn’t be difficult to find something compliment-worthy about her. She’s beautiful.

Mor hums, glancing to another bowl, before settling on the reasonably sized boat of sauce, creating a small pool at the edge of her plate. You’re a little too occupied with watching Mor to notice the wary glance sent her way by Amren, or the warning one delivered from the High Lord himself. The tiny flicker of hope that maybe things could be patched up blocking out the rest of the picture as you gaze longingly at the female diagonal from you.

“I suppose with the autumn chill in the air yours is a little more practical than some flimsy jewellery,” Mor replies lightly, plucking a cut of bread from the wooden board, drawing the butter closer to slather the fluffy and crusty slice. “Where did you find it? I should fetch one for myself.”

“I’m sure you have more than enough scarves, Mor,” Rhys interjects smoothly, the serrated blade of his knife slicing effortlessly through the sinew of meat, slowly dissected into politely bite-sized pieces. “Any more and you’ll struggle to shut your wardrobe properly.”

Mor smiles icily, meeting his gaze with a cold look on her beautiful face. “Just stocking up before we have our eastern visitors.”

Tension crackles across the table, so acute even you realise something strange is happening, watching nervously, and feeling somehow responsible for the perceived fallout. Eastern visitors…? People from the continent? Eastern…eastern…oh. Feyre had mentioned briefly the deal that had been struck between the High Lord and the Lord that reigns over his Court of Nightmares—Mor’s father. The permitted invasion of her safe haven. The slight fissure that had been opened raw between them—one you’d forgotten about, and had assumed had been fixed.

“How is—” You fumble when Mor’s sharp eyes cut into you, caught off guard by the fierceness held within them. “…How is he?” You manage to ask, unsure whether you should even be interfering or whether you’re just putting your foot in it. Your hands shake under the table, heart pounding but you keep from shifting in your seat.

“Who?” Mor asks blandly, ignoring the sharp glare Amren’s pinning her with. Disregarding the hard look on Rhys’ face, slight disappointment. Possibly wholly unaware of the grip Feyre has on her cutlery, head cast downward, brows pulled together. Your throat rolls, not wanting to say his name.

It would be wrong.

“Who else?” Nesta asks from across the table, her voice singing with the clean cut of steel as it slices through a silk ribbon, a whisper of anger hissing beneath her tone. Sharp amber eyes clash with cool silver, glinting like mercury and ice in spite of the oranges and yellows filling the room to give the allusion of warmth and familiarity. Tension simmers just below the surface, crackling like a metal weather vane struck by lightening, sizzling with barely restrained power.

“Azriel,” you say quietly, hurrying through his name in less than a breath, feeling it brand your tongue, tingling at the roof of your mouth. Dispersing some of the charge. “How is he?”

Amber and silver eyes remain locked for a little while longer, a pause stretching across the table and even to fae hearing there’s hardly a sound being made save for the strain of metal as knuckles strangle and warp the handles of fine cutlery.

At last Mor looks away, dragging her gaze back to your own, the fire dimmed and smothered.

“Well enough to be drinking again,” she answers, and that seems to be the end of the conversation.

————

It’s a little difficult to dry the plates off with the scarf tied at your front, hiding your arms, but you manage.

A cluster of small, iridescent bubbles float past your nose, wafting by, and Elain laughs as you step back suddenly in surprise, having been zoned out.

There’s no need to be washing up anymore, not with the aids of magic, and if you’re honest you aren’t entirely sure how the two of you had ended up coming to the same wordless agreement, but here you are. Elain’s at the sink, bubbles frothy and foamy as she scrubs at the crockery and cutlery before depositing them on the side for you to dry with a towel. You don’t think the soapiness would agree with your skin.

The quiet settles between you, comfortable and without strain, two people sharing a space, and the apprehension you’d had before the dinner begins to slowly mellow, ice thawing out over a chilly night.

Despite the slightly rough start, the night had progressed surprisingly smoothly, with you content to sit quietly while the others discussed various matters: Amren’s recreational studying of the Old Language; Nesta’s progression with swordplay, having begun wielding ataraxia during training; a discussion lead by Rhysand about wards that you’d partially tuned out, thinking of the crater you’d blasted through the House of Wind—at least it sounds like something that can be fixed. They aren’t permanently broken, just temporarily disabled.

“Feyre’s birthday is coming up,” Elain says, seemingly out of nowhere, and you glance at her questioningly, humming in acknowledgement. “What are you thinking of getting her?” You ask, curiously content to follow along this path and see where she takes it. Elain sighs faintly, “I was thinking of making some herbal teas, actually…not many, but a few different ones to see if any help with stress, or sleeping, or the like. Generic benefits.”

You nod your head slightly—it’s a thoughtful gift, bespoke and personal, too. She’s always good with presents.

“You?” Elain asks, glancing at you lightly, speaking only loud enough to top the gentle babbling of water and splashing of suds. You glance down at the stack of dried plates, reaching for the wet cutlery to start on. “I haven’t thought of anything yet,” you answer honestly, considering, “it’s still a couple of months away, so I guess I hadn’t started thinking about it yet.”

Elain’s quiet for a bit, and you get the sense she has something to say but is unsure how to bring it up. You wait patiently, preoccupying yourself with the cutlery, careful not to accidentally carve a chunk of flesh from the heel of your palm.

“I think…Feyre would like to do something with all of us,” she says quietly, a little absently. “Perhaps not on the actual day, but sometime nearby.”

“She would?” You ask, slightly surprised. Elain doesn’t meet your gaze this time, continuing to focus on washing up, giving her hands something to do, and you copy her after a moment, carrying on with the drying up. “She hasn’t said anything explicitly, but it’s the impression I’ve gotten,” Elain says faintly, then pauses again. “I think…I think it would be nice, too.”

There’s a tremor in her fingertips, but she pushes them below the warm water, out of sight as if reaching for a fork or spoon beneath the frothy surface.

“Particularly, after…” Her throat closes up, and you hesitantly reach out, gloves temporarily discarded while drying, bare fingers grazing the soft skin of her forearms, unable to feel the gentle tickle of tiny hairs anymore. “I’m sorry…” you murmur uselessly, watching helplessly as a droplet falls from her eye, splashing through into the dishwater below. But Elain shakes her head, hands raising from the water to continue moving, absently washing the last plate from the dinner.

“I’d like to see more of you, too,” Elain says, swallowing thickly as she scrubs at the gleaming porcelain, clearing her throat. “So would Nesta. I think we’ve all been a bit distant lately, with one another I mean, and with Feyre having Nyx, and Nesta off in Day… We should spend more time together, and see each other more often, and speak more, just in general. And then there’s also Starfall, and we can see each other then, and celebrate, and—”

“Elain, Starfall’s months away,” you say gently, fingers shifting so they’re lightly gripping her wrist, pausing her motions, pulling her eyes to lock with your own. Wider than they should be.

You look at one another, watching silently, and you can feel the flutter of her pulse beneath your fingertips, erratic enough for even your own damaged hands to pick up on.

“You’ll be there, won’t you?” She whispers, eyes hot and wet.

You blink, grasping the heaviness of the question, then nod, unable to make your throat work, lower lip trembling a bit. “I’ll be there,” you manage to get out, feeling the familiar pressure behind your eyes.

She nods back, before finally handing over that last plate that has been clean for a while, but between the soapiness of the dishwater, and the trembling of both your hands, the plate slips, and smashes on the floor. The pale fragments split and shatter, spraying across the cold tiles, and both of you jump at the startling noise, before looking at each other again, and laughing. Gasping, ragged breaths that have both of you leaning for support, tears welling in eyes as each of you are split between crying from desperate, manic humour, and dreadful, fearsome sadness.

Neither of you can find it in yourselves to care about the shattered porcelain, the jagged fragments with blue, red, and orange ink drops dotted around the utterly broken rim of the plate.

“I…I need to find something…to clean that up,” you gasp through laughter, wiping away the tears. Elain just nods, still heaving ragged breath into her lungs, eyes squeezed shut, ringlets of hair jostling with each shudder of mirth as she grips the edge of the sink, expression torn between sobbing laughter and wrecking grief, and you don’t think you can stand to be in the same room for much longer, subject to the violent turbulence.

The light from the kitchen dims but your eyes adjust swiftly as you walk unevenly out into the dark hallway, rounding the corner to go look for a brush, or duster of some kind, even a cloth or a rag would do—

Both of you freeze as you round the corner to see one another, Mor’s figure losing its rigidity much more swiftly compared to your own that will remain locked up for the following few minutes.

You swallow thickly, eyes wide as you take her in: the dimmed gold of her lustrous hair; the bare expanse of her elegant neck; the tray held in her red-tipped hands, those long, slightly rounded nails gleaming a deep rouge. “Mor,” you greet, a touch quieter than usual, “I didn’t see you there.”

“Nor I, you,” she replies, watching you. A beat passes, and you swallow again, eyes flicking down to the tray in her hands. “Azriel’s?” You ask through the tightness in your throat, gently probing to see if she’s open to a conversation. You’ll leave, if she’s unresponsive—you know now what it’s like to be on either end of this strange dynamic. Mor nods her head once, still watching you silently, and you look elsewhere. Then nod your own head. “Nice seeing you,” you say quietly, then move to walk around her.

“Wait,” Mor whispers at the last second, holding the tray in one hand and gripping your wrist with the other. You recoil sharply when her fingers squeeze your arm, and her hold lightens significantly, but she doesn’t immediately let go, digits stuttering away a second later. “Sorry,” she murmurs, stepping back by half a pace. “It’s okay,” you reply hastily, looking away as you pull your hand back to your body, “you didn’t know.”

The words hang between you, and silence stretches in the relative darkness of the corridor.

When you manage to raise your gaze to glance at her, you nearly regret the choice—she’s making no effort to conceal the fierce defence in her sharp amber eyes. You’re about to turn to try and leave again though, when she speaks, and the tremor in her voice is pronounced enough to root you to the spot.

“Tell me why you went to Eris.”

————

The expression that was on the commander’s face had been enough to set the two of them on edge, Jurian offering Eris one of those slow but rare, slightly insane half-smiles he can make, that often has the spiralling effect distinctive to falling down through a nightmare on whoever’s unlucky enough to have it turned on them. It doesn’t come out often, but that it’s made an appearance this evening is a dark sign, and Lucien silently prays he will not be forced into a position where he will have to default to Eris’s defence in attempts to calm the potential ire that could catch in either of his human comrades.

The day has proven to be tricky enough on its own—none of them need this added abrasion.

Vassa strides across the room, taking up in the seat closest to the crackling hearth, the flame making her hair blaze brighter than natural, her already sharp eyes glinting in the firelight.

It seems he’s the only one actively trying to avoid the conflict that’s brewing in the air, the other two appearing ready and more than content to fight fire with fire. He knows there’s no use explaining the redundancy of wielding that tactic against the male across from the human queen, with fire burning in his very blood.

“You said you had news,” Vassa demands, charging straight to the point before Lucien’s even had a chance to seat himself on the other end of the sofa, opposite from Jurian. Between his chosen family and his blood-given one. But Eris won’t be rushed, and instead turns his attention to his youngest brother, the fire doing nothing to thaw the cool ice in his amber eyes. “How is your mate, Lucien?”

Lucien allows himself the space of a blink to recompose himself, vaguely trying to hide his suspicion. It’s never good when he can’t see the end Eris is pursuing, but he’s used to being left in the dark when it comes to the male’s schemes—he just can’t help the instinctive aggression that prickles up the back of his neck at Elain being brought into this.

“You aren’t one for idle chatter,” Lucien replies, calming the flame that had begun sizzling in his blood, “why don’t we skip ahead and get straight to the point, as this is such a time sensitive matter?” A sinister gleam appears in his oldest brother’s eyes, and he braces himself for whatever whip is about to lash into his skin. “Very well,” Eris says instead, leaning back into his chair, practically sprawling across it, dominating the space he takes up in his typically uncaring, arrogant fashion. But then the air shifts, his expression becoming serious. “How well-informed is your mate of Night Court affairs?”

“Enough with this evasive subterfuge. What news do you bring?” Vassa demands harshly, Jurian seemingly agreeing with her anticipation to have the male rid of as soon as possible, a disagreeable look simmering in his rough features. But Lucien levels his brother with an evaluating glance, mechanical eye whirring faintly against the dim heat of the fire. “We each have our distances,” Lucien replies evenly, yielding a vague answer. He’s getting the distinct feeling something large has happened, or is about to. Maybe even happening as they speak—slabs of rock knocking into one another, having already been pushed into motion.

Does this have anything to do with Elain’s visit being postponed? She had been supposed to arrive two days ago, but had had to change their meeting to a later date as she’d had a family matter to oversee. Lucien hadn’t tried to pry.

“But you’re aware that Nesta Archeron and the General took a vacation to the Day Court?” Eris questions, and again Lucien has the distinct sense he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. A very big, very crucial piece of the puzzle.

He nods, and braces himself.

Though even foresight wouldn’t have been enough to prepare him for the news Eris had brought.

A warning that shook him to his fae bones.

————

You swallow thickly, frozen stiff as her truthful eyes bore into you.

You open your mouth, lips ajar, but your throat is much too tight to release any sort of sound.

Mor doesn’t shift, holding your gaze with a steadiness and conviction you can’t look away from, bound to her by an invisible tether that’s keeping you from hiding or running how you’d like to. “Surely you know…” she whispers, taking in a shallow breath, her lashes fluttering with an almost imperceptible shudder. “Surely you know what he did to me.”

You give a faint nod of your head.

Her amber eyes sharpen, and your stomach clenches beneath the look. “So explain yourself,” she utters lowly. “Don’t leave it up to me to pry the answers from you.”

A seed of fear plants itself in your throat, something cool and slimy rinsing gently down your spine and you’re worried sweat is dripping down your ribs, rolling in salty droplets down the soft inside of your arms where the skin hasn’t yet grown dehydrated and flaky. Fingers tighten absently on the silk of the orange scarf banding around your upper body, tugging at the folds to try and hide the tremor of adrenaline that’s filtered into your bloodstream.

You swallow thickly, but your throat won’t clear, and you realise that’s because there’s nothing there—no matter how much it feels the opposite.

“I didn’t…” you clear your throat again. Rip your gaze away. “I didn’t want to disappoint any of you,” you force yourself to answer, voice catching at the pitiful excuse.

Mor’s silent.

Silent for long enough you nervously look at her.

You flinch internally at the expression of horror on her features, shoulders bunching with shame as your brows curve, silently begging for a reply, and not this awful quiet that’s slowly gutting you.

“You chose…” she swallows past a lump in her throat, and her scent has shifted but you can’t understand what it means, the minute changes that occur within fae bodies. “You willingly went to him? He didn’t even have to try and persuade you?”

“Mor it wasn’t like that,” you try to clarify hurriedly. “I just—…I just thought it would be—”

“Easier?”

“No! I just thought it would— I don’t know… It would’t cause trouble! I just wanted to do it by myself so I wouldn’t have to bother any of you!”

“Wouldn’t cause trouble?” Mor repeats incredulously, a look of disbelief on her features, like she can’t grasp what you’re saying. “We were ready to help,” Mor bites back sharply, “all you had to do was ask for it. You could have spoken to Feyre, or any of your sisters about your magic. Any of us. You could have come to me, even—but you went to Eris.” Her voice is taut, rife with anger and hurt, but even in the dim light there’s a faint shine in her eyes, belying their wetness. “What made you think that we weren’t enough?”

“I didn’t want to bother you!” You say back, matching her volume.

“We’re your family! You’re supposed to bother us!”

You take a small step back, fighting the humiliating wobble of your lip before you shake your head, fingertips tingling. “No. You’re— You’re Feyre’s family.”

“Feyre’s your sister,” Mor emphasises, knuckles pushing up from beneath the smooth softness of her skin, pronounced from her bone-white grip on the tray that’s beginning to splinter. “Or is she no longer part of your family either? It seems the only person you even bother to speak to is Elain nowadays. Her and Azriel, anyway.”

“And what does that matter?” You bite back, hands itching. “What does it matter if I only speak to Elain? Would you prefer I start speaking to you, Mor?”

“Why not?” She nearly spits, energy being drawn out from the cave where she’d tried to smother it over dinner. “Why not?” You repeat, neither of you completely aware of how your voices are beginning to rise incrementally, ignoring or oblivious to the faint, sickly green light that definitely isn’t coming from the kitchen. “You’d like me to speak with you when this is the kind of conversation we’re having? You want me to be emotional, or vulnerable with you, or ask you for help when you shut me out the moment I do something wrong? When I fail?”

“I might have shut you out but you didn’t even open up. Didn’t even give us a chance in the first place, don’t pretend otherwise,” Mor spits back. “If you can’t understand the pain you caused me, fine. I can’t help it if you won’t allow yourself to think of us as family. But what about your actual family? What about them?”

“Don’t you dare try and talk to me about my own family Mor,” you grit out, nails digging into the flaky skin of your palms, heart pounding in your chest. “Haven’t you pried enough?”

“Did you even think to consider how it would make them feel?” Mor jabs, barrelling ahead. “Can you grasp how hurt Feyre was that you didn’t go to her? Three sisters, and you decided that none of them were good enough? Just because you aren’t their first choice doesn’t mean they can’t be—”

“Mor.”

Utter silence falls throughout the hallway at the barely restrained interruption.

Both of you freeze at the sound of the third voice, filled with hissing winds and rasping shadow. Managing to stay calm despite the tempest in her blue-grey eyes.

Before you, Mor blinks, and you’re unsure if you imagine the way colour drains from her features, still watching you. Further unsure if the faint green light was smothered of its own accord or the dark shadows that seem to be heavier now Feyre has appeared. Now the Cursebreaker has entered.

Mor turns on her heel, shifting to meet Feyre’s eyes, but quiet stretches between them, and you get the impression a conversation is being had, though not through daemati powers. A single lock of golden hair shifts over Mor’s shoulder, falling out of place, though you can no longer see her expression. And then she nods. Just once, hardly perceptible, even to fae eyes, and you watch with a still pounding heart as the tray vanishes from her hands a second later, heels clicking softly across the floorboards as she wordlessly takes her exit, leaving you and…Feyre, alone in the hallway.

You shift anxiously on your feet, swallowing thickly.

“How much of that did you hear?” You ask quietly, looking away again, all the fight drained from you after the brief altercation. You’re entirely unaccustomed with those open arguments, haven’t had one since—well, since that last one with Feyre, that had the sound ward placed on your room.

Feyre watches you, the previous storm quietened, but her eyes aren’t sparkling as usual. Instead she looks drained. Drained, and tired, and a little wary. “Enough,” she answers.

You shift again, a little begrudging she saw fit to interrupt, like you needed her to intervene. “It was fine, you know…”

Feyre’s quiet, and you’re unsure if she’s angry. Angry at you for speaking to Mor that way. Angry at you for speaking so loudly when Nyx is probably asleep. Angry at you for not speaking to her first. Angry at you for the long, long list of reasons she should have by now.

“It did hurt,” she says quietly, and you raise your gaze to meet her own, “that you thought you couldn’t come to us. To me.”

Your lips purse, and you look away.

“I was upset with your choice. Disappointed a little. Confused,” she continues in that quiet whisper that could carry with ease across a cavernous hall. “But what Mor said wasn’t true. Not in the way she phrased it.”

“Feyre, it’s fine,” you say softly. “You don’t need to—”

“Mor knows that’s not true either.”

Your lips purse again, that quiet stretching between you.

You want to disintegrate on the spot.

Fabric rustles slightly, and it’s the only clue you have to Feyre shifting. Then, “it’s late,” she says, moving away from the open wound of a topic. “We should talk more about this in the morning. When Madja comes round too.” She nods her head toward the corridor, but you look at her a little apologetically. “I was supposed to find Elain a brush,” you say, feeling embarrassed, “we broke a plate.”

“The kitchen will clear it up,” Feyre replies, leaving no room for you to skate back to your older sister.

So you end up walking with her back to your room.

It’s dark out, and you can’t help but look forward to settling into bed, even if it hurts sometimes to roll over beneath the covers. That it hurts sometimes to lie on your sides, when your arms press into the sheets, with your weight resting atop them. At least you’re beginning to get used to it, the pain much more tolerable now, despite it having not decreased.

You’ve both reached the top of the stairs, turning down the hallway that will lead to your bedroom, walking close enough together to make up for the fact your arms aren’t linked—Feyre guessing correctly it would probably hurt—when Feyre speaks. “Are Eris and Azriel the only other people who’ve felt your magic before?” She asks tentatively into the darkness of the house, seemingly having cooled off now you’re further from the spot of altercation.

“Yes, I think so,” you answer in an equally soft voice.

“Have either of them every commented on what it feels like?” She asks, and you’re aware how she’s keeping her gaze ahead. You move your eyes to look in the same direction, spotting your bedroom door on the right not far ahead. “Not that I can think of,” you reply, before adding, “though it’s never been…going, for as long as that.”

Feyre’s silent, and you glance at her through the shadows, wondering what she’s thinking. You can’t read her expression, so resume your looking ahead.

“When I was in autumn, though,” you begin hesitantly, hardly louder than a whisper, worrying who might overhear the unpleasant reference, “my magic almost…I don’t know…burst? It came through me very suddenly, and forcefully.” You recall the frighteningly large creature that had charged at you while in the woods, how your magic had melted the skin from its flesh. “We were both sick afterwards.”

“Azriel was sick a lot when he first woke up,” Feyre says faintly, and your stomach clenches with guilt.

You try to swallow past it, but it seems to remain lodged in your throat, unpleasantly settling in your stomach heavily enough you’re thankful when you reach your door, the evening nearly over with.

“Why did you ask, by the way?” You question before slipping away into your room, paused over the threshold.

Feyre glances at you, turned to leave but stopping. “Your magic…I could feel it in the hallway,” she answers, a wary note creeping into her voice.

She seems disinclined to give anything else, so you again shift awkwardly in the doorway, before gathering the gut to ask, “how did it feel?”

Something passes behind her blue-grey eyes, shuttering briefly as they close, before reopening. “Like I was dying again,” she answers quietly.

You stare at her silently, the threshold of your room between you, the silence heavier than it was before. You don’t even know what to say to that.

She doesn’t give you the time to think of a reply, however, as she releases a sigh. Her throat rolls as she meets your eyes. “Sleep well,” she says, and you catch as her attention dips to your hands, like she wants to take them, to hold them.

But she doesn’t, instead looking back at you again, throat rolling for the second time.

“I love you,” she says hoarsely, speaking those words that are so sparsely exchanged between the four of you.

You stiffen, emotion of a different kind tightening your throat, and you nod faintly.

“I love you, too. Sleep well.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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#azriel x reader #azriel x reader angst #multi part fic #azriel x you #cbmthy #cbmthy chapter 18 #can’t bring myself to hate you

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godmadeaterribleerror · 4 days

Text

Chapter 18 - Something In The Static

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I’d like to dedicate this chapter to my friend who I finally got to watch the Boys and we’re talking about Soldier Boy and I have to pretend I’m not doing this and be very normal about the conversation.

Also for everyone who's gonna say “why is Ezekiel alive”, Butcher never went all tentacle tumor on us, and therefore Ezekiel is still very much alive. “Well how did Butcher survive their encounter” idk maybe he kissed Ezekiel and then just ran away.

Chapter Title from Not Strong Enough by boygenius

Word Count: 25.7k......

Chapter Summary/Warnings: The Believe Expo is underway, and everyone is dealing with a lot of emotions. Usual warnings, time two. We're looking at angst and smut and (minimal) fluff. Just a hodgepodge of everything.

Read on A03!

Chapter 17 - Chapter 19

Coconut might be the worst smell in the world. Not real coconut, but this fake, chemical coconut that was everywhere in Homelander’s apartment. Everywhere on Homelander. Too sweet and impossible to not think about. It burns your nose, and you’re starting to wonder if it’s some kind of poison cologne. Something designed to make him even harder to stand against, because you always have to use a hand to block the smell from your nose. You’d never smelled it in the white room, but Homelander always went through an airlock before he visited you. This is just him, all the time, and you’re choking on it.

He still hadn’t touched you. And they hadn’t locked you back down. You think that, between Noir’s sudden and heroic death very vaguely “defending our country” and the the CIA releasing a statement that you’re being held against your will by Vought—you’re surprised Mallory didn’t take the disavowing you entirely path, but here you are—Sage is too busy putting out fires to convince Homelander that you didn’t break that easy. That, after Noir II, you’d gotten back up. Revised your role, changing how you played it, and kept moving. You would not break, not like this, not where Homelander could see it. He didn’t fucking deserve to see you break, really break. He could think he’d gotten you to understand, but you would never allow him to see what you breaking really looked like.

You would break—really break, with screams and sobs and nails in your skin and not getting back up—when you got home. When you could cry into Ben’s chest, and he could keep your nails on his arm instead of your own. He’d pick you up. He’d pick you up in strong, safe arms and carry you to bed, holding you as long you asked him to. Everything would smell like pine and Ben, and you’d be able to break without the freezing cold making you glue yourself together. You’d just break.

But not now. Not yet.

Not when there was still work to do.

A-Train had found you a few days after Noir II, after the CIA had responded to your speech. An official statement from the director, co-signed by president Robert Singer, stating that Soldier Boy was indeed a CIA operative, that Vought had no jurisdiction to declare him a public enemy, and that the Anomaly was currently being tortured by Vought to comply with their agenda. They didn’t say the whole truth, because according to them you and Ben were co-workers—nothing more—and Homelander had been obsessed with you since you were both young supes but you’d turned him down numerous times. You wish they had just committed to it. Just told the world what Homelander was, what he’d done to you, but the truth did somehow sound more absurd. And right now wasn’t about the truth, it was about doing what needed to be done. You had to trust that Mallory was smart. That she knew what she was doing.

It would be really helpful if A-Train had a similar leniency.

“What are they doing?” He’d skidded to a stop in front of you again, in another too-fancy bathroom at another boring event.

You’d held up a single finger, taking a long, deep breath. You were curled up on the floor, under a hand-dryer that you kept pushing the button of to make the warm air blast onto your head. It was helpful, it made you feel a little more alive and was a lot more sustainable than constant vomiting.

A-Train had just kept talking, pacing in front of you. “Sage is really not happy, there’s no fucking way I can risk talking to MM now. That was not smart, that shit you did on TV. You know why Sage isn’t here? The Deep went to a fucking Panera last night without telling anyone and Sage is pulling camera footage to make sure he’s telling the truth. And Noir is dead-“

“Can you please shut up?” You’d muttered, tapping against your calves. “I know what I did. I knew there would be consequences. I’m willing to live with them.”

“Well, I’m not!” A-Train’s feet had stopped in front of you, and you’d reached up to hit the button again. Letting the hot air push on the top of your head, calming you as he continued. “This isn’t just about you, you’re not the only one who’s suffering-“

“I could say the same to you.”

“Come on-“

“I’m serious,” you’d looked up at him with a scowl as the wind above you stopped once more. “This is good. Ben can help them now, Annie has more fuel against Vought, and Butcher and Mallory will know how to work this.”

“Fine, but I’m not helping you at all if you keep this shit up,” A-Train had snapped your name. “I’ve got people, I can’t risk my nephews for this-“

“Okay.”

He’d blinked at you. “Okay? That’s it?”

“Yeah. Okay.” You’d shrugged. “I can’t make you help me. If you won’t, you won’t. I can handle this myself.”

“You’re really not going to lecture me about being a hero, or doing the right thing?”

You’d shaken your head, looking back down at the floor. “I don’t really have legs to stand on there. I got Noir II killed, I killed Firecracker, I’ve destroyed at least two buildings and gotten a lot of other, innocent people killed by proximity. I mean, fuck, I’m in love with Soldier Boy-“

You hadn’t meant to say that. It had fallen out of your mouth and you’d stuttered to a stop, but it was too late. When you looked back up at A-Train, his mouth was hanging open.

“You-“

“Please don’t tell anyone that,” you’d whispered. “I didn’t mean to tell you that, I’m just exhausted-“

“I’m not going to.” A-Train had still been frowning at you. “I mean, I don’t really care about your personal shit. Even if it’s being in love with Soldier Boy.” A-Train had frowned. “Isn’t he technically Homelander’s father?”

“Yeah,” you’d leaned your head back against the wall. “And I’m aware of how fucked up that is.”

A-Train had shrugged. “All of this is fucked. I don’t think you fucking Soldier Boy is any less fucked than anything else we’ve all done.”

“We’ve never actually fucked,” you’d mumbled, because you couldn’t stop now. In no world had you foreseen the I’m very in love with Ben and it’s all impossibly confusing and complicated conversation happening in a fancy bathroom with A-Train, but you had started it and now you were apparently incapable of stopping it. “I mean, we’ve done stuff. But not fucking.”

“Okay.” A-Train had frowned. “Why the fuck are you telling me that?”

“Because I’m lonely.” You’d looked up at him with a sad smile. “And you’re here.”

He’d nodded, then moved away. You’d thought he’d left, just pissed off because he didn’t want to deal with this. But he’d dropped against the wall across from you with a sigh, pulling off his visor to meet your eyes. “How long?”

You’d frowned at him. “How long?”

“Have you and Soldier Boy been not fucking.”

“February. But, uh,” you’d shaken your head. “I think I might have been in love with him before that.”

“Okay,” A-Train had nodded, and kept going. “Does Homelander-“

“He found out after the interview. Sage told him.”

“And your team-“

“I’m not sure. They know we’re close, and maybe some of them have figured out it’s more than that, but I’m really not sure.” You’d tilted your head at him. “Why are we talking about this?”

“I don’t exactly have a lot of friends either.” A-Train muttered. “I killed the only woman I’ve ever loved because Homelander told me to, Sage is a bitch, and the Deep is an idiot. Ashley’s fine, sometimes, but we don’t exactly talk about things that aren’t life or death.”

“Oh,” you’d nodded. “Okay.”

It had been silent for a second, both of you watching each other wearily.

“Does he know?”

You’d blinked. “Who?”

“Soldier Boy. Does he know you love him?”

“No,” your voice had cracked a little, a lump forming in your throat. “It’s complicated.”

“Does he love you?”

“No.”

A-Train had blinked at your answer. “You said that really fast.”

“He doesn’t,” you’d let out a long breath before continuing. “I’m okay with it. He just doesn’t and it’s fine.”

He’d looked like he’d wanted to keep pushing. You’re grateful he didn’t, because if you kept talking about Ben you might have started crying.

“I, uh,” A-Train had shaken his head, foot tapping on the floor. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a hero. Just, while we’re talking about fucked shit, I wanted to be a hero. A real hero. My brother said I could help people, and I really did believe him. And then I just, I got lost. It’s a shit ton harder to be a hero when it’s not just a word. When you actually have to back it up and nobody around you seems to care. Now it’s probably too fuckin late.”

“I don’t think it’s ever too late,” you’d watched him carefully, speaking slowly. “You can always change. Humans aren’t static. We’re always changing. It’s a strange kind of exceptionalism to think you’re immune to that. To think you’re special enough to not be capable of being better.”

A-Train had narrowed his eyes at you. “What are you talking about.”

“I dedicated my whole life before this to studying people,” you’d held his gaze, not wavering on your words. “And you realize pretty fast that concepts of good and bad are different across the world. It’s not something that’s fixed, because people aren’t fixed. We’re not born good or bad. We are who we are, who we’ll be, but we also make choices. I mean,” you’d shrugged. “You can keep doing good things, or bad things, or nothing at all. But you’re never incapable of doing something different. If you think you can’t, it’s because you think you’re too good to be better. But everyone is always capable of being better.”

“Like Soldier Boy?”

“Like Ben,” you’d whispered. “He’s better. And he’s good. Really good.”

“And you really love him?”

You’d swallowed. “Yeah. A lot.”

A-Train had nodded. “You think he’ll be waiting for you?”

“Yes.” You’d answered without hesitation. Ben may not love you, but he’d never leave you. If you knew one thing in all of this, it was that Ben would never leave you. “He will.”

“Then what?”

You’d frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

“When this is over. If you win,” A-Train had shrugged. “Then what?”

“I,” you’d shaken your head. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“You have to have a reason you’re still going,” A-Train had leaned forward slightly. “It can’t just be because you’re a fucking good person.”

“I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are.” A-Train had rolled his eyes. “You’re better than me, than all of us. Congratulations, you did it. You won the stupid contest.”

“I didn’t-”

He’d kept going, ignoring your protest. “But you have to have something you want. Everyone has something they want. That’s how this shit gets out of control.” He’d sighed. “You get promised the thing you want and never fully get it. Then it’s never enough.”

“I don’t have anything I want,” you’d mumbled. “Just for this to be over.”

“After that,” A-Train had snapped. “You’ve got to think of after. Otherwise you’ll just burn out.”

“Butcher-“

“Is a vengeance fueled asshole. That dude might not have an after. I want my family back. So does MM. Hughie and Annie probably want a peaceful, boring fucking life. Ashley wants a year at a spa. What do you want.”

You’d swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it. What did you want before?”

“To do something important,” you’d said softly, rubbing circles against your arms. “Have a job where I helped people, where I was respected in my field. Then go home to someone who loved me, who I’d built a life with. A life that was mine.”

“Then do that. When this is all finally fucking done, build a life.”

“I can’t,” you’d shaken your head, eyes blurred from tears. “I wanted to get married. I wanted a job. I wanted kids.” You choke slightly. “I don’t, I can’t be sure any of that is even possible anymore. Not after this.”

“You can do whatever you want.” A-Train’s voice had been sharp. “Don’t let all these assholes control you, change how you live your life. You can do all that, or none of it, but you do it.” He’d sighed. “Don’t let them make you lose people. Lose happiness. They don’t deserve to have that kind of control over you.”

“Thank you,” you’d smiled softly, and he’d shrugged.

“Sure.”

You’d given a dry laugh. “They really just fuck everything up, don’t they.”

“Fucking everything,” A-Train had nodded with a small smile that had fallen fast. “I still can’t help you. Not like you asked. My family-“

“It’s fine,” you’d met his eyes with a sigh. “I’ll find something else.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” you’d shrugged. “I can move things around, find another way. You can still help.” You’d given him a tight smile. “You can be better. But you should leave the bathroom. They might start looking for us soon.”

He’d nodded and stood, giving you one last look before leaving. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The air whooshed, and you were alone on the floor of the bathroom again.

We could go to Rome, Ben’s voice had hummed around you. When all this shit is over, we can always go to fucking Rome.

I’d love to go to Rome. You’d smiled into the empty air around you. I’d love anywhere, as long as you were there.

Because you love me.

Because I love you. You’d leaned back again, hitting the button above you one last time. Ben, really I love you. It’s kind of stupid how much I love you.

Are you ever actually going to fucking tell me that?

Maybe. You’d sighed. Maybe one day in a million years I’ll grow some balls and tell you.

What would you say?

It doesn’t matter.

Shut the fuck up. When you tell me you love me, which you will because you’re not a pussy, what are you going to say.

Benjamin.

Don’t Benjamin me, I’m fucking helping.

You’re not real.

So you can fucking tell me. If I’m not real it won’t goddamn matter.

The air turned off, and the bathroom had still been empty.

You’d started to hum. A simple love song, just so you could see his face. Look at him.

He was so fucking handsome. You'd almost started crying because he was right there, tall and broad and standing in front of you, grinning at you but not real. You couldn’t feel him, not really, because your sensory manipulation didn’t extend to emotion. So you could grab Fake Ben’s hand and feel his warm skin but not him. You couldn’t feel Ben, strong and resolved and everything. But you could smell pine, and feel his hand trace along your jaw. You could grab it and hold it there—let Fake Ben trace circles on your cheek with his thumb—and try to pretend it was real. Pretend it was enough.

I love you. Your words had to stay in your head, because if you stopped humming to talk aloud Fake Ben would disappear and you needed to keep looking at him. I love you like the ocean loves the moon and the sun loves the stars. I love you like the birds want to sing and the caterpillar longs to be a butterfly. I love you like the grass loves the rain and the lighting loves the thunder. Like the flower loves the bee and the snail loves its shell. I love you like you’re music I get to sing and light I get to eat. I love you like the spiderweb loves the spider and the grave loves the flowers. I love you like a mirror loves to shatter and the alter loves the blood. I love you like the devil loves fire and like god loves the devil. I love you, Ben. I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll love you until all the world is scattered across the sky and we’re both trapped in the spaces that remain between. I’ll love you until my voice is gone and my heart is only still beating because you’re holding it. I’ll love you until everything is burning away and it’s just you and me. If they find a way to kill us I’ll love you as a ghost and my skeleton will keep one hand on yours. I love you because all my bones and muscles fit in with your bones and muscles, and because my soul is mine but it’s stronger when it’s yours as well. I love you, Ben. I love you.

You’d cried. No sobs wracking your body, but small tears you couldn’t hold in. Tears you’d let Fake Ben wipe away before you’d had to let him go, and then wiped again yourself because they were real, and he hadn’t been. And you’d returned to Homelander, smiled through the party in a green velvet dress that didn’t fit and said words you didn’t mean. Let Homelander herd you wherever he wanted and kept your head together. Taken in even breaths of horrible coconut and smiled with no teeth at people with eyes like monsters. Looking at you like you were a prey that they couldn’t have because the apex predator had decided you were his.

You didn’t throw up that night. You’d stared into the dark, cold air and talked to the phantom of Ben trapped in your head.

And you’d sat in the fire. Not alight under your skin, but pulsing in a small, warm ember. Awake. Growing.

By the time you’re sat in the Seven’s meeting room, with all four remaining members and Ashley, it was stronger. Beginning to smoke along your veins.

“We’ll all be attending the Believe Expo tomorrow,” Sage’s arms are crossed as she glares around the table. “It’s important to appear as a unified front, and this is our primary base. Many non-christian supporters will be in attendance this year, as the association between Homelander and Christianity is becoming interchangeable in the public eye. Which also means we’re leaning away from actual biblical rhetoric, and into our own narrative. We can’t completely disavow the religious aspect, so we’ll have to walk a careful line between not alienating the new people and indoctrinating the old ones. Everyone will get their scripts tonight.”

The Deep raises his hand, and Sage rolls her eyes but nods for him to speak.

“Uh, aren’t they going to notice if a,” he frowns at Sage, looking her up and down. “Muslim is leading the Christ Show?”

“No, because I’m an atheist, dumbass.” Sage snaps. “And I can recite the bible from front to back. All you have to do is show up, do what I tell you, and not say you’re in love with an octopus again. Understood?”

The Deep looks at Homelander for an order to say yes or no, but Homelander’s not paying attention. He’s staring up at you, standing where he’d told you to. Silently at his side, like a statue he’d collected. When The Deep coughs, Homelander scoffs and waves a hand.

“Just do whatever the woman fucking tells you to.”

“Yes, sir.” The Deep nods, and then gives Sage a nervous look.

Homelander is still staring at you.

“Sage,” he says slowly. Not looking away. “I want to see her script.”

“I haven’t written her one,” Sage glares at you. “Anomaly will be on stage for your speech at the end of the program, and you’ll kiss her. That’s her role.”

Your nails dig into your wrist, both held behind your back. Breathe. You just have to breathe and get through this and not break. One kiss will not break you. One touch will not open the floodgates. You can’t scream or run because you’ll lose. You can breathe now and fall apart later.

Homelander says your name, and it makes your skin itch. “Is going to give a speech. The people need to care about her, especially with the CIA and Starlight spewing all those fucking lies about her. About us.

Sage shakes her head. “Homelander-“

He turns, shooting her a sharp glare. “I’m not fucking asking. Write her a speech.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Sage says cooly. “Not after-“

“I dealt with that,” Homelander’s voice raises slightly, and Sage falls silent. She doesn’t flinch, but she doesn’t keep pushing either. “I am telling you that you are going to write her a speech. You can either do it yourself, or I’ll have those fucking idiot writers do it for you.”

Sage’s eyes narrow, but she nods. “Fine.”

Homelander nods, looking back to you. “Sage?”

She sighs. “What.”

“Make it about love.” He smiles at you, and nothing has ever been harder than smiling back.

The first thing you learn about the Believe Expo—something that until two weeks ago you’d been pretty certain wasn’t a thing anymore—is that it’s loud. Everything is so loud. Homelander flies you there through the cold mist and wind of the morning before telling you to practice your speech and shooting back up into the sky. They’re only setting up—workers dressed in black adjusting lights and testing speakers that ring screeching feedback through the air—and it’s already too much. People are moving everywhere, marking spots on the stage floor and arranging seats and trying to get cloth covers to stay on the tables. You’re lost in how loud it is, and almost get run over by a man carrying a large box that spills out cables as it collides with you.

“Fuck!” You flinch at his shout, dropping down to help gather the wires scattered across the damp grass as he continues. “Goddamnit girl, we’re already behind schedule, I don’t have the fucking time-“

You look up at him to apologize, and he freezes. “I’m-“

“It’s fine,” he mumbles, almost pushing you away from the mess. “I’m sorry I yelled, ma’am. I promise there won’t be any delays for the event.”

You blink at him, rubbing his neck and refusing to meet your eyes, but before you can ask any questions someone taps on your shoulder and says your name.

“Thank fuck I found you, your trailer is ready.”

“My trailer?“ You turn to see Ashely, holding a clipboard and tapping her foot. Looking around at the stage work with a tense expression. “Ashley, I don’t-“

“I’ll show you where it is. And don’t clean that up, it’s not your job.”

“But-“

“You!” She points her pencil at a woman standing off the side, holding a coffee. “Clean this up, now.”

“Ma’am, I’m uh, I’m on break-“

“I don’t fucking care, clean it! And you-“ Ashley’s glare turns back to you, still crouched on the ground. “Let’s go.”

She grabs your arms and starts to pull you up, and something wraps around your throat and hands, trying to squeeze all the oxygen out of your body. Everything is sharp, too sharp, moving too fast and yet not fast enough.

You yank your arm away the moment you’re on your feet, half because you don’t think Ashley remembers you can feel her and half because that was completely unbearable. You follow her off the stage, waiting until you’re out of the crews’ earshot to quicken your pace, walking at her side and speaking in a low voice.

“You shouldn’t touch me, Ashley.”

“What?” She shoots you a quick glare. “Don’t be dramatic, I was just helping you stand up-“

“You touched me. Your hand touched my arm. I felt you.”

“So? It’s not like I-“

“Ashley.” You stop walking and wait for her to turn around. “I felt you.”

“What the fuck are-“ Her angry expression falls, her face goes pale “Oh, I, I forgot, fuck-“

“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. You just, uh, you shouldn’t touch me.”

“I didn’t mean to, I’m- shit! I-“

“I’m not mad,” you frown at her. “I’m just reminding you. Don’t touch me unless you’re okay with me feeling it.”

She nods tightly, hands pulling at her hair, and swallows before speaking. “Don’t tell Homelander I touched you. He doesn’t want us to touch you.”

You feel the cold bloom inside you again, but manage to push it down. Give Ashley a tight nod. “I won’t.”

“Can we go to the trailer now?” She looks down at the clipboard. “Fuck, we were supposed to be at the trailer five minutes ago-“

“Where is it?”

“Just over there, but-“

“I can find it.” You start to walk away, in the general direction Ashley had pointed, but she calls your name and you stop. “What-“

“We’re not supposed to leave you on your own.” She’s tugging at her hair still, looking between you and the clipboard. “I technically should’ve been there when Homelander dropped you off-“

“I’m not going to run away, Ashely.” You sigh. “Please, just go do whatever you need to.”

She looks like she might protest for a second, but looks back at the clipboard and gives a tight nod. “Okay. Go.“

“Great.” You start to turn again, but Ashley calls your name again.

“What-“

“Um, thanks.” She mutters, gives you a tense smile. “And please, don’t try to fucking escape-“

“I won’t. I can’t.” You turn, and finally manage to get away before Ashley can see the anguish on your face.

You could escape, Sunshine. Ben’s voice carries on the wind. Or I could come fucking get you.

We’ve had this conversation. You can’t come get me, they’ll put you back under.

I don’t give a shit. You should be home. With me.

I know, but I can’t. Not yet.

You fucking should, though. This is some insane, cum guzzling bullshit. And you are not fucking kissing Homelander.

I’m not exactly thrilled about it either, Benjamin.

Not for me, brat. Because he’s a fucking pussy who shouldn’t be allowed within a million miles of you.

You have to stop your internal fight with Ben’s voice, because you reach the trailer and are immediately surrounded by people doing your hair and makeup, shoving Sage’s script into your hands for you to memorize. There will be a teleprompter, because Sage isn’t an idiot who thinks the Deep will remember anything for more than fifteen minutes—let alone a whole script from the time he’s in his trailer to four hours later when he’s on stage—but you still want to read it. To know what’s coming.

It’s what you expected in its entirety. A lot of propaganda. A lot of lies. A lot of anecdotes that never happened and some musings about love that sound like a sociopath wrote them. I love Homelander because he completes me. I see us in every great romance in history. He is the thing that gets me up in the morning.

You can hear the crowd outside now. People start to filter into the venue, more and more in larger and larger waves until the trailer feels as if it’s shaking.

But you manage to keep it together. To keep reading as your finger taps on the chair and a blonde woman you’ve never seen before—and will likely never see again—pins your hair tight against your head and applies chemicals that would probably burn your scalp if you didn’t heal in that same second.

I want to start a family with him. Lead the best life we can together.

You put the script down, and once your hair and makeup team is gone you scramble to the trash can and empty the bile of your stomach until you can breathe.

You just have to get through this. You just have to keep moving.

They’d put you back in the supe costume. It’s better fitted than last time, but still just hideous. Uncomfortable and impractical and ugly. It feels wrong on your body, not just because it’s showing too much skin and the lace is scratching at your skin but because it’s not you. Supe costumes in general are dumb, because it’s not an outfit on a person, it’s a label on a product. Ben’s lucky he has a stupid handsome face that makes him attractive in everything or you’d have made fun of him ruthlessly about his own.

You still fucking did that. You said I looked like a Christmas tree that’s been sent to war on the draft.

And I’ve have said more if I didn’t want to climb that tree and let it fuck me.

You called me an R rated G.I. Joe Doll.

You are an R rate G.I. Joe Doll, Pretty Boy. I was being accurate and poetic.

Brat.

Cunt.

You take a long breath, and grab the script again. Just get through this. You’ll break later, but right now you have to get through this.

I’m excited to lead a great life with Homelander, for our love story to be remembered as one from a fairytale. Because he is my prince, my white knight who saved me from the dark. Homelander you’re my soulmate-

Soulmate my fucking blue balls. Ben’s voice mutters in your head, and you can almost see his scowl. The pussy doesn’t even like you.

Soulmates aren’t real, Ben.

Still, you’re not his damn soulmate.

Well, I’m not yours. Or anyones. Because soulmates aren’t real.

But you love me.

I do. That doesn’t mean we’re soulmates. You don’t even love me, Benjamin. Something hurts deep, deep inside you and against your skull. I think soulmates, if they were real, which they aren’t, are both supposed to love each other.

Inside your chest, something pounds and beats against your lungs and ribs. Something powerful and bloody and desperate. The slight blur of the world vanishes—you hadn’t even noticed it before—and everything is clear and warm and angry.

Why are you so fucking sure I don’t love you?

What?

You keep telling me I don’t love you. What makes you so damn positive?

You don’t.

I do.

You blink into the empty trailer. No, you don’t.

I fucking do. The thing inside you rages, and you’re not sure if it’s yours or not. You’re not touching anybody, and it doesn’t feel foreign or out of place inside you. But you’ve never felt something like this. It’s focused and pious and entirely made of something monstrous that you can’t name. It’s not dangerous, nothing about it feels dangerous—it reminds you of Ben, and he’d never hurt you—but it’s still the most intensely starved and insatiable feeling you’ve ever experienced.

No, even in your head your voice is slow and confused. You don’t.

You’re not the fucking boss of me.

I am literally the fucking boss of you. I am the government-appointed boss of you.

I think they stripped that title from you when they realized we didn’t exactly have an appropriate boss-employee relationship, Sunshine.

Fuck you.

You did, that was the problem.

You watch too much porn, Pretty Boy. I’m not a boss fucking her secretary and causing a scandal.

I wasn’t your fucking secretary.

Good thing, too. You’d have been terrible at it. I’d have asked you to check my calendar and you’d have destroyed the computer.

You wouldn’t have been too mad about it. I’d have fucked your brains out on the desk and you’d have forgiven me.

I would not have forgiven you. Computers are expensive.

Then I’d buy you a damn new one, then fucked your brains out. And then you’d have forgiven me. Because I’d have told you I love you, and you’d have cum all over my cock, and you’d forgive me.

You think your heart stops for a second, restarting with the jolt of that strange feeling in your chest. In your head your voice is breathless. Ben, please stop saying that.

No.

You don’t love me-

I fucking do.

No, you don’t. This feels like a strange hill for you to die on, convincing the phantom voice in your head of the man you love that he doesn’t love you back. But you press on. Stop saying that you do. It’s mean.

Why the hell is it mean. Saying that I love you is the opposite of damn mean-

Because I really, really, love you! And it’s mean to lie to me and try and convince me that Real Ben might love me!

The thing roars inside you. What-

The door to the trailer opens, and Ashley walks in without warning, eyes glued to her phone. The thing in you flares, and then it’s gone.

“You’re on,” she looks up, giving you a once over before her eyes land on the abandoned script at your feet. “Did you read it?”

You kind of read it. You didn’t finish it, but you’ve got the gist, so you nod.

“Good,” Ashley looks back to her phone. “Are you ready?”

You nod again, pulling yourself up from the floor, and are about to walk out the door when Ashley holds out an arm to block your path. You almost run into it, and you both flinch back, Ashley nearly dropping her phone.

“You need to wear your disguise,” she says quickly, pulling her arms back. “People will swarm you.”

The prep-team had left you a large hoodie with Homelander’s smiling face printed across it, a Vought baseball cap, and black sunglasses. You glance in the mirror after you change, and you look like an idiot. You feel like an idiot. If this all wasn’t so dangerous and precarious, it would be plain stupid.

But, because the universe is strange and uncaring, this is incredibly important. You have to wear Homelander’s face on your body, because you can’t protest or it will blow everything. You have to wear a stupid baseball cap—which is going to ruin your stupid hair—because people can’t see your face. It’s the same reason you put on the sunglasses that pinch your nose, and make yourself follow Ashley out into the densely packed crowd. You don’t have another choice.

There are too many people. The first thing you realize is that there are far too many people, and you’re going through them. They’re bumping your arms and legs, brushing against your skin in accidental passing, and it’s going to make you explode. Everything is too bright and loud and everything is like a live wire. Everyone is so excited, and all you’re getting is fleeting passes of their overzealous, stabbing feelings before being plunged right back into your own cold fear. Spreading faster, not fully overtaking the fire but making it grow dim. Pushing it further away.

By the time you’re dropped off in a small tent—A-Train and the Deep playing cards at a fold-out table, Sage and Homelander nowhere to be found—your blood is rushing through your body and ramming against your throat and ears. Trying to escape your body. You almost immediately collapse into a chair, trying to take long breaths and think about happy things.

Music. The music playing over the loudspeakers is deafening. Off-rhythm gospel music that’s like nails digging into your brain.

City lights. There isn’t any life or joy in the light around you. The sun is behind the clouds, and the flood lights are hidden in a mist that makes the whole world just gray.

Ben. Ben isn’t here. With you. And all you can do is miss him.

Something claws at your heart, but you can’t spare the time or energy to feel it. It’s loud and tight, almost impossible to ignore, but you manage to just close your eyes and try to find something happy. Try to make something happy. A-Train and the Deep are fighting in the background. It’s so loud, and you’re growing cold again. You can’t see anything but the gray, can’t feel anything but a metal chair below you and the fog around you, and can’t hear anything that’s not angry or frantic.

Fresh air. The air is fresh and smells like rain. You haven’t smelled fresh air in months, and it’s all just clean and easy. Sharp and bright in your lungs, made of the wetlands around you. Mud and pine and grass, stronger than the cold sweat of the crowd. Fresh air.

You take one last, long, deep breath. You’re not at peace, but this isn’t about peace. It’s about the world being in focus, and being able to just keep going.

“Hey,” The Deep says your name, and you just stare at him. “We haven’t really talked yet. I’m Deep.”

You nod. “I know.”

“Right, of course you do. I mean, you can call me Kevin-“ He extends his hand for you to shake, and A-Train whacks it back. “Bro-“

“We’re not supposed to touch her, dumbass.” A-Train’s not looking at you. He hasn’t looked at you since you sat down. “And she’s not going to call you Kevin. Fucking nobody calls you Kevin.”

“My friends all call me Kevin,” the Deep looks back to you with a wide, white-toothed smile. “I mean, me and Homelander are real tight-“

“No, you’re not.”

“He likes me more-“

“Homelander doesn’t give a shit about you,” A-Train rolls his eyes. “It’s your turn. Play or give up.”

The Deep gives you one last look like he’s going to say something, but turns back around to their game.

It’s another ten or so minutes before Ashley returns—this time with both the clipboard and her phone—and you have to move. Interviews. Photo ops. Saying all the right words in the right tone with the right body language for the microphones and cameras.

It’s so loud. The walk—even through a barricaded area—is full of screaming people leaning over metal blockades and the bass of the music, running into your bones. Ashley is recapping Sage’s talking points—The Deep isn’t allowed to talk about marine animals, A-Train needs to talk about gospel and unity, and you shouldn’t speak at all—As the Deep shakes his body out, practicing his smile and introduction and A-Train still doesn’t look at you.

The powerful thing returns, as you’re back in the open. It’s still violent and alert, strange but not out of place, and it feels like Ben. It’s just Ben, indescribably Ben. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was him, because you know him. You know all of him, all his anger and care and vengeful warmth. You know how he is, how his heart pounds and his will moves everything around him, how everything in him is strong like this is.

It fades when you're pulled into another tent. Not fully dying out, but growing dull. Far away.

You’re sat next to A-Train—who just stares ahead into the air and lets them start to mic him—with a reminder not to talk. If you’re asked questions, Sage will answer them for you. You just have to sit there, be pretty, and smile. No matter what happens, what’s being said around you, keep smiling.

Sage doesn’t show up. There’s a seat saved for her, with her name taped to it and water bottle under it, but she never arrives and Ashley makes everyone keep going. A well dressed woman sits across from you, the cameras turn on, the show begins.

Smile. Don’t talk and smile. Ashley reminds every journalist to greet you and look at you casually but never actually speak to you. They just give you a few smiles and glances, and only two or three actually meet your eyes. Most end up going through the motions and trying to pretend you’re not there.

You don’t blame them. You’re doing the same. For what feels like eternity you’re sat in a chair—just another prop to the set—and as your face starts to hurt from smiling you stop paying attention. You put energy into trying to find the source of the odd feeling still making a home in your chest, but it’s stubborn. You try and pull it up to the surface and it doesn’t budge, you try and poke it and it just hums.

It’s exactly like Ben.

After all I fucking do for you.

His voice is back. It always comes back. It doesn’t make the thing in you rear and push like it had before, but it’s still everywhere. Humming lowly in the mic feedback and where your foot is tapping the floor.

Go away. I’m busy.

His laugh haunts the spaces of silence between the voices around you. I’m not fucking real, Sunshine. I can’t go away. I’m a part of you.

You’re an annoying part of me. Piss off, Pretty Boy. I’m trying to figure something out.

Figure what out?

Shut up.

Fuck me backwards for trying to help you.

This isn’t something you can help with, Ben.

Try me.

Fine, you try not to sigh aloud. I can feel something. Something I’m not sure I should be feeling.

What, like horny? Are you horny? Do you miss me and you’re horny?

No, you fucking dumb dumb. Like an emotion that I can’t understand.

Well I can’t fucking help with that shit.

I know. That’s why I told you to go away.

Whatever. You love me.

I do.

The thing responds to that. It roars and starts to claw up your spine, grabbing your heart with firm but gentle hands and trying to pull it around in your body.

What the fucking shit was that?

I don’t know. Shut up, I need to test something. Ben, I love you.

It’s going to kill you. This strange thing inside you is going to rip you to shreds, but before you can test anything further, the interviews are at an end and Ashley is ushering everyone away, dragging you around the venue to take photos. You’re handed countless crosses and bibles to hold up for the camera to see, as if people might not have been previously aware of them. The Deep and A-Train shake hands and pose with fans, you’re put in front of lambs and goats and a very unsettling marble statue of Homelander that’s still somehow warmer than the real one.

The thing is still there. It keeps growing and waning and spreading and pulling back. As you move through the convention it grows wrathful and deafening, and you can’t figure out what it is. It’s not you. You’re certain it’s not you. You’d been pretty sure before, but now you’re certain. It doesn’t feel wrong, it doesn’t feel out of place, but it’s not you. You’re not consuming like this, you’re not… Parasitic is the wrong word, you decide, because it’s inherently negative. Nothing about this thing is negative. It’s big and demanding and so loud, but it’s almost comfortable. Full of want and content and focused attention. Made of something rough that’s been dedicated to whatever feeds it.

You just can’t figure out what it wants. It’s hungry, it’s full of such a familiar, Ben-like hunger, but nothing seems to satisfy it. You repeat the words, Ben. Ben, I love you, several times, and it always takes them, but it never grows fully quiet. If anything it’s like offering it salt-water. It pours it down deep, and then grows more demanding.

If you had more time you’d find somewhere quiet to figure out what the hell is going on. But the sun is starting to fall down, and Ashley is herding you to the backstage area. Ranting about speeches and last minute adjustments and don’t fuck up and-

It’s just a flash. You only see it for a second, moving beyond the barricade through the crowd, but you still see it.

Black hair. Long, wavy black hair attached to a short woman.

Lots of people have black hair. You’ve seen at least twenty women with black hair in the past three hours alone. But you still stop in your path and crane your neck up. Trying to see over the crowd, deeper into the fray.

You see the hair again. And, this time, the side-profile of the woman it’s attached to. Hooded eyes with eyeliner and a focused determination on her face.

“Holy shit.”

Your whisper is only heard by the Deep, who turns to you with a frown. “I thought Sage told us not to swear-“

“Ashley!” Your voice is almost a shriek, loud and frantic. “I need to go to the bathroom now!”

“Hold it,” Ashley says your name without looking up from her phone, continuing to move towards the stage. “We’re on a really fucking tight schedule.”

“Ashley!” You move to grab her, stop her, make her listen and she flinches back with wide eyes.

“I-“

“I got my period,” you say bluntly. “And, uh, I’m wearing a skirt-“

She sigh. “Fine, but be fast-“

“I will! Super fast!” You run ahead, into the porta potties dropped near all the stage equipment for the crew. They smell awful, and you probably should’ve chosen a spot that’s meant to hold more than one person, but you’re here now. Now is not the time to second guess anything.

You wait, just long enough that you start to wonder if A-Train hadn’t heard you or didn’t understand, and wasn’t coming.

Then the air whooshes, and he’s crammed next to you as the door slams. “What the fuck was that about-“

“They’re here,” you don’t wait for him to fully gain his footing in the small space before you speak, and ignore his rush of stress and annoyance when your bodies brush. There’s not enough time. “They’re all here.”

“Wh-“

“Butcher,” you hiss. “MM and Frenchie and Kimiko. Probably Hughie, probably not Annie.” And Ben. Ben is here.

“Are you sure-“

“Yes.”

“Well, why the fuck are they here-“

“I don’t know!”

“Would you stop fucking interrupting-”

“No!” You’re running your hand over your face, trying to make your brain move faster. To do something productive, and stop just chanting Ben. Ben, I love you. Ben, you’re here and I can see you and touch you and I love you, Ben, I love you- “I need to think.”

“Think?” A-Train glares at you. “We need to fucking run, those idiot are always blowing everything-“

“Shut up,” you snap. “This is a chance. They’re here for a reason. They’re probably planning something-“

“Something stupid-“

“Shut up!” You’re almost shouting. There’s no time for this, you need to figure out what they’re doing here and adjust, you need to find out how to keep Homelander and Sage—wherever the hell they are—away from them, you need to see Ben. You need to find Ben, now. A-Train is still glaring at you, and your fire isn’t strong enough yet—not here, where the cold is crawling through you once more—so you need a plan.

You look A-Train up and down, he’s trying to pace in a space where you’re both pressed against the wall to not touch each other, and you’ve got it.

“You’re leaving.”

A-Train freezes, frowning at you. “What?”

“You’re going to go with them. When they leave, you’re going to go with them,” you nod to yourself as you speak. “You’re done with the Seven, you’re going with them.”

“Are you crazy?! Or stupid?!” A-Train gapes at you. “I have a tracker, they might not even take me, and my family will still be in danger-“

“I’ll burn out your tracker, they will take you, and…” You trail, trying to find your way around A-Train’s family. He’s right, Vought knows who they are. They won’t just let him go quietly and bloodlessly, not when he’d be turning to their enemy. But this has to work-

“If you can’t tell me how my family will be fine, there’s not a chance in hell-“

“You’ll die.”

“What?!”

“You’re going to die,” you say the words firmly. No room for error, no room for wavering. “They’re going to ‘kill you’,” you make exaggerated air quotes. “And you’re going to ‘die’.”

A-Train frowns at your hands. “What are those, what are you talking about-“

“You’re not really going to die,” you snap. No time. “We’re going to fake your death. They’ll make it look like they killed you and everybody wins.”

“How does everybody win there?” A-Train’s rolling on the balls of his feet, still glowering at you. “They’ll just twist it, Starlighters are murderers-“

“Exactly,” you have an almost maniacal grin on your face. “But the Seven will just have lost its second member in as many weeks. Not a great look for the whole supe supremacy narrative if their best and brightest are dropping like flies. It’s bad for everybody, and that’s why everyone wins.”

A-Train shakes his head. “What about my family? How do they win?”

“If you’re dead, if we do this right and Sage doesn’t suspect a thing, then they’ll be honored for your service and left in peace. But we have to do this right.”

“I don’t-“

“A-Train,” you hiss. “This is the something. This is the better, and this is what I’m asking of you. You’re going to leave with them, you’re going to help them. You don’t have to like it, but this is it.”

“How will I be able to help,” he protests, still pushing and there’s no time. “I mean, if I’m fucking ‘dead’-”

“You have insider knowledge of the tower. You have insider knowledge of Vought, and Homelander, and Sage. You can help them, you just have to go.”

“What about you?”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re not going to leave? Run away with them into the sunset?”

You can hear the words A-Train won’t say. You can see them on his face and hear them echo in your head. Leave with Ben. Run away with Ben and be safe and let him care for you until this is just another nightmare.

“I mean, you can’t just keep-“

“I’m going to stay.” You mutter, hating the words on your tongue. They taste bitter and foul, like sour coconut. “I have to stay.”

“That’s-“

“Not up for debate.” You cross your arms, holding A-Train’s glare. “I have to see this through. They’re here for a reason, and once I know what, I can work it into my plan.”

“You’re still doing a plan?” You don’t love the disbelief in A-Train’s voice. “There’s no fucking way you can keep this up-“

“I don’t have to keep it up.” You snap. “I just have to get through it. I’m staying, you’re going, that’s that.”

A-Train pauses, and you can almost hear his brain trying to find a way to disagree. But you’ve done this well, and he lets out a long, heavy, angry sigh. “What do you need me to do.”

“Thank you,” you give him a half-smile. “I’m going to find them. I’ll tell Ashley I just need to sit down, because I’m getting cramps or something, and I’ll go find them.” Find Ben. “Find out what they’re doing, why they’re here. I need you to find Ezekiel.”

“Ezekiel?” A-Train frowns. “I haven’t seen that guy all day-“

“He’s here. This is his event, he’s on the program. You’re going to find him, and trick him into walking into them.”

“Trick him? How am I-“

“Tell him they’re here. Tell him they’re looking for new members of the Seven and killing Butcher is a surefire way to get a foot in the door. Tell him Hughie’s here, he hates Hughie. Just get him to fight them. Preferably away from the crowd, but not until Homelander’s speech.” Your fingers are tapping against your arm, making changes to the plan as you speak. “Ezekiel can’t just go alone, he’ll mess up the plan, so you have to make him wait. After you talk to him, say you’re going to find where they are, so you can fight them together, and come find me. I’ll burn out your tracker, you’ll bring Ezekiel to fight them, make it loud, and ‘die’. My team will take care of getting you out, hopefully they’ll kill Ezekiel on the way, and I’ll know what I need to do on my end.”

“For your plan.”

“For my plan.”

A-Train shakes his head. “Are you going to tell me your plan?”

“No. All you have to do is die.”

“Fuck.” He takes off his visors, meeting your eyes fully. “You think this will work?”

No room for error, no room for doubt. “It has to.”

He nods slowly. “Where am I going to find you?”

Wherever Ben is. “You might have to look. I’m not sure yet.”

“You’ll burn out my tracker?”

“As soon as you find me.”

“And my family-“

“Will be fine.” You give him a close-lipped, tight smile. “Promise. Just find Ezekiel.”

“Fine.” A-Train put his visors back on. “See you on the other side.”

He’s gone in a rush of wind, and you’re alone in the porta potty. Just you, the horrible smell of shit, and that thing in your chest.

Ben. It is him. He’s here, and you can feel him. It’s something you’ll have to retcon later, why you can feel him, what this feeling actually is, but right now Ben is here. And you have to find him.

You find Ashley first, and tell her you’re throwing up from period cramps in quick, blunt words.

“Can’t you just hold it?” She begs, and you give her a flat look.

“Ashley, do you think Sage will be angrier if I rest in the bathroom but do my speech without a hitch, or if I throw up on live TV?”

She shakes her head, running her hands through her hair. “Fuck! First A-Train’s fucking gone, now you-“

“He was freaking out about something,” you shrug. “Wouldn’t tell me what, but I think he’s just calming down.” You make a fake retching sound, and Ashley’s face twists. “Can I please-“

“Just go!”

“Thank you!” You make yourself double over slightly, make your words strained. “I’ll be back-“

“I don’t fucking care, just be fast!”

Ashley turns away, and you’re gone. Find Ben. You have to find Ben. This place is massive, and you can’t just push your way through the crowd—not again, not if you want to keep going—but nothing is more important right now than finding Ben.

Where would you be, you fucking ass. Where would Ben be at the Believe Expo.

He’d hate all of this. He’d hate the abstinence only sex education—the fuck do they have against a good time—he’d hate the pandering and holier-than-thou attitudes—these pussies aren’t better than me just because they read a goddamn book—and he’d despise all the morality. All the haughty faces and watered-down language and fake smiles. He’d hate all of this, there wouldn’t be a corner of it he’d enjoy, so you have no fucking clue where you’ll find him.

You can’t just wander and hope you run into him. You don’t have the time to spare just trying to bump into him. But you need to find him. He’s here and you have to see him. Half because of your plan with A-Train, half because you fucking miss him. You miss him so much, and he’s here, and you can’t just not see him. Not touch him. He’s here and you need him and you love him-

That thing in your chest rolls around. It’s pulling you forward, and you don’t think twice before you let it. And you know. You know where he’d be. You’d find him anywhere, and you know where he’d be.

Taking a piss. In the VIP bathrooms, because he has no regard or respect for venue restrictions. He’d need to go to the bathroom, and would not care to use the dogshit porta potties—especially not with his sense of smell being so strong—so he’d just walk right into the VIP bathrooms. No one would stop him, because he’s Ben and he looks right everywhere. Even if he’s in disguise, he still walks and talks like there’s not a place in the world he doesn’t belong.

There are two VIP bathroom trailers. One is near the trailers, and one is across the venue. You should check both, but he’s in the further one. You just know, he’s in the further one. He’d have been staying on the outskirts of the event, and would be in the further one. So you take a long, grounding breath, steal a black Believe Expo Staff hoodie and cap, and move. Trying to run without people noticing, because there’s no time to just walk. He’s there, you know he’s there, so you have to go.

Of the three bathrooms in the trailer, two are locked. And one is Ben. There’s no way to explain how you know, but one is Ben. It’s the center one, and he’s in there, and you have to wait.

You can’t wait out in the open. If a staff member sees you they’ll either make you go “back to work” or recognize you and tell Ashley or Sage that you’re here. So you look around, make sure no one’s watching, and rush into the spare, empty bathroom. Lean against the counter and wait.

Ben. Ben is here. He’s one door down and now you have to just be patient. You’ll see him soon.

It’s the longest four minutes of your life. You hate this stupid, amazing man, taking impossibly long pisses and making you love him and not just leaving the bathroom. He must not feel you here, not like you can feel him, because he’d be breaking the door down.

That’s another thing to be confused about later. How this thing works. Right now the trailer is rumbling slightly, because someone just flushed a toilet, and you can just hear a door opening and closing over the noise of the crowd.

Ben.

You open your door, and there he is. He’s turned away from you, and wearing a baseball cap that covers his hair, but it’s him. You’d be able to recognize him blind and underwater, and that’s Ben. Tall and broad and walking in rough steps with his hands fisted at his side. Away from you.

“Ben,” you hiss his name, but he doesn’t turn around. “Benjamin.”

His steps stutter, but he keeps moving. Getting further and further away.

“Ben!” Your words are still said in a hushed voice, through your teeth, but you’re almost shouting. “I know you can fucking hear me, you cunt.”

He stops, but still doesn’t turn. Hands curling tighter, knuckles becoming white.

“Benjamin, if you don’t turn around right fucking now-“

You see his body heave from a sigh, hear a low and frustrated sound, and he turns around with a scowl.

He’s so fucking handsome. His face is tired and angry, half obscured by his hat, but he’s still everything. And when he sees you, glaring at him with all the anger you can muster when he’s right there, his mouth falls open and that strange feeling—his feeling—roars.

The shock across his features doesn’t even last a second before he’s moving. Sprinting across the grass with no regard for secrecy or not drawing attention. Sprinting to you. He’s here.

You don’t have time to take a step back before he’s crashing into you, picking you up and slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t kiss you. You’d thought he’d kiss you, but he just raises you off the ground in the most bone-crushing hug you’ve ever experienced. And you can feel him. You can feel the warmth of his body, the care with which he’s touching you—hands roaming you like he’s not sure you’re real and is trying to check—and the strength of him. Really him. Here and touching you and smelling like pine and gunpowder and full of desperation. He’s so tired—you can feel it in your bones—and he’s trying to pull you closer and closer into him, in a way that would be painful if it wasn’t him. If he wasn’t still holding you like you were holy, like you were just a cloud that might dissipate in his hands if he didn’t stop it with firm hands and adoring touches.

“You’re real,” his voice is soft and hoarse in your ear, and something in you breaks. He sounds exhausted. “You’re fucking real.”

“Ben-“

He kisses you then. Drops one hand below your thighs and hauls you further up his body, swallowing your words. Swallowing you. It’s just you and Ben, and he’s here. He’s real and touching you like he always has and, just for now, you’re safe. You’re safe in his arms, keeping you steadily off the ground, and getting drunk on him. On his hands kneading your skin and cupping your face, on his mouth against yours. Hungry, always hungry, pushing into you brutally. Trying to take all your breath and give you his. Tongue tracing your teeth and pushing down your throat, sucking and biting your lips and groaning into your open mouth. You take it all. Your hands grab at his hair, push his cap to the floor so you can touch him, and lean as far into him as you can without being him. He’s here. He’s here and you love him and he’s everything. You’re letting him consume you, touch you as much as he wants, because you missed him. Because he’s real, and anything he can give you is enough. If he tries to take your heart, reach into your chest and rip it out, you’ll do it for him and feed it to him. If he bites your neck you hope it will, for once, leave a mark. If he gives you any part of him, you’ll dig a hole in your body and keep it there. Anything to feel him forever, anything to never stop feeling this. Feeling Ben.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only because you can feel the pounding of his heart under your hands. Only because he’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling in an uneven pattern, and you’re doing the same. You feel a little dizzy, but you want to keep going. You want to touch him until you pass out and he can take him home. Or to Rome, or Hawaii, or fucking Ohio or Texas or California or anywhere where he’s there and you’re together. Where you can feel like this forever, and it’s just you and Ben. Happy. Where he can always set you down this carefully against the counter, and keep his forehead pressed to yours as you both just hold each other. Where you can close your eyes and fall into him and always trust he’ll catch you.

He mumbles your name, lips brushing yours as he speaks, and you can’t stop the small sound leaving your throat. A strangled noise of Ben. Ben, I love you. I missed you and I love you and I’m sorry.

You’re crying. You don’t even realize it until you feel his thumb against your cheek, wiping your tears away, and that makes you cry more.

“Ben,” you’re whispering. You don’t trust your voice to do anything else. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.” He mutters. “You’re real.”

You huff a soft, weak laugh. “I’m real.”

He nods against you, and when you open your eyes he’s still there. Watching you, always watching you. Looking at you so reverently, and that thing is stronger than you’d ever felt it when he’s touching you. He’s wrapping around you, he’s everywhere around you, full of care and affection and something small and bright that’s resting at the base of his throat. His whole body relaxed and washed with relief. You love him. You love him so much.

“Hi,” you smile at him, and it’s real. It’s sad and you’re still crying, but Ben is here and nothing can stop you from smiling at him. Just for now, just in this moment, you can smile at Ben and get to mean it. “Can you kiss me again?”

Ben chuckles, and it’s a sound from deep in his body that moves into yours. He does as you ask, and this time he’s gentle. Not pushing for more, just kissing you until you sigh and hum against his mouth. Letting both of you just savor it, sit in the feeling of comfort and each other.

When Ben pulls back he draws up slightly, studying your face, tracing it under one hand as the other holds you at your waist. “Are you-“

“I’m okay.”

He doesn’t believe you. Ben frowns and his eyes narrow, and you know he doesn’t believe you. He trusts you, you can feel it, but you can also feel that concrete resolve around you both and you know that Ben isn’t going to just drop it.

“Don’t-“

“I’m not lying,” you move your hands up from his chest, resting them on his shoulders. “I’m okay.”

“I don’t think you’re lying,” he mutters, scanning over your body. “I know you think you’re okay. You always think you’re okay.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“You always say you’re okay, and you’re not.” Your eyes meet again, and there’s something painful in Ben’s. You can feel that pain in his body, but when it reaches his eyes it’s somehow worse. It makes him look sad. “You always fucking think you’re fine, and you believe it, but you’re goddamn not.”

“I-“

“Just,” he sighs, squeezing your hips and running a thumb over your cheekbone. “Tell me the truth. Not what you think is the fucking truth, the factual truth. Are you okay?”

You don’t answer. You try to answer, but words choke in your throat and suddenly you’re crying. Not soft tears like before, full sobs that shake your body and make you fall into Ben’s chest. He catches you, holds you against him until you can breathe again. He lets you wrap your arms around his torso and traces familiar patterns on your skin, resting his chin on your head and humming so fucking terribly. So off-key and out of tune you almost don’t recognize the song.

When you do, you pull back and frown at him, blinking away your tears. “Rainbow Connection?”

“Shut up.”

“When did you-“

“Don’t fucking change the topic.“

“Ben,” you move one hand up to rest against his chest, and he holds it. Pulls it up to his mouth and kisses your palm, and your heart flutters through all its sore fatigue. “I’m okay. I’m really okay. I’m exhausted, but I’m okay.”

“Homelander-“

“Hasn’t touched me,” you whisper. “Not like that.”

Ben doesn’t stop glaring at you. “Swear it.”

“Promise. No lies.” You smile at him again. “Would be a weird fucking thing to lie about anyway.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You’re wasting time. You have so little time to find out what the Boys are doing here, why they’ve decided being here is worth such a massive risk, but when Ben kisses you again you don’t really care. It’s just him, big and warm and safe.

Real.

When he leans back, you’re not crying anymore. You think you’ve just tired yourself out, or that your body knows there will be time to cry later. Right now Ben is here, and that’s all that matters.

“Are we going to talk about Rainbow Connection?” You smile at him because you can. As long as Ben is here, you’ll always smile at him. “Did you watch the Muppets again?”

Something flashes under his skin. Sore and hot, embarrassment. That’s his embarrassment. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You did-“

He kisses you again. He won’t stop kissing you, and you’ve never been less annoyed about anything in your life. Today he’s allowed to kiss you to shut you up. Anything that keeps him here longer, anything you can take and hold in the weeks to come.

Anything that makes you more certain he’s real. That this isn’t a cruel trick of your brain, and any second you’re going to wake up in a cold room that smells like coconut with Homelander across the mattress.

But he is. Ben is here and real and you can feel it. A dream wouldn’t feel powerful like this, wouldn’t have all the protection of Ben running through your body, wouldn’t have this strange feeling of something pushing from Ben into you when he holds you.

“You can gloat about it later,” he grunts against you, before standing up to his full height, looking down at you. “We need to fucking go.”

You sigh. You’d known this was coming, and you’re honestly surprised it took this long. “We’re not going anywhere, Ben.”

“The goddamn fucking hell we’re not-“

“I have to stay here.” Your voice isn’t loud, or firm. It’s soft and shaking and tired, because you’re exhausted. Because every ounce of will and strength in your body is being used for this. For telling Ben you can’t just go, that he has to leave you here and you’re both going to have to find a way to live with that. “You know I have to stay here.”

“You don’t have to do a single fucking thing but go,” he’s not yelling. His voice is rising and his words are sharp but he’s not yelling. “You’re not safe here, we need to fucking go-“

“I can’t.” You reach up, holding his face between your hands and trying not to shatter when he raises his own to keep you there. “I can’t go, not until I see this through.”

“Yes, you can! You fucking can!” His voice is loud, but Ben’s still not yelling. You’ve heard him yell, and it’s commanding. Ben’s yell demands attention, demands compliance. This is angry and loud but he’s pleading, and it’s worse. He knows you’re not leaving with him, deep down, so Ben is begging you to change your mind. It’s making you hurt, making all your bones and organs shutter and snap, and it’s horrible. All of this is horrible. “All you fucking have to do is go-“

“Ben-“

“You’re not fucking safe, I’m not going to goddamn leave you-“

“You’re not leaving me,” you smile at him, and your heart is starting to fold in on itself. “This isn’t leaving me.”

“Yes, it fucking is-“

“I’m telling you you’re going to have to go without me. Not now,” your words become quick, slightly panicked, because if Ben leaves now you’ll collapse and not get back up. “But when it’s time. When you go, you’re going without me.”

“I’ll pick you up and fucking carry you out,” he snaps, and you sigh.

“I’ll scream.”

“Then I’ll fucking cover your mouth.”

“I’ll bite your hand.”

“And I won’t goddamn feel it.”

“Then I’ll take off your stupid hat and people will see you.” You shake your head, and try to be a little more numb. Try to pretend this isn’t killing you, that you can’t feel it killing him. “I want to come home Ben, I really want to. But I can’t. You know that.”

“There’s not a fucking chance in hell I’m letting you stay here-“

“Ben,” you whisper. “You don’t let me do anything. I’m staying here, but you’re not leaving me.”

“I fucking am,” he’s furious, you can feel it coursing through you, but it’s like poison. It’s raging and turning every part of Ben against himself, making your heart start to wither for him. For how he’s doing this to himself. “If I fucking go without you, I’ll be fucking failing you again. I’m not fucking failing you again-“

“Benjamin-“

“I’m not! I’m never failing you again, I’m never leaving you again, I’m never fucking losing you again-“

You pull his head down, and he freezes. Ben lets you hold his head against your shoulder, and when you start to run a hand through his hair he falls onto you. Just holds you like you’re going to try and escape, buries his face in your neck like he can climb in you and stay there.

“I can’t fucking lose you again,” he mumbles your name against your skin, and your heart grows weaker. “I just fucking can’t.”

“You didn’t lose me.” You say softly. “You didn’t fail me, or leave me, and you’ll never lose me.” Ben. Ben, I love you. “I’ll come back. I’ll always find my way back to you.”

“You shouldn’t fucking have to,” he pulls back, and his face is so sad. You’ve never seen Ben sad, where his face is just slack and tired and clouded. He’s still angry, but his wrath is made of despair. Low and sunken and almost sick. That thing in him—in you—feels ill. “I can’t fucking stay here with you, I can’t protect you-“

“I’m okay,” you lean forwards, and Ben meets you. Heads pressed together, his arms still around your body and your hands still in his hair. “I’m going to be okay.”

“You’re fucking not-“

“I will,” you whisper, and it’s not just Ben you’re trying to convince. “I’ll be okay. You don’t need to protect me from this, Ben. I’m okay.”

“Please,” he mutters your name, and your heart finally breaks. Pulls itself in two at how low and desperate and hopeless Ben’s voice is. “Please, just come home. Just fucking come home.”

“I can’t,” you’re crying again, and these tears are slow. Soundlessly falling from you, the only part of yourself that’s allowed to just mourn this. You’re not going home. Ben hasn’t failed you, he could never fail you, you love him and he’d never leave you or fail you or lose you, but you’re not going home. “We both know I can’t.”

“I don’t fucking know shit-“

“I’m aware,” you smile dryly. “But I still can’t come home.”

“You can,” his protests aren’t loud anymore. He’s just grasping at straws, trying to find one thing that will make you give up and go. “We’ll just fucking walk away, go to Rome-“

“Not until this is over. Not until Homelander’s dead.”

“He will be,” Ben’s hands squeeze on your hips. “The team has a way to kill him, and they can fucking do it themselves-“

Your eyes widen. “They found a way?”

“I fucking found a way, they barely did shit-“

“Benjamin,” you pull back, and everything is urgent again. “How do you kill Homelander.”

“V. But-“

“V?”

“Compound fucking V. Puts him down for the count, makes him a damn coma patient.” Ben says your name. “But they can do that themselves, we can go-“

“How do you know?”

“We found a file in his lab-“

“His lab?”

“The fucking Homelander lab, where they used my cum to make him grow-“

“That’s fucking disgusting-“

“Shut the fuck up, you love my cum-“

Now is not the time to let that turn you on. Keep going, no getting sidetracked trading easy, sparring words with him or thinking about his cum. “Ben, are you sure this will work?“

“I’m fucking positive, the lab nerds were real clear that even one shot of V throws off his whole body and turns the pussy into a vegetable.”

“Won’t you still need to blast him with the special sauce?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “They can make their own goddamn special sauce. Pump Homelander full of V, find their own fucking way to take him out forever. Drop a nuke on him, I don’t give a fuck. We-”

“That’s why you’re here.” Your brain spins, sorting and matching every piece of this together. “Samaritan’s embrace was a V front, and you’re looking for some.”

“We’re fucking finding some, and killing Homelander, so you can go-“

“You won’t.” You pull Ben face forwards, forcing his words to die in his throat, making him listen. “Ben, you’re not going to find any V here.”

He frowns, momentarily distracted from lightly tugging at your skin and pleading for you to leave. “What the fuck are you talking about. Butcher said-“

“Butcher was wrong,” you shake your head. “I mean, he might have been right last week, maybe even this morning, but if there was V here it’s gone now.”

“Why-“

“Sage said she was dealing with a Homelander mistake last week. She must have been talking about the lab, about how you were able to get in and poke around. And nobody’s seen her or Homelander or Ezekiel all day. Whatever V was left, they’ve gotten rid of it.”

Ben scowls. “So we can just find more-“

“Sage won’t leave more.” You tap your fingers against Ben’s jaw, trying to focus and not think about how he’s stilled himself completely to let you talk yourself through this. “She won’t get rid of it, not all of it, it’s too valuable, but she’ll hide it. Any supplies that might be accessible to anyone that could be hypothetically compromised will be destroyed or relocated. She won’t tell anyone, won’t leave any records. It’ll be as good as gone.”

Ben hums, and you see his question in the knit of his brows. Well how are we supposed to fucking get our hands on it?

“I’m not sure,” you mutter, frowning. Scanning Ben’s face like you might find the answer in it, and not stopping when you don’t because you just want to look at him. “I’d bet on Homelander, he and Sage don’t really trust each other, not enough for him to let her just bulldoze any plans or intentions he might have with remaining V. But it’s not a safe bet, Homelander’s never a safe bet.” You feel something tight and bitter in his chest, and sigh. “I’m okay, Ben.”

He rolls his eyes, still not moving under your hands. I didn’t fucking say shit.

“Yeah, but you thought it.”

What are you, a fucking mind reader?

“With you?” You smile at him, and it’s so easy. Even when you’re talking about killing Homelander, it’s still easy to smile at Ben. “I might as well be.”

Smartass.

“Fuck you.”

He grins. Not in public, Sunshine.

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up. And we’ll just have to ask A-Train when he gets back.” You sigh. “I can’t think of anything else that might work.”

Your fingers have stilled on Ben’s face—now just playing with the hair of his beard—and he takes it as a sign to speak. “A-Train?”

“The fast one.”

“Why the fuck are we waiting for him?”

“He’s defecting,” you shrug. “He’s leaving with you today, you’re going to have to fake his death by the way-“

“Fucking Fast-Man is coming home, but not you?” Ben’s glaring at you, saying your name in a deep, annoyed voice. “I am not fucking trading you-“

“You’re not trading me, Benjamin.” You hold his glare. “I’ll come home soon, just not now. And A-Train is going to help you. He helped me.”

“How the fuck has he helped you?” Ben grumbles. “He hasn’t gotten you out-“

“Nobody’s gotten me out, because I’m waiting. I have a plan-“

Ben scoffs, but that strange feeling in him pulses with warmth. “Of course you have a plan.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You always have a damn plan, Sunshine.” He glowers at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not have a fucking plan.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And how is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not,” Ben mutters. “But I just fucking wish you would share your plans. With me. Let me goddamn help.”

All the annoyance in you vaporizes in just how much you love him. How much you love Ben, how no matter what he’s there. He trusts you, he knows you, and he’s there for you all the time. He’ll groan and bitch about everything but he’ll still be there. He’ll try and fight your battles for you, roll his eyes and be a grump when you don’t let him, and stay at your side until you’ve won. He’ll be there to do what you need him to and then hold you like this—with so much rough care—even when he’s pissed. He won’t leave. He’ll never leave, not really. And you love him.

“It has to play out naturally,” you say, gently. Smiling so that his scowl starts to waver. “If I tell you what to do it might not work as well. I’ll come home soon, you just have to let me do this my way. Please.”

Ben lets out a long, labored sigh that makes his chest rumble, makes your whole body fall into his. “Fine. Fucking fine.”

“Thank you.”

He just grunts, and you pull his face back yours. Kiss him long and soft. Never looking for more, just trying to touch him. Just trying to have him while you can, before A-Train finds you and tells you this has to be over. You don’t ever want this to be over, you only want to kiss Ben like you have all the time in the world. Like every moment in this bathroom isn’t being borrowed and running out fast.

You almost tell him. Right here, in a Believe Expo bathroom with Ben cupping your jaw and looking down at you with affection as his arm cages you to his chest, you almost say it. Ben. Ben, I love you. You’re going to have to let me stay here, but please know that I love you. Please, please wait for me and don’t hate me because I love you. I’m trying to make myself okay with keeping it together and leaving you to go home alone, but I’m so close to breaking. Please just tell me to damn the consequences, damn the world, and bring me home. Or to Rome, or to the farthest corner of the world, but with you. Please pick me up and take me with you because I love you and I can’t keep this up much longer. I’m okay, I’m really okay, but I’m so close to falling apart. I love you, fuck everything else because I love you and I want to go home.

You’re crying again. They’re not singular, lonesome and tragic tears or shaking screams and sobs of hollow and empty. They’re small, wet gasps as you try to fight the words down. Try to stop yourself from ruining everything just because you can’t do this. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want Ben to go, and he has to go, but it’s going to be the most painful thing in the world. Even if you know you’ll be home soon.

He mutters your name, deep and firm, and now you’re crying more. You love him. “What-“

You kiss him. You grab his shirt and yank him down and just kiss him. You can’t tell him you love him, not like this. Not when you can’t hold him all night and wake up next to him in the morning. Not now, when you have to stay here. But you’re going to tell him, you recognize that impossible to quell instinct of Ben. Ben, I love you, pushing up your throat and you only know one way to stop it. Ben, kissing him and touching him and turning those words into just sounds. Into moans and whines that he won’t understand. So you just pull Ben into you, and hope he’ll do the rest.

He does. He’ll always do this for you. His hands will always find a firm, natural hold on your body and his mouth will always fit perfectly against yours. He’ll always fill with hunger and adoration, and give you everything he can until you’re—at least for now—whole again. He’ll always make all that noise, all that loud, angry pain in your head that’s trying to find a why, why is this so unfair that you have to stay here and Ben can’t stay with you, why won’t the world give you one thing, just one thing that you don’t have to rage to keep, and why does time have to keep moving when this day is going that have to end without Ben at your side, and he’ll make it go away. Ben will always make all the sounds and rushing thoughts in your head slow until it’s just him. Just Ben. Ben, I love you. He’ll make the whole world only Ben, rubbing circles on your skin and pulling you impossibly closer, pressing his tongue to your lips in a silent question, and taking everything you give him.

You want to give him everything. Only opening your mouth for him to move deeper into you—to suck and bite and taste—and leaning into him so your hands are scraping at his neck, so his groans run through your body and down into you, isn’t enough. Making high, needy sounds that Ben swallows isn’t enough, grinding half against his torso and half onto the counter isn’t enough, because it doesn’t tell him. It doesn’t show him that you’ve missed him and you want him and need him and love him. Everything you can’t say, not now, you still need him to feel. He can’t feel you like you feel him, can’t understand without words how important he is to you. He can’t feel your love, not like you can feel that thing in him rumbling somewhere sacred in his chest. Bouncing off his ribcage and hungry and wanting for carnage. Wanting you, desperate for you in a bloody and wrathful way that tells you Ben cares. He might not love you, but he’s missed you. That even if he’s furious he’ll have to go without you, it's still about you. You and Ben together, right now, having each other.

He has to have all of you. He has to have every part of you that you don’t need to see this through, so he can protect those instead. So he can keep some sort of knowledge that walking away from him—even if it’s temporary, which it is, because nothing is permanent except you and Ben so you will always find a way back to him—is impossible. It’s going to keep you up for many nights, haunt all your dreams until he’s there to hold you like this again. You have to, you can’t see another way out of this that doesn’t end in the world destroyed and Homelander the king of whatever remains, but it’s killing you. Ben needs to understand that this is killing you, that you’ve never wanted or loved anything like you need him. And the only way to show him is to give him all of you.

“Ben,” you gasp against his mouth, and it drops to leave sloppy kisses down your jaw and neck. Letting you speak but not making it easy. Not when he’s pulling skin gently between his teeth and running his hand up your back. “Please.”

“Please?” He hums, moving back up to look at you fully. Hands still kneading at your thigh and wrapping around your body. “What-“

“Fuck me.” You lean forward, trying to pull him back down. He can’t be away from you, not for a second, not now when he’s going to have to go so soon. “Please, fuck me.”

His eyes widen, and even as the hunger roars inside him Ben frowns. “Here?”

You nod desperately. “Please-“

“Sunshine,” his hold on you has become like iron, and you can feel the enormity of his want, feel his hardened cock pushing into your thigh, but he’s shaking his head. “I am not fucking you for the first time in a goddamn bathroom.”

“Ben-“

“I said I wanted to take time,” Ben leaned down, holding your gaze. His eyes are darkened, and you can feel him. Everywhere you can feel Ben, in your body and around you and running between your bodies where the boundary of Ben or you doesn’t matter anymore. “And I fucking meant it. I am not fucking you when I can’t take a goddamn week off to do it, when there’s not even a fucking bed.”

“Please, I just want-“

“I know what you want,” he growls your name, and you whine. “And fucking believe me, I want it as well. The only thing I want more than to fuck you stupid is to bring you the hell home. But,” he shakes his head, and presses a kiss to your brow, grunting the words against your skin. “You’re a stubborn fucking brat who doesn’t listen, so I’m not taking you home. And there’s not a fucking chance in hell I’m fucking you for the first time in a bathroom at a fucking Christ Convention.”

You sigh, falling further into him. He’s right, which is annoying because he’s always so smug about when he’s right, but he’s right. Ben can’t fuck you, not here, not now. You can’t tell him you love him, you can’t go home with him, but you also can’t fucking him at the Christ Convention.

Ben pulls back, watching you with silent eyes that are trying to dissect you. You love when he watches you like this, like he can see you, and you hope he never stops. You hope when you close your eyes tonight, alone in a cold room, you’ll still have the image of him watching you.

You offer him a small smile. “How are you enjoying the Christ Convention?”

“It’s fucking stupid,” he mutters. “Dumbest shit I’ve ever seen. Bunch of high and mighty pussies who think they know everything. Butcher said they do this every year,” he shakes his head like that’s an impossible thought. “Wouldn’t have fucking let that slide in my day.”

You hum. “I mean, evangelical Christianity was definitely a thing in the 80s. And 70s. And 60s. Mass media just inflates connection and audience.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Every year is still goddamn insane. The man has been dead for thousands of goddamn years, there’s nothing fucking new to say.”

You laugh, burying your head in his shoulder. His arms hold you there, safe and comfortable against him, and it takes a lot out of you not to cry again. To just mumble against his skin, “I see you haven’t killed Butcher yet.”

“Yet.” He grunts. “Fucking asshole’s on goddamn thin ice. Borrowed time.”

You smile. “Well, I’m proud of you anyway.”

His arms tense around you, and that thing glows. Somewhere in that carefully tended and protected part of Ben where it lives, it starts to feel ardent and light. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you closer, but you feel it. Glowing inside him.

“Has anything changed,” you don’t move from speaking against him, because Ben will hear you anywhere. “Since I’ve been…”

You can’t finish that sentence. You can’t say that word. And Ben knows, because he doesn’t make you. “No.”

“Nothing?”

“We haven’t exactly been fucking team building and circle jerking, Sunshine,” he drawls, and you still smile. You missed him. “We’ve got goddamn jobs to do.”

“And you haven’t killed anyone? Even when they’re being idiot pussies?”

He snorts. “They’ve managed not to deserve it yet.”

“Deserve it?”

“They’re listening to you.”

You lean back, and frown at him. “To me?”

“When you tell us to trust you,” he grunts. “When you go on TV.”

Something you hadn’t fully realized was there loosens around your throat. “You’ve seen me? You’ve gotten it?”

“Of course I’ve fucking seen you,” Ben mutters, and his glare is more indigent than anything else. “Green for me to listen. To make sure I know you’re still fucking you.”

You smile, and it’s all teeth and a little bit of joy. He’s seen you, and he’s been paying attention, and he understands. “Good.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to do green, I’ll listen no matter fucking what.”

“It’s a signal-“

“I don’t need a fucking signal to know you’re okay,” he snaps your name. “I can see it on your face. When your little fucking act drops and you look like you. I need to know when you’re not okay. When I have to come get you.”

“Ben-“

“I won’t,” he holds your eyes, voice firm. “I won’t come get you until you say. I’ll go along with your stupid fucking secret plan, but I need a way to know if you need me. If it’s gone to shit and you need me.”

You sigh. He needs this. Ben is doing the impossible thing you’re asking of him and only demanding one thing in return. You couldn’t say no if you wanted to. “Blue.” You squeeze his bicep, and give him another smile. “If I need you, which I won’t,” Ben glares at you, but you keep going. “I’ll wear blue. And you can come get me.”

You’ll never wear blue again. If Ashley or Sage or Homelander try to put you in blue, you’ll spill food or coffee all over the outfit or just fucking burn it. But��likely even when you go home—you’ll never wear blue again. You’ll never wear blue or smell coconut without throwing up, you won’t drink a milkshake for a long time, and you’ll hate the winter forever. You’ll have to stay where it’s warm, you’ll have to keep Ben with you so he can block chilling winds and hold you against him like this. In a way that makes everything hot, makes your blood rush in a way that’s just you and him together. You’ll do anything to keep Ben with you when this is over. You’ll offer him this comfort that there’s a signal to tell him you need him—even if you’ll always need him, regardless of Homelander or Vought or any plan or mission—and whatever else he asks for so he’ll wait for you and hold you when you return.

“Blue,” he repeats, nodding slowly. “Swear it.”

“Promise.” You search his eyes, and try not to cry when you can see just how tired he is. “Thank you.”

“Don’t-“

“Benjamin.” You shake your head, and lean back into him. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“I haven’t done a fucking thing-“

“You’re here.” You whisper. “You’re going to let me do what I need to do, and you’re waiting. That’s all you have to do, but it still fucking sucks, so thank you.” I love you.

Ben scoffs. “I thought I didn’t let you do anything.”

You huff a soft, sad laugh. “But I’m going to thank you anyway.” You look back up at him and smile. Wide and bittersweet, but still real. This is still real. “Thank you.”

He watches you for a second, and that thing in him is glowing again. Glowing and burning. Hungry.

Then he’s on his knees. Ben’s hands move to hold your thighs, and he falls to his knees between your legs, smirking up at you. Eyes still tired and body still washed in distant pain, but the hunger overtaking all of it. The devotion is spreading over all of him, climbing into you.

“Ben-“

“I am not fucking you here,” he winks up at you, and you don’t think your heart is working anymore. It’s gone into overdrive and it’s going to explode. “But I can still make you feel fucking good.”

Your eyes widen, and you feel heat rush into your face. You feel heat rush everywhere. “Okay.”

“Say it,” he grunts, and you know what he wants. You always know what he wants.

“Please,” you grab his face, running your fingers back into his hair. “Please, Ben.”

“More.”

“I want you,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to stay stable otherwise. Not when one of Ben’s hands is drawing closer to your center, hovering right over your underwear. “Ben, I want you, please-“

His thumb presses right over your clit, and your words turn into a long moan. “All you fucking have to do is ask, beautiful.” He grins up at you. “Say my name and ask.”

“Ben-“

“Whole thing.”

“Benjamin, please-“

He stands up, crashing his mouth against yours as his hand moves under your panties, teasing you gently. Rubbing his thumb lightly while he slides his fingers between you, but never in. Groaning into your mouth when he feels how wet you’ve become, how much you want him.

“Fucking needy, Sunshine.” He mutters, pulling his hand away, taking your underwear with him and dropping it on the floor. “So fucking needy.”

You only moan, trying to grind into him enough that he’ll just come back, and he pulls his mouth away, grinning down at you. He looks so handsome, with dark eyes and full lips that were just on you and why can’t he just come back-

His fingers—the ones that had just been touching you—raise into his mouth, and you almost fall off the counter. Almost jump him when he makes a low, satisfied sound and watches you with a cocky smirk. How you’re wrecked and he’s not even touching you anymore.

“Please-“

He pulls his fingers out his mouth and grabs your face, yanking it up to him. His hand in your hair, your taste is in his mouth, his body so strong and warm and Ben and he’s everything-

“Fucking good,” he mutters against your lips, and you whimper. “You’re so fucking good.” He says your name, and you think you might just cum from that. The impossibly good sound of your name from Ben’s mouth, in his deep and powerful voice.

“Ben,” your words are just breath, but you know he understands, because he grunts and his hands that’s moved under your thigh squeezes you. “Please. More, please-“

He’s gone again, moving you back down to the counter and returning to his knees. You almost whine again, almost make a desperate sound that was probably supposed to be come back, but then he’s everywhere. His hands hook under your knees, and he tugs you forwards. Right into his mouth.

He’s done this once. It made you scream his name and see stars, but this is better. He’s learning, you realize, because he’s already doing everything he needs to do to bring you up to the edge. After just one time he’d somehow memorized every single thing that made you melt, and now he’s on a mission.

He moves one hand to knead and bruise your thigh around him, while using the other to brace against your abdomen, keeping you still as he works.

His tongue is there first. Licking you once until he brushes your clit, flicking it once, feeling your thighs tighten around him, and chuckling as he does it again.

“You fucking like that?” He mutters, and you just moan and try to roll your hips against his face.

He laughs and does it again, lighter this time, so feather like and teasing you until you whine. Until it’s too much and you’re aching before he flattens his tongue against you and hums, running it down, up, down, and into you. Ben pushing his tongue into you, and starts to fuck you with him mouth.

His teeth are brushing against you when he pushes in, letting out a growl when you clench around him that makes his nose bump your clit. You make a strangled sound and he finds a rhythm. His tongue doesn’t stop moving, twisting and fucking you as he squeezes the skin of your thigh, then rises for just enough to nip at your clit and sooth it with a kiss before dropping back down.

Ben won’t let you cum. He knows exactly when that line is and he’s taunting you with it, grunting into you as you start to shake above him, as you tug at his hair or moan his name. He goes faster, eating you like he’s been starved until you start to tremble, and then he slows down, running his tongue between your pussy and clit, never fully touching either. Starting it all over the moment your breathing becomes steady.

“Ben,” you whisper, and he looks up at you with so much devotion and affection it almost makes you fall apart just from him. From how relaxed he looks, between your legs. How his eyes are hungry and lustful and full of light. For you. “Please.”

He hums against you, and you shiver as the sound runs up your spine. “More?”

“Please.”

“You want me?”

“I need you.”

He smirks up at you. “You need me, Sunshine? Need me to make you fucking cum?”

“Yes,” you breathe out as his hand moves from your thigh, tracing circles around you and over you but never pushing in. “Ben, please. I need you, please-“

Two broad, rough fingers push into you and your words dissolve into a moan. Ben pumps them once, and once more when you squeeze around him. “Like that? You fucking need me to do that?”

“Ben-“

“So fucking tight,” he mutters, gaze dropping down to watch you clench around him when he moves again. “You’re so fucking tight, beautiful, it’s gonna fucking kill me.”

You can’t speak anymore, not when he moves in and out again, and again, and again. Setting a brutal, demanding pace that has you unable to think outside of Ben. Rough, strong fingers inside of you that are Ben’s and making you feel so good.

“No smart words from that pretty fucking mouth?” he hums your name, and you whine.

“Ben-“

“There’s one.” He winks at you, and you melt further into him. Try to use your leg to pull him closer. “Let’s see if we can make you scream it.”

He drops back down and bites your clit. It’s gentle and light, but Ben bites you and you have to move a hand to cover your mouth so you don’t scream his name. You’re trying to grind onto his face, his fingering still fucking you without relent or relief, and you need him to keep going. To bite you or lick you or do something to bring you over the edge. But his arm is keeping you so torturously still, you can only grip his hair and throw your head back as he goes and goes and goes and you’re full of him. He’s in you and on you, his tongue tracing taunting circles around your clit, and it’s all Ben.

Then he kisses you. He leaves one, painfully soft kiss against your clit as his fingers still deep inside you, and you’re so close.

“Ben-“

You feel him grin against you, and he crooks his fingers in you against that one spot as he pulls your clit into his mouth. He sucks on it and groans, and that’s it. Everything is Ben, flicking his tongue against you with a growl and scissoring his fingers to give friction inside you, and you have to bite your hand as you cum. As everything grows loose and good, the whole world becomes both so big and wide but it’s still just Ben. It’s still just Ben in all the warmth and pleasure, making you feel like you’re made of stardust and more important than the sun as he keeps going through your orgasm until you’re shaking. Until you’re trying to pull him back up because you need to see him. You need him to kiss you again because you love him, and this is going to be over so soon and you just need to see him. Show Ben that he’s done this, that every part of you is his and nothing else has ever mattered like this matters.

You almost damn it. He’s pulled you apart and put you back together, still going, and now you have to tell him. Ben has to know, he has to know you love him. It’s so impossibly crucial that Ben understands you love him. You say it, you say Ben, I love you, but he’s done his job too well and all that comes out is a breathless, wanting sound. Every part of your body, of your mind and soul tries to say it as well. Ben. Ben, I love you. Ben, I love you. Please understand, please try and feel how much I love you and tell me you understand. But he's still going, even as your thighs start to crush his head, and all you get is a roar. That thing inside him roars, and moves to fully rest in you. You don’t understand it, you’re not even sure Ben understands it, but it’s sitting in you now just as much as him, and it’s the most natural thing you’ve ever felt. It hums when you repeat the words in your head, when you think Ben. Ben, I love you, and pray he’ll somehow hear it, somehow see it on your face when he’s still between your legs. He doesn’t, but that thing always makes another low, happy sound and that can be enough. Everything is light and high, and this strange thing that lives in Ben but feels like it’s yours can be enough.

Ben, after what might have been a thousand years, stands up. He’s staring at you—still slightly shaking and flushed, words still a little far away—and the look in his eyes is reverent. His face is covered in you and his beard is wet but he’s not moving to wipe it away. He just kisses you, one last long time, and mutters your name against your lips.

“You’re perfect,” his voice is low and wanting, and you shutter against him. Feel his hard cock twitch against you. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

In the grand scheme of things, it’s probably a good thing A-Train finds you when he does. Because if you’d been left alone with Ben for about three more seconds the part of you that’s been begging you to just go, go home with Ben and the rest of the world can figure out how to deal with this themselves, just tell Ben you love him and go, would’ve won.

That doesn’t mean you can’t be annoyed when the room is rushed with cold air and A-Train slams the door behind him.

Ben’s faster than you—in all fairness he didn’t just have an earth-shattering orgasm and you’re at a disadvantage—and turns to block your body from view, roaring at A-Train.

“What the fucking hell-“

“Calm down, asshole.” Peaking over Ben’s shoulder you can see that A-Train’s facing the wall, back to you both. “This isn’t something I want to see. I’m just doing my job.”

“Get fuck out-“

You reach around Ben’s head and cover his mouth with a hand, staying behind him as you lean over his body to address A-Train. “Are we ready?”

A-Train nods. “Ezekiel’s waiting for me, I told him I’d find where your team is then come get him.”

“Okay,” you sigh, trying to focus on running through your mental checklist when you can still feel Ben, when your legs have wrapped themselves around his torso. “I’ll burn out your tracker, and we’ll get going.”

Ben licks your hand, and it surprises you enough to pull back.

“Benjamin, what the hell-“

“Does anyone want to fucking tell me what’s going on?” He snaps, glaring at you over his shoulder. “Or am I supposed to just goddamn stay in the dark?”

“I did tell you,” you kick his thigh slightly. “A-Train’s defecting, you’re going to kill him-“

“Don’t actually kill me,” A-Train cuts in, still facing away from you. “I’m not doing this if this dick is going to actually kill me.”

“He’s knows that-“

Ben shrugs. “I don’t know shit.”

You pinch him, shooting him a flat look. You’re being unhelpful. Shut up and get me decent.

He rolls his eyes, and ducks down to pick your discarded underwear off the floor. You keep speaking as he helps you into them, allowing yourself to sit slightly in the feeling of him touching you, hands running up your legs and arms holding you still.

“They won’t kill you, A-Train. Ben, promise you won’t kill him.”

“Whatever.”

“Benjamin.”

“Fine, I won’t fucking kill him.”

You glare at him. “Promise.”

“I swear I won’t kill him.” He glares at you, drawing back up to his full height. “Happy?”

You smile at him. “Very.” And it’s not even a lie. “A-Train, you can look.”

Ben steps to the side—you have to shove him slightly, but he does—and A-Train turns around slowly.

“My tracker?”

You nod, pushing off the counter and crossing the bathroom. “This might take a second.”

Ben follows you, standing behind you silently as you raise your hand over A-Train’s extended arm and close your eyes. This will work, this has to work. Ben’s right here, and he’s warm, and right now you’re not afraid, so this will work.

It takes a few minutes of slow breathing and focus, but you drag just enough up fire. You can do this.

You glance at A-Train once. “This might really hurt.”

“Just do it-“

The flame forms in the palm of your hand and your eyes narrow. Concentrating it into something like a needle and pushing it into A-Train’s arm. He flinches, face twisting, but doesn’t pull away as you work. Smoke fills the room, all three of you watching the beam of fire twist and scorch A-Train’s skin, burning it with the tracker. Ben’s shoulder nudges yours and you pause, looking up at him.

“What?”

“It’s gone,” he grunts. “I heard it, it’s fried.”

A-Train frowns. “You sure?”

“Fucking positive.”

“Then,” A-Train looks back at you. “We’re good?”

You glance at Ben, who gives you a tight nod. “I guess.”

A-Train looks between you and Ben again, but rests his arm back at his side. “Is he going to tell your team-“

“I’ve got it fucking handled,” Ben snaps. “Pretend to kill you, bring you back. Find another way to get V.”

“V?”

Your eyes widen. You’d almost forgotten. “Fuck, wait. A-Train where did you find Ezekiel?”

“He was backstage,” he shrugs. “Most of that time was spent convincing him, he’s annoying as hell-” He frowns at you, cutting himself off. “Why?”

“We need some V,” you sigh. “But if he was backstage that means they finished cleaning up. There won’t be any left, not here.”

“Why do you need V?” A-Train shakes his head. “That shit is horrible for you, it almost fucking killed me-“

“It knocks Homelander out. We need it to kill him.” You look at Ben, and find him watching you carefully. “You’re going to need to tell Butcher what I told you. You’re not going to find V any way you might have before.”

Ben scowls. “Well then how the fuck-“

“Homelander,” you swallow down the lump and bile in your throat. “He’s the only bet we have. He had to have kept some-“

“He keeps some in his apartment,” A-Train interjects, and you turn to see him frowning at you, hands on his hips. “I saw it, even took some for Hughie. It’s in a box.”

“I’ve never seen it-“

“He might have moved it when you arrived,” A-Train shrugs. “But he has some.”

You nod, chewing on your tongue, and feel Ben’s arms wrap around you. Pulling you back into his chest.

“You don’t have to fucking get it.” He mutters. “We’ll find another way-“

You sigh, and tilt your head back to look up at him. “There’s not always another way, Ben. We have to get through this, not around it.”

He glares at you. Come home. Just fucking come home.

I can’t. You stand on your toes, leaning further into him, and give him a gentle smile. You have to go, and I can’t come with you.

His body tenses around you, and he makes a deep, pained sound from his chest. I fucking hate this. This is fucking stupid and I fucking hate it.

I know. You squeeze his arm around you and force yourself not to cry. You can’t cry now, because you won’t stop and this will never work. I know you do. But I’ll see you again. Soon.

Fucking swear it. Swear you’ll come home.

I promise.

He nods, and turns you around. Kisses you again, and you know this is the last one for a while. He’s not pushing into you or trying to get more, he’s just trying to memorize you and you’re doing the same to him. You already knew all of Ben—and he knows all of you—but you need to have it leave a mark that you can carry when he goes. You need to still remember in a week, still feel how his muscles move around you like he’s still holding you, have his taste remain on your tongue when he’s not there pushing it into you, smell pine and gunpowder and Ben over the coconut. You’ll certainly have how he sounds—you’ll never lose how Ben sounds because his phantom will stay with you—but you want all of it. You need all of it if you’re going to keep going.

A-Train coughs, and Ben pulls away with one last, gentle movement.

“We have to get moving,” when you turn, A-Train isn’t looking at you, but frowning at Ben. “Homelander will be back real soon, for his speech.”

Homelander’s speech. Your speech. You have to go do your speech. “Okay.”

You have to force every step as you pull away from Ben’s body. He doesn’t let you go, not fully, allowing you to turn before dropping his head down to yours.

“Come home.” It’s final. He’s still asking, even when he knows the answer, one final time.

“Soon,” you whisper. “You’re not losing me, Ben. You just have to wait for me.”

“I’ll always fucking wait for you.” He grunts, and your heart isn’t going to recover from this. Not for a long time. “I’ll wait a million goddamn years, as long as you always fucking come home.”

“Always.” You mumble, and he nods. “Thank you.”

“You burn, I burn,” his breath fans against your face, and you can feel that thing in him start to riot. Claw up your lungs—Ben’s lungs—and throat. Furious and loud.

So you just make a small, sad sound because you’re out of tears and sobs and sighs and smiles. “You burn, I burn.” You look up, and meet his eyes. “Can you do me a favor, Ben?”

He just grunts, and you know he understands. You’re not asking, you’re cashing one of your last favors in. But it’s not for you.

“Don’t be a dick to Ryan, please.”

Ben blinks at you. “What?”

“Ryan Butcher.” You watch him carefully. “Don’t be an ass to him. He’s just a kid.”

“I haven’t been a fucking ass-“

“Yes, you have.” You trace a hand along his beard, resting it at the base of his neck. “I know you, Ben. You might not be being an ass on purpose, but you’re blaming him for this. He’s just a kid, it’s not his fault. None of this is his fault.”

“You’re only here-“

“Because of Homelander,” you shake your head against his. “Not because you lost me, or failed me. Not because of Ryan or even Butcher. Because of Homelander. So please, just be kind to Ryan. For me.”

He stands up, and holds you against him for one last moment. “Fine.” He pauses and kisses the top of your head, speaking the last words against you in a way that rolls through your body. “For you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” you whisper into his chest, your words right over his heart. Right over where you can still feel that thing tearing Ben apart. You hope he’ll carry them until you’re home and can tell that thing to rest.

Ben nods. “Soon.”

A-Train’s been waiting, and you’re thankful for how he doesn’t say anything. How he lets Ben and you peel yourselves apart, lets Ben pick up his cap, gives you one last curt nod, and doesn’t comment on how you love Ben, or make you say any more promises. You only have room for two promises now, because they’re the most important ones you’ll ever make. Kill Homelander. Go home. You only have in it you to nod back, and try not to fall to the floor and scream when Ben gives you one last look and a kiss on the crease of your brow. When he walks out the door—like you’d told him to—and you have to watch him go. When A-Train leaves as well, and you trust both of them to do what you need them to, but it still shatters you. You’d had him. He was real and warm and here and you’d had him. There wasn’t a world where you kept him—not today—but this is still the most painful thing you’ve ever done.

He’s lingering. You’re finding your way back to the stage and Ben’s likely still across the venue, but he’s still in you. That impossible to understand thing is still in you where it had been in Ben, and it’s not fading. It’s setting itself into you, and making you feel Ben even when you pull off your disguise and try to fix your makeup and smooth your hair in a backstage mirror. It’s making it hard to acknowledge that doing that—staying there with him for so long and letting him touch you like you’d needed—wasn’t smart, because this is all you’ll have for a while. At least until you revise your plan, until you figure out a way to get your team the V they need. As much as it hurts, you’re praying that this thing stays with you until you’re back in Ben’s arms. It might be the only way you get through this.

Ashley finds you minutes later, her hair a mess and a wild, panicked look in her eyes. “Where the fuck did you go?!”

“I was in the bathroom-“

“The bathroom?!” She shakes her head frantically. “For almost a fucking hour?!”

You shrug, looking around nervously. No Homelander. No Sage. “I can’t control my period-“

“You know what?” Ashley raises a hand sharply. “I don’t fucking care. You’re on now, move.”

Your mouth falls open, and the cold starts to creep back in. “Now? But I’m not until-“

“A-Train and Ezekiel are fucking missing, and Sage still hasn’t shown up after being a controlling bitch about this all week, so you’re on now.” You’re frozen in place, and Ashley looks up at you with glare. “Now! Fucking go!”

She almost moves to push you, but flinches back at the last second. Your feet start to carry you forwards, moving mechanically through the steps Ashley had drilled into you this morning. A man mics you, and you can barely feel his anxiety over the cold. It’s getting cold again, and the only thing keeping your legs steady beneath you, keeping you upright, is the way that Ben is still there. How you can feel that odd thing from him ingrained in you even when he’s gone, how it’s him. Everything about it is Ben, and it’s making a home inside of you and keeping your mind from clouding with cold. Fogged up cold.

The man finishes his job, adjusting the mic a little further from your mouth. A woman checks your hair and makeup, and another points out all your marks and the teleprompter as Deep wraps up with large gestures and over-exaggerated laughs. The first woman smooths down your costume once and gives a thumbs up, the second shoves you forward with a clipboard, and suddenly you’re there. On the stage, walking to a red x and being blinded by stage lights that turn the crowd into murmuring shadows.

Words fall out of your mouth like vomit. You sound robotic. You feel robotic. You’re speaking and your voice isn’t yours, you’re smiling and it’s wrong on your face, and your hands are locked behind your back so your nails can tap and dig into your skin.

“From when I was young, I’ve loved Homelander. Even when we were children, sharing secret moments in the fields behind my parent’s house, I loved him. I loved him enough to follow him to the city before he knew how I felt, before I knew he loved me. I loved him when he made his first save, and he told me how happy it made him.” Swallow the bile, read the words on the prompter. The boring, mechanical, words about love that aren’t yours. Aren’t about your love. “I loved him when he came to me with roses and told me he loved me, asked me to be his one and only. I loved him when he let me stay on the sidelines, when he was forced into PR relationships to keep me safe. I love him now, as America’s greatest hero and my savior.” Don’t break. “I love Homelander because he completes me. I see us in every great romance in history. He is the thing that gets me up in the morning. He makes me happy, and I want to start a family with him. Lead the best life we can together. I’m excited to lead a great life with Homelander, for our love story-“

Your words are cut off by a rush of air and shaking of the stage as Homelander lands at your side. Grinning and waving, placing a hand on your lower back as his voice echoes over the venue.

“Oh, just pretend you can’t see me!” The crowd grows louder with applause, and he laughs. “I’m here to listen to Anomaly, same as all of you! I just have the best seat!” He pulls you off your mark, closer to the front of the stage. “She’s doing so well, isn’t she?”

He grins at you as the crowd’s noise begins to drown out your own thoughts, and you make yourself smile back. The nerves are real, but you force the comfort onto your face. Make yourself stay on your feet. There’s no other option but staying on your feet and smiling at Homelander like his hand on your own body doesn’t fill you with dread and agony and cold. Pretend you don’t know what’s coming, that you’re going to finish and Homelander will kiss you and you’ll have to not scream or push him away. You’re sweating and the air is humid from the lingering mist of the morning, but you’re so cold.

“Alright, let’s settle down!” Homelander dismisses the crowd with a hand, and the last few whoops and claps die off. “Keep going, honey, everyone’s listening.”

You swallow. No way out. “I’m excited to lead a great life with Homelander, for our love story to be remembered as one from a fairytale. Because he is my prince, my white knight who saved me from the dark. Homelander, you're my soulmate, and I love you. I am deeply in love with you, and there will never be another-“

Something bangs in the distance, and the part of Ben that’s still in you begins to pound. Drums. Echoes of drums in your chest that fall into time with a spark of lights and another bang. Gunshots. Those are gunshots and the overhead lights are sparking.

Homelander’s hand tenses on your back. “Keep calm, folks! I’m sure it’s just a truck! I’ll go myself and make sure they get that faulty engine fixed. Please, let my lovely girlfriend finish the speech she’s been working so hard on.” He leans down to hiss in your ear, face turned from the crowd. “Keep going until I get back. Don’t stop fucking talking.”

He’s gone, and another gunshot fires. Ben. Ben might be in danger, Homelander’s going and Ben is strong but they don’t have the V, and Sage hasn’t been seen all day. The gas-

Ashley’s gesturing at you off to the side. Keep going.

You have to keep going. There’s nothing you can do but try and cling to that thing in you—rumbling and bloody—that tells you Ben is still awake. Try and raise your voice over the gunshots that mean he’s still fighting.

“There will never be another man for me. And that’s why-“ The prompter glitches and sparks out, and a flash of light clears the sky in the distance. Then there’s another gunshot, and a whoosh of air, and you have to keep going. You can still feel Ben, so you have to keep going. There are no words left for you to say, you didn’t memorize the speech and can’t remember where it went after the that’s why line. You have to find your own word. You have to just keep going.

“That’s why I want to share what it’s like to love him.” You take a heavy breath, and hold onto that piece of Ben in you like it’s a lifeline. “Why he’s everything to me.”

The venue lights flash again, and the phones start to spark out and fry with the cameras. You’re okay with that. This isn’t for the world to remember or see, this is for you to keep talking and find a way to keep going.

“He’s good,” you smile into the flickering darkness. “He’s just so good. It’s hard, but he’s still good. His smile is the best one you’ll ever see, and his laugh is the only thing you’ll ever need to hear. If you could see him happy like I do, you’d never want to see anything else. And I, I get to do so many things I’ve always wanted to do with him. I get to talk to him and feel heard and to cook with him and share things I enjoy, and he touches me like I’m the only one he’s ever wanted to touch. Ever needed to touch. Ever needed. I get to feel half as wanted as I want him, and I want him. I want all of him.” You can’t stop. Your heart is breaking and gluing itself together every other second, but you can’t stop. “I want the parts you get to see and the parts that get to be mine. I want to laugh at him and with him and see him smile. See a smile that gets to be mine, and keep watching him try. Try to keep me when everything is horrible, and I want to stay with him, I want to stay with him-“ Your words are becoming choked, and you’re pleading to no one. Begging into a silent crowd of people who don’t understand and a night that doesn’t care. Keep going. “I, I want to watch him be better, never stop trying to be better, just be better and be good. Be good to me, he’s so good to me, even, even when it’s hard and I have to miss him and I-“

The whole word explodes. The drums are still rattling around your head as the night is illuminated from a cloud of fire and ash exploding across the night. You almost run to it, run to him, but people are grabbing you and pulling you off stage. You can’t fight, you're frozen, kept from shattering only by the hum of Ben still carved into you. Like an imprint, like a scar you wouldn’t want to heal if you could because it’s telling you he’s awake.

They lock you away. Someone shoves you into the trailer and you hear the door click, but you don’t bother to even try the handle. You couldn’t move if you wanted, couldn’t run if you tried. You’re cracking. Not breaking—not while that thing of Ben’s still shifts inside you and tells you he’s okay—but cracking. Growing weaker, the fire going dormant once more, because you’d let it get away from you. That speech won’t see the morning, nobody had gotten the part that was just you on footage, but people will talk. Sage will hear, Homelander will hear, and the former will know that you weren’t talking from nothing. She’ll see that hand you’d accidentally shown, that last piece she’d been looking for. The only thing that will save you is the latter believing you were speaking of him. That it’s Homelander you need and want and think is good. You’ve never laughed with Homelander, never seen him be better—only worse—and never, ever missed him, but he’ll still think you were talking about him.

You miss Ben. You’re sobbing on the floor, cracks appearing in your mask because it’s all too much, and you just miss Ben. You’ll get through this. You can feel that echo of Ben still in your chest even as the noise outside dies down, and you know you’ll get through this, but you’ll miss Ben. More than before, which you didn’t think was possible. You’ll miss him more because he’s waiting, and you know home is closer in time but far in effort. Anything goes wrong and home goes away forever. There’s a way to kill Homelander, a way to get Ben the shot to kill Homelander, but this has to go right. You have to do this clever, however you need to, and with no hesitation, because then you can go home and Ben will be waiting. You’ll kill Homelander, and hold each other until this doesn’t feel like pain anymore. Only another shadow in the corner, another skeleton you bury and grow flowers from.

Ben will be waiting. You’ll pull yourself up and tape every single piece of your mind together to drag yourself home to Ben, and he’ll pick you up. Ben will wait, and he’ll make this better.

You’ll love him when you touch him again, and forever after that. You’ll love him when he makes this better and you remind him he’ll never fail you. When you get to stay and you never have to break again. Until then you’ll love him here as well. You’ll keep this piece of Ben in you, and worship in the hopes he feels it.

You hope he feels your love. Even if he doesn’t love you, you still hope Ben gets to feel your love like you feel his strange thing inside of you. Gets to know it’s yours, for him, and feel how easy and natural it is to love him. How he didn’t fail you, could never fail you, because you love him like this.

You love him until the night is silent. Until it’s just the dark and spreading warmth. Until your tears are dry and you can just feel you and him. You love Ben like there’s nothing else to love in the world, because there’s not.

No love is worth this holy and infinite one that you have for Ben. No love is worth rage and desolation like this one is. No one is worth what Ben is.

And he’ll wait for you. You’ll go back to him. You’ll find a way home.

You’ll always find your way back to Ben.

——————

Ben couldn’t let himself think about it. Not now, not when he was still fucking clean up the mess he and the team had made. Not when the Pussy Mobile had come to a screeching, rattling halt right before Butcher could park it, and Ben was honestly surprised they’d made it the whole damn drive back. The hunk of shit probably should’ve broken down the moment Butcher had floored it and they’d torn away as Homelander dealt with their diversion. Ezekiel’s body strung up across tents—Ben having pulled him apart with hands and hatred—Annie playing haunted house with all the lights, and a bomb of the French Prick’s going off when Homelander destroyed the guns MM had rigged to keep firing.

He couldn’t think about how’d almost fucking lost it. How they’d been driving away and Ben had been forced to shove the drums down, try to control them and keep the bomb in his chest from destroying the van and the team when the Thing was roaring at him. When the night had exploded and it had shaken the van, making Ben have to just stare and floor and try not to get lost in how much this fucking hurt. He’d done it, he’d done exactly as She’d asked. A-Train was “dead”—Homelander even the last person to see him before Frenchie’s bomb supposedly blew him to bits, which had been Hughie’s idea and didn’t end up being total fucking shit—and they knew they had to wait for V. They knew that had to wait for Her to get them some or find it somewhere else. Every selfish part of Ben wanted Her to get it, because that meant she’d have to give it them. She’d have to come home to give them the V, and this wouldn’t fucking hurt anymore.

He’d find a way to get Her to stay this time, and this would never be painful again. He’d kill Homelander and she’d get to smile at him somewhere in Rome forever. He’d hear Her cry about normal, stupid fucking things and she’d tease him and tell him what to do, and he’d just kiss Her until this didn’t fucking hurt anymore. Because he’d done it, he’d done the job, and he’d never hated himself more.

They were circled up in the dining hall. It was past midnight, but this was a lot more fucking important. They had A-Train, and maybe the fucker could help them. Get Her closer to coming home. Sleep didn’t matter, not when Ben had to fucking bring Her home.

Ben’s at the head of the table. He can’t sit, can’t rest, he can’t stop fucking moving, not for a second. Not when it will be nothing but fucking pain and images of Her in his head. Fresh, like open wounds that won’t just fucking heal.

So Ben stood, rigid at the head of the table, his fists curling and uncurling. Butcher at his side—the man’s glare almost as violent as Ben’s—as A-Train’s bouncing knee shook the table. Hughie and Annie had gone to bed with small nods—nobody had stopped them—but MM was frowning at A-Train from his seat across the table, and Kimiko and the French Prick were watching the tight silence with nervous expressions.

“Are any of you going to talk, or just keep fucking staring at me?”

Ben’s jaw clenched at the fucking sneer in A-Train’s voice. The fucking annoyance, as if Ben hadn’t just fucking given everything, given the whole fucking world, to save his fast, worthless, pussy ass. She’d told him to, and he had, but it should be Her at the table. In Ben’s arms. Not this fucking piece of shit She’d been so goddamn certain could help.

He could only say half of that. A-Train needed to understand what had been lost to get him here. He had no fucking right to know more about Her.

Ben leaned across the table, not bother to hide the fucking fury in his voice. “You’re the one who needs to start fucking talking.”

“About what?” A-Train snapped. “I’m here, you know why I’m here, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Make this fucking worth it!” Ben roared Her name. “Said you’d help. Fucking help!”

“How? How am I supposed to help?”

Butcher cut in right before Ben could rip A-Train’s head off. “Our mutual friend seemed to be bloody certain you’d have somethin for us. MM here seems to think we can trust you. And I’d fuckin wager you’ve got some real nasty shit on Homelander and Vought.”

“Yeah, but-“

“Man, just listen,” MM muttered. “Those two motherfuckers get off on vengeance, and you’re not doing yourself any favors by poking at them.”

Butcher scowled at MM, and Ben just keeps fucking pushing. She’d said A-Train could help, and she was never fucking wrong, so the pussy better start fucking helping until Ben started finding more creative ways to figure out what she’d meant.

Don’t kill A-Train, Ben. Her voice hummed in his head. Or at least do it outside. People eat here.

“What was she planning,” Ben grunted, trying to speak firm and steady over the pain. “She told me she was planning something. What is it.”

“Don’t know,” A-Train at least had the brains to look a little fucking guilty. “When we talked she’d never tell me. Said she couldn’t risk it or something.”

“Well, what did she say?” MM runs his hand over his face. “There has to be something we could use.”

“Nothing,” A-Train’s answer is way too damn fast, and he’s giving Ben a strange fucking look. “I mean, she was trying to convince me to help, and I agreed, and now I’m here. I can’t fucking help more than that-“

“That ain’t fuckin true mate,” Butcher sneers. “You gotta have somethin for us. We didn’t fake your damn death just for you to come here and leech.”

“I’ve got some stuff on Vought, but you can’t really think they were telling me everything? I mean, Sage didn’t trust me as far as she could thrown me, and she’s not that strong-“

“There has to be fucking something!” Ben hissed Her name, leaning down to hold A-Train’s gaze. “She had to have said fucking something, anything, that could get her-“

“She wouldn’t share her plan with me!” A-Train was still fucking looking at Ben like that. Like he’d fucking dropped from the sky and was speaking goddamn gibberish. “Like I said, she didn’t tell me anything! I asked, and she said no. She didn’t even fucking tell you!” A-Train gestured at Ben with an exasperated movement. “Why do you think she’d tell me!”

“A-Train,” MM sighed. “What do you know? That shit about Vought, about Homelander and Sage, about anything.”

“I mean I fucking know all their old V stashes. I know about security. I know Sage, kind of. How she thinks. I know Ashley, and she’s real close to snapping or losing it or something.”

“That’s good,” MM glanced up at Butcher. “We can get Mallory here tomorrow. Get all his shit down.”

“Mate, we can’t be fuckin sure he’s even gonna tell us the truth-“

“I will.” A-Train frowned at Butcher. “I’m not here for Vought, fuck those guys. I’m here because I’m trying to be better. Because she,” A-Train shot Ben another strange look as he said Her name for clarification. “She said I could help. I’m not going to lie, there’s too much on the fucking line to lie.”

“Well,” Butcher snapped. “We might need a little bloody more than Vought security protocols and a fuckin Sage profile. That’s all shit we can get our fuckin selves-“

“I can get you their passwords.” A-Train said, words abrupt and tight. “Hughie’s into all that computer stuff, right? I can write down everything I remember about Vought, about all their passwords, and go over what Sage has told me. I can tell you weaknesses, about Homelander and milk, and the Deep and fish-“

“How the fuck will that help-“

A-Train cut Ben off with Her name, and everything fucking hurt again. “She thought I could help. This is all I can do, man. She knew that, and she thought it was worth it.”

“Stop fucking talking about her like that.” Ben hissed. “You don’t know her. You don’t know what she thinks, not about this or any other damn thing.”

“She told me I could help you. So I’m here.” A-Train didn’t flinch away from Ben’s glare. “Don’t blame me for her idea.”

Ben was going to kill him. He was going to fucking rip his spine out of his back and break both his knees. The pussy didn’t have any fucking right to pretend to know Her, what she wanted. Ben trusted Her with his goddamn life, and he fucking trusted she knew what she was doing because there was no other option. No world where she never came back to him. She had to fucking come back, come home, but there wasn’t a single fucking way passwords and milk was going to help fucking help them. Help Her.

Butcher placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder, and he flinched. “The fuck-“

“In and out, Gov.” Butcher muttered. “It ain’t gonna help shit to kill A-Train, even if he deserves it.”

“Shut the fuck up, you pussy-“

“Trust me, I want to kill him just as much as you do. But he’s got somethin for us that ain’t totally fuckin useless.” Butcher nodded to MM. “We’ll get Mallory here at the crack of fuckin dawn. We got some work to do.”

MM nodded, leaning down the table to the French Prick and Kimiko. “Can you two show A-Train a room? Doesn’t fucking matter which one, just get him in a bed.”

A-Train gave Ben one last weird fucking look before he was led out of the room, leaving Ben with Butcher, MM, and the hum of a fan somewhere.

Butcher sighed, dropping his hand from Ben’s shoulder back into his pockets. “MM, you better be bloody right about him-“

“I am,” MM muttered. “He’s here. He’s not going to fucking leave now, not with his family out there. And we can use his info, get the Kid on a laptop and into their servers. Get an idea of what Sage is doing. But we still need V-“

Butcher said Her name, and it ached in Ben’s ears. “Said she’d get us some. Right, Gov?”

Ben grunted with a nod, and Butcher frowned.

“She good?”

Ben shot Butcher a glare. “The fuck is it to you.”

Butcher shrugged. “She’s doin a lot of shit. Want to make sure she ain’t gonna burn out on us.”

“She fucking won’t.” Ben snapped. She couldn’t. She’d promised she’d come home. “She’ll be fine.”

She’ll be fine. Ben had left Her but she was going to be fine.

You didn’t leave me, Ben.

Butcher was speaking before Ben could respond to Her voice. “You didn’t fuckin pick her up and carry her back?”

“Fucking obviously.”

Butcher narrowed his eyes. “After all your fuckin peacocking-“

“She told me to trust her,” Ben muttered. “And she’d have fucking kicked my ass if I tried to take her.” Ben shot Butcher a cold look. “I’m not in the business of making my woman do shit she doesn’t goddamn want to.”

He’d said the words before he could think about them. My woman. She was his. He was supposed to hold her and protect her and care for her and help her and-

Everything was fucking painful.

Butcher grunted, nodding. “She’ll get through this, Mate. She’s a clever fuckin lady, she knows what she’s doing.”

Ben didn’t respond. He already fucking knew that, he knew everything about her. She was fucking perfect and a goddamn threat to Ben’s sanity.

He didn’t even notice Butcher was gone until MM coughed, and Ben realized it was just them left in the dining hall.

“What.”

“You were gone with her for a while,” MM said, watching Ben with a blank, unreadable face. “The fuck were you doing that whole time.”

“None of your fucking business.”

“It is if she’s-“

“It’s fucking not.” Ben glared at MM with all the fucking pain in his body. “It’s ours. Nobody else's.”

MM hummed, holding Ben’s glower. “Ours.”

“You’ve got a fucking problem with that? You hate me so fucking much you don’t trust me with her? When I’m the only fucking one who’s been fighting for her, doing whatever it fucking takes while you pussies-“

“I don’t trust you with her, motherfucker.” MM sneered. “She’s a good woman, and she’s too good for you. She doesn’t need you to fight for her-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben couldn’t fucking deal with this. Not when everything hurt and he could still see Her when he closed his eyes. “You can hate me for the rest of goddamn time, and tell me I’m evil or say I get off on vengeance, or whatever else makes you sleep at night, but never say shit about what you think she deserves, or needs.”

“What, you think you speak for her?” MM scoffed. “You think she needs you?”

Something stabbed deep into the Thing, and Ben had to speak through gritted teeth. “She doesn’t fucking need anyone. She wants me.” His head hurt. Something was pulling at his throat and clouding his eyes and a halo of pain was wrapping around his head. Stinging his tongue when he said Her name. “Doesn’t need you telling her what she wants. Or if I’m fucking good for her. She’s capable of making her own fucking choices.”

Look at you, defending my honor. My right to choose. Keep this up and you’ll be giving lectures at Feminist panels.

The pain was becoming blinding.

“You’re a fucking murderer, Soldier Boy.” MM stood from the table, leering at Ben. “Nothing’s going to change that, change the shit you’ve done.”

Ben’s jaw was going to break. “I know what I was.” He grunted, a lot of his anger leaking out and being replaced by just this inescapable agony. “You don’t need to fucking tell me. But I’d fucking do it again,” Ben gave MM a cold look. “I’d kill a thousand fucking people and be trapped in Russia for a million goddamn years if it brought her home.”

“And what about those people's families?” MM hissed. “Their kids, like me?”

“I’d fucking repent.” Ben sighed. He was so fucking tired. “I’d do it and add another hundred years to my sentence for every single body.” Anything. Anything to bring Her home.

“What about me,” MM was still frowning, but there was something tragic in his voice. Something Ben couldn’t call weak, because he felt it too, felt it in his pain. “What about what you fucking did to me.”

Ben said the only thing he could think of. The only thing that he could fucking mean and understand at the same time. “Whatever I fucking need to for you just fucking let her be happy.”

“With you?”

“With me.” Ben felt something hard in his throat. “Or wherever else she wants. Just goddamn happy.”

MM sighed, and Ben wished he would just fucking leave. Let Ben deal with this fucking pain alone. “She’ll fucking want it with you.”

Ben blinked at MM, something close to shock sparking through his chest. “What.”

“She’ll be happy with you. When she gets back. I can’t fucking explain it, I defiantly don’t damn understand it, but she’s real happy with you.” MM shook his head. “She sees something in you I can’t understand, don’t even know where she’s finding it, but she’s smarter than most of us. Smarter than me and Butcher, defiantly fucking smart than you. I can’t explain why, shit’s fucking baffling why, but she’ll be happy with you. Just,” MM gave Ben one last look. It wasn’t cold, wasn’t hateful. Just tired. “Try to earn it.”

It was like MM had fucking shot him. Shot Ben in the fucking chest and left him to bleed out. He stood in the dining hall, alone and in pain long after MM left, and only managed to move when the fan stuttered off and he couldn’t stand the silence.

He hadn’t earned Her. Ben could never fucking earn her. He’d held her and lost her, fucking again. He’d spent the whole fucking Christ Convenetion feeling the way the Thing was alight, burning and raging inside of him, trying to pull him around and falling into a beat that was so familiar but Ben still didn’t recognize, or know how to decipher. It had been trying to tell him something, it was always trying to tell him something, but it had been fucking feral. Roaring and howling in a language Ben didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. He’d come closer to geting, when he’d seen her. Touched Her.

Real.

Back in his arms and fucking real. Making the Thing start to break bones in his body and turn Ben into just a fucking soldier that could bring Her home. Make her smile while she was against him forever, make those feelings of sheer fucking pleasure and ease run between them when he touched her, tasted her, and just had her.

He’d fucking had Her. She’d been real, with Ben, and he’d lost her.

You didn’t lose me, Benjamin. I’ll come home.

He didn’t fucking care. It was all goddamn semantics, because Ben had failed, again, to be worthy of her. He’d listened to her and done as he’d been told, and still managed to fail Her. She wasn’t home. Ben couldn’t breathe because she wasn’t home. He’d failed to bring Her home, failed to convince her she’d done enough. That everything was worse because she wasn’t at Ben’s side, that everything hurt because he’d fucking failed. She didn’t know what she meant to him. If She knew what she meant to Ben she’d have come home. If he could break the Thing’s stupid fucking code and tell her that vital thing, she’d have understood and come home.

The Thing pulsed, and Ben knew he was wrong. Collapsing on the couch, he knew he was wrong and she wouldn’t have left. He could’ve offered Her the sun and stars and every fucking song in the world and she’d have still told him she had to see this through.

Why couldn’t he have chosen to feel like this about a woman who would just go? Leave? Just fuck the world and come home for Ben.

Because that wouldn’t have been Her. The Thing ran into Ben’s head, but it wasn’t speaking. It was pushing against the painful haze, and Ben was finding the words on his own. She’d never give up on the world. She’s too good to give up on the world. And it always has to be Her. Nothing is capable of making you feel this pain like She is.

That might be the worst fucking part of this. Was that, somewhere in this pain of Ben having lost Her. He’d left her and lost her and she still doesn’t understand that Ben can’t breathe without Her there, there was something good. She’d trusted him, to do what she needed him to do. She’d cried against him and known he’d pick her up and make it better. She’d touched him and still meant it, still wanted him even after he’d failed Her.

She still wanted him. She still wanted Ben. She’d smiled at him and laughed with him and known him like nobody ever had. Like nobody ever would, not like she did. Not like she’d pulled Ben into her and tried to tell him everything he’d needed to hear. Found every way to feed the Thing with soft words and pretty looks, and all at once, grow this pain. She was perfect, and she still wanted Ben, and he’d never fucking earn her.

That’s what breaks the pain. Snaps it open in two, and Ben with it. She wanted him. She was perfect and she wanted him and Ben hadn’t even told Her how much he missed Her. How he wasn’t sleeping and eating was an act of labor without Her there to throw crumpled napkins at his face and hang around his body while he did the dishes. How she was gone and nothing was good.

He hadn’t told Her. And she still wanted him. And Ben breaks.

It starts in his chest. Shaking something there and pushing that lump further up into his mouth. The pain tightens around his throat and brow, his eyes feel fucking weird, and the first sound echoes through the dark, empty apartment. Choked. Tired. All fucking pain and hurt.

The damn breaks, and Ben’s too goddamn exhausted to fight it. He roars into the darkness, even though he knows nobody can hear. Maybe she will. Across the city and bay, she’ll hear how much Ben fucking misses Her. How nothing is as important as Her. Home. Safe. With Ben and happy.

When he roars again, it’s strangled and he tastes salt. His eyes hurt, and it’s so fucking hard breathe. There are no drums, no violence in him. Just a fucking ache for Her, and he can’t do anything about it but try and pull it out of his brain. Run his hand over his face and through his hair and pull it back to find it wet.

He’s crying. He’s fucking crying.

Ben hadn’t fucking cried since he was a child. It had been a hundred fucking years since Ben had cried like a pussy. Weak, pathetic, and useless.

This didn’t feel useless. For reasons Ben couldn’t fucking understand, the bellows of pain escaping his body and the endless fucking pain finding its way out of his body didn’t feel useless. It felt good. It felt like a tribute, like he was leaving an offering for Her in this loneliness. This was agony and the worst fucking thing in the world and Ben had to fucking break to prove it. She couldn’t break, she wouldn’t allow herself to, so Ben would do it for Her. He’d shatter on the floor of their apartment and cling to any thought of Her as it made this pain grow. It was a lot fucking better than forgetting.

Nothing would hurt more than forgetting Her. Forgetting her laugh and smile and the way she felt. Forgetting her beautiful face and smart fucking mouth, forgetting the way she spoke and looked at Ben. Like She somehow did think he was worthy.

So Ben just cried. He knew she’d come home but he still just fucking sobbed on the couch. Alone. Missing Her, and wanting her, and waiting for her.

He’d fucking wait for Her. He’d cry for Her and be haunted by her until She was home.

He’d always wait. She’d always come home, so Ben would always fucking wait.

The Thing would keep him company, twisting and screaming in time with Ben’s tears and choked noises of pain. Remind him of every part of Her. Every part he’d lost. Every part that would come back.

Ben cried until the sun cracked the sky.

He’d wait for Her until it burned out the universe.

End Note: End of chapter check in! How we feeling, squad? We getting through this?

Also, if you haven't yet, check out the first one-shot from the reader event! I'm moving through the rest, and I think I'll upload them between chapters to keep you guys fed. No matter what, thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you soon!

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jiminjamms · 9 months

Text

sex therapy :: 25. messed up

chapter tags/warnings: naoya fucks toji's ex-wife again. aggressive sex. creampie-ing. misogynistic! naoya. hurt/comfort. naoya views women as nothing but a hole. broken marriage. heavy angst. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. manipulation undertones. corruption.

word count: 4.1k

notes: thank you always for all the support! on to the plot for our final arc! this beginning excerpt is a rewording from a line in “spy x family” (any fans out there?) that i believe captures the dynamics in our characters as well. enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

❝ Every person has a self that one conceals, a side not shown to anyone else. Not to friends. Not to lovers. Not even to family. Behind lies and painted smiles, individuals shield their true natures and desires…and, in doing so, the world thus maintains its thin veneer of peace. ❞

Who in the world was Toji Zenin?

The Toji that you had always known was Toji Fushiguro, so what was your husband’s cognomen doing besides your sex therapist’s first name on the latter's university diploma?

Even Google seemed to deny that Toji Zenin existed.

Showing results instead for ‘Toji Fushiguro.’

No, that was not what you wanted!

One step forward in understanding this enigmatic man might as well be three steps backward because, each time you thought you had learned something about him, you only come to the realization that nothing much had been discovered at all.

But as investigations via search engines, social media sites, and Wikipedia pages proved futile, sources that could quell your curiosity dwindled.

So, you turned to your last resort.

“Who’s Toji Zenin?”

“What—”

Across from you, the raspberry macaron in Mai’s hand stopped by her lips as the girl snapped her focus from the pastry to your unanticipated question, with Maki visibly turning stiff in the adjacent chair. The three of you sat surrounding a small table in the twin’s private lounge, located in the northern wing within the Zenin residence.

Visiting the central family property was not uncommon ever since your engagement and wedding earlier this year, but the architecture would never fail to impress you. The mansion itself resembled the Imperial Palace more than anything—an edificial centerpiece defined by the elegance and simplicity inherent in traditional Japanese design, with latticework embellishing the wooden exterior and, inside, carefully painted doors opening into tatami rooms.

Given that Mai and Maki were back in Tokyo for their summer breaks from universities abroad, the sisters established themselves as your close friends and had brought you into their tea room, adorned with European furnishings that would come off as atypical compared to the Japanese heirlooms elsewhere in the residence. On the table sat an imported tea set from England, at the center a French-inspired pastry tower prepared with caramel-topped croquembouches, chocolate-covered profiteroles, and the like.

In great admiration, the sisters had been barraging you with inquiries about your life back in your bachelorette days, asking about your volunteering trip to the Philippines or the charity auctions in Dubai.

Now, with the shift in discussion, the sisters exchanged an uneasy look.

An entire conversation appeared to be held in the way they traded glances. The usual sparkle in their eyes faded, which must mean the girls were remarkably uncomfortable, but Mai forced a polite smile as she placed down her macaron.

“Y/N,” she began carefully, “May we ask how you know Toji?”

Even though she tried to spin the question as casual curiosity, her apprehension could not be more obvious.

“I don’t know him, really,” you lied. While dishonesty went against your morals, watching the twins’ shoulders fall with relief was enough to assuage the guilt. “He’s just…” My friend, to put things in the mildest terms. “He’s just a name I have heard. That’s all.”

Maki dabbed at her mouth with a lace handkerchief, not making a big deal as she added, “Toji’s a cousin.”

So, the Zenin last name on his diploma was not a coincidence at all.

Such a groundbreaking discovery should have thrown you into a whole whirlwind but, to be frank, the realization did not come off as too surprising at all. If anything, Toji as a member of the Zenin family was the perfect explanation to why Toji seemed so astute, why he would talk like he knew more about Naoya than you, and—as Geto had once said—why Toji was ‘not where he could possibly be.’

While Toji’s reason for opting for the Fushiguro name remained a mystery, what you did know now was that he was indeed affiliated with the twins before you by blood, which—by extension—must mean that Toji would also be a cousin to…

…your husband.

Wait.

An unsettling chill ran down your spine.

“Cousins, as in,” part of you didn’t want to know the answer, “distant cousins? Or…?”

“No,” the older twin interjected matter-of-factly, not knowing the full background behind your seemingly innocuous question. “First cousins.”

Ah, so the closest type of cousins possible, which was exactly what you had hoped not to hear. With this additional information, you tried to hide the clamminess in your palms. What would be the best word to describe this void now? Did you feel disappointed? Misled? Betrayed? Toji certainly had known that you were wed to his younger cousin, yet he willingly chose to hide his background as he kissed you, touched you, and fucked you.

A reversal from your sentiments before, you currently felt both disgusted and hurt.

Why did Toji keep this information from you? What sick person derived satisfaction from having sex with his first cousin’s wife? You were so damn stupid for placing all your trust in him. Looking at the situation now, he was just another iteration of the same manipulative and disrespectful man you had been trying so hard to avoid.

“Are you close with Toji?”

Mai shook her head. “No. We don’t talk to him anymore.” Her comment struck as odd. Anymore? Had they once been, then? Before you could ask, her gaze darted around in caution before she leaned forward and said lowly, “For your information, Naoya got into a huge dispute with him earlier this year.”

That’s quite recent.

You understood that Mai and Maki had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped as they did not want to slander the family heir in front of his wife. Blissful ignorance was what the twins must be thinking, hoping to preserve the peace between you and your husband. However, what you had yet to reveal was the broken marriage that had been masked for everyone’s sake, disguised by a pretense that all was well.

Which was why, on that note, the timing could not have been more perfect as a tall young man with ombre hair and hazel eyes flung open the door in one unforgiving slam, rattling the fine china and startling the seated individuals inside.

“There you are, you whore!”

Your eyes widened with shock upon seeing Naoya Zenin in the entryway, your husband’s scowl icy and malicious. He came stomping toward you as his eyes held a dangerous hostility that was impossible to ignore, and you could oddly sense an impending doom when he stormed with zero regard for anything in his path, kicking aside a potted plant and toppling over a ceramic vase.

Standing up, you tried to hide the confusion that befuddled your already mish-mashed brain.

Today was Tuesday.

Was he not supposed to be at work?

“Naoya,” you began calmly, cognizant of the onlooking sisters behind you, “this is not the right place to—”

“You’re such a fucking desperate bitch, aren’t you?” His words were sharp and bitter, his glare filled with hatred like a fire doused with gasoline. Before you could request clarification, he stopped steps away and swung his right hand up, pressing a black business card to your stunned face, the paper crinkled from his intense grip and rendering you petrified in your stance.

No, this couldn’t be…

From your peripheral view, you watched Mai and Maki place their hands over their open mouths as they read Toji Fushiguro’s calligraphed name on the business card that also had in obvious words: 'sex therapist.' Shame racked your stomach. Merely minutes ago, you convinced the twins that Toji was to you nothing more than a name, and now, karma bit you back like a bitch.

With your voice evaporated, you croaked.

“Where did you find that?” You had been sure that you placed the badge away.

Naoya used his anger to crumple the card and tossed the now useless paper ball to the side. “In your purse,” he gritted, “How long were you planning to hide this from me?”

The ensuing guilt suffocated you. “I—” I don’t know.

Sensing the weakness in your will, Naoya burst into a maniacal laughter that cracked through the air, creating a disconcerting symphony. He bent forward, shoulders convulsing with every diabolic and mirthful guffaw.

“You’re so god fucking pathetic, woman. Do you have any idea who Toji Fushiguro is? That bastard is Toji Zenin, you ignorant slut—he is my cousin. Well, I guess I never told you about him, though, because he doesn’t fucking matter anymore anyway. I don’t know how you ended up crossing paths with him, but this is hilarious!” The man kept cackling and roaring like he had gone insane. “Were you two brewing shit about me? Actually, let me guess since you’d gotten hold of this business card: did you have sex with him? Did you have sex with Toji? Going around fucking your husband and then your husband’s cousin is nothing to be proud of. Tell me, did you meet the other sex therapists as well? Did you get stretched out by them, too? Whose dick did you like best? Whose? Whose? Is that what you like, being passed around and used like some sick trophy? What a fucking animal! How dare you disrespect our marriage. How dare you disrespect your own hus—”

Your hand lashed out before you could suppress the impulse and delivered one resounding slap across Naoya’s face. You watched him shut up and stumble backward, clutching his cheek.

"Ow!"

For a moment, the world seemed frozen still: the sisters gaping in complete stupefaction, your husband staring at the ground wide-eyed, and you heaving from the incoming emotional onslaught.

”How dare you…How fucking dare you disrespect me!” The coalescence of anger, agony, and resentment—bottled up in your heart for months upon months—was now being released as you dissolved into tears. “What the hell is wrong with you?! How could you say such messed up things? You are sick in the head, Naoya, you know that? Out of respect for myself, how could I possibly respect you?!” The only sound echoing in the room became your uncontrollable cries, sobs that escaped past your lips in raw and muffled bursts. Torn apart by sorrow, you could hardly breathe from how constricted your throat had become, your knees wobbling and weak. “Y-You have no idea how lonely and miserable I have been since I walked down that aisle. For the past six months, you—as my husband—have done absolutely nothing but make me feel like a rat in my own home, a mistress in my own marriage!”

“Fantastic! Exactly what I wanted to hear, I am glad I have made your life horrible!” Naoya snarled, not caring for how everyone else’s eyes widened at the scathing statement. Unbelievable. Truly, painfully unbelievable. Did your husband really just say that to your face? He could not give a shit that you wept pitifully, instead catching your shaky wrist in the tightest grasp possible as he added on, “My only regret is that I had not made your life even worse.”

“What the fuck!” you heard Mai gasp as a gut reaction.

What the fucking fuck, indeed.

While you had been subject to Naoya’s verbal harassment during these many weeks, for him to tell you that he wished he had tortured you further was beyond heartless. The searing ache that burned your skin might as well be fatal because your respiration turned erratic like someone had trapped you inside a bubble.

Hyperventilating, you subsisted on shallow gasps.

“Don’t go around thinking that you’re any better, alright? You’re calling me pathetic for sleeping with your cousin, but have you considered that I had been placed in that position because, since the start, you’ve been cheating on your wife?”

Yelling at his face allowed you to release more tears from your lachrymose eyes. Now, Mai and Maki must truly be appalled at all these revelations. What happened to the fairy-tale marriage you had told them about? Well, that never existed to begin with, and with these thoughts in mind, you found a sadistic satisfaction in watching your lawful spouse fume with deep-seated rage.

“That’s right,” you mused with derision, “we’ve been two sides of the same coin all along.”

Naoya clenched his hands at his sides, disgusted to have been compared to you. “Do not put me on the same level as—”

“No. No, you don't get to talk! All you have done since we have been married is for you to talk and complain and bitch about everything, but now, this is my turn,” you screamed in return. “I…I hate you!” and you pointed right at him, “In fact, I despise you. You never tried to see what I had to tolerate to stay with an asshole like yourself because you had been too busy sticking your dick into another woman while you could hardly look at me! No wonder your cousins worried about me. No wonder Toji told me to file for a divorce. Because you, Naoya Zenin, are a total piece of shit!”

His momentary pause hinted at the tiniest self-actualization that flickered within him. Perhaps he finally realized how you had been feeling now that you freely spat out all the turmoil that had been chaining your soul. He took one additional step toward you, torn between whether he should keep up with his anger or succumb to remorse for hurting you.

But, knowing this man, he—of course—opted for the former.

“I never,” he seethed lowly, “wanted this marriage.”

Maybe you truly have become deranged or maybe you genuinely found his statement funny, for you began to emit tearful cackles in your laughter.

“Now, that is one big fucking lie.” Since your earliest encounter, Toji had suggested that Naoya solely regarded you as nothing more than ‘a sweet, innocent fuck,’ and the longer you had stayed with your husband, the more you began to acknowledge how these accusations were all true. “We all know that you’re going to be nothing without me. A CEO who could hardly keep his wife for half a year? What a loser. What makes you believe that I wanted to be married to you? Who do you even think would want to do business with you after this? You never had respect in the real world because all that respect rests upon me.”

While you never fully understood Naoya, your words must have snapped a particular chord in him because he suddenly lunged forward.

“Fucking cunt—”

But before he could get too close, you darted away from him. “Don’t touch me!” you shrieked, voice shrill from the top of your lungs. “Do not ever touch me again. If you want to lay your dirty hands on someone, go touch your girlfriend instead!”

That’s right, he had another woman who he doted on far more than he could appreciate you. This wedding band, this engagement ring on your left hand meant absolutely nothing. Toji had been spot on—why the hell did you cling onto stupid shit like this, twisting the jewelry as if that would save your messed-up union? Without further empathy, you slid off the two rings and hurled them toward your husband’s chest before the circlets clinked upon hitting the ground.

At first, Naoya scoffed. He watched the ludicrous scene with a comical gaze, and when his brain processed what he just saw, he quickly fell onto his knees. All at once, he tossed his head back and let out a chortle—a full-bodied cachinnation that took the room completely aback—as his hysteria mounted.

“Good, good, good!” His screeches were like those of a maniac, his chuckles haunting, throaty, and lacking in sanity. “I’m glad that you’ve come to show the witch that you have been all along! Look at yourself! No wonder no one wanted you!”

Unable to be a bystander any longer, Mai stood up and hurled toward her cousin. “Shut the hell up, Naoya!”

But the said man was quick, using one powerful movement to punch the older twin first. “You shut the hell up, scum. Unless you want to be pummeled to the point where people will feel sorry to look in your direction.”

“Watch what you say!” and when Naoya turned to the new voice, the evil glint gleaming from his brown eyes appeared ablaze.

“Oh? Someone’s bold, too. Shall I bully you first then, Maki?” the timbre in his disdainful laugh crescendoed into unhinged amusement. “Say one more word, little girl,” he taunted, his imp-like face riddled with mockery. “C’mon. I dare you. I will throw you into the courtyard and beat your ugly face up. That’ll bring back warm memories from the good old days, huh?”

The younger twin gritted her teeth, her sister reaching for her arm as a signal to back down and stay levelheaded.

Meanwhile, once Naoya rose from the floor, he nonchalantly kicked at the rings because those emblems of your union had always been meaningless garbage anyway.

“If wanted to leave this badly, then fucking leave,” he deadpanned, his tone the calmest he had been this whole time. “I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Those were your husband’s last words as he walked away, leaving you sobbing and shuddering with a lost soul and sore heart. While weeping and gasping, you had to endure watching his figure fade from view, all while wanting to stop the uncomfortable distress that heightened with his departure. You were huffing, panting, trying to stop your trembling.

The second Naoya slammed the door behind him, Maki ran up to your side and embraced your shaking form, all while you bawled and clutched at yourself. Her expression remained strong, but her palms were damp as they pressed onto your back, her arms quavering slightly as she soothed your cries.

“Sh, don’t cry. My sister and I are here, okay? Mai and I will protect you. Everything will be alright.”

Despite her reassurances, she sounded nearly as broken as you appeared, especially when your hand violently trembled because nothing could save you from the agony that drowned your tattered soul. You felt the disgusting urge to throw up—you were completely broken inside. In a futile attempt, you sought to regulate your breaths with one deep inhale.

Yet, at some point, Maki peeled back and she mouthed something.

Was she talking to you?

Why…why could you not hear her?

She sounded so muffled, as though you were underwater.

Why did everything sound so far away?

With your throat constricted, you could not breathe. Gagging. Gasping. Big, huge gulps of air, but the oxygen failed to enter your lungs. You couldn’t breathe. You could not fucking breathe.

You gripped the fabric by your chest and your other hand sought for something else to hold, but you ended up on the ground anyway. Choking. Coughing. Was something foaming at your mouth? Something warm and wet spilled from your orifices. Were you vomiting? Why were you vomiting?

Holding your body upright, Maki was the only reason that you had not remained on the floor like a fool, but even she stared at you with concern and…horror? Why did she look so scared? Was she screaming? She looked like she was screaming, but her face appeared all contorted like you were looking at her through a fish-eye lens.

After a while, you could not even see her or her sister anymore because your vision turned spotty and then black.

See!

Open your eyes, and see!

Why could you not see?

When your hearing returned to some degree, the sounds that filled your ears were frantic shouts and endless clamor.

“Call Toji! He’ll know what to do. Hurry, where is your phone?” It was Mai. Scrambling. Bags were being opened. Items being tossed. “Call Toji, now!”

A phone started to ring.

Buzzes and buzzes and more buzzes as the waiting intensified.

Then voicemail.

Hello, this is Toji Fushiguro.

“He is not picking up!”

Unfortunately, I am unable to pick up the phone right now.

“Get…”

But please leave your name and number—

“Get Megumi.”

—and I will return your call as soon as possible.

“What about Tusmiki?”

“Tsumiki is still in London at university, idiot! Call…Call Megumi!”

“Okay. I know, I know! I’m calling him already!” someone screamed back. Was this Mai? Was this Maki? You could no longer tell, but the same person shouted, “Wait, wait. He is calling back. Toji is calling me back.”

“Then pick up the phone!”

“Toji…” one of the twins started, the cracks in her tone making her sound like she was weeping too, and her words composed your last bits of memory before the world dissolved completely. “Please…help us.”

Even labeling Naoya Zenin as ballistic would be far too much of an understatement.

The rage, wrath, and sheer indignation that swelled in his every capillary surpassed the twenty-five years' worth of virulent rancor that he had for his fucked-up family.

Since when did you get so goddamn arrogant? Naoya wanted to hurt you, ruin you, and do everything in his power to sabotage you.

Not just you, though. Because that would be too easy.

But also his father, his cousins, his ex-coworkers, and—most importantly—Toji.

Such ill feelings were what led the Zenin CEO to practically leap into the Mercedes-Benz that awaited him at the entrance to his family home, and he immediately ordered his chauffeur to press on the pedal toward a very certain condominium several kilometers away.

Fifteen minutes later, a very surprised Mari opened her door and an enraged Naoya greeted her, shoving her against the wall and colliding his lips into hers for a fierce kiss. His actions lacked passion, only charged with aggression as he stripped her and threw her onto the living room sofa. He could hardly care that he treated the woman as though she was nothing more than a prostitute, while the latter mistook her boyfriend’s rage for desperation, and she begged for him to pull at her hair and force his tongue down her mouth.

At some point, Naoya drove his mistress’s face into the couch cushion and dragged her hips to have her ass raised high. He was too clouded by fury and too blinded by anger to think twice before he forcefully penetrated the woman. He fucked her raw and held her close, jostling her body as though she was a ragdoll, eliciting her loudest mewls that cried for his name.

“J-Just like that!” she whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he pummeled into her dripping hole, paying no mercy for destroying her with his ruthless pace. Her knees gave out from under her, and she crumbled from the sofa and into the carpet, only for him to tumble too to follow the socket he needed to keep his dick soaked.

“I need to break you,” he hissed.

Fuck, he was going to come soon.

His nails left crescent marks on her flesh, his hands burning her scalp as he tugged her strands and met her buttocks with hard thrusts, and he knew he was going to come.

Feeling the first of his seed trick into his mistress’s life-giving cavern, he toyed with the idea of giving Tsumiki and Megumi a baby sibling. That would be fun. He could then imagine the subsequent mortified reactions from his deplorable cousin and from his wretched wife (whom he would hardly call himself married to anymore, anyway). The fantasies, everything that he would do to spite those who had wronged him, had Naoya cackling as his viscous cum spurted from his tip and deep into his mistress’s womb.

He pulled out once he made sure that every single drop had been milked from him, his ejaculate dribbling from her pussy like someone had taken a bite from a cream-filled donut.

Rolling into the carpet and onto her back, a panting Mari took two fingers and pressed his precious seed back into her cunt. “That was so hot.” A lazy smile pulled across her face. “Thank you for the unexpected visit.”

Naoya completely dismissed her comments as he tucked himself back into his pants, not in the right mood to respond.

“Cool. Clean this mess up,” he demanded instead, “I’m leaving for work.”

He ignored the woman’s ensuing pleas to stay at least five minutes longer. Unlike her, he had better things to do, and he rushed out as he fetched his phone from his back pocket and surveyed for any messages he might have missed while he had been away.

But when he turned on his screen, his most recent notification had his blood turn cold.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: The absolute fury in the argument, the complete panic between the twins, and the maniacal temperament in our husband…so much packed in this chapter! If you can’t tell already, my favorite POV to write from is Naoya’s, ha. Also, I took some creative liberty here to convey the intense emotions, so let me know what you think! Hugs to all.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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milkteasweetheart · 1 month

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『just like heaven, chapter 1, part 1』

this part contains riddle’s dream sequence.

housewardens x reader

author’s note: i depict nrc as an actual college, so first years are 18, second years 19, etc.

summary: crowley has the bright idea of a bonding experience, specifically in the form of a dream potion.

characters: (riddle rosehearts), leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia / platonic mentions: dire crowley (ew), grim

genre: romance, fluff, smidge of angst

warnings: female reader, reader is yuu, reader is around ace and deuce’s height, sappy, marriage, mentions of potential children, some suggestive themes

「dream scene: rose colored reverie」

Being in someone else’s dream looks strange. Seeing your own dreams in your mind’s eye makes you perceive it as high definition, but looking at this place, it’s like watching a movie shot with a lens covered in vaseline. Except for one house, and it's yard where our cast is trying to walk without falling over.

Vil is currently clinging onto the prefect, who had by now developed the skill of surviving whatever wringer life throws her in. Leona groans out of annoyance. It’s bad enough that he has to spend his precious sleeping time doing this fuckery and spending time with the fuckass lizard and the others when he could be cuddling with the prefect (he will never admit that).

“This must be where the dream is set.” Malleus wondered out loud, not turning around when Azul struggled to learn how to use his legs for the second time. Idia was sad that the dream world didn’t have phones to record this with. So was Jamil.

The group were not accompanied by Crowley, who had explained that “Someone needs to make sure that nothing goes wrong!” (Y/N) knew he was going to say that before he said it. Like precognition limited to one singular idiot.

“...certainly not a pleasant start to this. The headmage said we must go through everyone’s dreams… what a bother.” Azul had managed to conquer the task of standing without falling over. “Got something embarrassing to hide, octopunk? We’ll see yours eventually.” Leona was quick to take out his annoyance on Azul, to which he only rolled his eyes. What a brute.

(Y/N) looked at everyone. They seemed fine. She deliberately ignored Vil, who was still clinging onto her forearm despite being able to walk by now as evidenced when she went to check on Riddle, who was standing still, staring at the house. With silent horror. Vil’s face was quickly changed into a smug smile. “What’s wrong, Rosehearts?” His words didn’t match his tone, a patronizing mockery. Riddle wondered if magic could be used in the realm of dreams. He’d like to shut Vil up, and get out of here. He knew exactly what this dream was about.

Yet, Riddle didn’t answer. Instead, he blushed as he heard a car roll into the driveway. A cute little vintage car. (Y/N) looked as… she herself stepped out? She was wearing a snazzy suit with a fedora, and carrying a briefcase. Very fitting with the old-timey vibe this whole place was oozing. But why was she here?

Azul watched Riddle suffer with glee, excited at the prospect of a rival removing themselves from the chase of (Y/N)’s heart.

「Azul: Oho! Interesting!」

Idia was concerned at Azul’s widening smile. Hell no. He NEEDS to figure out how to stop this series of unskippable cutscenes or he will be COOKED.

Jamil looks at Dream (Y/N)’s face. It’s quite accurate, with the exception of an uncharacteristic smoldering look. Wait… Oh, this’ll be good.

Dream (Y/N) has somehow acquired a bunch of roses, painted red, and opens the door. The group peers inside. Riddle wishes to pass away.

「Riddle: How can I offend Draconia as fast as possible so that he’ll smite me out of existence?」

“Welcome home, beloved!” (Y/N) watches as the Dream Riddle greets her dream counterpart with a kiss on the cheek. Dream (Y/N) presents him the bouquet, which he gladly takes.

It’s going to be a long night.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashen grotto x reader #jamil viper x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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aethon-recs · 3 days

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This Week in Tomarrymort (12 – 19 September 2024)

Hi everyone, so sorry this is a couple of days late this week! Will be back on the normally scheduled time next week!

As with last week, please feel free to add a little overview/summary about your update to the notes! I so enjoyed reading all the notes last week 🤍

(And in case you missed, a recap of the extra notes from last week!)

Ills of Murder by @shadow-of-the-eclipse (E, 37k, WIP) [source] "Harry comes in swinging from a bleak version of sixth and seventh years, fully intending to kill Tom. Unfortunately it seems the only people Tom and Harry are incapable of killing is the other. Harry's on attempt 4 and counting and this time he gives up on spells and decides to punch Tom Riddle's nose off. Tom's still utterly enamoured with him." friend of the devil (a friend of mine) by @shyinsunlight (E, 11k, WIP) [source] "When after four long years Harry and Tom meet again, the world turns upside down. Or maybe it was upside down all along, and it’s now flipping back over." These Fragments We've Shored by @rowena-rain (M, 23k, WIP) [source] "Things have gone from bad to worse, and Harry is finally about ready to take matters into his own hands…even if it means defying the normal laws of Magic and actually doing something for himself for once. (Guess which one will be harder for him 😂) In this update, Harry and Voldemort unexpectedly come face to face for the first time since the Dark Lord's death…which leads to a disturbing realization for Harry." Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic (E, 13k, WIP) [source] "A Harry-corrupts-Tom AU: Tom expects to feel victorious at his greatest enemy's confession. Instead, he develops a crush on him." the crushing weight of cancelling your fav by @cindle-writes (M, 4k, complete) [source] "Tom Riddle has made millions and built a cult following around his politics-themed online stream, much to his boyfriend Harry’s bemusement. However, bemusement quickly turns into concern when Harry meets one of Tom’s biggest, most fervent fanboys, Regulus Black."

Now onto the updates from this week!

Tomarrymort One Shots and Completed Fic

Chapter 22 (Completed) of A Shot in the Dark by Ragdolly

One Shot | The Dinner by moontear for @moontearpensfic

One Shot | There's Something About (The Way You Are) by Ragdolly

Tomarrymort Ongoing Fics

Chapter 12 of the stars, my destination by @milkandmoon-ao3

Chapter 1 of bad moon rising by sansaerys

Chapter 11 of Sits the wind in that quarter by @mosiva

Chapter 2 of a pound of flesh by @ictyn

Chapter 8 of Saint Harry by @alenablack @chaos-bear

Chapter 34 of Part One - The Solitude of Suffering by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapter 18 of Date Ideas for the Linguistically Inclined by Antique_Mango

Chapter 14 of Double-Aspect Paradox by TimaeusKosmou

Chapter 6 of God is a Wizard by @onehitpleb

Chapters 121 through 123 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis

Chapter 17 of Learning to love by @l-archiduchesse

Chapter 1 of The Cosmos In Your Eyes by @v33r00

Chapter 7 of Do It Over by @thefangirlibrarian

Chapter 6 of These Fragments We've Shored by @rowena-rain

Chapter 21 of Time Stumbler by Wintumn

Chapter 4 of Hole in the Wall by tomrddle

Chapters 1 through 3 of Fetters of the Damned by @sc0rpiflow3r

Chapter 16 of Outrunning the Villain in You by @zenyteehee

Chapter 5 of midnight train by @girl-with-goats

Chapter 43 of Of Monsters, Of Men by @ca-xan-dra

Chapter 2 of the body is a blade by @lovely-lotus

Chapter 2 of Dream a little dream (of me) by @cenedrariva

Chapter 12 of Just Business by @holaolla1

#tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #tomarrymort recs #aethon recs #tomarry recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #hp fic recs #harrymort recs #tomarry weekly #this week in tomarrymort

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brandyllyn · 4 months

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Silk from their Soul (Masterlist)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: Explicit overall, check individual chapters for warnings. Summary: It was supposed to be an easy bounty. But something ain't right about her - and Cooper's itching to find out what.

My Masterlist

Chapter 1: The Ghoul takes a bounty and you might be lost. Chapter 2: Up a tree of sorts Chapter 3: Getting acquainted Chapter 4: At the Gate Chapter 5: The trouble with Ted Chapter 6: Sleepwalkers Chapter 7: Negotiation tactics Chapter 8: Where'd you learn to shoot like that? Chapter 9: Just a taste* Chapter 10: Lotta days between now and later* Chapter 11: Hidey-Hole* Chapter 12: "Thanks." "Anytime." Chapter 13: Daisy, Daisy Chapter 14: Florence Fucking Nightingale Chapter 15: Believe me when I say* Chapter 16: New plan* Chapter 17: Don't look back Chapter 18: Waking up happy Chapter 19: Unharmed Chapter 20: Interception Chapter 21: Walking after midnight Chapter 22: Make me immortal* Chapter 23: Mad science Chapter 24: A kiss Chapter 25: Truths* Chapter 26: Lotta time between now and later

Chapters with an asterisk* are Explicit

For updates follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

☢

The Truth About Monsters (Nikita Gill)

The truth is this: every monster you have met or will ever meet was once a human being with a soul that was as soft and light as silk

Someone stole that silk from their soul and turned them into this

So when you see a monster next always remember do not fear the thing before you fear the thing that created it instead.

#fallout tv series #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you

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starryevermore · 4 months

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the house of snow (19) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: you and coriolanus return to the capitol.

word count: 2,224

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: fluff, implied smut, pet name (petal), not proofread

Coriolanus stared at the cat. Coriolanus the Cat stared back. Ever since things improved between you and him, the cat had been less hostile. But less hostile for the cat still was not pleasant. Sometimes, it would hiss at him when he walked in the room. Or it would swat at him whenever he leaned in to steal a kiss from you. You would always laugh at the cat’s antics—Coriolanus was certain this only encouraged it. You never did seem to believe him when he said the cat shot him smug looks.

“I think you’re losing the staring contest,” you murmured, your eyes shut.

He looked down at you. You had fallen asleep in the carriage ride back to the Capitol. Your face had been pressed against his bicep within minutes of departing the cottage, quiet snores soon following. He wished he could have played with your hair. Alas, it was back tied up in elaborate updos that was befitting of a Queen. Coriolanus preferred it when you were just you.

“Well, you just made me lose, petal.”

Your eyes fluttered open. They held no trace of the sleep you’d awoken from. Instead, they twinkled as you peered up at him. “Such a tragedy. I shall have to make it up to you.”

Coriolanus grinned. “Yes, I suppose you shall.”

“Just set the terms, my love, and I will fulfill them.”

He almost felt like a little boy with the glee you filled him with. Never had he felt so happy, so content, with his life. Ever since he was young, Coriolanus had been fighting his way to the top of the ladder. Now, he was here and he had everything he wanted. A kingdom to rule, sure, but that paled in comparison to the shimmering jewel you were. “You’ll live to regret that, petal,” he teased.

“The only thing I regret is giving you such a hard time from the beginning. If I knew I would come to love you so, I would have been kinder.”

His stomach flipped. This was everything he ever could have hoped for. Coriolanus leaned his head on top of yours. “I’m grateful you weren’t. I loved you because you’re a spitfire. You always were so certain about everything. It made me want to be the sort of the man you would actually want.”

“Well, I was wrong about you. You’re incredible, my Coryo.”

Coriolanus lifted his head. He tilted your head up so you looked at him. A smile tugged on his lips as he leaned in for a kiss. “The highest of compliments from you, petal. I love you.”

The cat pounced on him, claws digging into his jacket, before you could say the words back. Damned cat! You had said the words countless times over the last month, but Coriolanus never tired of hearing them. And now the beast of a cat robbed him of hearing the words again. He couldn’t remain mad, though, when he heard your giggle as you coaxed the cat to let go.

“You’re lucky she loves you, beastie,” Coriolanus said to the cat. He leaned down, narrowing his eyes at the creature. “If you weren’t our son, I’d throw you out of this carriage at the first opportunity.”

Coriolanus the Cat meowed back. Coriolanus the Human imagined it was a “fuck you” in cat language.

“Be nice,” you laughed, smacking your hand against his chest. “Our sweet little baby just wants to play with his papa.”

“We have very different definitions of playing. I don’t particularly enjoy it when claws come out.”

You hummed. “You seemed quite pleased when my claws come out when we play.”

Coriolanus guffawed. While he had enjoyed the innocence you exhibited at the beginning of the honeymoon period, he was more pleased with how he’s slowly corrupted you. How he has been able to mold you into a sultry woman for his eyes only. You still had much to learn, of course, but Coriolanus would never complain about teaching you. “You’re rotten, petal.”

“You should do something about it, then.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice—cat in the carriage be damned.

Knock! Knock!

Coriolanus pulled away from you, a smirk crossing his face as he saw how breathless you were, just from kissing. You always looked so positively intoxicated from kissing him. Like he was your personal drug. If only you knew he felt the same way about you. His attention turned to the carriage door. He reached over and rapped his knuckles on the wood two times. After the first break for the horses on the journey back to the Capitol, where the coachman unceremoniously opened the door to find you wrapped up in his arms, they developed a knocking system. Coriolanus didn’t particularly care for it—the entire of Panem could know how much he loved you. But the coachman muttered something about “proprietary” and “maintaining the Crown” enough for Coriolanus to agree to let him know when it was safe to open the door.

You smoothed down your hair as the door swung open. Coriolanus caught a glimpse of the staff of the palace lining the path up to its front doors. Finally—he would be welcoming you home as his Queen. Sure, he had the wedding night with you but that hardly counted. You had been so terrified of a life with him then. Now, you were sure of his love and devotion. Now, you were Queen. (Of course, you would still need your own coronation, but that would be planned soon.)

He stepped out of the carriage as Coriolanus the Cat pounced out. He snorted as one of the members of the staff flinched as the little beastie claw at the tails of his coat. At least someone else was being tormented. Coriolanus turned back to the carriage, nudging the coachman out of the way, and reached out for you. Your hand slipped into his, a bright smile on your face. It felt like the world stopped whenever you smiled at him like that. Coriolanus would have happily lived another four and twenty years of you glowering at him if it meant he got even one of those smiles out of you.

Together, the two of you turned to walk up to the palace. He still held onto your hand as you made your way up to your new home. Instinctively, you fell a half-step behind him. Oh, but he didn’t like that. Coriolanus stopped, earning looks of confusion from the staff around him.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your brows knit together. Coriolanus was tempted to kiss the crease between them.

“Walk in front of me.”

“No one walks in front of the King.”

It was a tradition. Something about how the King led Panem—no one led him. But whoever started that tradition never met a woman like you.

“You are my equal in every meaningful way, petal. If there weren’t archaic rules that prevent women from being elected, you could surely be Queen in your own right. Be that as it may, I want you to walk in front of me,” he said. This time, he did kiss the crease between your brows. “Show them all exactly why I fell in love with you.”

A smile pulled at your lips. He kissed them, too. Then, you took a step, and then two, before you walked right in front of him. Your head held high, shoulders back, commanding the very respect you deserved. Despite the confused looks among the staff at you taking the lead, they quickly fell into bows and curtsies as you passed. He did laugh, though, as Coriolanus the Cat fell in line with you, its own little held high. A royal bastard if there ever was one.

At the top of the stairs, Coriolanus took note of the housekeeper. He stopped in front of her.

“Welcome home, Your Majesty,” she said, still deep in her curtsy.

“Rise,” he said. In front of him, you had turned, watching him. “Any of my wife’s belongings that remain in the Queen’s Chambers should be moved to my chamber’s expeditiously.”

The housekeeper blinked at him. “Your Majesty, it is tradition that, after the honeymoon period, that the Queen reside in her own chambers—”

“Does tradition override the King’s orders?”

She blanched. “Of course not, Your Majesty. I apologize for any disrespect—”

“Do as I said and all will be forgiven.”

“It will be done at once, Your Majesty,” she said, dropping back into a curtsy as Coriolanus made his way back to you.

He took your hand again and walked by your side the rest of the way into the palace. Coriolanus let you guide him to the library. But rather than opening the doors, you turned around, pressing your back against the wood. You smiled up at him. “Quite possessive, aren’t you?” you teased.

“Can you blame me?” he teased, nudging his nose against yours. “I can’t stand to not have you by my side.”

“You’re lucky I find that attractive now, Coryo,” you teased, reaching behind you and twisting the knob. You pushed the door open and tugged him inside.

Neither of you left the library until dinner.

If someone had told a younger Coriolanus that he would hate being King, he would have laughed. It seemed like such a ludicrous idea. It was what he dreamed of doing for so long. It was what he was practically raised to be. And yet, as Coriolanus flitted through the papers his Lord Chamberlain had brought him, all he could think of was how far away you were from him. You belonged by his side, always.

He was worse than the girls at the Academy when they first realized that the boys in their classes could become their future husband. He was worse than the boys at the Academy when they would fight for the girls’ attention. Coriolanus couldn’t find it in himself to care, though. He had you as his wife. Brilliant, witty you.

Coriolanus stared at the large, mahogany desk before. When he first became King, he thought it a grand old thing. A symbol of his power. A sign that he had gone far enough, earned the highest title in all of Panem, so that your father would finally, finally, let him ask for your hand. Now it just looked lonely.

He abandoned the desk and in a few, short strides, he reached his door and pulled it open. One of the Peacekeepers stationed outside jumped. Coriolanus’s jaw clenched. Such behavior never would have been tolerated when he was a Peacekeeper.

“Your Majesty,” the Peacekeeper said, bowing. “Is there something you required?”

“Send for the Queen.”

The Peacekeeper rose, confusion clear on his face. “Is something wrong, Your Majesty?”

Coriolanus suppressed an eye roll. While his job was secure, he knew he had to tread carefully with the public. They could be so easily moved to rebellion. He knew better than to give them any further ammunition. “Send for the Queen,” he repeated. “Don’t bother announcing her presence or even knocking. Let her in as soon as she arrives.”

Without another word, Coriolanus stepped back inside his office and shut the door. He grabbed the chair that was on the opposite side of his desk, for when he would entertain meetings with those who request an audience with the King. He pulled around to the other side of the desk beside of his. The chair was much smaller than compared to the one for the King, but it would suffice for now. He would tell the housekeeper to have a chair identical to his made later.

Coriolanus was still adjusting the chairs when the door swung open. Even though he hadn’t looked up at you yet, he still smiled. It was so strange, how much calmer he felt when you were around. Like your presence alone calmed all of his demons.

“The poor Peacekeeper was trembling when he came to the library, Your Majesty,” you teased, stepping around the desk and slotting yourself in his arms. “What did you do to the poor boy?”

“All I asked for was you.”

“Mm, but you must have had that look on your face.”

“The look?”

“That commanding look of you. The one where it looks like you are already plotting a person’s death if they dare deny you.”

Coriolanus arched a brow. “Did I ever look at you like that?”

“No, you looked at me like you would eat me.” You pressed a kiss to his jaw. “And, oh, how you have eaten me.”

“Well, you are my favorite meal,” Coriolanus said. He gently turned you toward the chair and motioned for you to sit. You did. “There, right where you belong.”

“You should be in this seat, Coryo.”

He shook his head. “No. You are right where you belong.”

Sitting in the smaller chair, Coriolanus pulled the papers he’d been looking through toward him and began to read them again. He read them aloud, though, asking for your input, jotting down your helpful suggestions. Yes, this was perfect. This was what he wanted. A competent Queen ruling by her King’s side.

Coriolanus considered the chair again. He shouldn’t ask for an identical chair to be made for you. You deserve a larger one.

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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liliansun · 1 year

Text

summary : college was enough to deal with, barely passing classes and struggling to keep up with what was going on in each was a daily struggle. not having time to catch someone’s eye was fine with you, that was until you met him. there was something about him that was enchanting, so you went out to find him, hoping you kept him up the same way he did you.

college kids : nct dream members, my friends are the inspiration for the female profiles (joy, loki, niwa and esa) andb random supporting cast

started : 07 | 16 | 23 finished : 10 | 10 | 23

warnings : mostly posted by chapter, language, mentions of alcohol, college au, fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, lying, anything else will be added accordingly <3 (if you can’t tell it’s tswift based bc i’m obsessed w the song)

taglist : please send in an ask or comment to be added

🎧 : part of the speak now (polaroid version) playlist

00 : [ bitches love the gram ] : [ soon 2 be college drop outs ]

01 : don’t act like you don’t like it

02 : double whammy

03 : you’re bitchless bro

04 : …not that ham

05 : determined to do so (1.4k)

06 : short kings need love too

07 : da new da vinci

08 : what the fuck is 922?

09 : mom and mom are fighting

10 : INFILTRATE THE LUNCH

11 : who’s haechan?

12 : i don’t trust men

13 : no offense taken

14 : you need more sleep then

15 : well that hurted

16 : he’s easy to please

17 : lil man complex

18 : i breathe and for what

19 : is he gone yet?

20 : deserve to be heard (2.2k)

21 : she’s safe

22 : where is haechan.

23 : one last time (0.7k)

24 : platonic soulmates

25 : it’s not me this time

26 : only love can hurt like this

27 : tswift era

28 : so i may be lost

29 : sad and sulky

30 : run to me instead

31 : a couple of besties

32 : regular huh

33 : officially official

34 : it’d always be her [ final ]

#nct dream au #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct dream fake texts #nct dream donghyuck #nct dream smau #nct fanfic #nct haechan #nct fake texts #nct au #nct dream haechan #haechan angst #haechan fake texts #haechan fluff #haechan fic #haechan fanfic #nct fanfiction #nct dream fanfiction #hyuckbrainrot 🧟‍♀️🧠

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604to647 · 2 months

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Safest with You (Ch. 20 - The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 1)

8.6K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Five months pass as you and Din try to forget one another.

Warnings: 18+ Content to be safe (MDNI please). Angst! (like a lot) Yearning, pining, mourning. People are hard on themselves in this one, folks. Nicknames (Din still thinks of you as Pretty Bird even though you're no longer his Pretty Bird; you're still Lil' Lady to Paz). And there is mild violence (of the Rory variety).

A/N: Thank you to everyone for being so patient with me! It's been a month since Ch. 19 and I guess this word count reflects that 😅😂 It could have been a little shorter but this ask convinced me to include the final scene instead of leaving it for the next chapter 🫣🤷🏻‍♀️ For that final scene, please imagine the suit/look from the Variety Hollywood issue shoot. The vibes of this and the next chapter is this scene in Twilight New Moon (cue 🎶it's a possibilityyyyyy🎶):

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

The week following that night at Din’s, you’re a shell of a person. You cry for entire days but not much else - going on auto pilot taking care of Al but not yourself. You don’t go to brunch that weekend, saying you feel disgusting, which honestly isn’t too far from the truth. You’ve never been cheated on so you hardly know what it is you feel, only that an unyielding and tempestuous monsoon of emotions swirls inside you at all hours of the day. You oscillate wildly between barely restrained hysteria, self-effacing shame, and sadness in an endless cycle.

To only your dog, you sometimes burst out half crying, half laughing at the absurdity of what you stumbled upon at Din’s apartment – how was it even possible? Din, who you had loved with your whole heart, had pledged himself to you as you had him. He had been your match in every way, and it was a tenant of his devotion that he only ever wanted to take care of you, make your life better. How could the same man, without any warning, betray you in such an unfeeling and vulgar manner? It simply could not be possible - it had to have been some type of cruel joke, you sob to Al.

Then in an instant, you’ll turn your ire unto yourself: How could you have allowed this to happen? Because it certainly did. You stupidly let yourself be so blinded by love and desire that you didn’t see Din for what he was. He wasn’t some honourable and noble protector; he was just some asshole who did and said what he needed to get his dick wet – and like an idiot you had fallen for it. You were supposed to smarter than that, but it turns out you were just susceptible to a handsome face and a fat cock as anyone else. The Din you had fallen for had been a total fabrication, and the dumbest part is that you had let him lie to you: you had blindly accepted that there were things in his life that he could never be fully honest with you about - that there were things that he just had to keep secret from you for your “own protection.” You had accepted dishonesty as part of your so-called relationship right off the bat, it was no wonder that none of it had been real. Stupid, stupid.

Though you know now that it had all been lie, you still have moments, usually in the dead of night when sleepiness strips you of your ability to reason and overthink, where you simply just mourn. Mourn the loss of what you had thought, no - felt in the very depth of your heart was a true, deep love. It didn’t matter that it had all been an invention of your mind – the love you felt had been genuine for you, and you had cherished and held it dear. The tears you shed during these periods of grieving are for the loss of your own false happiness and for the man that you had believed it. It didn’t matter that they were never real to begin with, you had lost them all the same.

Your fog extends into the work week and you do something you haven’t done in ages: you take it off citing illness – you sleep, cry and try not to think of the crushing backlog you’ll face when you eventually return to work. Near the end of the week, you make a phone call that you’ve been dreading but know is necessary. Lala comes over the same day on her lunch hour – she thought you were just sick, having taken your excuse for missing the last brunch at face value, but when you burst into tears upon seeing her, she immediately knows that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Taking you straight to her clinic, she slots you in with a fellow nurse right away so you can get what you’ve been dreading over with. During the self-blame episodes of your emotion spiral, the weight of Din’s cheating and its possible consequences aside from the shattering of your heart have started to press down on you. You definitely don’t need one more anxiety to occupy your thoughts, and this particular problem you could do something about. You need to do something and accordingly you find yourself sitting in the clean but impersonal examination room answering the very kind nurse’s survey questions to determine what tests you need.

“Is there any particular reason you need a screening or is this routine?”

“My boyfriend cheated on me,” you say this flat, factually.

“Oh. I’m sorry. How long was your relationship?” her response is similarly dispassionate.

“Nearly a year.”

“During that time, how many sexual partners did you have?”

“Just the one.”

“Had you been tested prior to engaging in sexual activities with your partner?”

“Yes, all clean.”

“Was you partner tested?”

“He said he was clean.” You can only answer what Din told you, with no confidence in whether or not it was the truth.

“Do you know how many other partners your partner had while you were together?”

“… no.” Tears start to line your lower lash line.

“How long was he engaging in sexual activities with other partners?”

“… I really don’t know.” Oh no, oh no, you’re going to cry. Because you really don’t know any of it. It's awful enough imaging that Din had been messing around with Vanessa the whole time that you and him had been together – if he was capable of that, who’s to say there weren’t others?

“Ok. To identify the tests you need, I just need to ask about your sexual activities with your partner over the last year. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you kiss on the mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you engage in vaginal fingering?”

“Yes.”

“Anal fingering? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes. No.”

“Did you engage in oral sex? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Did you engage in penetrative vaginal sex?”

“Yes.”

“With protection? Or without?”

“Without.” This is the only question you answer with shame. Yes, everything had been consensual, but this – the decision to not use condoms was one made based on a mutual trust; a trust you gave openly and willingly to someone who hadn’t deserved it. You had been careless in this respect – caught up in your feelings and your mistaken instinct that had told you Din was worth trusting.

“Did you engage in penetrative anal se-“

And so on, and so forth. To the best of your ability, you answer clinically and without feeling, trying not to let the white hot flames of shame and anger simmering in your stomach boil up and over. You had trusted Din, with your heart yes, but also your body. One of the things you had loved about Din was how he always seemed to prioritized both your emotional and physical comfort and safety during your sexual activities, but for possibly the entirety of your relationship, he had actually been putting you in danger – taking a risk for you that you hadn’t consent to. You don’t know how many other partners he was with when he was with you or if he had been safe with them – his cavalier approach to your health makes you sick.

This feels good. It feels good to be angry instead of sad.

You wait patiently for the nurse to return with the swabs and containers and other equipment you need to self administer the tests. Silently and alone, you follow the instructions while hot tears cascade over your cheeks. It had felt good to be angry at Din for a moment, but it took more energy than you had to sustain it; the anger burned out quickly, leaving behind only sadness and embarrassment for having allowed yourself to be put in this position at all.

After leaving the samples where directed, you redress and meet Lala back in the waiting room and she takes you home. You tell her that it’s okay if she tells the rest of the girls what happened, but you don’t know if you can deal with talking about it just yet and she nods understandingly. You know your friends will be supportive (and possibly violent), but the strength required to feel your feelings and simultaneously express and explain them out loud doesn’t sound like something you have right now. Not for the first time, you’re grateful that your friends are unflinchingly kind and understanding of you.

By the time the next Sunday brunch rolls around, your internal reservoir levels for self pity and destructive thoughts have lowered considerably. You’re mainly just sad for what you thought was and what will never be, wallowing in the loss of what you had imagined would be a happy future with Din.

The girls are not quite that far along in their emotional journeys, but you’re better equipped now to answer their questions and receive their outbursts and reactions. They all have choice words for Din ranging from lying cheating bastard to dickless waste of DNA. Threats of violence to his personal (and commercial) property, as well as his physical being are put forth, predictably by Rory and less predictably from Katie. Bea and Jen focus on drilling into you that you’re in no way at fault and that you hadn’t been wrong or stupid to trust and love Din the way you did. Lala, being the only one to have seen you when you were in your darkest place, just holds your hand firmly, giving it a reassuring squeeze every so often. You cry into your eggs and your friends shower you with comfort and support until you feel a little more like a human who is loved again.

One month ATN (After That Night)

Oof - you’re hungry. It’s been a long morning of straight through meetings with no breaks until only now. Well past lunch, it’s later than you would usually come, but you hope that your favourite sandwich shop still has some good options left – you’re starving.

Walking in, the shop isn’t busy (which honestly makes sense as it’s nearing 2:00 pm) and the take away fridge is fairly bare, but with some satisfaction, you see your favourite sandwich sitting all by its lonesome on the top shelf. Hand already out as you approach the refrigerated display, you reach up on your toes, just to have a big hand dart in ahead of your smaller one and snatch the sandwich out of your reach.

Falling back on the flats of your feat, you’re comically upset – this sandwich was your reward for your overly hectic morning and your disappointment is being further fueled by rising levels of hangry. Maybe this nice man will offer you back the sandwich if you ask kindly; ready to give this sandwich stealer the sweetest most saccharine smile you can muster, you turn to face him and…

“Paz?”

“Lil’ Lady?”

This could be awkward. You had loved Paz too. Part of the great sense of loss you felt when you and Din broke up was from also suddenly losing the friendships you had made through him. The Mandos, Poe and Lisa, Cass and even Boba had made up what had become a little family to you; the sense of belonging and love you had felt when they welcomed you into their fold and treated you as one of their own was one that you had treasured – their trust in you was not something you took lightly and you had kept their secrets with pride. You had loved them all as well.

Of course, like a knife to the heart, you’ve since come to the hurtful realization that those friendships were not as true or deep as you had thought either. In all likelihood, Din’s friends were probably well aware of his cheating, or at the very least that his feelings for you didn’t run as deep as yours did him. Though it saddened you, you couldn’t exactly be mad – their loyalty was to Din, not you. At one time you may have felt some bitterness at this, but right now, seeing Paz for the first time after so long… you feel only happiness at seeing an old friend.

There’s a beat of silence and then it seems you both reach for a hug - it’s quick but warm.

“How have you been?” you ask, simultaneously; chuckling with you, Paz gestures for you to go first.

“Oh,” you don’t really know how to answer; Paz will surely know what transpired between you and Din. Devastated? Crushed? Facing a crisis of self-confidence? You opt for a watered-down version of the truth, “I’m as good as expected. Busy at work.”

“Same. With work, that is,” Paz smiles warmly at you; he’s missed you too.

“You down here for work today?” Suddenly recalling that Din had been downtown for Mando work the first time you met, you try not to let the pain of the memory show on your face.

“Yup. Work.” Paz won’t tell you that he’s on a security detail, even though its not yours (you're under the careful watch of Koska and Iggy today).

You’re not going to ask about Din. You’re not going to ask about Din, “How is… everyone?”

Paz assumes you must mean Din but he doesn’t know how to answer your question. A shell of a man? A man possessed when it came to the investigation into the threat made against you? Depressed as all hell? Paz can only parrot back your earlier response, “Uh, as well as can be expected. Things have been tense, there’s a lot of stuff going on.”

You obviously don’t ask for details – it’s not your place anymore, and in truth, you feel like it never really was but you try to smile anyways, “Well, you can have the sandwich then.”

Paz looks down at the sandwich he’s still holding in his hand and laughs, “Are you sure?”

Nodding happily, it feels good to joke around with Paz again, “Definitely. I’m here everyday. I can have it anytime.”

“Ok, only if you let me buy you your sandwich, Lil' Lady.”

Beaming, you acquiesce, “Deal.”

Grabbing another sandwich from the fridge, you join Paz in line; the two of you standing together in comfortable silence. You don’t know how it happens but a question that’s been silently buzzing in your mind slips out without permission, “Paz – can I ask you? Are Din and Vanessa still together?”

You regret it the second the words leave your mouth, tears springing to your eyes. Looking up at Paz, wide-eyed and embarrassed, you cover your mouth with your hands as if trying to magically stuff the words back in, “Omigod!! Paz! I’m sorry! That was... oh gosh... just really, really inappropriate of me. Please don’t answer. I never should have asked that. Seriously. Don’t answer please. Besides, I don’t think either answer would make me very happy.”

Paz gives you a warm side hug and a sad look before he says reassuringly, “It’s okay, Lil’ Lady. Don’t worry about it.” He insists on buying you a cookie when you get up to the counter and you accept gratefully – you need all the comfort you can get right now.

The two of you say your quiet, but friendly goodbyes on the sidewalk outside of the sandwich shop; each genuinely hoping you’ll see the other again, but knowing that you likely won’t.

---

Paz is hovering. Din can feel it, but he doesn’t look up from his seat on the ringside bench where he’s checking through an equipment list on his clipboard.

Paz continues to shuffle around until Din sighs and gives in to what his friend so obviously wants; looking up and tilting his head as his way of saying 'What?'

“Saw the Lil' Lady today.”

Immediately, Din’s heart leaps into his throat and his now empty chest constricts painfully; forcing himself to look back down at his paperwork, Din only grunts to acknowledge that he heard Paz. Clearly Paz has something to say and in all the time they’ve been friends, Din has never been able to get Paz to keep his thoughts to himself, so he just waits.

“Ran into her at a sandwich shop near her office. She looks good.”

Silence.

“She gave me her sandwich.”

Din closes his eyes, “Was it the egg salad?”

“Yeah. How did you know?” Paz can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It’s her favourite,” Din says simply.

For some reason, this takes all of the wind out of Paz’s sails and he lays a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. “She asked how everyone was, but it’s clear she was thinking of you. Why don’t you call her, brother?”

Even if the whole point of what he had done to you wasn’t so you would stay as far away from him as possible, Din can’t imagine a world where you would want to talk to him, “She hates me. I fucked up, and I hurt her. She doesn’t think about me.”

Paz doesn’t want to bring up your question about Vanessa, but he can’t help but think it must mean something that you asked at all, “Maybe she’ll forgive you.”

Din is done with this conversation; he gets up and starts to head towards his office, “I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I don’t deserve her.”

Two Months ATN

Din never allows himself to see you. You’re a creature of habit and for the most part, your life after him has reverted to normal; it would be so easy for him to catch a glimpse of you whenever he needed to see for himself that you’re alright. If he was lucky, he might even catch one of your many soft and sweet expressions that he misses so much and be able to pretend for a moment that it was for him.

But he doesn’t allow it. Part of it is a means of self punishment – Din chastises himself endlessly for hurting you; he doesn’t deserve to look upon your face, he doesn’t deserve any comfort. But ultimately, it really comes down to his own lack of self control.

Din makes the mistake of checking in with your daytime security detail in person only once, a couple of weeks after your breakup. Din is chatting with Mayfeld through the latter’s rolled down car window, when, as if he senses your very presence, he looks up to see you exiting your office building looking positively elated at being able to leave work at a decent hour (for you) – your quick and graceful steps towards the subway easily hold Din’s gaze through no effort of your own and his body starts to move towards you of his own accord. He may have very well walked right into oncoming traffic trying to get to you if Miggs didn’t have a firm grip on the back of his shirt.

No, he has absolutely no self control when it came to you. Every part of Din yearns for every part of you. Your smile, your laugh, the sweetness of your very being and the steadfast comfort of your company. He wishes for nothing more than to make you happy again, to be there for you to lighten your load, to make you laugh so hard you snort, the way he used to pride himself on being able to do; what he wouldn’t give to hear you coo sweetly to Al, to swim in the melodic lilt of your voice when you recall a funny story from work or your friends, or to drink in your heady moans and cries while he gave you every pleasure you deserved.

Din knows that if he allowed himself to be in your presence for even a moment, he would throw himself at your feet and beg for forgiveness. Plead and grovel until you took him back and then everything, the very reason for all this misery, would be for naught. He would do anything to see you, hear you, have you again, except risk your safety. So, he leaves the protocol for your security to others, and he never lets himself go where he knows you might be – he exercises what control he has, so that he never loses control where it counts the most.

But his dreams he cannot control. And Din dreams of you constantly.

He comes to both look forward to and dread these dreams. In his dreams you don’t hate him, and they almost always start off with you looking at him like you used to, with love and admiration. Sometimes the two of you are in a memory, maybe a special date or occasion, or even better, doing something beautifully mundane like walking Al – something the two of you did a million times without thought, just a routine part of the life you had started to build together. But more often than not, the two of you are in bed. Sometimes his, sometimes yours, but always just looking, talking, touching. Din could live in these quiet moments of devotion forever.

But the dreams never end well. He discovered that once you left the bed in the dream, you would disappear. Getting up to find you, Din would find the apartment empty and quiet and no matter where he goes in the dream afterwards, you would be nowhere to be found. After this happened a few times, he would try to keep you in bed or at the very least, not let you out of Dream Din’s sight, but it never works. No matter what he does, by the end of the dream you’re not his anymore.

A horrifying recurrence as of late is that he follows Dream You into your kitchen to find Vanessa sitting at the island while you, crying, start to cook breakfast at the stove for him and her. He recognizes the look you give him whenever he reaches this part of the dream, it’s the same one you gave him on that last night on his apartment landing – the look of devastation, betrayal, shock. Your unspoken How could you? You were supposed to love me above all else, haunts him even after he wakes with a start. Every time Din has this dream, he relives what he did to you and he feels sick.

Even when it’s not this particular iteration, Din wakes from every nightmare of losing you again sweating and regretting everything. In these moments, alone in a bed that’s remained cold and uninviting since you last graced it with your soft body, Din tears into himself. What the fuck was his problem anyways? He had made his proverbial bed and now he has to lie in it. What would have been the fucking point of putting you through all this if he was just going to be a weak ass piece of shit and run back to you because it killed him to be apart from you? Put you through hell and then put you in danger? No, he can't run from it anymore: this is the price he has to pay for being who he is, for having done the things he had – he doesn't deserve good things. He doesn't deserve you.

What he does deserve is this cruelest of ironies: that the only way he's still allowed to love you is to take care of you by keeping you as far away from him as possible.

Four Months ATN

Oy! Din Djarin!!

Startled by the loud and sharp toned voice that carries over the noise of traffic, Din stops in his tracks; turning towards the sound of the bark, he recognizes your friend Rory barreling towards him. For a moment, he’s terrified that she might get hit by a car crossing the street to get at him, but the cars somehow seem to understand the determination of her gait and the ferocity in her facial expression and all roll to a stop at her outstretched hand. You always said that Rory was a force.

Din waits dumbly in the middle of the sidewalk, ready to take the inevitably beating, verbal or otherwise – certain he could not escape her wrath even if he wanted to. Perhaps he would be tempted to try if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe that he deserves whatever is about to come his way.

As soon as Rory steps up onto the curb, two balled up fists of rage ram right into Din’s chest, the force of which, if he had not been braced for it, might have sent this former boxing champ flying backwards.

You!!!

An accusatory finger is now poking him incessantly, over and over, pushing right into his sternum.

Din holds his two hands up, as if to surrender, but doesn’t do anything to stop her oncoming assault. It’s starting to hurt a little, but he knows he deserves it and more.

Liar!

Cheater!

Pathetic!

Asshole.

Garbage human.

Piece of shit.

How you could do that to her?!

She did nothing but love you.

She’s the sweetest, kindest, most loving person you will ever fucking be with, and this is how you treat her?

You ungrateful worm.

You’ll never find anyone better than her.

You never fucking deserved her, you twat.

Din takes every angry word spat at him with a resigned expression and downcast eyes. Every word is true and he knows it. He welcomes this even. No one has been angry with him, except save himself. Not Paz, or any of the Mandos, not even Boba. No one has yelled at him or hurled insults at him, or called him out for the despicable person he is to have hurt you the way he did. His sweet, pretty bird. No, not his anymore. He swallows every single one of Rory’s admonishments willingly and his head might even slightly nod in agreement.

Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, you fucking coward?

Arms dropping to his side in defeat, Din hangs his head and asks the only thing he wants to know, even though he's sure he isn’t allowed, “How is she?”

How is she?! What the fuck do you mean ‘how is she’? How the fuck do you think she is??

“What I mean is… I’m not still hurting her, am I?”

Silence.

“She’s okay now, right? She hates me, but I don’t matter anymore? She doesn’t think of me enough to still hurt her?”

Rory stops and evaluates the man standing in front of her. He looks… broken. She’s been throwing all her weight into every push, poke, smack she’s laid on Din and he’s taken it all. Absorbed it along with every harsh word out of her mouth; he hasn’t fought back or even flinched - almost as if he wants her to hit him. To scream at him. And now, with the only words he’s spoken, he’s asking to confirm, with what almost sounds like hope, that you’ve forgotten him. Din’s choice of words strike Rory as odd. He wants to make sure he’s not “still hurting” you??

Suddenly, her mouth drops open as she retracts her hands, “… you didn’t do it.”

Din looks shocked and almost terrified. He opens and closes his mouth several times but nothing comes out. No denial or refute of what Rory now realizes has been completely obvious.

“You didn’t cheat on her. You never cheated on her,” Rory’s tone is softer now, but determined and confident. She’s leaving no room for argument, not letting Din worm his way out of the truth.

With a sigh, Din has no choice but to confess, “How could I? Why would I ever want anyone but her? The most perfect creature to ever exist.” If he had seemed defeated before, Din is now positively deflating right before Rory’s eyes.

“You love her.” Again, not a question.

“Always. Forever.”

“Why w-”

“Rory, please. You must never tell her. She has to go on hating me and wanting nothing to do with me,” fear is catching up with Din now. If Rory tells you the truth, this plan to keep you safe will unravel.

Rory’s eyes widen in disbelief, “You have to be joking. Do you know what you put her through? And it’s not even true??”

Quietly, Din asks, “How much has she told you and your friends about what I do?”

“That you own a gym?” Rory crosses her arms and gives Din an incredulous look.

“What else I do. What my old job was. Who I worked for. Who I’m connected with,” he has to be able to make her understand.

Rory lets these words hang in the air for a moment. No – you were always pretty tight lipped about what Din might be involved in outside of athletics. It did seem that in the months leading up to your breakup, you would often stress over Din’s work and wellbeing, and though your friends never asked you to expand on it, it wouldn’t make sense for the responsibilities a gym owner to give you that kind of anxiety.

“You got a knife wound once. Lala told us,” Rory recalls.

Din nods, “And that was nothing. That’s the least of what the people who might come after me would be capable of. She’s in danger just by being with me.”

“You wouldn’t protect her?”

“Of course, I would. With my life. But why should she be in danger at all? She didn’t choose this life.”

“She chose you.”

“She shouldn’t have.”

“You don’t get to decide that for her?!!”

Din knows that. He shouldn’t have chosen for you. But he made the decision that he thought would keep you safe and now you both have to live with his mistake, “I know, Rory… I know, but it’s done now.”

“Undo it, asshole.”

Like he hasn’t thought about it a million times. Like he doesn’t wake up and his first thought when he opens his eyes in the morning isn’t to find you and crawl on his hands and knees and admit that he had fucked up in how he handled everything and beg your forgiveness. Sometimes Din’s halfway out the door before one of two things stop him. The first is the very real possibility that you would tell him to go to hell – you had loved him better than anyone ever had, better than he deserved, and he had callously thrown away the greatest gift ever bestowed upon him. The second, is the very real fear from the threat made against you; Din hasn’t eliminated it and what if, just what if, what he’s doing is actually working and removing you as a worthy target? Yes, he shouldn’t have gone about things this way, but… what if it was keeping you safe for now?

“Someone threatened her, Rory.”

This stops Rory as she’s about to open her mouth to say something else. Closing her mouth, she studies Din and her shoulders drop, “Who?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to find out who’s behind it but I will. Until then, I have to try and make her less of a target. Please. Rory. Please. Make sure she stays away from me. You can’t tell her any of this.”

“But… she doesn’t know?”

“No. I don’t want her to be scared. And she is being protected - all the time, I promise. But the safest thing for her is to stay the hell away from me. If whoever wants to hurt me doesn’t think they can do it through her, then she’ll be safe. Please, Rory.”

Din is begging her now. His eyes imploring Rory to understand and decide as he once did, that your well being has to come above all, including loyalty and love. He sees it in her eyes as she relents, much the same way his must have once upon a time, and she nods, “Okay. I won’t tell her. And you promise she’s safe right now?”

“I promise. I… wouldn’t be able to live like this if I couldn’t at least do that for her.” Is it worth it? Yes, your life, your safety is worth anything and everything to him.

“You think you can get them? The people behind the threat?”

Din nods, “I’m sure of it. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll take care of it. That’s a promise I won’t break.”

“Okay. You should tell her afterwards though.”

“Maybe.”

“She deserves the truth, Din,” Rory gives him one last exasperated look.

“She deserves the world, Rory.”

The two of them give one another a silent nod of mutual understanding before parting ways. They might not see eye to eye on everything, but Din trusts that your friend will put your wellbeing and safety first; she loves you just as much as he does. Rory leaves Din behind feeling conflicted in a way she hadn’t thought possible when she confronted him earlier – the last thing she expected was to sympathize with him, but it’s become clear to her: the only person who’s been hurting more from your breakup than you, is Din.

Five Months ATN

“I want to go out with Mark.”

Four heads look up from their brunch with lighting speed to stare at you, shocked by your sudden announcement.

Feeling a bit awkward at this reception, you go on, “… I mean if he’s even still available. And if he’s not, is there someone else at your firm that might be, Jen?”

Jen looks at you curious and hesitantly excited, “I can check, but I don’t think he’s in a relationship? He broke up with someone a couple of months ago. You really want me to set you up?”

You don’t catch the looks that Rory and Lala exchange before Rory cautiously asks, “Do you even like Mark?”

“Hey!” Jen looks scandalized.

You’re slightly bewildered watching your two friends seemingly stare daggers at each other, “I don’t even know Mark? I just…”

You sigh.

“… I just have to do something. Try something new. Babes, it’s been months and… I’m still not over him.” Your friends know that the “him” in question is not Mark.

It’s been five months and you’re still in a state of melancholy and heartbreak that you can’t quite articulate. The days where you’d cycle through extreme emotion, be it intense sadness, justifiable anger, or self-pitying shame, have long since passed. You burned those emotional candles to their proverbial wicks and for the time that they were lit within you, they served their purpose. You’ve processed those emotions and laid them to rest.

What remains is a type of grief, a longing from your soul that you struggle to contain on a day-to-day basis.

The best way you can think of describing it is Hiraeth – the Welsh word that conveys the feeling of “a longing for a time, place, or person that feels like home but may no longer exist or that never existed at all”; when you miss Din, it feels like a type of homesickness. And though far from being lonely in your life, your heart nevertheless maintains an empty chamber that you are dearly afraid may be forever reserved for Din. Your Din. The one you had loved and thought loved you.

You miss it all - everything that had never been real: the closeness, the intimacy, the safety of Din’s embrace. You miss the way he looked at you and made you feel like the only person in the world who mattered; you missed his adoring touch and the way that he would be soft and gentle with you when you knew he harnessed such strength and power within those same hands. He had made you feel cherished and special, appreciated and exalted. Yes, it had all been a lie, but you heart had believed in it and the memory of what you’ve irretrievably lost haunts you every day still.

You’ve never been one to believe the adage that to get over someone, you had to get “under” someone else and you’re certainly not looking to replace what you thought you had or even date for the sake of dating. You’re just simply out of ideas. You need… a distraction. A real-life person to think about, instead of one that only ever existed in your head.

“Don’t push yourself if you’re not ready, babe,” Lala says, gently.

“I don’t want to ‘get back out there.’ I just need…”

“A rebound?” Rory’s assessment is unfortunately, spot on.

You look sheepish, “That sounds terrible. But something like a distraction.”

Jen is hardly bothered, “It’s okay. I won’t tell Mark but I don’t think he would mind even if he knew. Men are weird as hell.”

Everyone laughs and you go back to your breakfast, half listening as Jen chirps some of Mark’s merits and tells you that she’s going to try and set something up for the upcoming Friday. You don’t notice the worried and pinched looks that Lala and Rory continue to give one another for the remainder of brunch.

It’s absolutely pouring today. The phrase ‘raining cats and dogs’ must have been inspired by a similar rainfall, you’re sure. You hold your umbrella as close to your head as you can while deftly trying to keep your shoes dry by doing little and big hops to avoid puddles. It’s a relief when you finally make it to the overhang in front of your office building and can shake out your umbrella before stepping inside. Wiping your feet on the already soaked through mats that building maintenance has put down, you wonder if the weather will clear up before your date with Mark tomorrow.

You’re slipping your still dripping wet umbrella into a plastic sleeve when you hear a commotion by the security check desk. Gabriel, the head of security is arguing with someone who by the looks of it is soaking wet and trying to get through the security turnstiles. As you approach with your own access card already in hand, the voices get louder:

“Dude. Come ON!”

“Miss, like I said, you have to have security access in order to move past this point.”

“I’m not going to go anywhere in the building, I promise! I just need to get to the subway.”

“I heard you already, miss. You’ll have to use one of the other two subway entrances. This one is for people who have access to this building only.”

“It’s pouring!! Can’t you see? The other two entrances are both over a block away and I’m already soaked! I just want to get home!”

“I won’t ask again, miss. Please leave. There are people who need to get through.”

You’re shocked. You’ve never heard Gabriel get frustrated or raise his voice before. But that’s not why you’re shocked. It’s the girl’s voice. You know it.

It’s Vanessa.

In some other universe you might hail this as karma, but in truth, you only have sympathy for the girl you see before you. It really is miserable out and you’re sure that Vanessa isn’t some corporate espionage spy – she really is just asking for a little help to get out of the rain and home before she gets sick. Without overthinking it, you come up behind her and give Gabriel a reassuring smile, “It’s okay, Gabriel, I can take her to the subway.”

Vanessa turns and looks at you with a wide-eyed, almost scared expression on her face. You can’t help but feel bad for her. Obviously because she’s soaking wet and shivering, but you think she must not have been met with much kindness in her young life.

“Ma’am, that’s not really protocol…”

Your reassuring smile is now extended to Vanessa as well. You want her to know you’re here to help her, truly, “Gabriel, it’s fine. I know her. And, even if I didn’t, I could never let you send a woman out into that downpour when we could so easily help her get to where she needs to go, okay?”

Gabriel nods as you swipe your access card against the reader and you gesture for Vanessa to go through before you follow.

The two of you walk silently towards the subway for a few moments.

“You don’t have to…”

You wave off Vanessa’s concern, “I think Gabriel’s watching, so I’ll just walk you all the way to the subway entrance so he doesn’t give you anymore trouble, okay?”

She nods and the two of you continue on.

“You don’t have to be so nice to me.”

Your answer is genuine, “I really don’t know any other way to be towards you.” It’s true. Yes, Din had cheated on you with her, but you hadn’t been dating Vanessa, you had been dating Din. He had wronged you, not her (even if she had probably been a bit smug about it).

Vanessa nods again, the expression on her face seems to relax into some kind of revelation that you don’t quite understand. When you get to the subway entrance, the two of you pause awkwardly before she finally speaks, “Thank you.”

Again, you try to smile as kindly as you can, “It’s okay. I meant what I said to Gabriel – I didn’t like that he was trying to send you back out in the rain. Here.” You hold out your umbrella, still in its plastic sleeve.

Vanessa doesn’t take it, even as you continue to extend it in her direction, “I don’t know how far you have to go once you reach your stop – the rain may not have let up by then. Really, take it. It’s my firm’s – I have a bunch more upstairs.”

This time she does open her hands and when she grasps the umbrella’s handle to take it from you, she blurts out, “I never slept with him!”

Silence hangs between the two of you at her statement. You don’t know what she means at all, so you just say, “I’m sorry?”

Vanessa is looking down at the umbrella in her hands, words just spilling out, “That night. The night you ‘caught’ me and Din – you didn’t walk in on anything. I don’t know how, but he said he knew you were coming over and he asked me if I could make it look like he and I had been sleeping together when you showed up. We didn’t do anything. I played on my phone on the couch until we heard you knock. I- don’t know why I did it… actually… no, that’s a lie. I do.” She finally looks up at you.

“Din was so in love with you. Like seriously, so stupid in love with you. He hadn’t been with anyone for a while before he met you, and those of us who… had gone out with him once or twice just got used to it, I guess. Like we wanted him but he didn’t want anyone and that was fine. Then he met you and all of a sudden, he was the doting boyfriend, head over heals in love, showing you off to all his friends, taking you to meet Boba. And then it was so clear: it wasn’t that he wasn’t the boyfriend type, it was you. He only wanted you. I guess… I was jealous.” Vanessa shrugs, ashamed, “So when the chance came up to hurt you... I jumped at it. I’m sorry.”

To say you’re shocked would be an understatement. There is so much to process. You’re not sure what Vanessa is asking from you, but you do appreciate her honesty, “I mean, I guess I get why you did it. But why did Din?”

Vanessa shrugs again, “I really don’t know, I didn’t ask. It didn’t matter to me, I guess. I’m sorry. But after you left, I… propositioned him? Thought I would shoot my shot since we were both basically half undressed. He turned me down and practically kicked me out. All he cared about was making sure you got home safe. You’re all he cared about. Always. It was only ever you.”

“I- ” you’re speechless. Actually speechless, “Thank you for telling me, Vanessa. I- still don’t understand any of it, but I always appreciate honesty. Truly.”

And with that, Vanessa gives you a little wave of the umbrella you gave her as a final thanks before she disappears down the stairs into the subway station, leaving you dumbfounded and shellshocked.

It had been a lie.

Din hadn’t cheated on you. Not with Vanessa. Not that night, or according to her, any other night. You had been his one and only. The way you had always thought. The way he had always made you feel.

Every spiraling assumption and devastating conclusion you’ve drawn about your relationship over the past five months is now being called into question: that he never loved you, that he wasn’t the man you believed him to be, that the devotion in your relationship had been one sided. Had it all been real? Was your Din real?

But he had lied.

He had made up an elaborate lie to get away from you. To hurt you. This revelation gives rise to feelings that you thought you had long worked through and put to bed: betrayal, hurt, disbelief, anger. On top of this fast rising tide of emotions that you’re afraid might drown you rides a question you've never felt like you wanted the answer to when it was simply that Din was a cheater: Why?

The date is going okay, you think. Actually, it’s going exactly how you knew it would – you’re not into it. Mark is honestly nice enough, funny enough, charming enough – you can see why Jen was always trying to get you to go out with him. But he’s not Din.

You haven’t told anyone about your run in with Vanessa because you still don’t know what to make of it all; you have pieces of a puzzle that you didn’t even know existed, new questions, even fewer answers, and a whole new host of confused feelings. Unsure of your own heart, you hadn’t known what to say to Jen to cancel this date that she lovingly setup for you at your request, so here you are.

Even if your overthinking brain wasn’t in overdrive analyzing and reanalyzing everything you learned yesterday, your heart, which is still working out your feelings towards Din, has unequivocally softened. The Din of your memories, the one for whom your heart still beats deep down had been real, and he had never betrayed you in the manner you believed for the past few months. The love you had felt with him had been true and the affection and devotion that had been cornerstones of your relationship have started making their way back into your chest.

You feel sort of bad about Mark. Yes, you had been very clear with Jen and yourself that this date didn’t mark any great interest of yours to start dating again, but you know you could be putting in more of an effort on this date. You try. You really do.

After the pre-dinner drinks are finished and the waiter’s taken your dinner order, you excuse yourself to use the restroom, hoping for a few minutes alone to gather your thoughts. Heading towards the bathrooms, you walk down a hall that opens to the restaurant’s private party rooms on one side. All the doors are opened and you peek in to see that most of the rooms are empty, one of them being cleared from a large party that must have just left; when you get to the last doorway, you’re stopped dead in your tracks when you see who's inside.

It's Din.

He’s leaning back in a chair that’s been placed further back and away from the dining table that must centre the room; part of the meeting but not an active participant – a perimeter guard. His handsome profile is as striking as you remember; his strong aquiline nose and cut jawline that’s currently flexing as he swallows hold your attention by their very existence - how is he here just when all your thoughts happen to be of him? Din’s chocolate brown eyes are fixed on someone or something in the room, but he must feel your gaze because he turns and sees you – keeping his expression neutral, as if he doesn’t want anyone else in the room to notice you, you still see his eyes soften as they lock with yours and your heartbeat picks up a little.

Hi, you mouth shyly.

Hi, Din's lips curve up slightly at your sweet expression as he mouths back, you look nice.

You do too, because he does. He’s in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and jet-black tie; the monochromatic look works for him. Din’s slicked back hair is different – you’re so much more used to seeing his curls loose and tousled, but the change isn’t unwelcomed. He looks professional. Devastating.

Work? Your head tilts a little so you can see a little further in the room and Din knows you see Paz sitting in front of him wearing a nearly identical outfit. He nods, You?

Date.

Din nods slightly, eyes unreadable, Be safe.

I will. Not sure how much more you can communicate this way or even what you want to say, you give Din a little wave before continuing down the hall to the restroom.

---

Din cannot sit still.

Date? You were on a date?

But that’s not even the most jarring thing about seeing you unexpectedly tonight at the same restaurant where Boba’s holding a family meeting. What’s really turning Din’s world upside down is that you didn’t look upset to see him. Your expression was soft, kind and inviting. As if you didn’t hate him.

You’re over him. That has to be it. You were over him, wholly and completely; much too sweet to hold onto any malice towards him, you had treated him politely, like an old acquaintance. He wants to be glad – happy that you’re no longer hurting and that his transgressions against you didn’t leave a permanent mark on your beautiful soul. But his heart feels like it’s made of lead; dropping from his chest into his stomach when he thinks of you being on a date. Din gets up and takes a walk towards the main dining room of the restaurant, looking to satisfy his morbid curiosity.

He sees you right away. Your back is to him, but he knows its you. You sit across from a perfectly respectable looking man dressed in a sharp suit – the both of you clearly having come straight from work. The man probably has some smart corporate job like you, like a lawyer or someone who underwrites space rockets or something cool. The man is making you laugh; Din can tell by the way your shoulders shake. He imagines your smile and the way that your eyes crinkle when you think something is super funny but you don’t want to let loose one of those melodic laughs of yours where you throw back your head and the resulting song carries over the crowd. Din watches as you swirl your wine glass the way he always thought was super adorable, with two of your fingers pressed against the base of the glass stem, before you lift those same fingers to make a gesture with your hand that indicates you’re adding to your date’s story with some witty comment of your own. Your date’s face lights up and his look of admiration and joy from the pleasure of your company is one that Din knows well.

He decides can’t watch anymore and slinks back down the hallway; heart ripped to pieces, leaving you to your pleasant evening.

Thanks so much for being patient with me - these chapters are emotionally hard to write and even harder to edit 😅 Since I'm once again yeeting this into universe on a random day instead of my usual posting date, adding a few tags for those who have expressed an interest in the story (omigod if you don't want to be tagged, please tell me!):

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @jeewrites @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe

@bebsjo

#din djarin #modern!din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern au #no y/n

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baronessvonglitter · 22 days

Text

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 17 🍒 "What is and What Should Never Be"

pre-outbreak! au!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 5,924

Summary: Reconnecting with Joel is easy, but things take a turn when you spot a man you never thought you'd see again.

(Warnings contain spoilers, so check beneath the cut if you dare to peek)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (reader is 18-19, Joel is 35-36), set in September 2003, angst, family drama, drunk dialing, phone sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v sex, alcohol drinking (only Joel), reader runs into her estranged father who now has a new family, Joel once again using his fists to solve problems which gets him arrested, mentions of blood and gore after a fight (later mention of broken nose and needing stitches), Joel's guilt causes him to break up with you once and for all, reader refuses to take care of herself as a self-inflicted punishment, no use of y/n (if I've left anything out please let me know)

Author's note: this took forever to write because honestly a big part of me didn't want to do it. Thank you for sticking with me, those of you who have been reading from the start!

Series Masterlist

"Stay."

That word haunts you, so varied in its meaning. Stay of execution. Please stay for lunch. You chose to stay with your mom despite the fact that Joel asked you to stay with him in Austin.

It's the first thing you think about when you wake up each morning. That stupid word, haunting you like a specter. And there's that little voice in the back of your head that taunts: 'You could be with him right now, waking up next to him, the warmth of his arms enveloping you as he nuzzles your neck, rousing you with a firm morning hard-on before you have to get up to go your separate ways for the day.'

Then you remember the reason you left him in the first place. It makes you sick to your stomach to think that everything he'd done with you had only been a repeat session of what he'd done with your mom. Who, by the way, has fussed over you since you moved back in. You took a pregnancy test at her behest, giving a silent sigh of relief when the results read negative.

She hounded you for details, of which you gave her none. Her jealousy was disgusting to you, and pitiable. And though you shared a man with this woman, unknowingly, the only difference was you'd given your heart and she had not.

You walk on eggshells around her for the first few days, unsure how to navigate this new territory. You're not sure how to move on from here, unwilling to address what happened yet desperately wanting a sounding board. You can't talk to the problem about the problem. You feel like a prisoner in your own home, deprived of the love you should have been given years ago that instead has become suspicion and doubt. You weren't even allowed to attend your friend's wedding because your mom thought it was in bad taste to attend a ceremony for such a young couple. Even though she herself got married younger.

Meanwhile your phone stays quiet, no calls or texts from Joel, but Sofia is kind enough to give you details. Unfortunately it's quiet on their end. She's still with Tommy, having finally succumbed to being in a relationship despite her initial misgivings. She only sees Joel now and then, and he smiles hello or good evening to her, but that's it. Sarah has been hanging out with new friends and seems happy.

Your stomach twists in knots at Sarah's deceptiveness. You can't help but wonder if Joel knows, if they're on speaking terms, but it's awful to wish that on a kid. If it came between your father and your friend, you might choose the same course she did.

By Labor Day you have your schedule to keep you busy: early British literature at nine, creative writing at noon, and a few other non-major related classes just to keep you from having to think too much on things you don't have a handle on.

At your new university you run into a few friends from school, people who either didn't want to leave home for the adventure of a lifetime, or couldn't get into the more prestigious schools in the state. It's still a good school, just not the one you wanted.

It was embarrassing having to tie up loose ends in Austin, calling Hailey at the cafe and telling her that you've moved, keeping in touch with friends only through texts, with meager promises to meet up soon, make a road trip out of it. You're not naive enough to actually believe any of it, but it's nice to come away from the situation with a little bit of kindness.

Your mom tries to get you to go over with her to her family's Labor Day cookout, but celebration is the last thing on your mind, least of all with her. You stay home alone, reminding her there's no way you can get up to any trouble. She's flattened out whatever spirit was left in you and she knows it but won't admit it.

With the house to yourself, you study in the living room, the TV tuned in to a rerun of NYPD Blue. Your short story that's due this week sits abandoned, half-written as your attention drifts to the screen, watching the cops interrogate a cute goth guy named Dio.

Your cell phone rings, bringing you out of your daydream. Sofia's name shines on the caller ID.

"Hey, cous. What's up?" you lean back on the sofa, a can of Vanilla Coke at your lips.

"Hey there.. babygirl," Joel's voice murmurs over the line. You sit up straight.

"Joel.." you repeat dumbly, in shock. "What.." your mind goes blank.

He chuckles on the other end of the line, and you feel a warmth in the pit of your stomach when he mutters your name. "God damn it I miss ya," he slurs.

"Are you drunk?"

"Naw, baby.. well a little." Wherever he is you can hear Tommy in the background, and Sofia demanding her phone back.

"Came out tonight and thought about ya.. ain't heard from ya and I missed your voice."

"Oh, Joel.." you sigh, different emotions warring within you. "I don't think that I should be talking to you.."

"Cherry!" Tommy's ebullient, voice comes over the line now. "Cherry, Joel misses you! He's been cryin'! There ain't no other woman for him 'cept you!"

Tommy's words become unintelligible. There's a jostling sound and soon Sofia's on the phone. "Sorry about that.. I guess the Miller boys are a little out of control tonight," she says, forcing a laugh. "Joel asked to use my phone but I didn't know he was gonna use it to call you." It sounds like Sofia's outside, away from the blare of the music and sounds of drunkenness.

"It's all right.. how is he?"

"I think he's lonely," she answers. "It was supposed to be just me and Tommy out tonight, but Joel invited himself along as a third wheel. Tommy says you broke his brother's heart," she adds softly.

You shake your head. "Sofia, you were there. You know the truth now. How can I forgive him for hiding so much from me?"

"I can't speak for him, but I will say that we all make mistakes. He's only human."

You sigh, plopping yourself on the sofa after pacing the room. "What should I do?"

"You care about him, right?"

"Of course."

"Maybe just hear him out. Then you can decide what your next step should be."

"Tell him to call me when he's sober."

She chuckles. "No guarantees he won't try tonight."

Joel calls the next day, and you call him the next night, with sporadic texting in between. You're treading carefully, talking about mundane things until it feels okay enough to talk about what happened between you.

He tells you the same story as your mother, and you steel yourself listening to the man you love talk about the life he had before he met you. He doesn't leave out the parts about other women, how he tried to cover his broken heart instead of facing it head on and healing it, how he lost the best friend he'd ever had over a woman who didn't care for him.

"She doesn't love you," you whisper into your phone one night, tucked under the duvet so that you won't be overheard by your mom. "She never did.. but I still do."

It's this revelation that brings you together, has you calling each other "babe" and "love" all over again. Before the end of your first week reconciling you're already whispering filthy things to him over long phone calls, your hands drifting over your body, excited to come for him as he growls his commands over the line, there you go, babygirl, just like that, come on your fingers.. now suck them off, I wanna hear it and you do come for him, knowing there can never be anyone else for you, no matter what.

"I'm comin' to see ya," he tells you one morning as he's heading to work and you're in the university parking lot.

"Joel, you can't-"

"Then come here."

"Three hours away? Four or five with traffic? You're crazy. Mom would come looking for me."

"Then let's meet in the middle."

You consider this. "What's the halfway point between Houston and Austin?"

"There's Brenham," he suggests.

"I've never been there." You toy with the cherry scented air freshener hanging from your rear view mirror. "Could we tour the Blue Bell factory?"

"That we can.. among other things." You can hear the suggestive smile in his voice.

You make the excuse that you have to do extra credit at another campus and are able to get away for the weekend. The drive is over an hour long, and your heart feels like it may just hammer its way out of your chest cavity the entire time. It hasn't really been that long since you've seen Joel, and just as you pass through Cypress you wonder if it's a good idea after all. But your heart is young and easily swayed to the will of your fantasies, among them being that you and Joel are meant to be, just a pair of star-crossed lovers who will find their way together again, beyond the chains of society dragging them down.

You reach the small diner in Brenham, taking a deep breath before you leave the car, then another before you open the door to the restaurant.

And there he is, in a booth in the corner. Your heart skips a beat before it lodges in your throat.

It's only been a few weeks since you've seen him but in that moment you swear it's been an eternity.

It's like a movie in slow motion: Joel rises from his seat as you near him, and without hesitation you go into his open arms, which wrap lovingly around you. The world stops for a brief, beautiful moment.

There's not much to catch up on, you soon find out. It's barely been a few weeks since you've seen him. Everything is the same as when you left, only everything has also changed.

"I can't stop thinking about you, about the way we left things," he says urgently, under the sad and lonely twang of the steel guitar from whatever old country song the diner's jukebox is playing. "But you said you need to figure things out, so I'm givin' you that space you need," he says.

His hands clasp yours across the table, between the half-eaten plates of food you've neglected in favor of discussion. "I meant what I said, babygirl.. I can't see myself with anyone else."

Your heart clenches at the thought, even as the rational part of your brain tells you it's impossible, that you experienced the strongest pull of attraction with a man old enough to be your father, and you both let your emotions get the best of you.

It dawns on you that you've only known him for three months.

It also dawns on you that you only have this one life, this one chance to be happy at all, especially now that you're under your mother's roof again, no escape in sight until you graduate and land a job. Right now, in this slice of a moment, you have complete and total freedom from things you don't want to belong to.

"Joel.." you whisper, and he clasps his hands tighter around yours. "Let's get out of here."

There's a motel across the street, the kind that serves wayfarers and illicit lovers, of which you and Joel are both.

Your fingers are intertwined as he pays at the front desk, and his arm is slung around you as you walk up to your allotted room. The moment the door closes behind you, Joel's self-control snaps like a broken guitar string. He surges towards you, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulls you into a passionate kiss, his lips melding with yours in a desperate collision of desire and need.

You kiss him back, desperately tasting his mouth, molding your body to his in a frantic need for him. His hands travel down your body, rough palms roaming over your curves. His tongue slides into your mouth as he pulls you close, his muscular frame crowding you.

"Yes," you whisper in between fiery kisses. This is the only thing that feels right, the only thing I want in the entire world. You lift your shirt over your head, shove your shorts down your legs before your hand teasingly slips down the front of his jeans, rubbing him through his boxers. A low, guttural sound rumbles in his throat as he presses his hips forward into your touch.

"All for me?" you ask, wrapping your hand around his generous length, your cunt already feeling its velvety thickness inside you.

Joel nods, his muscles tensing as your touch ignites a fire within him. "Only for you," he whispers, voice rough with desire. "I think about you all the time, in places I shouldn't," his breath shudders as you fall to your knees, pulling his jeans down the rest of the way and immediately taking him into your mouth.

"Like where?" you ask, keeping your eyes on him as you swirl your tongue around his cock, itching for him to take you then and there, but you've waited so long and pined so hard that a little teasing is in order.

His thick fingers card through your hair, gathering the length in a ponytail to gently guide you down on his cock. "In my truck, in the shower, in bed.." he grunts as your mouth envelops what it can of him, and he's careful not to push in and have you choke on his dick like he wants to. "Sometimes I even catch myself thinkin' about you while I'm workin'. You're dangerous, babygirl."

A thrill goes through you, an electric shock straight to your senses when you hear this. "And what do you think about?" you ask, pumping him with your hand.

Joel puts his hand over yours, stilling it, not wanting to risk that he's gonna explode after a couple of strokes, like some damn high school kid. "Everything, darlin'.. I think about every part of you: how good you smell, how good you taste, how damn perfect you are. I think about how I want to devour you, take you as mine and never let go."

"Don't let go of me again, Joel.. promise me," you say as he rises you to your feet, pressing your body flush to his, able to feel every contour, the hard parts of him that you dream about on a nightly basis.

His arms tighten around you, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and regret as he watches your reflections in the dresser mirror. "I won't, baby, I promise." His words are both a vow and a prayer. "I won't let go of you ever again."

His hand glides up your back, his fingers tracing the ridges of your spine. "I've missed you like crazy.." his deep voice is filled with need. "Missed touchin' and holdin' you like this."

"No one has to know what it's like between us," you sigh as his touch ignites your senses. For all intents and purposes, no one knows that you're here, and once again you're a secret.

"No one," he agrees, bringing you to the bed. "Just me and you. No one else has to know, because this?" He slips his hands down your panties, making you gasp, and he growls in return to feel you warm and wet, welcoming. "This is ours, no one else's."

In no time at all you're sprawled on the bed, panties and bra discarded on the motel carpet. Joel's between your legs, pressing a teasing kiss to your mound, his fingers circling your entrance. As you writhe and moan beneath his touch, his tongue darts out to taste you. "So responsive.." his breath his hot against you as he pushes a finger inside.

A needful groan leaves your lips. You haven't been able to match this intensity with just your own fingers since you left him. "Don't stop," you beg. His breath stutters at your pleas, devoting himself to bringing you pleasure. His fingers and tongue work in tandem, stroking and caressing you from within and without. He wants nothing more than to draw out every sound you can possibly make.

"You taste like heaven, babygirl," his voice is rough and heated. "So damn good. I could do this all day, just for those beautiful moans."

Joel watches as you come apart beneath him, your body arching under the onslaught of pleasure he's given you, and his heart swells with desire. "That's my girl," he whispers. "Just beautiful."

You're left trembling, a complete puddle when he's done with you, and you've never been more satisfied in your life. "God, I missed that.."

He kisses his way up your body, leaving a trail of soft, tender kisses along your soft skin until he reaches your lips. When he gazes at you, his eyes burn with love and lust. "I missed it too," he says. "Missed touchin' you like this, hearin' you say my name, seein' you all flushed and breathin' hard. Drove me crazy not havin' you near."

And then he's inside you, burying himself to the hilt, fucking you like it's the last time he ever will. It's like he's twenty years younger, on the verge of coming within minutes, until he shifts you into different positions to stave off the need to cum, not satisfied to help himself to his own pleasure until you're too weak to mumble your own name.

You lose track of all time, lost in the feel of him as he fucks you hard, then softer, desperately, and as if he has all the time in the world. It's a blur of sweat and sighs and tangled limbs for the rest of the afternoon.

The next few weekends are spent in this way: meeting at the motel at the halfway point between your city and his, holing up in the room and only leaving to get food.

"I wanna be with you forever.." Joel slowly kisses his way down your body. The sun is setting, casting a golden hour glow in the room, and you're both resting atop the rumpled sheets and strewn pillows.

"Forever?" you repeat with a love-drunk smile.

"Forever baby," he reiterates. "I don't want a life without you in it," he whispers as he makes his way even lower.

You sigh his name sweetly. "Maybe after I finish college I'll find a place in Austin."

"Really? You'd move to Austin to be with me?" He situates himself between your thighs, a thousand kilawatt smile on his face.

"Yeah.. I actually really like it there.."

"I'd love it if you were closer to me," he sighs. "Plus payin' for these rooms is gettin' damn expensive." He pauses. "Nothin's stoppin' you from comin' back sooner, y'know.."

You search his eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, the love that has drawn you in since the very beginning. "I'll finish out this semester and we'll talk about it," you tell him, delighted when his eyes light up at the prospect of having you with him again.

"You could stay with me.. for good.. forever.." he says, kissing down your body with each word.

You lay naked in his arms, satisfied, yet always aching for him in your heart and in your soul. "Forever sounds so good with you," you murmur, your voice a little hoarse from giving screams of pleasure earlier.

The following week is your shared birthday, and though Joel is less enthusiastic about turning a year older, he loves seeing how caught up you get in planning a little getaway for the both of you. San Antonio is as safe a place as any, and not likely to be too crowded this time of year.

The first night, your birthday night, is spent traversing the colorful Riverwalk, romantically lit, placid, even among the neon signs of the shops, bars, and restaurants. You choose a place to have dinner, sitting on the patio and enjoying the mild September weather.

"How does it feel to be thirty-six?" you ask, watching him with hearts in your eyes as you rest your chin on your hand.

"Same," he shakes his head. "How's it feel to be nineteen?"

"Amazing," you smirk.

"Youth is wasted on the young."

"I see you finally got your watch fixed," you smile, tapping the glass face.

"That.. yeah, Sarah got it fixed for me, gave it to me as a present before I left."

The mention of her still makes your stomach drop and you go quiet.

"She misses you," he says. "Been talkin' about you a lot lately. She wanted me to give you this."

"She knows you're here with me?"

Joel shrugs. "Word gets around. Maybe Tommy said somethin'.. either way, I'm not keepin' you a secret no more."

You plant a soft kiss on his lips before unwrapping the small jewelry box he gives you. Inside is the missing earring you thought you'd lost forever God knows where, probably in a nook or cranny of Joel's truck one hot night, but here it is, the mate to the one in your jewelry box at home.

"Give her my thanks," you tell him, wondering if he knows she's the one who tore them apart in the first place. Talking about it would just ruin the night, so you slip the box into your purse for later. "Looks like I'm getting back everything I ever thought I lost," you smile, holding his hands across the table.

When the music gets too loud to talk over, you write cute love notes on the napkins, reading them quickly before the condensation on the table, courtesy of Joel's beer, smears the ink.

After dinner you stroll along the river, arm in arm, and he leads you back to the hotel, thankfully within walking distance. Once inside your room you can't keep your hands off each other, taking advantage of the night, of the anonymity of being in a different city. The bed is bigger than the shitty motel in Brenham, the sheets are softer, and Joel takes the little piece of chocolate that housekeeping left on your pillow and places it in your mouth, as his lips travel down your body to get you worked up with your tongue. He's promised you a gift but he's saving it for the end of the weekend. Right now he'd drawled, you'll just have to be satisfied with me making you cum.

Joel's up earlier than you the next day. Not even his circadian rhythm goes on vacation. But he's left a note saying he's going out to get breakfast, not content with with having the continental breakfast the hotel serves. An intrusive thought pricks at your mind: maybe he just doesn't want to be seen with you at a hotel, even in front of strangers.

You shake that thought away, getting showered and dressed.

On the way to the front desk to check for messages, you hear a familiar voice as you turn the corner. A middle-aged man, average height, wearing a Hawaiian print shirt and cargo shorts, speaks with the morning concierge.

"..the couple in room 478 was very loud last night. They kept me and my family awake, and honestly that's not the kind of thing I want my young kids to hear.."

You realize you and Joel are the ones in 478 that he's complaining about, just before your breath hitches in your throat. Everything, in fact, seems to slow and still as you approach the desk, nearing the man making the complaint.

Dad..?

He leaves the desk before you can go up to him, only seeing him from the back as he goes in the opposite direction, on his way to the free hotel breakfast. Your feet don't allow you to follow him, mired as you are to the floor. The concierge addresses you three times before you hear her.

"Miss? Is there something I can help you with?"

You've completely forgotten what you came here for, and meager words form on your lips. "That man.. what's his name?"

She shakes her head. "I'm afraid I can't give that information."

"Well.. what room is he staying in?"

"Again, I can't give out that information, sweetie. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"..no.." you answer, voice barely a whisper, walking slowly back to your room.

"Somethin's on your mind," Joel says casually, watching you as he sips his ice cold beer. "I can tell. You tend to wear your heart on your sleeve, babygirl."

The sun is high overhead as you both enjoy lunch on the patio of one of the nicer restaurants in town. You'd initially balked at the priciness of the place, but Joel had insisted. You ate sparingly even though you were hungry. The breakfast tacos from that morning had only given you and Joel more energy to fuck a couple more times before you decided to walk around the city and get some fresh air.

"Nothing," you tell him, faking a smile. But you can't keep up the pretense for long. "Well.. I think I saw my father at the hotel this morning."

Joel puts his drink down, his gaze settling on you, the most serious you've seen him. "You think, or you know?"

You shake your head. "I'm pretty sure.."

He says nothing for a few moments. "Small world if he's here."

Breaking the tension, you tell him about the noise complaint that you're likely to receive once you get back to the hotel, and it earns you a little laugh from him, and pleasure warms your heart to see him blush.

It's later in the evening when you're strolling, enjoying the city as sunset takes over, gold and purple in the autumn sky.

"I'm thinking I wanna give you your birthday present tonight," he says, nodding as if he's just thought of it.

You're a little embarrassed that your own gift is so meager, whatever money your mother gives you going to gas for the car or lunch for the week.

"Spending this time with you has honestly been the best gift I could ask for," you tell him, grasping his hand in yours.

Your sighting this morning is all but forgotten as you and Joel return to the hotel, arm in arm. From the opposite direction comes the man you saw at reception earlier, in a different Hawaiian shirt this time, but he has his arm around a woman you've never seen before, who's pushing a stroller with young twins inside.

He catches your eye and you see that flash of recognition before he artfully conceals it, looking askance, hurrying his stride and whispering something to the woman he's with.

"Dad?" you call out, despite the part of you that wants to pretend it's not him, that the world is too big and too wide to be conceivable that you'd find him here after so many years.

He ignores you, casting his glance away as he hurries, his wife looking at him in confusion.

"Chris." Joel's voice booms louder than yours, catching your dad's attention. You feel invisible as the two men who haven't seen each other in almost two decades, former friends, practically brothers, reconnect.

But it's not as nice as it sounds.

There's history between them that you don't understand.

All you can see right now is your father, with another family, with absolutely no intention to ever speak to you again.

"Joel." Chris's voice is low, indifferent as you've always remembered it, with a hint of curiosity as his gaze flicks between you and him. And you see the last piece click in place as it registers; while his brain lights up his eyes go dark.

"You wanna tell me what you're doin' here with my daughter?" he moves towards the both of you, a charge in his steps as his purpose becomes clear. Joel stands his ground, shielding you.

"It ain't none of your concern, never was," Joel grunts his reply.

"The hell it ain't," Chris grunts back in Joel's face. You sneak a peek at the woman he's with, maybe five or six years older than yourself, eyes filled with worry as she tries to assess the situation, obviously too afraid to step in.

"Chris, come on," she begs, her accent showing she's not from these parts.

But the men are like animals, neither one is going to step down first.

"If you're doin' with her what I think you are, you're in some deep shit, pal," Chris warns.

"She's an adult and can make her own decisions. And you got no say in her life after leavin' it."

"She's my kid, man!"

It's the first time he's admitted this, and a small thrill of victory floods your veins, quickly thinned when Joel retorts:

"You got a problem with it, come see us in room 478. Oh, and we'll try to keep it down tonight," he smirks, knowing this comment will hit him where it hurts.

What happens next you'll review in your head over and over in the coming days.

Joel barely dodges Chris's punch, but the force of the swing creates a gust of air that grazes his face. He retaliates with a jab to Chris's ribs, landing with a dull thud.

"Dad!" you run towards him, fearing for his safety, knowing firsthand how Joel can switch on to violence in a heartbeat. In the midst of the chaos you try to intervene, grab your dad's shoulder to wrench him away. In his rage-filled instinct he shoves you back, the back of his hand connecting with your cheekbone.

In your daze you stumble back on your ass, hitting the pavement as Joel rams into Chris, knocking him to the ground too. The woman Chris is with starts screaming as Joel slams his fists repeatedly into Chris's face. The sickening crunch of fist meeting flesh, cartilage and bone makes your stomach churn, all your own pain forgotten in the melee of the brutality.

Panicked passersby call for help, try to stop the brawl, come and check on you, helping you to your feet. But all you see are the uniformed cops cuffing Joel after successfully breaking up the fight, leading him to a cruiser, and paramedics coming to your dad's rescue, assessing him. You go to him, hovering over your dad, glimpsing blood and gore before he's lifted onto a stretcher and taken into the back of an ambulance.

It's late, past two a.m. You're curled up in an uncomfortable chair at the hospital, waking with a crick in your neck.

Your dad's going to be okay, the doctor tells you. A broken nose, some stitches, nothing major.

You go in to see him, passing by his wife as she leaves, giving you a sidelong glance, measuring you up. It's not known if Chris has told her about you or not, and this is something you'll never know.

He's sleeping, his monitor beeping steadily. The room smells like disinfectant.

And it's at this point you realize you have nothing to say to him. Any questions that burned in the back of your brain are now ash. The man in front of you is a stranger and has been for years now. He's your father only in biology.

You take a good long look before leaving, at peace with cutting him off. Wondering, asking, waiting.. you don't have the patience for it and he doesn't have the honor to offer you answers. Even if he does, you don't care to hear them.

It's a small relief as you exit through the sliding doors and into the still September night. You'd alerted Tommy to what's happened, and he should be with Joel right about now. Your phone rings in your pocket. Joel's number.

"I'm on my way. Are you at the jail, or-"

"Listen to me, baby.. this ain't a good idea."

You turn cold. "What's not a good idea?"

He pauses for longer than you're comfortable with. "Us, baby.. I'm thinkin'-"

"No," you cut him off before he can say anything final. "No, Joel, you don't mean that."

You're in the car, racing through the late night streets, back to your hotel.

"Listen, Joel, we can talk about this."

You're in the backseat of Tommy's truck in the hotel parking garage. Tommy has gone inside to get Joel's things.

"Joel.."

"You're just a kid," he says softly. He's unharmed from the fight earlier, but he's been through just as much as you have in the past few hours.

"I'm not a fucking kid. Would you have done all those things with me if I was a kid?"

"You know what I mean. You're young, you don't know nothin' about life.. need someone your own age, someone who ain't gonna punch every man who looks at ya with judgmental eyes.. let's face it. I've hurt you by hurtin' others."

"Joel, I don't care about them."

"You're still a little girl at heart, y'know?" he murmurs, his voice taking on a vulnerability you haven't seen in him before. "When I got pulled away from the fight, you went straight to your daddy. I can't fault you for that. It's how it oughta be."

You shake your head. None of this feels real. "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my entire life," you whisper as tears trace down your cheeks.

He purposely keeps his eyes away from you, knowing he'll break if he doesn't put a stop to this soon. "I ain't blamin' ya for goin' to your dad instead of comin' to me, but it damn sure hurts, baby. The way ain't made clear for us yet. I can't say if it ever will be."

You grab hold of his hand but he slips away from your fingers in a soft, almost graceful move. "You promised you'd never let go of me again.." your voice is desperate, begging. "Joel, why are you doing this?"

"It's over," he says quietly.

Alone in the hotel room, Joel's side of the closet now bare, his toiletries gone, his side of the bed cold.

You've cried every tear in your body, cried so much you vomited. As punishment on yourself you refuse yourself the necessary water to feel better. If you had never spotted your dad or called out for him, you both could have ignored each other, and Joel would still be here. He would still love you. You don't deserve to feel better.

You comb through the drawers in search of anything that Tommy might have overlooked when he was packing, any little item that would give you an excuse to call him or see him again. You hold onto that tiny shred of hope like a dying ember.

You do a double take when you see an unfamiliar jewelry box among your things. Black velvet. It's not yours. Your heart palpitates at what it could be, yet a part of you already knows, is already in mourning for what was lost. You force yourself to be strong and open it.

Nestled within, on a bed of white satin, is an engagement ring.

dividers by @saradika-graphics & @enchanthings

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jiminjamms · 4 months

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sex therapy :: 29. karma's a bitch

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. naoya's anger issues continue. infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. mentions of physical violence. family drama.

word count: 3.2k

notes: my sixty-hour work weeks have been taking a huge toll on me, so i apologize for this incredibly slow update. the good news is that i cannot take this corporate america bullshit anymore and will resign in the next two months. thank you for being patient! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Naoya had never felt this humiliated in his entire life.

When people said karma was a bitch, he never thought that it would actually make its way back to him. While he was not the most righteous person in the world, he was the Zenin CEO, for god’s sake! He was the leader to a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, the heir of a centuries-old bloodline.

Yet, here he was, charging back to his apartment like an irate animal.

He startled the lobby doormen upon his loud entry, and once he returned to his penthouse, he had to will every muscle in his body not to tear apart his abode in a rampage.

In his head, his encounter with Toji looped like a broken record, fueling his chagrin.

When Naoya sought to confront his cousin for the first time in months, he thought he had been prepared. He did not expect to end up digging himself into a deep hole surpassing the world's layers due to a judgment error—a slight miscalculation.

Correction: this miscalculation was anything but 'slight' because he wildly underestimated what felt like everything. Now, he bore the consequences of his mistakes after inadvertently turning himself into a laughingstock. Because his ego was his hamartia, he had become a mere jester in a story where he was meant to be the sole hero, and thus his ill feelings burned hotter than the surface of the Sun.

As much as he hated to admit this, Naoya had been shortsighted. He should have known better. Just weeks ago, he saw a vision filled with saccharine promises of a happy, comfortable life as the most powerful man in Japan imbued with power and wealth. He had been confident—a hundred percent certain—that absolutely nothing could go wrong in the trajectory he worked hard to create. But, what the actual fuck just happened at the therapist's office?!

He did not expect his mistress to make a complete fool out of him. Her very existence was an anathema to him, and he hoped to never be in contact with that woman ever again. In hindsight, Naoya should have taken the hint a while ago. He had previously forgiven his cousin's ex-wife, dismissing her blissful but intentional ignorance. Mari had never been too keen on actual intellectual and corporate matters, for she took far more interest in the money and comfort that came with starting from the bottom and sleeping her way to the top. Despite that, Naoya trusted that she at least had half the mind to not publicly discuss their affair, only for him to be proven wrong in front of none other than...Toji Fushiguro.

"Fuck!" Naoya screamed into the void of his empty living room. His reality was a nightmare as he thought about his despised cousin again—the assured gleam in his viridescent eyes, the smug smirk that tugged across his lips. The imagery soured his mood beyond measure. "I'm going to fucking—"

He did not finish his sentence.

Instead, he kicked a nearby lamp in an angry bout, toppling the fixture over and sending tiny shards cascading across the floor accompanied by the dull thud of the shade. Whatever. His housekeeper tomorrow morning would come in and clean that.

What he instead focused on was how he had never been this infuriated, this belittled, this undignified.

The entire apartment echoed with Naoya's loud huff.

'About ‘your wife’ or whatever you want to deem her, there is not a single chance in hell that she’d ever think about calling you her husband anymore.' These words from Toji affected him more than he would have liked.

What did he mean?

That bastard is bluffing, the blonde had to tell himself, yet even he could not believe in his own consolation.

He needed to do something about this.

No, no, Naoya wasn’t scared.

He couldn’t possibly be, right?!

Yet, after he could feel his ears begin to cool and breathing start to re-regulate, he stared at the emptiness in his halls as he came to the realization that had no better choice but to talk to you.

You didn't want to be here.

The moment you read Naoya Zenin's text to meet up for a 'quick chat' at the café near his office, you already knew that the upcoming conversation was going to be anything but 'quick.' The last thing you wished to do was to be in the same vicinity as that very man again.

After spending the last few days at your family residence, you had been showered with warm attention from aunts, uncles, cousins, and even house attendants who—despite naturally wondering the reason behind your stay—welcomed your visit with open arms. To your relatives' many inquiries, you forged a pretense that all was well even if all was not. (Besides, all did seem well in your family estate, away from the incessant pandemonium that was the Tokyo city center.)

While you knew that this peaceful break was not meant to last forever, you did not anticipate returning to the capital just to sit with the Zenin CEO alone.

Naoya had specifically chosen a corner table in the Hong Kong-inspired establishment, distanced from potential eavesdroppers. He seemed to have been waiting for a while by the time you arrived, his right leg crossed over his left knee as he twiddled with his thumbs impatiently. Sprawled on the table were a freshly brewed pot of jasmine tea and a platter of warm custard pastries.

He remained quiet as you took the seat across from him, observing with a crease on his forehead and a knit to his brows.

Anyone could tell that the blonde was not the least bit happy.

"Giving me dirty looks is not going to get this conversation anywhere," you pointed out while helping yourself to a tart.

From your comment, the inverted slope on Naoya's lips twisted into a deeper frown.

He did not understand where your annoyance came from.

Fine, he never treated you nicely either, but he did not expect you to snap at him when the discussion had hardly begun. You offered him no greetings, and Naoya also took great offense at how you chose not to look at him as you talked.

Truth be told, your neglect reminded him of all the other upsetting things that he was dying to bring up, and your unpleasant attitude whittled away the little restraint he had left.

“You didn’t try to ask where I’ve been. Not one text or call. Guess it would not have mattered to you if I disappeared, huh?" he lashed out through gritted teeth. He hated being forgotten, hated being looked over, and hated how easy it was for him to prove you to be a neglectful and apathetic wife.

Which was why there was no better option than to cut him off.

“You ordered me to leave you alone, Naoya.” Only slightly did you turn your head to glance at him. Stirring sugar into your tea, you kept your attention otherwise on the nearby window and watched businesspeople scurrying about on the streets on their lunch breaks. "You can live without my attention since I'm not the only woman you have around. What happened to your lady friend? Hasn't she been entertaining you long before our marriage? I am sure she would love your company, so why not pay her an impromptu visit?”

From a slanting angle, you could tell that the transformation from your normally calm demeanor dismayed him. Naoya, not you, was typically the one to make snide comebacks, but he could not deny your latest comments. Evidently, he wanted you to go back to your submissive and passive self, but that was precisely what you no longer could be for him.

His silence prompted you to reach into your purse and retrieve a thick manila envelope, and you presented the package on the table.

Naoya's gaze snapped to the parcel.

He was curious, but cautiously so. He had invited you here, expecting to control the narrative, to dictate the terms. As a result, your unexpected move threw him off balance.

"What...?"

“Take a look and find out for yourself.”

A puzzled Naoya demonstrated no hesitation.

He snatched the folder, tearing the top open and greedily grabbing the curated pieces inside. He stared for a long time at the first item: a photo. But he recognized the image of him and his mistress, boarding a private jet for their most recent trip to Mexico. Then, he flipped through the stack rapidly, barely registering each item before he turned to the next. Some were printed-out pictures and others were cutouts from news articles, but all featured him and his paramour. The confusion on Naoya's visage slowly morphed into aggravation, and when he finished his inspection, he forcefully threw the items back onto the table.

In the end, Naoya sat back and went still, not even blinking, thinking, or doing anything but pressing his tongue along his inner cheek. "How did you get these?"

No apologies. No remorse.

Hell, based on his response, the man could not even bother to deny your accusations, a telling sign of how little he could care for his relationship with you. Obviously, you must be a joke to him.

In one firm motion, you placed down your teacup.

"You're missing the point.”

While one's eyes may be the windows to the soul, Naoya's offered nothing in his current state. His pupils looked at—no, examined you in intense dark pools despite the iridescent glow from the lights above.

"Toji gave you these, didn't he?" Naoya continued with a disdainful laugh, himself insistent on getting answers to his own questions. "You can't find this shit on the internet anymore since I've had them all taken down. But Toji's fast. He has eyes everywhere, I know he does. Look at him. Months later, and he's still hung up on reclaiming a position he should've never had the right to in the first place!"

Thankfully, you didn’t flinch from his loud voice. What you did do was become more indifferent as if you were placing a wall to separate yourself from him, mentally bracing for his emotional maelstrom.

"You are missing the point," you said once more. This time, you shook your head in disappointment, and your tone was far more frustrated than the last. "Aren't you shameless?”

"Me? Shameless?!” His brows pinched closer from fury. "Take a look at yourself, woman! What did you do to get all this dirt from Toji and his henchmen, hm? Ha! Know what? I bet it’s because you're so willing to spread yourself for them,” he rambled with a nasty sneer plastered on his expression. At his comments, your jaw fell open before snapping shut as the meaning behind his words sank in. The way this man disregarded how he had an affair (that began many months ago!) only to redirect the spotlight onto you was repulsing, implying that the sole reason the therapists talked to you was that you had slept around. “A whore like you love taking all them all, don’t you? Well? Well? Am I right? Goddamn, you’re such a—”

The harsh scraping from your chair as you stood was what finally interrupted him. Unable to tolerate his vilification, you counteracted his anger with the venom in your rancorous glare.

"How dare you talk about me like that!”

In the meantime, prying eyes started to turn in your direction from the commotion: teenage girls, sharing nervous glances across their table; a lone businessman, stopping mid-sip from his cappuccino; even the barista, pausing mid-grind such that her arm froze inches from the hopper.

"That man...doesn't he seem familiar?" a distant voice asked.

"Is he a celebrity or something?"

"No, wait. He's the person on the cover of last month's Fortune magazine. Naoya Zenin!" another replied.

"Isn't that lady his wife?"

While the onlookers' curious glances turned into full-on stares, their regard steeled your resolve rather than bothered you. Instead, you wanted the crowd to take in the spectacle. Corrupt tricks and dirty money had long painted the Zenin heir as 'the most perfect man in Japan,' and the public deserved to understand the fraudulence and cruelty that underlaid his facade.

"For months, I trusted you. I respected you. I put aside the harrowing loneliness weighing on my heart all because I tried to understand you. You told me that finding the time or energy for our marriage was not easy because board meetings kept you late in the office or business meetings required you to spend several nights abroad. Fine! So, I had been patient. But," and your voice overflowed from anger as you pointed a shaking finger at the pictures on the table, "Taking another woman to Michelin restaurants for dinners? Spending nights with her at Ritz-Carltons and Four Seasons? Going on entire vacations with her across the Pacific? All while you had a wife at home? Are you out of your fucking mind ?!"

The man's nose flared with deep-seated rage, his eyes mirroring the same bitterness in yours. "At the end of the day," he began sternly, "we're still married."

Ridiculous.

“On paper, ” you had to clarify. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be cheating on me with your older cousin's ex-wife."

Immediately, louder murmurs rippled through the crowd. Naoya turned stiff, uncomfortable with the attention. So much for selecting a quiet corner in the café. He wasn’t stupid enough to sense that he had to be careful. Saying one wrong phrase would condemn him to a public meltdown.

However, you were already steps ahead of him when you loudly declared: “I’m filing for a divorce.”

That caught him off guard.

Your announcement even drew audible astonishment from bystanders as they stopped their meals, turning to each other and drawing out their phones.

In literal milliseconds, the vexation once riddling Naoya's demeanor shifted into denial.

“No. We’re not going to talk about a fucking divorce right now. We’re going to fix what we have, and you’re going to come back to me. We’re...We're married for a reason, and we’re going to keep with it!”

"That's a bullshit reason,” you had to snap. “Listen to yourself. Do you hear how selfish you sound!?" At this point, nothing could hide your bafflement. "Naoya, you were the one who said that if I wanted to leave this marriage badly, then I should leave. Ask Mai and Maki! They heard the entire conversation. Didn't you also say that you didn't give a fuck anymore?"

The man attempted to salvage some semblance of control. "I was just joking!"

"No, you were not." Picking up a photo of Naoya and Mari together, you pressed the picture to his face. “How much more can I take? How many days would I still have to go through alone in the penthouse, all because you would be spending your sweet time with the woman that you love?”

Unloading all this emotional baggage, not only for Naoya Zenin but also for the café spectators to hear, took courage. Previously, you would have let the burden gnaw at your soul. You would have rather wallowed in suffering rather than even think about speaking up.

But the past was the past, and you had grown immensely since then. Currently, you were stronger, more confident. You knew that, in Toji's words, you deserved better. Life was too beautiful to waste on a man who did not love or respect you and, with that in mind, you relaxed your clenched fists with an exhausted and fatigued sigh.

You broke me first, you said through a deserted gaze.

Naoya Zenin was the reason why you had become the way you were: a cold, seemingly heartless wife who cared none for her husband. The misery that he placed on your shoulders finally reached its limit, and while you could forgive, forgetting the memories in your scarred heart would be a task over months, years, and even a lifetime.

“Listen,” you began, tone terse, “this divorce will set you free. Mari is the person whom you need—”

“The hell. No!” the man interrupted in a violent outburst, taking your breath away as he slammed the table and hissed. “I don't give a damn about her right now! We’re…We’re over!" he snarled with incredible anger such that he almost appeared to growl. "I don’t need her, I need you! That...That whore doesn't give a flying fuck about my shit! All she cares about is...is...Fuck this. All she wants is the money. Why else do you think she married and then later divorced Toji? She doesn't want to hear about all the shit in my family because she had not been brought up to deal with all the fuckin' drama in my household. She can't understand because, unlike you, she wasn't born with a silver spoon shoved down her goddamn throat!"

Quietly, you absorbed his words, stunned.

So this was how their relationship had been.

You had not expected him to reveal all these entrenched feelings willingly, but his concoction between reckless rage and sheer desperation had allowed him to spill the ugly side of this extramarital affair. Naoya could not afford to lose you, and not just because this marriage solidified the respect of those around him. While Mari offered him an outlet for physical indulgence, only you could offer the cornerstone to Naoya's mental and social fortitude.

“So you ‘need’ me now, but what happens when you find another reason to hate me again? What will you do if you don’t think I can fulfill the role you want me to have as your partner? Or if you wake up one day and suddenly want your cousin’s ex-wife again? Or if you meet another woman? Am I supposed to stand there again, and watch this all happen?"

No answer.

The fact that he couldn't respond hurt.

"My decision is final. Looking back, I despised every single second married to you. In fact, I feel sorry for myself. The fact that I blindly put up with your manipulation, betrayal, and blame for all these months.” With your belongings collected, you prepared to leave. “You would be stupid to think you're the only one with options, you know.”

Only when you turned around did Naoya react, scrambling to his feet.

“What the fuck are you—”

In any other situation, he would have grabbed you, lunged at you, did everything in his power to stop you from going. Yet, given all the witnesses, all he could do was call you back like a helpless child, trying his best to not escalate the scene (although, at this point, even passerbys outside have stopped by the window to spectate).

"Hey!" Naoya called after you. “Hey! I’m still talking with you!”

Pathetic, really, to see him desperately beg for you to stay in his life.

There was a certain satisfaction in finally having the control at your fingertips. The feeling was empowering—electrifying, even—and you became so focused on the gratification that you barely registered Naoya's last question.

“Where are you going?”

At this point, you already stood by the exit.

“That’s not something that my soon-to-be ex-husband would need to know,” and you hardly gave him another glance as the door closed behind you. “Thank you for showing me everything I hope to never find in another man again."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Part of why this update took so long was because I wanted to have an encounter between Naoya and Y/N to showcase Y/N’s development, from someone who thoughtlessly defended her husband to someone who could stand up for herself (all while alone!). I envisioned this interaction many times, and I thought about different ways to approach the scene, the delivery, the dialogue, the choreography, etc. It took me a while to go for what I currently have. Thank you for reading!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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fiveisnumber1 · 4 months

Text

Timeless - Five Hargreeves X Reader

Main story parts:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37

A/N: Hi Everyone, sorry it took so long to put this chapter out. I swear I really tried to get it done sooner, but without going into too much detail, let's just say I got majorly hit by the Author's Curse. It wasn't easy but I finally am in a place where I was able to finish this chapter and I have already written some of the next one. Let's just hope I don't have a repeat of last time. Hope you enjoy and if you can please leave a comment that would be so cool! They make my day and really help to motivate me!

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Pt 38 - Don't (Let Me) Go

Light pushed through the silent darkness that surrounded you, the brightness slowly increasing as time went on. You could hear a ringing in your head, and as you opened your eyes to look for the origin of the sound, light flooded into your receptors causing you to wince at the intensity. You shut your eyes tightly once again and turned your head to the side trying to avoid the piercing light directly above you. Slowly, you could feel the rest of your senses begin to kick in. You were lying down somewhere and as your fingers slightly moved back and forth you could tell that you were on a carpeted floor. You felt like there was a layer of sweat covering your skin. Your mouth felt extremely dry like you hadn't had water in days and all you could hear was the buzzing of what you assumed to be the light source above you. Carefully, you opened your eyes, wincing at the light once more before allowing your cloudy vision to focus as best as it could. The world was bright and still a bit blurry, but you could make out the room enough to realize you were back in Kenny's basement.

You were confused. How the hell did you get back here? You shut your eyes again trying to force yourself to remember what happened last night but everything was a jumbled mess and it hurt to think.

You moved your head slightly in an effort to look around more but the slightest movement made you feel like you were moving through jello. Just slightly out of arms reach you could see Dean lying on the floor as well.

"Dean..." You groggily called

However, he did not move.

"Marks..." You called slightly louder

Still nothing.

You knew what you had to do. With all the energy you could muster you rolled yourself from your back onto your stomach. A wave of nausea washed over you, but you somehow managed to stop it. Now within reach of him, you slid your arm over and placed your hand on his forehead before smacking it repeatedly.

"Ah!" He shouted as he quickly sat up "Estoy despierto!"

You did not move your head to look at him and instead just opted to use your peripheral vision as best as you could. You could see as he lifted his hand to his forehead to hold it. You couldn't tell if it was from a headache like yours or because you had just repeatedly hit it. Dean looked around the room confused before turning his attention to you on the ground.

"Oh, you don't look good." He commented

"I'll be fine..." You replied still slightly disoriented "What did we do last night?"

"What didn't we do?" Dean stated back "I can't even remember everything."

"That's- not comforting..." You responded

Seeing that you were not getting the answers you wanted from Dean, you knew that you would have to start asking around to piece together the puzzle, but there was no way you were going to get an idea of what happened last night from your spot on the floor. However, the thought of getting up felt like a Herculean task given your condition. You had never gone as far as you did last night. Honestly, you should've listened to that alcohol and drug lecture you got back in freshman year, no matter how lame they were. They were correct when they rhymed Drinking lots is really bad, it makes your head and tummy sad. Your head and tummy were very upset right now. If only you had some water, then you could force it through your system with your powers and wipe a lot of your discomfort away. If only you didn't have to get up to accomplish that.

Wait.

You didn't.

Through your tired and headache-filled haze, an idea came to mind. All you had to do was roll on your back once more, open your mouth, and use your powers to collect the water molecules in the air close enough to create a physical stream of water.

You were a genius.

Gathering your physical energy once more you rolled yourself back onto your back. The basement lights above shined into your eyes once more, but you did your best not to focus on it and instead focus on the task at hand. Looking up you concentrated on the water molecules in the air and began to bring them together. Quickly, the molecules pooled together becoming an orb that floated in the air. The ceiling lights shone through the water and reflected the light into brilliant rays. If it weren't for your thirst you may have considered staring at the growing water ball longer. When the orb looked sizable enough, you opened your mouth, and let the water begin to fall.

Unfortunately, you realized too little too late that your genius idea was actually incredibly stupid as the orb of water fell from the air and down onto your face. Your open mouth caught a good portion of the water, but instead of swallowing it as you had planned, you began to choke as you somehow managed to drown yourself. The shock of it all sent a jolt through your system causing you to sit upright and let the water still stuck in your throat spill out onto the floor. With most of the water either on the floor or swallowed into your system you began to gasp loudly for air as you tried to settle yourself back down. At least you were sitting up now. As you began to catch your breath, you heard as a voice asked,

"Did you just waterboard yourself?"

Your head slowly turned your head left toward the voice and saw Bren sitting against the wall. His expression was still tired mixed with some shock. You furrowed your eyebrows in annoyance as you attempted to shout between gasps,

"N-no!"

Rather than replying, he just raised one eyebrow curiously most definitely implying he did not believe you.

"Shut up!" You shouted, finally regaining your ability to speak "I didn't mean to!"

"Shhh..." Viktoria shushed, waving her hand at you "You're too loud."

"Sorry..." You whispered

Finally taking a look around the room you could see the rest of your friends in some state of alertness although some look worse for wear than others. Dean and Bren seemed tired but not in pain, Lucas and Addison seemed like they had light sensitivity but nothing some ibuprofen couldn't help with, but Viktoria looked like she was gonna need a stronger concoction of remedies to get better. As people began to move around you considered actually getting up to get water, but before you could you were greeted with the cheerful yet loud voice of Kenny exclaiming,

"GOOD MORNING KRUSTY CREW!"

"SHHHH!" Viktoria emphasized louder

"Oh shush yourself, Vi. I've got home remedies and medicine to fix you all up." Kenny replied matter-of-factly

Ah yes, of course, the part-time EMT and full-time party king himself would know exactly how to help you all. You watched from where you sat on the floor as Kenny, who seemed completely unaffected from the night before, passed out items from a tray to each of your friends. Coffee for Dean and Bren. Extra-strength migraine medicine and Gatorade for Lucas and Addison, and the prior plus saltines for Viktoria. And then lastly there was you. You watched as Kenny walked over to you and reached down to hand you a giant glass of water. As he did so though he noticed the remnants of water that soaked your top half.

"What happened?" He questioned confused

"I'm far stupider when my head hurts." You replied annoyed "Please just give me the water so I can fix myself."

"Makes sense," Kenny commented as he handed you the water

Chugging the water he had handed you, you finally managed to set out what you wanted to do with your original plan. Getting the water into your system, you used your powers to move it about your body helping you to start feeling better. It was an incredibly weird feeling when you messed with only some of the molecules inside your body, but it was better than being nauseous and in pain. And truly, a recovery that took two minutes of being uncomfortable was far better than one that took two hours.

Soon enough, the searing pain in your head and the unease in your stomach both managed to subside allowing you to focus on more important matters. Like drying yourself off for one. Using your abilities to collect the water molecules in your shirt, you distributed them back into the world, ridding yourself of the evidence of your mistake. which finally led you back to your original plan, FINDING OUT WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT.

Finally feeling confident in your ability to stand, you got up from where you sat on the floor, moved to the center of the room, and looked around at your friends. There were markings on each of your friends' left wrists wrapped in clear bandaging that conjured hazy memories of a weird biker bar. Looking down at your left wrist, you saw it was also marked with a symbol of your own. The memories became clearer as you recalled your conversation with Pogo and how you drew the image for him to tattoo. Looking at the tattoo once more you noticed that it seemed to already have healed over. Of course, it had. Your scars never stayed. At least not the physical ones.

That wasn't important though. As you pulled your clear bandage off your wrist you went back to looking at your friends. Things at first seemed ordinary even with the blacked-out gaps in your memory. But then things became odd. Bren had what looked like a streak of black paint on the side of his neck and Addison was wearing a diamond ring on her ring finger.

"Bren, how did you get paint on your neck?" You asked

"Probably got it when we graffitied that stupid banner last night." He replied, looking up from his coffee

You looked at him blankly. You had no recollection of that whatsoever. What banner would the two of you hate enough to even do that, anyway?

"Right." You responded, attempting to hide your lack of remembrance

After responding, however, you quickly looked over toward Addison who was snuggled up next to Lucas on one of the basement's couches.

"And where did you get your ring again, Addi? It's just so lovely." You asked feigning ignorance

"Oh, Lucas found it in a ring box in the bathroom of the club we went to and proposed to me with it." She answered, happily showing it off

"Yeah, and I finally got to use my Certificate of Ordination to marry them when we went to City Hall." Kenny chimed in

"Of course. How could I forget." You replied, still trying to hide that, in fact, you did NOT remember

There were vague memories of someone referencing City Hall when you were at the bar Pogo worked at, but besides that, you had no clue what happened there. Looking over towards Dean you could see that he had a smirk on his face. Locking his eyes with yours, you could hear as he said in your head,

You don't remember shit, do you?

You scowled slightly as you replied in his head,

Shut it. Just tell me what else happened. I already feel stupid enough from the accidental waterboarding...

His smirk turned into a smile as he explained,

Beyond breaking into City Hall so Lucas and Addison could get married? You helped Lucas forge adoption papers so Luther and Sloane Hargreeves are now his legal parents.

You thought to yourself for a moment before stating,

That does like something I would do.

Externally Dean gave you a nod before adding in your head,

Although, you should ask Viktoria where the fanfiction she printed for you is. She ran out like three government printers to put it all into these huge ass binders.

Your eyes went wide for a moment as you questioned,

Binders?

Oh yeah, at least two to my knowledge.

You gave Dean one more look before carefully turning toward Viktoria who was slowly going between eating saltines and sipping on some orange Gatorade on the other couch in the basement. Taking a few steps closer to her you softly began to say,

"Hey Viktoria, about those binders you put together yesterday-"

"Spider-Man fics are in the red binder. They're mainly Amazing Spider-Man focused but some are just general Spider-Man. However, In A Matter of Time fics, are in the blue binder and are sorted by who they're about." Viktoria replied matter-of-factly in between sips of her drink

Well...you did say you wanted to read some of those stories. Viktoria knew the types of tropes you liked and she read everything from the best of works to the worst of it all so at least you knew you were going to get the good stuff.

"Cool. Where are they?" You asked, still hiding the fact that you forgot about this too

"In the black bag over there?" Viktoria stated, pointing in the general direction of the far wall

Walking over to the wall you saw not one, but two, black bags resting against the wall. They were both relatively similar in appearance so you weren't sure which one she was referencing.

"Which bag is it?" you inquired, gesturing to the two bags

"I don't know, the left one?" She shrugged

Taking her word you walked over to the bag on the floor to the left. Crouching down, you opened the zipper on the top of the bag but instead of finding the aforementioned binders you were instead met with the sight of a large sum of cash, all in perfectly banded stacks. You paused, confused at the unexpected sight before you.

"Did you find the papers?" Dean asked

"Not the type that I expected to be in here." You replied

"What do you mean?" Viktoria questioned

"These aren't binders. This is cash." You stated, turning around to show the group "And a lot of it."

"Oh, that's my bag!" Kenny exclaimed, "Viktoria's is the one on the right."

Everyone slowly turned to look at Kenny. Confusion and concern running across all of your faces but his.

"Kenny, why do you have stacks on stacks in that bag?" Bren interrogated

"Oh, because I took it when we were at City Hall," Kenny stated nonchalantly

the jaws of you and your friends dropped as you looked at him. He seemed to not have a care in the world about what he had done. This was bad. Not apocalypse bad, but still, pretty fucking bad.

"You stole thousands of dollars from the government?!" You exclaimed

"The world is in chaos why would the government care?" Kenny explained

"IT'S MONEY!" You shouted, "THEY CARE ABOUT THIS SHIT MORE THAN HUMAN LIFE!"

Kenny paused for a moment, somehow only now realizing the severity of what he had done.

"Ah fuck...you right." He stated

"Hey, hey, calm down," Bren interjected "I'm pretty sure I managed to turn off their security system though."

Turing your attention from Kenny, you looked at Bren and questioned,

"How sure?"

"Like 75 maybe 85 percent sure." He answered

"That's pretty good." Lucas tried to encourage

"That's not a hundred," Dean replied

"So what? We can't leave this basement until the world ends?" Viktoria questioned

A silence fell over the group. You looked at each other waiting for someone to say something but no words came. Was Viktoria right? Was this it? Were you all stuck here in Kenny's basement for the short, but foreseeable future?

No. You couldn't let that happen. If the world was ending you were doing whatever you could to fill the time. You weren't going to become like the rest of the world hiding themselves away from the inevitable. You wouldn't let the dread of the end creep into you all. If you were going out, it was going to be together, as a group, on your terms. You refused to let the world take this from you.

"No, we can. We just need to keep a very low profile." You spoke up

Your friends turned their attention to you. There was confusion amongst the group, but that notable spark of hope in their eyes. There were a plethora of things you could count on your friends for. Friendship, support, humor, connection, loyalty, etc. But the most important one was hope. It was their hope that kept you going when things were tough just like it was your hope that kept them going during their dark days. You were a family. You loved each other. And when it came to wanting the best for each other no expense was paid to giving out hope to one another.

The apocalypse wasn't your fault, but it was your doing that they were aware of it. If there was anything you could give them now it was hope. Looking back at them you stood up straighter, and with confidence in your voice you explained,

"Like Kenny said, the world is in chaos, people are disappearing, and they might not put as much effort into looking for us as they would under normal circumstances."

Slowly but surely, there were nods of agreement at the statement. They made sense and if you were so confident in that fact then they should be too.

"Still, we should find a new place to lay low these next few days." Dean added, "God forbid, it's that 15-25 percent that Bren isn't sure, they'll probably still come checking our homes just to say they tried."

"Okay, but what place is going to take in seven strange kids no questions asked?" Addison commented

There was quiet chatter amongst the group about where you all could go to lay low. However, the confident look on your face dropped contorting into a grimace as you already knew where would be best suited to hide out. You did not want to take your friends there, especially with who were already staying there, but deep down you knew it was best.

"What's that look for, sis?" Dean questioned

"I know a place..." You sighed

"And you're sure they won't ask questions?" Addison pressed

"Positive." You explained, "The same guy has been working the front desk since at least the sixties and didn't ask why I haven't aged a day after 56 years."

"Well, I don't know about you guys but that works for me," Kenny stated

Everyone else seemed to either nod their head or mumble some type of agreeing statement to the idea. In your mind, it wasn't ideal but you knew it was your best bet.

"Alright then, everyone grab your important shit, shove it in my car, and let's go." Dean said

With Dean's declaration, your scattered friends started to get up and gather their things. Some more slowly than others. You felt a twinge of sadness as you looked around Kenny's basement. This place was your main hangout spot and it was filled with memories. You had hoped you could come back to this place each day, but just like many other places in your life, you had to move on. What was safest was best. There wasn't all that much to grab since most peoples' items were back at their respective houses, but soon enough everyone had gathered their sentimental stuff and gathered by the basement stairs ready to go. As you all began to make your way up the stairs, and to the front door you could hear Kenny exclaim behind you all,

"Wait!"

Everyone stopped on their own specific stair, except for Lucas who had already made it to the main floor landing and looked back at Kenny.

"What's wrong?" Bren inquired

"My tumbly's grumbly." Kenny replied

"Oh! I can make us eggs before we go." Lucas suggested

"No!" The rest of the group interjected

Lucas looked down the stairs at you all, his head tilted to the side in confusion at all of your reactions.

"Uh- no thank you, Lucas." You said, in a more polite tone "We'll get breakfast on the way."

With a quick shrug of his shoulders, Lucas smiled at the rest of you as he replied,

"Okay!"

And as he walked off toward the front door the rest of you looked down at Kenny who still stood at the bottom of the stairs, all giving him an annoyed glare.

"I don't know why you all are mad at me. You said no too." Kenny complained

Letting out a little sigh, you, like everyone else, continued up the stairs and out to Dean's car. With everyone piled in Dean pulled away from Kenny's house and drove off. After a quick stop at a diner, where you ordered and ate breakfast food besides eggs, you got back in the car and directed Dean to drive to the Hotel Obsidian, telling him it was mostly a straight shot down the road with one left turn after 20 blocks.

With that explanation though, Dean's sense of caution seemed to dissipate as he whipped out of his parking spot at the diner and floored it down the road. Weaving between the abandoned cars and ignoring most traffic lights, it seemed as if Dean had forgotten the speed limit, that there would still be some other cars on the road, and thatyou were trying to lay low. You could hear the sound of the song Tokyo Drift playing in his head as you sped down the semi-apocalyptic streets. You took a look at your friends in the backseat, most of them seemed at least slightly entertained except for Viktoria who was starting to look green. You were almost at the hotel though, so you hoped she could at least hold out til you got there to possibly spill her guts. As you approached the left turn to arrive at the hotel, Dean quickly spun the wheel left causing the car to do a few donuts in the intersection. You let him enjoy his fun for a few rotations as Bren and Kenny encouraged him from the back seat, but with Viktoria's condition seemingly worsening you decided to hit his arm suggesting he get a move on.

Finally making the left turn, Dean slowed down slightly as he pulled up into the front drive of the hotel. You all stepped outside of the car, leaving most of your items with you before having Dean lock everything up. You did however wonder why Kenny felt the need to bring his medbag with him, it's not like anything major was going to happen at the hotel. Nevertheless, you made your way, with your friends, toward one of the front revolving doors as you all collectively tried to push your way through in the same turn.

"Will you- god- back up, Kenny," Bren complained

"Dean, your elbow's in my ribs," Lucas stated

"Okay, we didn't all-" Addison began to criticize

"Move forward!" Dean shouted as he pushed the group

After a moment, the seven of you finally made it through the door and to the other side of the entrance. Spreading out to give each other space, you mentioned

"You know there were two doors, right?"

"Thank you, girl who can go through walls. That's some great insight coming from the person who didn't have to use the door with us, but did anyway." Addison remarked

Your mouth fell into an awkward frown as your eyes moved to look toward the floor. Sometimes you got so wrapped up in what was going on that you forgot your powers were even an option. It was a rare occurrence, but it still happened from time to time. However, being reminded that you forgot about your innate abilities made you feel a bit stupid.

"Okay, you're right, but you don't have to be mean about it..." You responded slightly embarrassed

As you dealt with recovering from your faux pas, however, your friends looked about the place they were now going to be staying in the meantime. However, any excited curiosity slowly began to fade as they took everything in. The sub-par hotel was noticeably old. From the furniture, to the lighting fixtures, to the carpet itself nothing looked like it was from this century. It barely looked like it belonged to the last one. The other people who inhabited the hotel were also an odd mix. Your friends tried not to make eye contact with them even as some of them quietly stared at the group.

"This place looks lame as fuck." Dean commented

"It smells like my Grandma's house," Kenny added

"(Y/N), why are we here?" Lucas asked disappointed

"Lucas you know why we're here. I have connections here, along with the Academy crew staying here as well." You explained, "I brought you all here so you'd be safe."

Lucas nodded his head at your response but then you could see as his eyes widened. A revelation came to his mind as you mentioned that the Academy was also staying here.

"Oh my god." Lucas said in a low tone, "I might get to tell Luther he's my dad now."

"Gonna be honest, looking at this place I'd rather take my chances with the government finding us," Bren remarked

You could see as the rest of your friends looked around at each other. No one was replying to Bren's statement, you could tell that they were thinking about it. Except Lucas of course who was too preoccupied with the thought of actually getting a new father.

"Listen, I know it's not great. But it's safer." You added reassuringly, "And I promise we will have a good time. Charlie and I found many ways to make this place at least a little fun."

There was a slight hesitancy, but after a moment you could see your friends become less tense about the situation. Their shoulders relaxed and their postures became more casual. It wasn't ideal but you were going to make this work for you all. As you looked about your group of friends though, you noticed that there were only 5 out of the 6 standing around the lobby.

"Where's Viktoria?" You asked concerned

"Right there," Bren replied pointing behind you

Turning around you saw your petite friend leaning over a small trash can looking as if she was about to puke. Poor Viktoria, her stomach upset so easily. Granted, you couldn't blame her given the events of last night and Dean's driving right after eating. You watched as she looked over toward your group, her head close to resting on the rim of the can. Between the paleness of her skin and the tired look in her eyes, you could tell that she did not feel well.

"Why don't you drive a little more recklessly next time, huh Dean?" Viktoria ridiculed, sickness evident in her tone

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm the safest driver I know." Dean replied, "We're all here in one piece are we not?"

Viktoria shot Dean a dirty look, but quickly after a wave of nausea washed over her causing her to turn her face back toward the opening of the trash can. Fortunately, she faced the can just in time as seconds later a stream of bile came from her mouth. There was a mix of grossed-out grimaces and sympathetic looks on the faces of you and your friends while other guests of the hotel looked on in disgust. As Addison rushed over to Viktoria's side you turned to look at the rude patrons staring at your friend.

"Mind your business!" You shouted, your eyes angrily flaring up

The prying eyes of other guests quickly averted themselves as you returned to normal and turned back to your group. Now kneeling next to Viktoria, Addison gently ran a hand up and down her back trying to ease her discomfort. With a sympathetic smile, Addison cooed,

"C'mon Vi, let's see if they have some old pretzels or something behind the bar to help your stomach."

Kenny quickly perked up at the word bar as he excitedly looked around the lobby once more. He had missed it the first time, but off to the side, there was a fully stocked bar with no one attending it. A wide smile came to his face as he ran off toward it cheering,

"It's unmanned! That means it's free!"

As quick as Kenny started running though, Bren took off after him.

"KENNY! NO!" He shouted, pulling out one of his whips to try and grab onto him

As Bren chased Kenny toward the bar, you looked back at the scene in front of you. Addison was trying hard to get Viktoria to get up so they could walk over to the bar and hopefully help her feel better. However, her efforts were futile as Viktoria's body refused to let her leave from her kneeling position.

"I can't move..." Viktoria groaned as Addison tried to lift her once more

Letting out a defeated sigh, Addison called out,

"Lucas! Come help me carry Viktoria."

"Oh uh- yeah," Lucas answered coming out of his thoughts, "Sure thing, babe,"

Walking over to where Addison was Lucas lifted Viktoria off the ground with ease. He was a very strong boy and lifting someone small like Viktoria was a piece of cake for him.

"Don't worry Sonata, I got you." Lucas comforted as he picked Viktoria up

He waited for a moment for Addison as she picked up the trash can and continued to hold it close to Viktoria's head. Once she was ready the two of them slowly made their way over to the bar to not disturb Viktoria's stomach more. And then there were two. You looked over at the rest of your friends by the bar before turning to Dean and saying,

"Well if everyone else is over there we might as well too,"

"You can go. However, I have to piss." Dean replied

"I told you not to drink four glasses of orange juice." You reminded

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just point me to the nearest bathroom." Dean remarked

Rolling your eyes, you pointed toward the back of the lobby toward the elevators.

"Off to the side of the elevators, there is a hallway. Down at the end of the hall is a communal bathroom. There are stalls, showers, and baths so don't be surprised if you see anyone in just a towel." You explained before commenting, "Or less."

"Do you know that from experience or...?" Dean questioned

"Not my experience. Charlie's." You answered, "I always showered at the Academy."

"Alright. Well, I'll meet you back at the bar with everyone else." Dean replied

With that, Dean gave you a short nod as he walked off toward the bathrooms and you began to head toward the rest of your friends. As you made your way over to the bar, you noticed Viktoria's phone on the ground. It must've fallen out of her pocket as Lucas had carried her. Picking it up, you took it with you. She'd probably want it back when she was feeling better, but given you hadn't used a smartphone in four years you felt very compelled to use hers. As you approached, the bar you called out to Viktoria,

"Vi, I found your phone. Can I use it?"

Viktoria, however, didn't look or talk back. Instead, you could see her give a shaky thumbs up. And with that approval, you sat down on the bar top, surrounded by your chaotic friends, and unlocked her phone to scroll social media.

Unbeknownst to you though, just across the lobby, the rest of the Umbrella Academy were gathering together as well. One by one, the members of the Hargreeves family had found all of themselves standing near the elevators asking each other what had happened to them recently. But as a silence fell over the group, a vortex of blue opened beside them spitting out Lila and Five onto the carpet of the hotel. Luther, Viktor, Allison, and Diego all jumped back in shock as they watched as the two of them collided with a travel magazine stand, smashing it to pieces. Five and Lila groaned from where they lay on the ground, surrounded by magazines and broken wood.

Rolling onto his back, Five could feel his head spinning. Through his eyes, he could make out the figures of his siblings, but it seemed like each of them had two extra duplicates.

"Shit." He muttered to himself

Sitting up, Five pushed himself to stand, but as he got on his feet he could feel his legs wobble beneath him as the world spun a little more. His mind was racing and yet he couldn't think straight.

"Where have you been?" Viktor questioned

"Facing my mortality, Viktor. I don't recommend it." Five replied as he began to regain his balance

With the world around him a little more stable, Five fixed his jacket and brushed the dust of the wooden stand off his suit. Regaining his composure, he now tried to regain his train of thought. It seemed like every time he time traveled it always seemed to screw with his head a bit. He didn't know if it was the act of traveling through time or the fact that he only ever did it under duress that made his mind get disorganized. Either way, it didn't help especially with so much on the line. As he focused more on the important things at hand, his focus was interrupted by Allison aggressively remarking,

"You had the briefcase? We've been looking for this!"

"Well, look no further. That's the last one on Earth." Five replied

Five watched as she knelt next to the case and took it into her hands. Examining it closer, it was obvious the thing was broken. Between the dents, scratches, and billows of smoke coming off of it, there was no way it was going to work again.

"Or was the last one." Five added

Allison scoffed, tossing the briefcase down to the ground in frustration before getting up and walking away to sit on a nearby staircase. With Allison off to the side, Five went over to the briefcase to inspect it. He didn't think it was workable, but given everything it didn't hurt to check. With one glance though, it was evident that the case was broken beyond repair.

"Yeah, that's toast." Five said aloud

As Five stepped away from the briefcase and began to finally collect his thoughts, Lila rushed towards Diego and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace.

"You're happy to see me. What's wrong?" Diego asked

"Turns out there's less time to hold grudges than I had planned. You're off the hook." Lila explained before asking, "Hey, where's Stan?"

Even with the idle chatter in the background between his family members, Five was able to gather his thoughts. The world was ending. He knew that. It was because of a Kugelblitz that it was ending. He learned that. Another version of himself created the commission and also died. He witnessed that. You, his girlfriend, were in danger of also dying. He discovered that. None of these thoughts were good, and they needed to be resolved fast. Calling the attention of those around, Five announced,

"Hey, Chatty Cathys, quit the chitchat, all right? I'm calling a family meeting here."

Hearing that, Lila attempted to walk away from the group but was stopped by Diego who held her wrist and said,

"Ah, ah, ah. That means you too."

With his mind fully in focus, and the things he needed to address listed out in his head, Five looked around at the group that stood before him, but as he glanced at each individual he noticed a very important one was missing.

"Where's (Y/N)?" Five asked the group

Besides Lila, who was with Five the whole time, the rest of the group looked around at each other for an answer. Their eyes met each other as shoulders were shrugged and uncertain mumbles filled the air. No one seemed to know where you were.

Concern bubbled up within Five. How could they not know where you were? You were with the group of them when he had left. How did they not see you? Terrible thoughts started to flood Five's mind as he thought of the possibilities of what could've happened to you. What if you were kidnapped by the Sparrows? What if a kugel wave blitzed you? Or worse, overwhelmed your powers and killed you? What if he was too late and you were already gone? In their conversation, his other self told him that he shouldn't have left here, that his time was running out. Was this what he meant?

"Where is my girlfriend?" Five harshly emphasized

Uncomfortable looks spread on the faces of the Hargreeves siblings as they stayed silent. Their silence though began to push Five into a spiral. His body tensed and frustration flooded his face as he looked at his siblings. There was one more thing about him that only Lila managed to notice. Panic. There was panic in his eyes even if his expression was angry.

His panic however was a cause of concern for Lila. Five had already stated that if he didn't have you, he would end the world himself. And if anyone besides Viktor has a reason to do it, it would be him. Lila didn't care about you appearing because she liked you, but more so because she had things she needed to do and Five ending the world would get in the way of that. And whether she liked it or not, if there was one person Diego cared about besides her, it was you. So he had to be the one to know where you were.

"Diego, where's (Y/N)?" Lila asked

"Uh, I mean she has to be here somewhere, right?" Diego responded

That was not the answer Lila wanted to hear. Hoping that with a little pressure Diego would remember, Lila pressed,

"Well, she's your sister so shouldn't you know where she is?"

"No, I've been busy with Stan," Diego replied

"Of course you fucking have." Five snapped from across the group

Five's comment didn't register with Diego though as out of the corner of his eye he saw Stan walk by with an armful of chemicals. Not really thinking about the issue at hand and instead wondering what Stan was up to, Diego announced,

"I'll be right back."

"Don't leave me with your- Dieg-" Lila called but it was useless as he had already walked away

Five's frustration began to boil over as Diego walked away to follow Stan. Diego, who still continuously criticized him for even breathing in your direction, apparently couldn't care less that you were missing. Only a few days ago, if you were missing he would've gone nuclear, but now it seemed that didn't matter. What a fucking hypocrite. With his emotions continuing to build up, Five faced the rest of the group, but with a crowd of blank stares looking back Five couldn't help but shout,

"SOMEONE BETTER TELL ME WHERE MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND IS NOW."

"I know where she is." A voice called out

Hearing those words a sense of relief washed over the entire group. Thank god, someone knew where you were because none of them did. However, after that moment of relief, they realized the voice was not familiar to them. Everyone's head quickly turned toward the voice only to be met with a teenage boy who had a similar resemblance to Diego. To Luther and Allison, there was something familiar about him, but Viktor and Lila had no clue who this kid was.

"Who's the mini Diego?" Viktor asked

"Y'know Viktor, I take offense to that, but seeing as we've never met before I'll let it slide." He responded

Viktor looked toward his siblings only to be met with more shrugs from Allison and Luther. But the look on Five's face was a different story. Five knew who this person was, but it didn't make sense why he'd be here.

"Dean?" Five questioned confused

Dean smiled. Not only because Five recognized him but because he was back and that was going to be such a relief for you. After he apologized for leaving in the first place, of course. Walking over to Five, he placed a hand on his shoulder as he greeted,

"Hey, Five! Great to see you. Sorry to hear about the black hole consuming all of existence, I know you tried really hard to stop that."

"A black hole is destroying existence?!" Allison exclaimed angrily

"It's called a Kugelblitz." Five replied flatly as he attempted to process what was going on

Lila looked at the teenage boy standing in front of Five. Who was this kid? And why did he look like a younger version of her boyfriend? Obviously, he wasn't a younger version because Five addressed him as Dean, but that didn't make it any less confusing. And even more so, he knew about the Kugelblitz. Lila thought the only two people who knew were her and Five. Trying to learn more, Lila questioned,

"How do you know about that?"

Dean looked towards Lila. he hadn't noticed her before, but he recognized her. They had never met of course, but Dean knew her as one of the villains from the Dallas arc of Charlie's comics. The comics that he now knew were about your life and the people in it. Dean narrowed his eyes at Lila, as his face contorted with disgust. Like most other fans of Charlie's comics, Dean did not like Lila. In his mind, Lila deserved no respect. And now, after coming to realize her significance in the circumstances that led you back to him and the things she had done, he hated her even more. She was actively ruining your life by just existing in it. And you, his beloved twin sister, should not have to put up with her existence. Dean wasn't going to tolerate that. Glaring at Lila, in a vile-laced tone, Dean responded,

"I don't associate with homewreckers."

"Excuse me?" Lila replied taken aback

Who was this kid? Who did he think he was calling her a homewrecker? What home was there even to wreck? Diego didn't have a wife or a child. Why was this boy so hostile toward her when they had never met before?

"You're not excused." Dean deadpanned

Lila's jaw dropped as she wracked her brain trying to make sense of what was going on right now.

Like Lila, Five was also trying to comprehend his current situation. Whatever semblance of a plan to discuss the end of the world with his family Five had was now thrown out the window. He was bewildered. Dean was here. Why? Dean knew who he was. WHY? Dean knew about the Kugelblitz. WHY? None of this made sense. Most things didn't make sense at this point but this was something else, and Five needed it to start making sense or he was going to go insane. At least more insane than he already was given what he had come back from. Placing a hand on Dean's shoulder, Five brought Dean's attention back to him.

"Dean, look at me," Five interrogated "How do you know who I am?"

Dean's eyes pulled away from the woman at the top of his shit list to look at Five. Five's face was filled with confusion, which finally reminded Dean of the fact that he technically was not supposed to know who you or the Umbrella Academy were.

"Oh uh, (Y/N) stabbed me with a needle and my brain became a recovered Google Doc and now I recall everything from the first timeline." Dean explained, "Except my death, of course."

Five's head tilted slightly, as he was now more confused than before. How did a needle jog his memory? Why did he mention his death? And what the hell was a Google Doc? Before Five could ask any follow-up questions though, Dean had turned to look at Viktor and added,

"And don't worry Viktor, I don't blame you for killing me, my friends, and everyone else in the world, but that's probably because I can't remember how we died."

The words that had priorly come out of this kid's mouth were confusing to everyone, but that statement struck Viktor like a semi-truck. His confused expression morphed into one of terror as he processed the words he heard. Viktor had killed this kid? He killed this kid's friends? And the only reason he wasn't mad was because he couldn't remember how it happened? What a terrible statement to have come out of some random teenager's mouth and what a terrible reality he now had to live with.

"I- um- what does that even mean?" Viktor questioned concerned

"No time." Five interjected, "How do you know about the Kugelblitz, Dean?"

"Oh, (Y/N) figured it out like a day and a half ago. She scribbled a bunch of math on a wall for an hour like a deranged scientist and then told all of us." Dean answered nonchalantly

Besides Five, the rest of the group look around at each other all wondering the same thing.

"Who's us?" Luther questioned

"The rest of our family. Who I need to be getting back to by the way." Dean responded as he started walking off toward the bar, "They're all over there."

The rest of the group quickly followed behind him but as they approached the bar, they were met with a chaotic scene. A blond boy nervously paced back and forth holding papers in his hands. A sickly-looking girl was heaving over a bin as her friend held her hair and ran a hand up and down her back. And then there was the lanky boy on the ground attempting to claw his way toward a bottle of alcohol just out of reach, as another boy used two whips to hold him by the ankles and pull him back.

"LET ME HAVE IT!" The curly-haired boy shouted

"You've had enough to drink!" The one holding him reprimanded

As most of the group took in the chaos a few revelations came to mind. For Luther and Allison, they recalled vague memories of their time in the bowling alley from the first apocalypse and began to realize that these teens were the same over-enthusiastic ones from then. For Viktor and Lila however, they realized that these kids bore a striking resemblance to the Umbrella Academy with each one corresponding to a different member. It was a little eerie seeing the similarities.

Unlike his siblings though, Five took no notice of the scene before him and instead, his focus shifted only to you. Once his eyes had locked on you it was as if he saw nothing else. He froze for a moment taking in the sight. There you were standing next to the bar looking at some rectangle in your hand. You were okay. You were still alive. He hadn't failed yet. The lights from above the bar cast you in a warm glow that seemed to brighten when you smiled at whatever you were looking at. Looking at you, the panic he had felt from not knowing if you were safe faded away, and without realizing it, he began to walk over to you. Step by step he drew closer, and yet every inch still in between the two of you felt like a mile. For someone whose whole thing was understanding time, he could never seem to grasp how it flowed so differently when he looked at you. Time seemed to move in slow motion as he gently took your face into his hands before pressing his lips firmly against yours.

Your eyes shot wide for a moment and Viktoria's phone fell from your hand as you tried to process what was going on, but you quickly realized there was only one person who could kiss you this sweetly. Five. Even this close up you recognized his face. You let out a happy sigh as he kissed you, your eyes fluttering closed and your arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer to you. You were so relieved he was back.

As the two of you kissed each other, off in your own little world, the rest of the people around looked on. His siblings were honestly shocked. Five never came off as the affectionate type. Sure, he always stated that he loved you, but displaying that affection was rare. They could recount a few occasions in which he held your hand, but besides Luther who saw you kiss him when you showed up at the hotel a few nights ago, none of them could ever recall a time he had openly kissed you like this. Hell, Luther wasn't even sure if that kiss a few nights ago was your first or not.

Your friends however were a completely different story. Whatever they were originally doing came to a complete halt as mischievous smirks and smiles came to their faces. Loudly, they oohed and awed like a group of children finding out you got called to the principal's office. Hearing the comments from your friends, you and Five pulled back from each other, a red blush creeping onto both of your faces.

"Kissing before marriage? So scandalous." Addison chimed

"Yeah, get a room you two." Bren teased

"Shut- shut up." You stammered embarrassed

This was terrible, but this was your karma for teasing your friends about their crushes all those years. Just like you had found their red faces, averted gazes, and stammered responses funny in the past, they now felt the same about you. You could hear the stifled giggles of your friends around the bar and in an effort to avoid their gaze, you instead looked at Five. But as you finally took a good look at him, you now had a new issue on your hands. He was wearing a suit. The suit itself wasn't the issue, it was a nice suit and it looked well-made. The issue was that your boyfriend looked far too good in it. Your brain started to think about the kiss you shared a moment ago. It was sweet with a slight hint of desperation. You thought about how you would've reacted if you had seen him coming your way. Perhaps instead of wrapping your arms around his neck, you would've taken him by the tie to pull him closer. Maybe he would've stepped forward a little more pinning you between him and the bar. You wondered what would happen if the rest of the world was gone. If it was just you two. Alone.

"Jesus Christ, you're down atrocious." Dean remarked aloud, snapping you from your thoughts

Breaking from your trance, your head whipped toward where Dean stood leaning against a pillar.

"I SAID SHUT UP!" You exclaimed loudly

You quickly brought a hand to cover your mouth, regretting how loudly you snapped at him, but the shocked expression on your face and reddening cheeks did not match your twin brother's look of mischievous joy in the slightest. You could see as his smirk became replicated on that of your friends as they all realized Dean had gotten a glimpse into something they weren't privy to, but would love to be.

"What did she say in her head!?" Kenny asked Dean excitedly as he escaped Bren's grasp and grabbed the bottle near him

"Oh, it's not what she said..." Dean responded, mild insinuation in his voice

"Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!" Lucas chanted from his spot next to Addison

"Oh my god, fucking stop." You shouted nervously at your friends before turning to Dean and adding "And you! Get out of my head!"

"Think quieter." Dean remarked, "Before everyone else starts to hear you too."

You were so done with his and the rest of your friends' teasing. Were you down atrocious? Yes, obviously. But that didn't mean they needed to point it out and embarrass you in front of people like this. Especially not your boyfriend and his family. Luckily enough though, as you look around at the Hargreeves present all of them had bewildered expressions on their faces. You were safe. For now. Trying to switch topics before someone could mock you again, you mentioned,

"Anyway! Uh- end of the world, right?"

"Nice pivot." Bren teased

You shot him an annoyed look before turning back to Five who had finally remembered why he had left you in the first place. He left to find out why the world was ending. He found out more than he expected to, but nevertheless, he had the answer to his original question.

"I found out how the world's ending." Five stated, "It's a Kugelblitz."

As much as you missed your boyfriend, the second those words hit your ears you could feel a tinge of annoyance grow within you. You had asked Five not to seek out Lila. Not to leave you when you knew the two of you could figure it out together. But alas, he asked you again and you let him go. However, in his absence, you figured out what was happening with almost 100 percent certainty. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your voice conveyed your true feelings as you mentioned,

"I know, I figured it out too. Myself. Here. In this time. All on my own."

It was evident that you were still upset about his decision to leave. He felt bad for leaving, but at the time he believed it was the right choice. Maybe he could've brought you with him, but he didn't think that was the best option. He couldn't see you and Lila getting along. And their method of time travel might've caused you pain. And seeing another version of Five die could've hurt your feelings. And...

Five reached into his pocket and held the ring he had found tightly between his fingers. If you had been there when he had found it, he couldn't have possibly given it to you. It would've been disappointing and not how he wanted that to go.

Five pushed his thoughts to the side. He needed to focus on what was going on now. Treading lightly, he responded,

"I heard. Dean mentioned that you figured out about the Kugelblitz."

"And? Anything else?" You inquired, your tone indicating you were looking for a specific response

Over your shoulder, Five could see as Lucas quickly grabbed a white napkin and marker from behind the bar. Rapidly, he wrote something down before holding up the napkin. There was an intense look on his face as he pointed repeatedly to what he had written down. In bold, black letters the nakin said only one thing.

APOLOGIZE

As the only other person in a serious relationship, Five quickly assumed that Lucas knew how to respond from experience. Also, if anyone knew what to say to you in this situation, it would be one of your other friends. Taking his advice, Five looked back toward you and took one of your hands in his, and with sincerity in his tone, he replied,

"I'm sorry for not listening to you and leaving. You were right, we could've figured it out together."

You blinked a few times in surprise. You wanted him to but didn't expect him to actually apologize for leaving. You looked over your shoulder at some of your friends for confirmation that he really did that, and while Lucas frantically shoved something in his mouth, Addison and Viktoria nodded their heads, letting you know you had heard Five correctly. Turning to look back at him, your lips curled up into a smile and you held his hand a little tighter.

"Oh um, thanks. I appreciate you saying that."

Internally, Five let out a sigh of relief. At least for now, that issue had subsided, but there was so much more he wanted to talk to you about. He tried to start forming words in his mind, but as he did so Allison stepped forward. She hadn't followed Five over here for his and your reunion. She followed to get answers about what was going on, especially since Five had returned with the briefcase destroyed.

"I've had enough of this, are you going to tell us what's going on or not, Five?" Allison remarked, frustration in her tone

Five looked at his sister. She wasn't happy, and she hadn't been for a few days now. It seemed like anything anyone did was infuriating to her, but it's not like she was helping to fix that either. However, even with her unpleasant disposition, she was right. Five needed to explain at least to his siblings what was going on since you had already informed your friends. Letting go of your hand Five walked around to the backside of the bar.

"Yeah, okay." Five replied, "Gather round everyone."

The rest of the Hargreeves and Lila, while still unsure about what just happened, and the random teenagers hanging about, stood around the bar while you and your friends stayed where you were. Grabbing some shot glasses, Five began to pour out drinks for the rest of the group, handing them out one by one to his family and Lila.

This was going to be a hard talk...

Five wondered how you delivered the news to your friends. They seemed so upbeat even when all of existence was disappearing. Then again, from what he knew, your friends respected you far more than his siblings did and probably didn't blame you for something out of your control. Pouring a shot for himself, Five immediately gulped it down. A little bit of liquid courage never hurt, and perhaps it could numb the pain of the verbal pile-on he expected to happen.

"So this Kugelblitz, it's...?" Viktor began to speak

"The end of everything." Five interjected "Every rock, every star, every atom sucked into a radiant black hole. Randomly collapsing matter every moment in time across all existence till nothing's left."

"Oof." Kenny said aloud

You couldn't help but snicker at his comment. You were in a terrible situation but oof was probably the funniest response someone could give to that explanation. It was a simple joke and reminded you of easier times, what was there not to enjoy about it? However, you realized your sentiment wasn't shared as the heads of the Hargreeves and Lila quickly turned to look toward you. The way they looked at you was as if you had laughed at a funeral. Well, given that the end of the world was at hand, you kind of did. Remembering that it was not just you and your friends anymore, you regained your composure and in a more serious tone stated,

"I'm sorry. It's not funny."

You could hear the mumblings of your friends saying they thought it was funny, but the Hargreeves paid no attention as they turned back to Five. Pouring himself another shot, he looked into his glass, stared at his reflection in the liquid, and mentioned,

"Hate to say I told you so, but..."

"You love to say I told you so." Viktor retorted back

"You know, it's impressive." Lila began to speak, setting her still-full glass down on the bar

The attention of you and your friends turned to Lila as she spoke, but the lighthearted vibe that was present between you all just a moment ago was quickly replaced with one of anger and resentment. The Hargreeves and Lila could feel the tension grow in the air as the chattering of you and your friends went silent. You all watched Lila, with expressions ranging from neutral to judgemental to disgusted. Nevertheless, Lila finished her statement saying,

"Whoever knocked off your mums hated you all enough to end the entire universe."

Lila's remark instantly sent anger through your system. If her comment was a gunshot your response was the ricochet. You couldn't speak for the mothers of the umbrellas since they did technically sell their children, but your mom, and by extension of what had happened, your dad, didn't deserve to die. They were the best people you knew. Before you could even realize you had done it, Lila's shot glass exploded in front of her. Tiny shards of glass flew outward in the area catching everyone's attention. You didn't look at anyone, but you could feel their gazes on you.

"Fucking bitch." Addison muttered as she reached to hold your hand

Taking her hand, you held it tightly, as you held the beginnings of tears back. You took deep breaths and tried your best to keep them quiet. You had to keep a strong face. You could be upset, but you couldn't cry. If you did, Lila would probably take it as a win against you and your friends would see it as a reason to start a fight. And neither of those things you needed.

Some of your friends however were already willing to start a fight. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Dean step away from the wall he was leaning against, his expression angry and his eyes trained on Lila. But before he could walk over to her you used your powers to gently shove him back against it. Looking at him you thought,

Don't do it.

He looked back at you, still obviously disgruntled, but with arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back against the wall. You could hear it in your head as he thought,

Fine.

As Addison held your hand, and some of your other friends whispered comments to each other, Kenny walked over to you and poured some of the liquor from the bottle he was drinking from into your glass. Your friends' actions were small but they meant a lot to you.

There was a silence as everyone glanced around at each other waiting for who would be next to speak. Viktor looked between you and Lila. Between Lila's comment and your reaction to it, there was no safe way for him to bring up what Harlan had shown him. And that wasn't even including the reactions everyone else would have if Viktor did say something. He needed to do something to get the conversation away from where it was headed and to lessen the tension in the air. Trying to divert the topic, Viktor hesitantly said,

"We- we don't know that Lila..."

"It doesn't matter who created the thing." Allison stated firmly "We just have to kick its ass."

"Oh really? How?" Luther questioned sarcastically "Are you and Diego gonna punch it in the Kugel?"

Allison shot back a glare at Luther, but it was quickly ignored as he could feel the presence of someone behind him. Turning back, he saw the boy from the bowling alley who looked like him standing there. The boy nervously fidgeted with a stack of paper in his hands as he shyly greeted,

"H-hi Luther."

Luther couldn't remember this kid's name in the slightest. all he knew was that he looked like him and was one of your friends.

"Ah, it's...you." Luther said awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed "Bowling alley kid."

"It's Lucas." Lucas stated, reminding Luther of his name

"Right." Luther replied

The memories were vague, but he was starting to remember more of that night at the bowling alley. However, the only thing that came to mind was the numerous similarities the two of them shared. It was slightly unsettling, but there wasn't much either of them could do about that. Luther waited for Lucas to say something, but instead, Lucas stared up at Luther with a smile. Trying to figure out what was going on here, Luther asked,

"Can I help you with something?"

"Oh uh- yes!" Lucas replied, remembering why he approached Luther

Lucas looked down at the adoption papers in his hands. You had helped him forge the signatures of Luther and Sloane last night, before making a copy of the documents and filing them away in city hall. It wasn't the most ethical way of going about things, but it made Lucas happy. He had new parents! This was all he ever wanted. Even with his excitement, nervousness still filled him. Lucas had to tell Luther that he was his parent now, and he wasn't sure what to say. This had only come to fruition last night, and instead of preparing he was busy doing other things.

"I- wow, I really thought I'd get more time to prepare for this but uh-" Lucas stuttered

"Lucas, the world is ending. Spit it out." Luther requested

"YOU'RE LEGALLY MY DAD NOW!" Lucas loudly proclaimed

The heads of the Hargreeves snapped to look over at the two tall blonds. Most reactions were that of confusion, but Allison's face morphed with rage. First Diego gets a child and now Luther too? What was next? You and Five picking a baby off the street? It wasn't fair. She had Claire, her daughter, and she couldn't be with her! But everyone else got to be a parent? It was wrong. Angrily, Allison drank from her glass, her gaze boring into Luther's back as he stood there unmoving.

Lucas looked at Luther, silently waiting for him to say something. Anything. But nothing came. It's not that Luther didn't want to reply, he just couldn't formulate any thoughts. And instead of saying anything of meaning, he could only manage to get out a simple,

"What?"

"Don't worry though!" Lucas quickly explained "Your girlfriend, Sloane, she's legally my mom. It's all in here."

Lucas held out the adoption papers for Luther to take, and after a moment of hesitation, he did. Quickly he flipped through the documents, but to his surprise, they were legitimate. Even Luther's signature looked correct. Luther didn't know how this happened, but he couldn't be Lucas' father. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even have a good example of what to do either. And anyway, he saw how poorly Diego was doing with Stan, and he didn't want to be like that. Lucas seemed like a good kid, but Luther wasn't sure if he could take on this responsibility. Especially not with the world ending. Trying to let Lucas down nicely, Luther began,

"Listen, I-"

Seeing where Luther's response was going, you pulled yourself together and cut him off as you interjected,

"Lucas, can I speak to Luther real quick?"

"Oh, sure!" Lucas replied

Politely, you pulled Luther off to the side away from the bar. Using your powers you controlled the molecules around you, creating a sound barrier to stop anyone from hearing your conversation. With your back facing the group, you looked up at Luther with a serious look on your face and began,

"Luther, you better listen up because I am only going to say this once. That sweet angel of a boy has been through hell, sometimes worse than you did, in TWO timelines, to get to this moment."

Luther's eyebrows furrowed as he processed what you said. Lucas went through hell sometimes worse than Luther ever did? That was a serious statement to make.

"What happened?" Luther asked, cutting you off

You grimaced. Although the only one who could see so was Luther. All the times Lucas came to you for help because of what he had gone through with Austin ran through your mind. It hurt you to remember your friend's pain.

"I can't tell you exactly what happened. I promised him I wouldn't, but it was badand he didn't deserve it..." You replied quietly, a slight tremble in your voice

Luther looked at you and your pained expression before looking behind you at Lucas. Noticing Luther look his way, Lucas smiled brightly and waved excitedly, completely unaware of what Luther had just learned. He seemed like such a nice, happy kid. No one would ever guess something bad happened to him.

"He's my friend. I care about him and his happiness so much." You stated firmly, a hint of pain still in your tone "So if you break his heart, I will kill you in the most painful way possible and then go tell Sloane you did something so heinous the only option was to kill you. Are we clear?"

Luther turned his attention away from Lucas and back to you. Luther did not want to die by your hand. If you said you'd make it painful, you meant it. And on top of that, he didn't want Sloane to think poorly of him. But most of all, Luther didn't want to hurt Lucas, who he now saw some of himself in beyond just appearance. The world was ending, and currently, they had no plan to stop that, so he could at least try to do something good. Luther nodded his head at your words, and seeing his acknowledgment, in a more positive voice with an undertone of violence, you replied,

"Good. Now go be a better father than yours was."

Luther grimaced slightly at your words. You weren't wrong, but it still hurt. Nevertheless, he was going to do what he was told because there was still an undercurrent of violence radiating off of you. Carefully stepping away, he made his way back toward Lucas, who looked up at him excitedly. Luther stared back at him blankly as he wondered what to say. As you had stated, he didn't have a good father. What does a good dad say to their kid? Luther couldn't say I love you because that would be weird to say to a teenage boy he just met again, even if legally it was his son. He could probably say he's proud of him though, right? That's something Reginald never said so it had to be something a good dad would say. Then again, Luther didn't know what there was to be proud of, he was literally pushed into this role less than a minute ago.

"So...son...you have any recent accomplishments..?" Luther asked, still trying to figure out what to be proud of

Lucas was silent for a moment after hearing the question. Neither Austin nor Meredith ever asked him about his accomplishments. They may have birthed him and raised him, but for seventeen years they never cared about him. And yet here, barely one minute after telling Luther he was now his father, he asked about what he had accomplished. It was his first question to him as his dad. And on top of that, he called him son. Not Lucas. Son. Tears began to form in Lucas' eyes as his hands clenched into fists to hide the shaking that was starting to happen. He was happy and sad and everything that could fall in between, but if he burst into tears it would ruin this first moment. He couldn't do that, time was finite. He had to make this count. He looked over at Addison, his one and only, and smiled. She was his home. She was where he felt safe. She was his everything. And having her by his side was his greatest achievement. Looking back at the man he now called dad, he gestured over toward her as he happily exclaimed,

"I got married last night! My girlfriend is now my wife!"

Well, that wasn't what Luther was expecting, and by the looks on the rest of his siblings' faces, they surely didn't expect it either. Lucas and his...wife...seemed a bit young but, nevertheless, marriage is a nice thing so Luther could be proud of that.

"Congrats, son. I am proud of you." Luther said in an awkward but supportive tone before looking at Addison and adding "And hello...daughter-in-law."

"Hi, Luther." Addison replied politely "Ignore my friend puking. She's not sick anymore she's just so excited to finally meet Viktor."

"I'm going to talk to Lucas again now." Luther said unsure how to respond to that

"What? Me?" Viktor questioned

"Vi, don't be weird. Say hello." Addison encouraged

Looking up from her trash bin, Viktoria's eyes met Viktor's as she excitedly stated,

"Hi. I'm Viktoria! I was Viktor a long time ago but I'm not Viktor now, I'm Viktoria but you're Viktor so we're like the same and that's cool!"

Immediately after finishing her statement though, Viktoria once again puked into her bin from excitement. However, excitement was not the word Viktor would use to describe this meeting. Instead, a few different descriptors came to mind. Bewilderment. Concern. Deja vu. Overall, everything after Five and Lila's return had been confusing and concerning but looking into the face of a teenager who looked exactly like Viktor when he was younger. Now that was something else. And on top of it, he didn't understand anything of what they had just said.

"I'm sorry what?" Viktor asked looking for clarity

"Oh uh, Viktoria is transgender like you and your current name is her old name. Y'know Viktor, Viktoria, they're very similar so she's excited." Addison explained, "You're her hero."

"How?" Viktor questioned confused before quieting their tone stating "Nobody knew about me until my book."

Picking her head back up from the bin Viktoria replied,

"That's not true! I saw you in the background or off to the side of interviews the Umbrella Academy did. I picked up the viola because I saw you had a string instrument case on you in one of them! I practiced the viola every day. I owned and memorized your book in three languages. I did a whole report on you in middle school!"

"I hated that project." You chimed in

"Yeah, yeah. Broken hand, emotional trauma, we already know." Viktoria retorted before continuing, "Anyway, I wanted to be just like you."

"Really?" Viktor inquired

"Yeah! Of course!" Viktoria replied sincerely, "You're my hero."

A small smile came to Viktor's face. It was nice to know that someone looked up to him even before he figured out about his powers again. And in a way, even though this was someone else saying these things, it felt like a younger version of himself telling him he was worth it even before everything that happened.

While the emotional bonding between some of your friends and the Hargreeves was happening, it had no effect on Five. He stopped paying attention to what was transpiring after he heard Lucas state that he and Addison got married. Five wasn't shocked by their young age, nor the short time frame in which they were reunited and then married. He was just surprised that a wedding had occurred. It felt like the universe was sending him gut punch after gut punch when it came to marriage. The hallucination, the ballroom, the ring, and now this! He didn't know if the universe was trying to push him in a direction or just down an emotional spike pit. Still in disbelief Five restated aloud,

"They're married?"

"They sure are! I married them last night!" Kenny exclaimed

Five looked from Kenny over to Lucas and Addison. There was love in their eyes as they looked at each other. They had no cares except each other even if the world was ending. Five couldn't help but feel a jolt of jealousy run through him. It wasn't fair that he was burdened with saving the world while everyone else got to do as they pleased. But these were your friends and it felt wrong to be upset at their happiness. In an effort to hide his feelings, Five picked up his drink taking a big sip of the liquor within. But as he did so Kenny spoke up commenting,

"Why are you and (Y/N) looking to get married? I'm legally ordained, I can marry you two right now."

Hearing those words, Five began to choke on his drink, and whiskey, a drink that typically would go down smooth, did anything but. Five's mind darted all over the place as he processed Kenny's words. Married? Now? No, you couldn't. He hadn't proposed. But he had a ring in his pocket. So he could. Surrounded by friends and family is kind of romantic, right? But he just announced the end of the world, and that certainly wasn't. And this was nothing like he planned in his head. But if the world kept sending him signs maybe the two of you should just bite the bullet? As his mind raced and he coughed on his drink, his eyes darted over toward you trying to gauge your reaction. However, he was only met with a look of concern probably because he was literally and metaphorically choking. With no context clues from you on how to respond, Five stuttered, trying to get any response out,

I- uh- well- we-"

"Kenny! This is the seventh time you've done this in the past day!" Bren reprimanded, smacking the back of Kenny's head "Stop asking people if they want to get married!"

Relieved by Bren cutting him off, Five managed to pull himself together. This was going terribly. He could anticipate the way his siblings reacted to situations or the types of comments they would make, but he couldn't say the same for your friends. Glancing over at you again, he saw as you calmly sipped from your glass watching your two friends bicker.

"What! Nothing speeds up major life decisions like the end of everything!" Kenny replied exasperated at Bren's disapproval

"Some of them weren't even couples!" Bren shot back

You were completely unaffected by this. It was honestly impressive. Then again this is what you dealt with for years, you must've been used to it by now. But as you lowered your glass he noticed something else. You smiled. Curious, he leaned closer to you and asked,

"You're happy they're fighting?"

"They're best friends, it's not fighting to them." You replied taking another sip from your glass "And there's comfort in the chaos."

"How so?" Five inquired

"It's familiar." You answered, "Reminds me of times before well...y'know."

"Oh." Five said aloud "Right."

Five's eyes averted your gaze and his head turned slightly to look away from you. Perhaps it was unconscious to him, but you could sense the shift in his demeanor. Placing your hand on his cheek you gently turned his face to look at you. You could feel as he leaned into your touch. It seemed that with every curveball life threw at him he needed these small gestures of affection more and more, and you would never deny him the love he both needed and deserved. With his gaze returning to you, you looked back at him softly.

"They're here and you're here, and that's all I want at this point." You cooed "So stop worrying about me and put that smart brain of yours toward coming up with a plan."

"I can never stop worrying about you." Five replied gently

"Maybe you should." Allison jabbed "Do you even have a plan, Five?"

The harsh comment caught the attention of everyone else as they all turned their gazes to Five. However, Five looked toward his sister, an irritated look was plastered across her face. He knew what her problem was, but he felt no reason to engage with her. If she didn't want to accept reality and blame it on everyone else that was her problem to deal with. Not Five's. Turning away from his sister, he looked at the wider crowd around the bar.

"Well, the best plan is to go back in time and eliminate the paradox and destroy whatever it was that took out our mothers and stop the Kugelblitz before it starts," Five explained, "But we can't do that. Briefcase is kaput."

"And why the hell can't you just jump us out of here?" Allison complained

"Last time I tried that, we all got trapped in time. Do you really wanna risk that again?" Five questioned back

Leaning over to Addison and Viktoria, you lowered your voice as you told them,

"I'd risk it if you guys could come this time."

"Let's go to a timeline where Spider-Man is real and falls instantly in love with you." Viktoria jokingly whispered back

"Jeez, Viktoria wants to see a fight." Addison quietly chimed in

"A fight? Viktoria wants to see a homicide." You quietly shot back

"Well, do you want to see a homicide?" Addison teasingly inquired

Your eyes darted over to your boyfriend as you recalled the time you and he killed the board of directors for the commission. The way he was covered in blood and the determined look in his eyes. God, he was so hot. Honestly, part of you wanted to see what he was like jealous. And the thought of him getting in a fight over you? Well, now that was appealing. You were surely willing to lose Spider-Man if you got to see that. With a smirk on your face, you looked back at Addison and Viktoria as you replied unseriously,

"Whaaat? Noooo...that would be crazy."

The three of you attempted to stifle your laughter so as not to distract the Hargreeves from their incessant bickering over what to do now. But as you tried to enjoy the moment with your friends, Dean noticed a trio of figures heading toward the bar. Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves, and some random kid, who he could only assume was Diego's oops baby. Whatever joy he may have felt from seeing his friends having a good time together disappeared the moment he saw Diego's stupid face. Instead, anger began to build up inside Dean as he recalled the things you had told him that Diego had done recently that upset you. He knew he was the better brother. He had never done anything to hurt you like Diego had and one way or another, he was going to make Diego recognize how badly he fucked up. As the trio finally arrived at the bar, and Diego walked up beside Lila, Dean commented sarcastically,

"Wow, what a surprise. The deadbeat actually showed up."

"Mine didn't..." Kenny mentioned

"This isn't about you, Kenny." Dean replied

While Dean's comments didn't phase your friends, some sideways glances were sent Dean's way including one from you. However, unlike the Hargreeves, your glance was that of concern.

Dean was...passionate.

He felt things very deeply and had a tendency to express his feelings openly. And he wasn't one to shy away from an argument either. Or a fight.

You hoped that his comment was a one-off jab, but knowing him you'd have to keep a watchful eye out.

As Stan stood next to Diego, he looked around at the people around the bar. Some of the faces were familiar to him but there were a number that he had never seen before. Looking to Diego, Stan asked,

"Who are all these people?"

"Oh, and he brought the sentient jizz stain too." Dean remarked

Like the rest of his siblings, Diego gave another sideways glance toward Dean. However, unlike the disbelief on their faces, Diego's reaction was more disgruntled. He couldn't recall much of this kid, but he knew one thing, he was your friend. Looking around the bar, to much relief, he saw you sitting across the way.

Your eyes caught Diego's for a moment, and from his face, you knew what he was looking at you for, and unsurprisingly, it wasn't the fact that you were missing for almost two days. There was no sense of concern on his face, only an annoyed look as his eyes flicked over to Dean before looking back at you. Pretending not to have noticed his gaze, you summoned Viktoria's phone which you had dropped earlier, to your hand and began to start scrolling through it again. You felt no incentive to stop Dean's comments because honestly, you co-signed his sentiments. You couldn't make comments like his without stirring the waters between all the Hargreeves, but Dean could make his comments freely without causing too much interpersonal drama. So unless you felt like he was about to get hurt, there was no reason for you to intervene.

Lila however, did not appreciate Dean's comments. Turning around to look at him, she criticized,

"Hey, don't be mean to my kid."

"Hey, nobody asked Wrong Direction." Dean replied, mocking her tone "And for your information, nobody here believes that the sex trophy- no- participation award- is actually yours."

Lila's eyes darted around the rest of your friend group, only to be met with disgusted glares or smug smirks. Did you all know the truth? Did you know that Stan wasn't her or Diego's child? Or was it only a comment made to catch her off guard? Either way, there was a slight unease at the thought that made her keep quiet. But before she could think of something to say, Klaus walked up to the bar, grabbing a glass out of Five's hand, as he stated,

"Gimme that."

"What happened to you?" Five questioned, looking at the blood on his shirt

"Oh, just a speargun to the chest. I died. No big deal." Klaus replied

"Oh neat! Did you meet the girl on the bike?" Kenny asked

"No, thankfully I didn't have to deal with her," Klaus answered, taking a sip from the glass

But as he drank, he realized the voice that had asked the question was unfamiliar. It didn't belong to one of his siblings, or you, or Lila. Placing his glass down he looked over to where the unknown voice came from only to be met with a teen boy who looked just like Klaus in his youth. It took a moment, but through his resurrection haze, he vaguely recognized the boy as the one from years ago at the bowling alley. Klaus paused for a moment. The little girl on the bike, aka god, could only be met on the other side. Not even ghosts who stuck around on this plane of existence knew who she was. So how did this kid, who was very much alive, know of her?

"I'm sorry- how do you know god?" Klaus questioned

"I've met her. I see her sometimes when I pass out at parties. She adores me." Kenny replied enthusiastically

Kenny's response left Klaus with more questions than answers. This kid met god? And multiple times at that? How? He would've had to die to have met god. Did he die? Was this kid also immortal somehow? And what did he mean by she adores him? Klaus' experiences with her were filled with annoyance, so why was he welcome?

"I have follow-up questions," Klaus stated aloud

"This isn't about you, Klaus." Diego interjected, before looking at Lila and asking "What did we miss?"

"The universe is ending, and we're all going to die," Lila answered

"You say it as if it isn't your fault..." Dean scoffed

Diego's head whipped over to look at Dean. He had only made a few comments, but those few were more than enough, and Diego was tired of his shit. Trying to get an answer for his actions, Diego stepped up toward Dean and snapped,

"What is your deal?"

Dean scowled at Diego and rage burned inside him. Dean hated Diego for all the ways he had upset you. He hated him for forgetting Eudora once she died. He hated him for hooking up with the first person who gave him attention after Eudora's death. He hated him for being stupid and getting said person knocked up. He hated him for abandoning you consistently throughout that process when you needed him now more than ever. He hated that even through all of that he had the gall to still consider himself a brother to you. But most of all, he hated that he actually looked up to such a degenerate scumbag for so long. Taking a step toward Diego, with fire in his eyes and vile in his tone, Dean shouted back,

"My deal is that you've got a lot of nerve showing up here, fucking Benedict Arnold."

And with that, it was time for you to intervene because whatever was coming after this wasn't going to be pretty. Flashing over to Dean, you placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back a few steps. Lowering your voice, you asked,

"What are you trying to do? Start a turf war in the middle of this shithole?"

"No, I'm saying what needs to be said," Dean replied before raising his voice and loudly stating "But I wouldn't mind getting a few swings on the infidelity duo over there."

"Stop that." You chastised "You're going to get hurt."

"No I won't," Dean refuted "With you I'm already on the winning side."

Dean was right, if he got in a fight with Diego you would take his side. And on top of that if you could solo all the Sparrows you could 100% take down all the Umbrellas. Well...so long as you beat Viktor to the punch, but that wasn't important. No matter how capable of a fighter Dean was, and he was capable, you didn't want him to get hurt.

"Dean no," You said pushing him a little further from Diego and Lila "Just take the high ground. Please."

Dean was your twin brother, and if you made a decision or suggestion, he was always the first to accept and respect it. If he backed down now then hopefully Diego would resign himself as well. You watched as Dean looked at you, his face softened upon seeing your pleading gaze. Placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, he looked at you sincerely as he replied,

"No."

Your pleading look turned to confusion as Dean sidestepped you and locked eyes on Diego. Marching over to him with his gaze unbreaking, Dean's rage came back in full swing as he angrily shouted,

"Fuck you Diego Hargreeves you traitorous ass bitch! I regret looking up to a two-faced adulterous prick like you. I hope you constantly stub your toe. I hope your dick falls off. I hope all of your knife attacks miss even with your bitch ass powers. I hope your pet sperm right there is a lifelong disappointment like you. I hope you ruin your life and don't realize it until it's too late you snake-ass No Belt Prize-winning whore."

You look at Dean in disbelief. He rarely even went against you, especially not after the incident when you were seventeen. However, it seemed that currently, his emotions were stronger than his judgment. You readied yourself to jump between the two of them, but you paused as you felt tension fill the air. It wasn't the type of tension that came from people disagreeing though. No, this was the tension that built before something snapped.

"(Y/N), are you gonna do anything about him?" Diego angrily asked

You didn't respond. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you sensed something growing in energy. Slowly, you turned your head to look in the direction of the sensation only to be met with a terrible omen. You saw as the molecules around you began to vibrate faster and faster and faster. More than they typically did. A knot formed in the pit of your stomach as you stared down the danger heading your way.

Breaking his gaze on Diego, Dean looked at you. Immediately, he clocked the way your hands shook at your sides and the slight staggering of your breathing. Were you okay?

"(Y/N)?" Dean called concerned

You couldn't respond. You couldn't move. You couldn't do anything except prepare for what was coming. And while no words escaped your lips, you only had one thought,

Help.

Hearing your thought, Dean pushed Diego out of the way and as another wave of the Kugelblitz hit you and you began to collapse to the floor, Dean caught you from behind and brought you to the ground. The pain was searing as you now lay on the ground, your head resting in Dean's lap. The energy of the wave ripped at you causing the prior gashes on your cheek and hand to reopen, while new ones formed on your forearm and collarbone. Blood seeped from the wounds as you looked up at Dean for help. You tried to speak but your breath caught in your throat. No. It wasn't just caught.

You couldn't breathe.

Fear filled your eyes as you attempted to gasp for air only to be met with nothing. Dean held your face in his hands, fear reflected in his eyes as he watched you struggle. His mind raced back to that day in the warehouse. He couldn't let that happen again. Looking up, with a tremble in his voice, Dean called out,

"Guys h-help."

But by the time he had finished his plea the rest of your friends were already surrounding you. Kneeling in a circle on the ground, your friends' bodies unintentionally created a wall keeping others away from you, including that of Five. He tried to get close, tried to kneel by your side like the rest of them, but there was just no space. And so, he was relegated to just standing and watching in fear as you struggled against something completely out of his control.

As fear coursed through the veins of all your friends, Kenny knew he had to do something. Of course he was scared for you, you were his friend, but he couldn't let his fear get in the way of helping you. He was the most qualified in this situation after all. Taking a deep breath he calmed his nerves, and as he had done many times before in his EMT job, he quickly began to control the situation. He first looked toward Bren, who was kneeling to the left of him, and commanded,

"Grab my bag. Now."

Quickly, Bren pulled out one of his whips and snapped it towards the medbag that Kenny had miraculously brought in with him. Snagging the bag's handle, Bren pulled his whip back toward him. With the medbag in hand, he passed it over to Kenny who immediately opened it.

As Kenny put on a pair of latex gloves, he looked at Addison and directed,

"You need to get her to breathe. I don't have the supplies to monitor her this time if she loses consciousness again."

With a quick nod of her head, Addison turned her attention back toward you. Hesitantly, Dean removed his hands from the sides of your face as he now let Addison hold it. Your eyes were glassy from the lack of oxygen, but the fear behind him as you fought to stay conscious was ever-present. Gently, she maneuvered your head to meet her gaze and when your eyes were focused on her she stated,

"(Y/N), I need you to breathe. It can be a gulp, it can be a gasp, but you need to breathe. NOW."

As her words hit your ears and you saw the serious look in her eye you felt compelled to do what she said. Pushing through the pain, you found the strength within yourself to breathe. Taking in large gasping breaths, the world came into more focus, but each breath felt like a dozen knives cutting into your lungs. You wondered if death would be less painful than this.

Your thought didn't matter though as Kenny had already decided that you were not dying today. With you finally managing to breathe he began the process of quickly fixing you up. Using a large rubber band, he tied it tightly just above your elbow to cut the circulation of blood off and stop the gash on your forearm from bleeding out. With the largest problem mitigated for now, he used alcohol wipes to clean up the blood and disinfect your other open wounds before placing medical tape over them.

You let out a scream as the alcohol stung your gashes. The world was already tearing you to shreds from the inside and the sting of the alcohol, although minor in comparison, hurt like a bitch when combined with the pain of the wave.

"Hold on to my arm. You can grip it til the pain stops." Lucas encouraged as he switched spots with Addison

Your hand shakily moved to grab his arm, but you hesitated for a moment. If you grabbed him, it was going to be tight. The pain was unyielding. You didn't want to bruise him. You thought,

I don't want to hurt him.

Dean looked away from you for only a moment as he met Lucas' eye and informed him,

"She doesn't want to hurt you."

Lucas looked away from Dean and back toward you. Taking your hand, he placed it on his arm. He knew why you of all people would hesitate, but you were always there for him when he was hurting and now he was going to do the same for you. With sincerity in his tone, Lucas stated,

"(Y/N), you could never hurt me."

You gave him a weak smile, but tears fell from your eyes as you internally begged for this to be over. With each wave, the time between starting and stopping increased, just as the intensity of the pain you felt grew too. You shut your eyes tightly, but opened them again as you felt someone wipe away your tears. You looked up at Dean who, just like when this ordeal started, held your face gently in his hands.

"You're gonna be okay. I'm here. I'm he-here this time. I'm gonna k-keep you safe. I swear." Dean comforted as he tried to choke back sobs, "Just keep your eyes open. Please just keep your eyes open."

With the hand that wasn't holding Lucas' arm, you shakily reached up and wiped your brother's tears away.

"You're the one in pain, y-you shouldn't be worried about us." Dean slightly joked, his voice still wavering

Through gritted teeth, you managed to smile slightly. You loved your friends so much. They meant everything to you and in a time like this, where they all worried for you, you needed them to know.

"I...love...you guys." You managed to get out, "Don't...let...me go."

"We could never let you go." Vitoria responded

"Yeah, you matter far too much." Addison added

"You're our glitter glue, remember?" Lucas reminded "You keep us together."

"Not just that, you're our family." Kenny mentioned

"If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be us." Bren stated

"We love you." Dean replied, "Never forget that."

Even through the fear and the sadness, you could see the beginnings of smiles on your friends' faces. You could feel as they all got closer and each of them tried to hold some part of you. You could feel it as the wave became stronger again. It was finally returning. Even though it hadn't been more than a minute or two it felt like forever, but you could feel that this would be over soon. You closed your eyes tightly and focused on the feeling of your friends surrounding you as the wave finally went past. And when it stopped everything around you felt...lighter.

Opening your eyes, you took a deep breath and fortunately, it didn't feel like you were being pierced repeatedly anymore. You didn't have the strength in you to stand yet, but you did manage to get yourself to kneel. With your mind no longer focused on the pain you felt, you looked for your friends, but they were nowhere to be found. All that you could immediately see were the shocked or horror-filled faces of the Hargreeves. Why were they looking at you like that? You looked up at Five, his jaw was slightly agape and sadness swirled in his eyes. Looking down at yourself, you saw blood stains and gauze litter your body. Oh. He was probably so worried about you. Turning your gaze back to Five, you gave him a weak smile.

"It's not that bad. Kenny can take care of it." You comforted before looking around and asking, "Where is he? Where are my friends?"

Five's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as he heard your question. How could he look you in the eyes and tell you that all of your friends were gone? As you struggled with the pain of the kugel wave, he watched as all of your friends got blitzed. Quickly, quietly, and god, hopefully painlessly they vanished. How could he explain this without breaking your heart?

"Love...they..." Five tried to speak

He stopped. He couldn't get the words out.

"What?" You questioned concerned "Where are they?"

"Ma cherie..." He replied mournfully

His lack of response worried you. Frantically, you began to look around the area for your friends again, but you still couldn't see any of them. It wouldn't be like them to leave your side when you were injured. They had never done so before. They always stayed closed until they knew you were okay. Where were they? Using your powers you tried to sense their molecules, but there were only faint traces in the area from loose hairs and skin cells. Your head whipped back and forth in a panic searching for any sign of them when you saw a glint out of the corner of your eye. You reached back for the sparking object, took it in your hand, and turned to look down upon it. There in the palm of your hand was a set of car keys.

Dean's car keys.

His car was his prized possession. Veronica was his baby. He never forgot his keys. He never lost his keys. He never went anywhere without his keys. But if these were here and he wasn't...

Oh god...

No.

A blood-curdling scream erupted from your throat as you clenched the keys against your chest. They were gone. They were gone and it was all your fault. You bought them here to keep them all safe and now you had none of them. Your body hunched over as you gasped for breath between your screams and sobs. Your face was red as tears streamed down in messy streaks with nowhere to go except the floor where your friends' once kneeled at your side.

Dropping to his knees, Five wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into him. He held you as tight as he could and ran a gentle hand through your hair as he tried to soothe you. His efforts didn't do much at all though, and how could he expect them to? If he was in your place, if it was you that he lost, he'd be inconsolable.

"THEY PROMISED!" You shouted grief-stricken "THEY PROMISED WE'D STAY TOGETHER!!!"

"I'm sorry my love." Five tried to comfort "I'm so sorry."

Looking at your boyfriend, you tightly grabbed his jacket, the material balling in your hands as you begged,

"Baby, bring them back. Please."

"I- I can't..." Five sorrowfully replied

"Yes you can! Just reverse time! Bring them back!" You cried

If Five could've brought your friends back, he would've done it already. The sight of you in so much emotional distress was somehow more painful than seeing the way the kugel waves affected you. In either case, he had no control over what happened, but he wished he did.

"I can't...I used all my energy to get back here." Five lamented "And even if I could, I can't stop the kugel wave from happening."

You could feel your chest tighten and another piece of your ever-fragile heart shatter as you struggled with the fact that you got your friends back only to lose them again. Pain morphed into anger as you pushed Five away shouting,

"WHAT GOOD ARE TIME POWERS IF YOU CAN'T EVEN FUCKING USE THEM!"

Your words stung and it hurt Five that you pushed him away, but he knew that you were only acting out of grief. You didn't mean it, you were just hurt.

Quickly, your anger came and went as the feeling of overwhelming grief returned. Dropping Dean's keys on the ground in front of you, you threw your head into your hands as you let out another mix of uncontrollable sobs and anguish-filled screams. As you cried the lights in the area began to flicker and nearby objects rattled in their place.

Seeing the disturbance in the area, Stan, who was already on edge from accidentally killing Klaus and witnessing a bunch of people disappear, became frightened. Looking up at Diego, he said nervously,

"Dad, I'm scared."

Hearing Stan speak, you looked over in the direction of his voice. Oh? He was scared? What did he have to be scared of? He wasn't the one bleeding out, nor the one who just lost six loved ones. You were. If anyone was scared and in need of comfort, it was YOU. You saw as Diego looked at you. There was concern on his face and for a moment you thought he would come over to you. But then he looked at Stan behind him and you watched as Diego, literally and figuratively, turned his back on you to hug Stanley. And in that moment, something in you broke as you realized you had no family left.

Diego knew that you were the cause of the flickering lights and shaking objects. Occasionally, when your emotions became too extreme it caused your powers to affect the world around you. He needed to calm you down, and things would return to normal. Letting go of Stan, Diego looked at him and comforted,

"It'll be okay. Just give me a second."

Turning from Stan, Diego began to walk over to you. Your face was wet from tears, but adrenaline rushed through your veins as he approached. You couldn't stand to be near him. Fury outweighed your body's weak unease as you began to push yourself to your feet. Seeing you try to stand, Diego took your arm to help you up, but you quickly shook him off as you demanded,

"Don't touch me!"

"I just want to help," Diego explained

"No! Go away!" You yelled

"Let me just-" Diego began to say as he tried to take your arm once more

Like a storm in your mind, waves of emotions all clashed together. Sadness. Grief. Betrayal. Anger. Abandonment. Mixing together they were a recipe for unimaginable sorrow. You weren't just hurt, you were broken. Why did Diego want to help you now? He didn't rush to your side, like Five or your friends, when the wave hit. He didn't hold you and tell you you'll be okay as the world ripped you apart. He didn't comfort you as you realized all your friends were gone. He did none of those things. But you knew who would've.

Your dad.

You were his little anomaly. His perfect little girl. Your dad loved you so dearly and if he was here he would've been by your side already. How dare Diego, in the aftermath of everything, now decide to come over to you. How dare he now decide you were important enough to help. You didn't want his help! You didn't want him! You wanted your dad! Rage, strengthened by your grief, engulfed you as you shouted harshly,

"YOU'RE NOT MY DAD, DIEGO!"

A heavy silence fell over the group as your words echoed through the area. As you finally managed to get to your feet, you bent down and picked up the roll of gauze from Kenny's med bag. You refused to look at Diego and instead opted to wrap up the wave-induced gash on your forearm, but all Diego could look at was you.

A clenching feeling formed in his chest as your words rang through his head. Diego knew he wasn't your dad. He never touted himself as such and yet your words hurt him more than anything his own father had ever said to him. You only said it because you were lashing out, right? You were upset about your friends and so you were lashing out at others? That had to be it. Diego saw you lash out at Five, and you loved Five, so you were probably just lashing out at him too. Taking a step toward you, Diego reassured,

"I just want to take care of you..."

As Diego took a step forward, you took a step back. Finally looking at him you could see the hurt in his eyes. For a moment you felt your anger falter, but as you processed what he had just said, the flame reignited.

"Oh, now you wanna take care of me?" You question sarcastically before gesturing to Stan and Lila "How about you go take care of Stan because apparently the random kid that shows up out of nowhere looking nothing like you OR Lila is more important than the one you fucking raised!"

"Princess..." Diego cooed

"No! You don't get to call me that and expect me to just- to just run into your arms and say it's okay!" You rebuked before angrily questioning "Don't you understand why I'm upset?"

Of course he knew why you were upset, especially after the comment you had just made. It was the same reason that you were upset this whole past week. It had to be about Lila. Yes, she did try to kill you, and yes, she did show up out of nowhere again a few days ago, but a reaction this large seemed a bit much.

"Prin-(Y/N), is this about Lila again?" Diego asked

Lila? He thought this was about Lila? Sure, she tried to kill you which was annoying, and yeah, she did show up again without any real consequences for her actions, but this wasn't about her. And in that moment, you came to realize that none of it was ever really about her. These feelings took root not through her actions, but his.

"Oh my god! It was never about Lila! It was about YOU!" You snapped at him "God forbid I didn't want to see you as a bad person. I wanted a reason, a scapegoat, something to explain your shitty actions!"

Your statement took Diego aback. What did you mean this was about him? What had he done? He was so confused, but he wasn't the only one confused either. Five looked over to Lila who was already looking over at him. She tilted her head to the side with a confused look on her face as if to ask him for clarity, but all Five could do was shrug. This was a new development for him too. Granted, it's not like you two had the time to talk about it either, but nevertheless, he knew nothing about this.

"I don't understand." Diego replied confused

You thought back on memories with Diego. So many of them that had once brought you joy or comfort now felt different. They felt tainted. You didn't know if you were finally seeing clearly or if your pain was causing you to look at them in a bad light. And then you thought about the day that Diego and Eudora split. How she wanted him to stop trying to be a hero and to focus on their relationship, and he refused. His desire to be a hero trumped his desire to be with her. All this time, did he ever actually care about you or was he only concerned about being viewed as a hero in someone's eyes? Lila was giving him the attention he had wanted from Eudora, and as of late, he seemed to focus more on Stan because Stan was focused on him. Your burning anger flattened into a calm rage. Your heart rate slowed, you straightened your posture, and your face showed no clear emotion as you looked Diego in the eye.

"I do. I see it so clearly now." You explained monotonously "You don't care about me anymore."

"What?! Of course, I do!" Diego exclaimed

Of course, he cared about you. Why would you say such a thing? You were his little sister. His princess! He had always cared about you. He didn't know what he had done to make you think otherwise, but it wasn't true. His bottom lip started to quiver as he wondered why this was happening.

Seeing the pain in his eyes, you started to rethink yourself. This was Diego. Your Eggo, your older brother. He was the one who came in the middle of the night to the academy when you were still hallucinating the young Umbrella Academy and made them go away. He was the one who comforted you when you had nightmares and held you til you fell back asleep. He took you to all your first days of school. He was there for all of your accomplishments. He took you to tour colleges. If none of this had happened then two months from now he would've been sitting at your graduation. No, you had to be thinking wrong. You were going to give him a chance, an olive branch, to prove to your broken heart and possibly clouded judgment that he did care about you. Taking a deep breath, you tried to center yourself before speaking. It was going to hurt to bring this up, but in your mind, it was the only way to know if he cared or not. Letting out your breath, you questioned,

"If you care about me then acknowledge Eudora. I just want you to acknowledge that she existed. That she was real and she was ours. I want you to remember what she meant to us, but you avoid the topic of her like the plague. So tell me, was she real to you like she was real to me?" You questioned

Diego looked at you blankly. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't prepared for a conversation like this. Not here, not now. He didn't want to do this. He didn't even know if he could.

His silence didn't help you though. Why wouldn't he talk about her? All you wanted from him was to say something to show she was still in his mind. That the memories you created together were still there. Anything to prove he loved and cared for her and what you all had. Hurt bubbled inside you again followed by a slow anger. You needed an answer.

"Did you love her, Diego?" You pressed "Or did you stop caring the moment you couldn't be a hero to her anymore?"

Your questions weren't fair. He wasn't ready to speak about this, especially not with Lila around. He loved Lila. How could he have this conversation without the possibility of making her feel less than or secondary? This wasn't a conversation for her to be a part of. At least not yet. Why were you so determined? Why was this the hill that you had decided was so important to die on?

"(Y/N), it's- it's complicated." Diego tried to explain

Complicated? How? Why? What was so complicated about remembering a person you loved? Anguish and anger swirled together as Diego's words, or lack thereof, affected you. Whatever composure you had tried to build quickly slipped away. Why couldn't he give you this? Why couldn't he even say her name? At this point that would be enough. Your throat and chest clenched tightly as if your body was caving in on itself, and tears streamed from your eyes as you wondered why he was hurting you like this?

"ANSWER THE QUESTION! DID YOU LOVE HER?" You demanded, your voice trembling as you begged for an answer, "DID YOU LOVE US?"

Diego looked at you silently, tears pricking his eyes, and the words he wanted to say caught in his throat. Of course, he loved her. He loved both of you. For so long, you two were his entire world. But he couldn't acknowledge Eudora. If he did it made her loss real. It made her death final. Even if he tried, he would never be able to forget her because you were so much like her. The way you cared for others, the way your face scrunched when you were upset, the joyful light in your eyes as you looked at him, and your resilience when things got tough. All these little quirks you had were glimpses of her. Looking at you was like looking at the last piece he had of her. It had been years for you, but it had only been three months for him. He couldn't do it.

"(Y/N)- I-..." He tried to speak, his voice stuttering

But it was too late. He took too long to answer. And to you, that meant only one thing, he never actually loved you or Eudora. He never cared. All the things that he did, all of those moments of kindness were in search of admiration, not love. When you looked at him now, there was pain, and there was anger, but most of all there was resentment. You resented the fact that all these years, all those moments that you thought were genuine, were all just for a stupid ego boost. Your happiness never meant anything to him. And just like that your mood swung again, and your emotions disappeared. You felt nothing. You felt empty. You looked at Diego, with eyes that no longer had light in them and quietly stated,

"I'm glad she doesn't remember who I am because at least it means that she never knew you either."

Your words hit Diego like a ton of bricks. Not only because of how they impacted them but also because of the weight of what you meant. If she didn't remember you, that meant she was here. It meant she was alive.

"She's alive? You saw her?" Diego asked sincerely

You didn't understand why he cared now? Now that she was possibly alive he wanted to acknowledge Eudora? What a selfish fucking prick.

"I'm not going to tell you because you don't deserve to know her anymore. What I will tell you is that she loved you so much, but time and time again you choose to stroke your massive ego and play hero to others over the people already around you. And I know now that I'm not worth being around for when you have the amazing opportunity to play hero for these two."

"(Y/N), it's not like that." Diego responded

It was at this moment, knowing what Lila knew now, that everything finally clicked together, and she felt stupid for not seeing it sooner. As you had said, it was never about her or what she did. Except for trying to kill you and Five, but that wasn't the point. You had shouted that your parents were dead and that Diego raised you and she could assume that by extension this Eudora did too. Wasn't too hard to conclude that Diego had replaced your dad, and Eudora had replaced your mom. It was, mostly, never what she did that upset you so much, it was what she represented. Like your mini-Diego-looking friend said, she was a homewrecker, Diego was a traitor and they both were adulterers. He said those things because that's how you viewed the situation. You weren't a sister upset that her brother got a new girlfriend, you were a child watching their parent replace the other one. It was no wonder Diego was doing a relatively decent job with Stan, he had already done it before. With you.

However, you didn't want to hear what Diego had to say. You were done with him. Completely. In totality. Forever.

"You don't need to explain, because I don't need you anymore." You spat "I actually don't need anything from you anymore."

Pulling all the knives off your body, you tossed them to the ground in front of Diego. You had your powers, you didn't need some stupid knives to fight with. They didn't mean anything to you anymore. They were just worthless metal to you.

But to Diego, this was salt in the wound. These knives were gifts given to commemorate celebrations or important events. Birthdays, winning your first boxing match, getting your license, etc. These were the physical embodiment of his proudest days of you. Why? Why were you tossing them back?

"(Y/N), no..." Diego begged

"Go on, give them to Stan since he's the one you care about. I promise I won't get in the way of your happy little family ever again." You explained in a sarcastically cheerful tone before flatly stating "From now on, I only ever had one brother, and he died trying to keep me safe."

Hearing those words, Diego became paralyzed. It felt like time had stopped moving but that certainly wasn't true. Everything happened so fast and he didn't know how he got to this point. What had he done to cause this outcome? How many times had he unintentionally hurt you that now you wanted nothing to do with him? At that moment, it felt like a large part of him died because he didn't just lose you, he lost Eudora. The light In your eyes that you both shared when you looked at him was gone. How could he have let this happen?

Lila looked between you and Diego. He looked so broken...so defeated. She never wanted this for Diego. She might've disagreed with you, but she loved Diego and Diego loved you. Part of her felt like this was her fault, even if you said it wasn't. You were just a scared, hurt child looking for love, and whatever you were looking for you didn't get. And now, to you, all your parents were dead. In a way, Lila could relate. When she had lost her parents and was taken in by The Handler all she wanted was to know she was loved. But like her, you didn't get it, and now you were lost. Maybe there was a reason why these people loved you. Maybe she had misjudged you this whole time. Maybe you two were more similar than you were different.

You however couldn't stand to be here anymore. This place felt heavy like an inescapable weight was crushing you. It was suffocating being in a place with so much misery. You needed to leave. Grabbing Dean's keys from the floor and summoning Viktoria's phone to your hand, you turned without saying a word and began to head to the front door.

Mimicking Five's powers, Lila jumped over to you and grabbed your wrist to stop you. Looking back, you expected to see your boyfriend but were surprised to see it was Lila who had stopped you.

"Where are you going?" Lila asked "The world is ending and you're a bloody mess. Literally."

"Why do you care?" You replied, "I thought you wanted me dead."

Right. Lila may have realized that your hatred was misplaced, but you had not realized that hers was as well. She was gonna have to work on that.

Phasing your wrist through her grasp, you tried to walk away once more. You need to get away from this place. Away from Diego. Away from the Umbrella Academy and the end of the world. You weren't a hero. You were never meant to be a hero. Saving the world was never supposed to be your responsibility.

You needed space, but the Hargreeves knew they needed you for this. Trying to get you to stop and reconsider Luther blurted out,

"What about the Kugelblitz? We need you to help figure out all the-the- y'know- your powers and stuff. We're family!"

Hearing that word you stopped in place. Family. How dare he use that word like some type of "gotcha". That word was supposed to mean something, and it did mean something to you. It meant so much more than just the definition in the book. It was a representation of all the people you had loved. All the people who you lived and fought for. All the people who had loved you to their dying breath. All the people who were now gone forever. To treat that word like a quid-pro-quo was like a slap in the face. You seethed at his negligence and slowly turned on your heel to face the Umbrella Academy.

"Family?" You questioned angrily "You use that word so frivolously. What do you know about family? What do ANY of you know about family?"

"I don't think I understand the question." Luther replied

"Of course you don't. Because you're all selfish, stunted, pathetic adults." You remarked spitefully "You don't view me as family. You guys only use the word family when you need something."

"That's not true. We're a family." Viktor retorted

"No you're not. You are a group of people who share a last name." You spat "You wouldn't know the first thing about family if it manifested as an entity and punched you in your fucking faces."

"(Y/N), you don't mean that..." Diego pleaded

God you were sick of these people! You said what you said and you meant it. They had no clue about what it meant to be a family. They had no respect for each other. They only ever came together to help each other when it was too late. You sacrificed everything for these people and none of them would do the same. They found out your parents died and they didn't care. They watched you struggle on the ground, bleeding and screaming, and they didn't step up. They saw all your friends vanish and offered no condolences. If you were in their shoes you would already been trying to help them, but they didn't care to do the same. You were done with them. Going on a tirade, you shouted,

"I DO! I treated you like family! I lost my parents, and friends, and the lives I built trying to help you all because I cared for you! I LOVED you! And besides my fucking boyfriend, who is the only one here who seems to care, none of you would do the same for me! The only one of you who ever genuinely treated me like family was Ben. And he's gone! I've lost EVERYTHING! I have NO FRIENDS! NO FAMILY! NO HOME! AND IT'S ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULTS! YOU RUINED MY LIFE!"

A heavy silence fell over the group as you caught your breath from yelling so much. To Allison, she didn't care much for your anger, you had no interest in finding her daughter so why should she care for your parents or friends? For Diego, this only worsened the heartbreak he already felt. He had failed you. And for Luther and Viktor, they felt like kids again, this aching feeling reminiscent of the day they realized you had disappeared along with Five. Their first friend, the first person who loved them for who they were, was lost again.

And then there was Five whose guilt had no bounds. He felt terrible seeing how upset you were, shameful that he couldn't prevent or change the events that led to this moment. The amount of pain you were going through was probably unimaginable, and even though you singled him out and separated him from his siblings as the only person who cared, he still felt guilty for his impact on your life. You had told him multiple times since he returned to you that you didn't blame him, but in a way, he was still the catalyst. That original time jump may have been an accident, but its impacts were very much real. You had put helping others first for so long that you never asked for help yourself. He wished he knew how to fix this. He had to find a way.

Turning on your heel once more, you started to make your way to the doors again. You were getting out of here and nothing was going to stop you this time. Except that's never how it goes, does it? Immediately as you started walking away you felt a minor molecular disturbance behind you and someone gently take your hand. You knew who it was. It was the only person who could break your conviction. The only person who could make you want to stay. Slowly, you turned around to look at Five. His green eyes filled with sadness and concern as he looked over you.

"Baby, please don't go." Five begged

God, why did he have to do this? Your heart ached looking at him. You never wanted your life with him to be like this. To be one filled with trials and tribulations. When you got real moments together everything was so beautiful, the world felt brighter, and your heart felt light. Why couldn't you just run away with him? Forget the world, cope with the pain of the kugel waves, and spend your last days together. Why did life have to be this way? Why couldn't you two just be happy? tears welled in your eyes once more as your strong composure quickly faltered.

"I can't do this..." you whispered, trying not to cry

"And I can't let you go..." Five replied desperately

"Th-that's not fair." You rebuked stuttering over your words "I-I let you go when I didn't want you to."

Five grasped your hand tighter. You were right, just a few days ago you were in his place begging him not to go, but let him anyway. He'd be a hypocrite to not let you do the same, but he just couldn't bring himself to do so. Looking you over, you were injured, bloodied, covered in gauze that was slowly turning red, and he knew for a fact you were not in a rational headspace. He couldn't blame you for any of it, the circumstances leading to this were out of your control, but his head was screaming at him to hold onto you.

"What if something happens?" Five questioned concerned "Another kugel wave and I'm not there to help you? What if you-"

Five stopped. He couldn't get the words out. He shut his eyes tightly as he tried to push the thought out of his mind, but it was haunting. He lost you once before, he wouldn't survive if it happened again.

Five's grip on your hand tightened even more and you could feel the way his hand trembled as it held yours. You held his hand tighter and with your other hand, you reached up and gently ran it through his hair pushing it out of his face before resting it on his cheek. Your thumb gently brushed back and forth against his skin. You watched as he leaned into your touch more, even if most of what he felt was the gauze on your hand. You hated seeing him so upset. Back and forth your brain fought between doing what would make you feel better and doing what would make him feel better. That was the issue with loving someone so deeply, so desperately, you could never stop thinking of them. Five was a constant thought in your mind and loving him was like breathing air. But this hotel, these people, it was suffocating you. Your head wasn't in a good space, but you knew you couldn't do both right now. You couldn't take care of yourself and Five. It was one or the other and you had to make a decision. Gently, you brought his face closer to yours and pressed your forehead against his.

"I need time, Five..." You whispered

"We don't have that." Five mumbled

"We never do." You quietly replied "But I still need it. I need to go."

Opening his eyes, Five saw the way you looked at him. Your gaze was gentle and sincere. Even through the chaos of your emotions, he knew that you still loved him. He could see it all over your face. And yet, that made him want to hold on tighter. Letting go of your hand, he wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close.

Resting your head on his shoulder you let out a sigh. You felt like your heart was breaking and part of you started thinking that maybe you should put up with his siblings and stay. But then you thought again, and you knew that if you didn't get the space to clear your head then you wouldn't be able to do anything going forward. It pained you but you needed your space. You had to go. Lifting your head, you looked at Five once more.

"Please don't make me use my powers." You pleaded, tears falling from your eyes "Don't force me to slip away."

Five had no choice. He had to let you go because no matter what you were going to leave. It was what you wanted. All that was up to him was if it was going to be amicably or regretfully. Loosening his hold on you, Five sighed,

"Okay..."

You took a step back out of Five's arms. It was a bittersweet feeling. You didn't want to leave him, but you appreciated that he respected your wishes. Yes, you were forcing his hand slightly, but it did still show he cared. You wanted to give him something though, something that could perhaps ease the worry you knew he was feeling. Summoning the sharpie you saw Lucas put down earlier, you popped the cap off before gently pushing up the sleeve of Five's jacket and shirt. On his arm, you wrote down the number to Viktoria's cell phone, which you now carried on you, adding a little heart after the final number. Putting the cap back on the marker, you placed it into his jacket pocket. Looking up at him you explained,

"If it's an emergency, if you really need me, call this number and I'll be back as soon as I can."

Part of him worried that this was the last time he'd see you. That he was making a huge mistake. But he loved you and he knew you loved him. You had always managed to find your way back to each other so he had to trust that you'd come back again. Taking your face in his hands, he kissed you desperately, like it was the last kiss you'd ever share. If you were leaving his side then he needed you to feel how much he loved you. But he had to trust that this wasn't the last time. He had to believe that his lips would meet yours again.

You pressed your lips firmly back against Five's, the tears you had cried making the kiss salty. Your heart didn't want to leave him, but your head knew that you wouldn't be able to help him going forward if you didn't. It wasn't pleasant, but you swore once your head was clear, you'd come straight back here and into his arms. It felt like hell, but you gathered the strength to pull away.

"I love you." You stated sincerely

"I love you too." Five quietly replied

And with that, you gave him one more kiss on the cheek before turning and walking to the doors. As you got to the revolving door though, you stopped and looked back at him to make sure he was still there. You loved him too much not to. You saw as he looked back at you and quietly mouthed the word go. With a small nod, you looked ahead and walked out the door of the Hotel Obsidian.

#the umbrella academy #tua #umbrella academy #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #tua five hargreeves #five hargreeves fanfic

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ayyy-pee · 5 months

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𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 3: 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝑮𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝑶𝒏

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Pairing: Choso x f! Reader

Summary: Things take a turn.

Chapter Warnings: Angst...

WC: 6.6k

Choso Art By:NC9__

**While not all chapters contain adult content, the themes of this story are targeted towards adults, so minors DNI please.

No one warned you just how difficult university would be.

Your first semester of college has been kicking your ass in all honesty. Between your art projects, extracurriculars and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life, you’re completely burnt out. It was quite the adjustment from high school where teachers stayed on you about your school work and assignments. You'd learned very quickly that now, one was responsible for you but you.

At 19, it was a true test of your maturity. And you were failing that test quite miserably.

“I have one last project due and then I’ll finally be able to breathe. This professor has been up my ass all semester. I can’t wait for winter break and to be done with his class.” You set your bags down on your desk before you adjust your cell phone between your cheek and shoulder. “Sorry to rant. How are you all doing?”

A deep voice rumbles on the other end of the line with a laugh that makes your cheeks warm every time you hear it.

“Hey, it’s no problem. I’m just happy to hear from you. At least you’re letting me know what to realistically expect when I start school next year.” You hear shifting on the other side and you know he’s getting comfortable, probably in bed. “Yuji’s good. He’s also getting ready for winter break so he’ll be home most of the time. Eso’s been struggling with algebra, but Kechizu is surprisingly good at it. He’s been helping him study and–”

You listen closely, hanging on every word falling from your friend’s lips as he catches you up on his brother’s lives. It’s been a few months since you’ve spoken to Choso over the phone. While you’d keep in touch after the summer months until you were back on the beach, you’ve both been busy with your new normal. You haven’t seen Choso either, your first year of college being surprisingly more difficult than you’d expected so you opted for summer classes in hopes to maintain your GPA instead of taking your annual trip with your parents.

It was the first time since you were 9 that you hadn’t gone back to the beach. Your parents reluctantly returned without you your first summer in university, only after you had pushed them to enjoy a romantic vacation together for once. You remember the pictures you’d received from your mother the night they got into town. She was quick to spam you with pictures of your little pink haired friend who had grown even taller since the last time you’d seen him. She’d also sent a photo of all four of the brothers sitting at your dinner table, just as they always did on your first night in town since you were all kids.

It was reminiscent of all the summers you’d spent together growing up, except there was a noticeable gap where you’d usually be sitting, right between Choso and Yuji. As your eyes roamed over every detail, every way the boys had grown and changed, you couldn’t help the pang of disappointment you felt from missing out on this. You wanted to see them, hug them, be with them and enjoy your summer together. But you couldn’t. And it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

It hurt that you wouldn’t spend days and nights at the beach. You wouldn’t be taking Yuji all over the town with you and spoiling him rotten like you always have. You wouldn’t be climbing out of your bedroom window to sneak out to parties. You wouldn’t be working the summer at Panda’s, closing shop and sitting at the shoreline to watch the sunsets with Choso.

Choso…

Your eyes were locked on the tall figure in the photo and you found yourself pinching your thumb and index finger together, pressing them to your phone screen before expanding and zooming in on the picture. He was wearing his signature tiny smile that he reserved only for you and your family. Those same pigtails that have sat atop his head since he was 10 years old were still there, but that baby face was long gone. He was all chiseled jawline and sharp cheekbones now, even more handsome than when you saw him last summer, if possible, and your heart fluttered at the thought.

You stared at those dark eyes that had peered into yours that cool summer night last year as he leaned closer, those soft lips that pressed against your mouth as you exchanged your first kisses with each other. Those lips…they consumed your thoughts. Those lips that uttered those three words that still kept you up at night as they echoed through your mind:

“Just one more.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, to the tips of your ears and you could hear the blood rushing through your body as the memories played clearly through your mind.

The slight tilt of Choso’s head as he deepened the kiss just barely. The way you gasped when his tongue gently ran along the seam of your lip. How he sighed, low and deep when he heard the little sounds you were making and all because of him.

Neither you nor Choso have spoken about your first kiss since it happened. He’d walked you home from the beach that night, hugged you tight one last time and then you spent the remainder of the night clutching at your chest, desperately willing your heart to calm down.

“You still there?” Choso’s voice pulls you from your trip down memory lane and you clear your throat to buy yourself time to gather your thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just…I’m sad. I’m glad everyone’s doing well, but I almost feel like I missed a part of that because I didn’t go back to the beach for the summer.” You fall back onto your bed with a groan. “I miss you.”

The words fall from your lips easily, though your eyes widen when you realize what you’ve said. While you had never been one to sugarcoat your words with Choso, you couldn’t help but feel as though those simple words held more weight since the kiss.

Choso doesn’t seem to be having the same thoughts, because he quickly replies with an, “I miss you, too.”

And just like that, the conversation picks right back up.

It’s easy with Choso. It’s always easy. You sometimes forget just how easy it is.

- - - - - - - -

That breather you thought you’d be getting for winter break? Yeah, that didn’t happen.

Could it be because your first year of college hadn’t gone according to plan which resulted in you ending the year with a lower than desired grade point average? Who could say? That wasn’t important anyway. The important thing was that you’d opted to take Winter classes as well. Because your life wasn’t already hell Monday through Friday during the spring and fall semesters. Not to mention the summer classes you’d taken earlier in the year that had kept you from being able to tag along on your annual beach trip.

College was turning out to be more of a drag than anything. Luckily, you had made plenty of friends here that made the fact you were missing out on these things a lot more bearable.

It was during the Winter semester that you’d met Iori Utahime, a beautiful young woman with a curious scar across her face that somehow only added to her stunning looks. The two of you had quickly hit it off, both wanting to take your studies seriously and needing someone to hold the other accountable for reaching their goal. Utahime wanted to pursue a career in music and while your majors differed, you were still artists just the same.

Your similarities didn’t end there either. You shared core classes and unfortunately also shared struggling GPAs, which only brought you closer to each other. So when you found yourselves paired up for a project for one of your Winter courses, you soon found yourselves together more often than not.

And she’d introduced you to more friends as time went on.

There was Satoru. Satoru was goofy. That was the best way to describe him. He never took anything seriously, because everything was easy for him. Seriously. He was a genius who never needed to study because he just knew he’d ace his exams. Because of this, he was all about enjoying the college experience.

You could catch Satoru at every party, the center of attention everywhere he went. He was Mr. Popular. There was no one on campus who did not know who Satoru Gojo was. Almost every student on campus either wanted him or wanted to be him. And although you didn't share the same desires as them, you could see the appeal.

Satoru was tall. Way too tall. And had the strangest hair color you’d ever seen– stark white and so messy. He claimed it was natural, though you had your doubts. In a way, his hair reminded you oddly of Choso, if only because you could only think about how it was the total opposite of your friends. And his eyes…they also reminded you of Choso. Because they were as blue as the ocean you’d sat in front of many times with him. As blue as the waters that had brought you to Choso in the first place.

But that was where the similarities ended. Satoru was carefree, going with the flow whenever he could. He never planned for anything, he just let things happen. And he bugged Utahime in a way you couldn’t understand. It’s not really like he had to do much in the first place to get under her skin. All he needed to do was breathe within the same vicinity as Utahime and she was going ballistic. And Satoru seemed to love that.

There was Suguru, Satoru’s best friend. Or more? You could never quite tell with those two. He also reminded you of Choso in a way. Not physically, but general demeanor. Suguru was quieter, more observant than Satoru. He was thoughtful and kind, not abrasive at all; soft spoken in a way that made you feel as though he truly cared for you. And you liked that about him.

When out, you’d often find yourself next to Suguru. His presence was warm and comforting, almost familiar. You felt safe and protected with him and you knew that if Suguru was with you, you could just count on him to look out for you. You’d grown close fairly quickly and had established a friendship outside of your immediate friend group. You spent a lot of time together, but there was never any connection between you two aside from friendship.

And then there was the last of your group – Shoko. Clearly there was something going on between her and Utahime. But if you asked either of them, they'd quickly deny it. None of you were dumb, even with your low GPAs. The stolen glances, the touches they thought you all didn’t notice, the way one always ended up leaving exactly three minutes before the other decided to call it a night.

You found it very amusing, the way they thought none of you knew what was going on.

Their situation made you think more about Choso and how he –

Wait.

Why were you thinking about Choso so much? Why did everything suddenly remind you of him? You couldn’t think about any of your new friends without comparing them to Choso. Even after all this time.

After your last summer vacation, Choso had spent a good amount of time on your mind. But it’s been almost two years now. A second summer vacation was coming up and you were once again abandoning plans to go to the beach with your family and opting to take more summer courses to boost your GPA.

And it wasn’t as though you’d spoken to Choso much, either. Between your studies and his own life happenings, there wasn’t much time to chat. You carve out time when you can and appreciate the usual nightcap you both share every so often. But you're busy with your studies and Choso…well…

When your second year of college began, that was also when Choso had broken the sad news to you that college would be put on hold for him indefinitely.

“It’s my dad,” he’d told you. “Fucker just up and left and we haven’t heard from him since. Not that I should be surprised. I guess I'm only shocked it took him so long.”

You could hear the words come through gritted teeth, how he’d tried to hide the venom that dripped from each syllable. He was beyond pissed. You knew Choso better than you knew any other friend. There was no better way to get on his bad side than to mess with his beloved siblings.

But you knew more than anything that Choso was disappointed, crestfallen even.

For Choso, getting out of that small beach town and getting an education was his path to a better life for himself and for his brothers. His father taking that from him felt like the ultimate betrayal. What could you even say to lift his spirits at that point?

“I'm so sorry, Cho. Fuck, I'm sorry.”

It didn't feel like enough.

You checked in with him when you could. And he checked in with you when he could, but he was busy working. He’d accepted a full time position as a manager at Panda’s and had even told you a spot would be there for when you returned the next summer.

But it looked like someone else would have to fill the position this year.

You missed your vacations back to your second home. You missed the warmth of the sand beneath your feet and the smell of the salty ocean air as you all spent your days at the beach. You missed scooping ice cream at Panda’s and doodling the horizon in your sketchbook from your spot behind the counter when work was slow. You missed sneaking out to bonfires and having Choso toss you his sweater the moment you landed in his arms in nothing but the shorts and bikini tops he so hated.

You missed Choso.

That last night at the beach revealed to you for the first time that you may have feelings for your best friend that are more than just friendship. Freshly 18 year old you with almost no prior dating history hardly knew what those feelings meant. But almost 20 year old you, well it's been loud and clear for some time that this has slowly become more than some childish crush.

You like Choso.

The whispered call of your name pulls you from your spiraling thoughts and you look up to find Satoru’s bright eyes staring questioningly at you from across the table. You’d all met up in the library to study for your exam coming up at the end of the week. Of course he was checking in because you’d zoned out in the middle of your cram session to daydream about your long distance crush.

Except, that wasn’t why Satoru was checking in at all.

It’s only when Satoru waves his hand next to him that you see another tall figure standing beside the table. Your eyes roam up his form until they land on his face. And it surprises you when you feel your heart kickstart and begin racing.

Because you thought only Choso could get that reaction from you.

“This is Kaito,” Satoru introduces him and Kaito smiles, eyes locked on yours and you think you can hear your heart pounding in your chest.

Kaito is tall, slender, but not in the way Satoru is. If anything, you’d say he has the same body type as Suguru. He’s lean. You can tell from the way his clothes accentuate his form that he’s fit. And he’s got the most beautiful smile, teeth so brilliantly white that you’re nervous to see how brightly they shine in the sun. Gorgeous emerald green eyes sit beneath long black lashes and wow, he is really fucking good looking.

He politely introduces himself, running his hand through a messy black wolfcut as he takes the seat right beside you after Suguru heads to his next class.

You all resume studying shortly after Satoru’s friend’s arrival. Kaito seems to fit right in, quickly becoming friendly with the rest of the group and you. But you soon notice that Kaito has taken quite a liking to you.

Again, 20 year old you is not as clueless as you used to be and the attention he focuses on you is giving you an insane amount of butterflies.

You catch his little glimpses at you from the corner of your eye, the way he’s quick to lean over and help you resolve an equation you were stuck on, the way he never breaks eye contact with you when you’re speaking with him. Like every word that leaves your mouth is the most important thing he’s ever heard.

“So yeah, that’s why hot cheetos are like the best chip there are.” You finish your rant, beaming because you finally got to tell someone your true feelings about this.

“Absolutely…fascinating…” Utahime comments sarcastically. She’d stopped listening to your rambling ages ago, nose buried in her textbook.

Shoko and Satoru had left to get refreshments so unfortunately for them, they'd missed the entire thing.

But Kaito, you’ve got his full attention. “No, really. It’s truly fascinating. I’d love to hear more.”

His grin has your tummy squeezing, that sweet tickle returning and you find yourself smiling right back despite your little epiphany about your feelings regarding your childhood friend just moments before Kaito showed up.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

A loud slurping can be heard from across the table, effectively popping the little bubble that you and Kaito had suddenly found yourselves in. On the other side of the table sits Satoru, back from his trip to the cafe, guzzling a sweet juice while he watches you and Kaito talk over the rim of his glasses. Next to him, Utahime’s face is twisted into a look of pure hatred and disgust. Satoru ignores it.

“Y’all should go out,” Satoru suggests casually, like he’s talking about something as unimportant as the weather. “Talk about animal crackers or whatever the hell.”

Shoko snorts as she discreetly slides a snack over to Utahime while no one is looking. Except everyone sees it anyway because these two are so fucking obvious.

“Yeah, go out,” Shoko also chimes in. “Think you two would make a great couple.”

Your face ignites with heat, the sudden idea making you want to kick Satoru and Shoko under the table.

But Kaito smirks, eyes holding your gaze like they have been this entire time and he says, “I’d like that. Can I?”

You glance at Utahime who stares at you in surprise.

“Um…can you what?” You question, trying to buy yourself time to think.

“Can I take you out? Like, on a date.” His response is quick. It’s so easy for him. He just spits it out and says what he wants. And you’re sitting here still freaking out just over Satoru’s suggestion.

“I…”

“If I bring hot cheetos with me, would that make it more tempting?” He’s so charming, and cute, and sweet and–

Ugh, what reason do you have to say no to him?

The sudden vision of pigtails flashes through your mind. And suddenly, the excitement you were feeling seems to fall away. And Kaito seems to sense it, because his grin falters a little, becoming just a small smile on his lips and he simply nods and gives you a “sure” when you ask him, “Can I get back to you?”

- - - - - - - -

“I met someone today,” you speak quietly into the phone, lying in bed after leaving your study date with your friends. You’re nervous. Probably because you’re testing the waters here. Probably because your walk back to your dorm after Kaito had asked you out was eye opening.

Can you really open yourself to date someone else seriously when your thoughts are plagued by another man? Can you open yourself to the possibility of being with someone else when the person you want to be with is hundreds of miles away, in some little beach town?

Because that's what you've come to realize. You want to be with Choso.

You just need to know if he feels the same way you do. You have an idea of how Choso feels about you based on the last time you’d seen each other. But that doesn’t make you feel any less like digging a hole in the ground and burying yourself in embarrassment thinking about bringing any of this up.

“Oh yeah? Another new friend?” Choso asks distantly. He’s currently at Panda’s closing shop, so he’s got you on speaker while he completes his nightly tasks. You were happy (maybe too happy) when he'd answered your call tonight.

“Sort of a friend, sure…He’s nice…”

You’re hoping he’ll take the hint quickly here.

But when Choso just gives you an absentminded “that’s cool”, you know you’ve only got half of his attention. And you want all of it.

“Yeah. His name is Kaito. Really nice guy.” And it’s true. You think Kaito is nice, but you think Choso is nicer. That's not to say you're not into Kaito either. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t interested in him. But you’d also be lying if you said you weren’t interested in Choso as well. Maybe more than you are Kaito. Because for you, you’re pretty sure it will always be Choso. Even though you've never had anyone else, you know you don't need to. It's Choso for you.

That is why your thoughts have been consumed with him. This revelation has been so freeing.

You just need to know if he feels the same.

“Glad you’re meeting new people.”

He’s still distracted, the sounds of him pushing the chairs around the store’s lobby echoing through the phone. You didn’t want to have to show your hand so quickly, but you’re tired from a long day of studying and tired from years of beating around the bush. It’s been over a decade of your feelings slowly building for Choso and now your heart is ready to burst. You have no choice but to push this conversation along a little faster.

“Yeah, his name is Kaito. He asked me out on a date actually.”

And finally, you get an actual reaction from Choso. Not a grunt, not a hum in reply or some offhand comment. Instead, you hear him shuffling around, then the sound of tapping on his phone, likely taking you off of the speaker. His voice comes through, crisp and clear now.

“Sorry,” he apologizes through quick breaths. “What was that?”

“I said Kaito asked me out on a date…this weekend.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep,” you reply cheerily, hopefully driving the knife a little deeper. Immature, sure, but at this point you’d do anything to get Choso a little closer to saying whether or not he has any feelings for you, if he wants you in the same way you want him. “Probably dinner at his place. Maybe a movie. Not sure yet.”

Choso hums quietly. “And you like this guy…that you just met…today…Kaito…” He says his name like he’s testing it on his tongue.

“He’s really nice.”

“As you’ve said.”

You’re about taken aback by the sudden bite in Choso’s tone, but you ignore his snarkiness. “I don't know how I feel about him yet.”

“Clearly you like him enough to be telling me about him.”

More bite behind his words. Still, you push forward. “I mean, is that bad?” You adjust the phone, moving it to your other ear as you get comfortable beneath your blankets. “You’re my friend, right?”

“Sure, but we don’t talk about stuff like this.”

And he had a point. Even during your summers entertaining Mahito, Choso never wanted to hear about any conversations you had with him. And it’s not like you had that many interactions with him anyway since Choso seemed to always be there whenever the silver haired boy was near you. And you had friends back home to talk about your school girl crushes that never resulted in anything with.

Aside from your first encounter with Mahito, Choso had also never discussed whether or not you were ever interested in anyone romantically and you had never thought to ask him either. Granted, you only saw each other over the summers and during the year, school kept you both so busy, you couldn’t worry about dating. Your parents were never against it and you'd gone to a movie or two with people who had asked you out, but it was never serious. You didn't care enough to commit to anyone, too focused on trying to get into a good school.

In the summers, the last thing on your mind was asking Choso if he had feelings for anyone else. Most of the time he was with you, anyway. And when he wasn't, he was with his brothers.

You'd never given thought to Choso…desiring anyone.

Suddenly, the thought of Choso with someone else makes your stomach churn, has your head spinning. Choso in someone else’s arms, hugging someone else, kissing someone else’s lips.

Oh, it has your blood boiling in a way you’ve never experienced before and you try not to sound too petulant when you finally mutter, “Yeah, but I want to talk to you about it now.”

“But why?” He sounds thoroughly confused. You try not to sigh into the receiver.

“Choso…we’ve literally kissed before, but talking about crushes is where you draw the line?”

It’s the first time either of you have ever mentioned the kiss, now a memory that continues to plague your thoughts and your dreams.

“Even weirder reason to talk to me about this,” you hear him mumble on the other end.

“How? We’re adults! We can talk about things like that. Besides…” you fiddle with your blanket, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth nervously. “It’s really not weird at all…unless the kiss meant something…more to you?”

You’re met with silence. A long stretch of silence that has you fidgeting anxiously. You almost want to laugh, say “I’m just kidding!” and hang up. But then Choso surprises you. He speaks so quietly, you almost don’t hear it over the thundering of your own heart.

“Did it mean something to you?”

Of course it did. What a stupid question. That silly little first kiss and those lips of Choso’s have been eating away at your brain for almost two years. Saying it meant something to you felt like the understatement of the century. You want to scream out loud that that kiss meant everything to you and you’re sorry it took you so long to stop being an idiot and realize that yes, the kiss was more than that. It opened the door for you to realize exactly how you felt about Choso.

But even so, you still answer with a very quiet “yes”.

And because it’s Choso, who has never lied to you a day in his life, he responds without hesitation. “Me too.”

Finally! The confirmation you were waiting for! The kiss meant something to Choso, too. You weren’t crazy!

“I’ve been thinking about it since it happened. A lot,” Choso confesses.

“Me too. Probably way too much.”

Choso chuckles, which makes you laugh in turn. It’s the answer you wanted to hear from him, but now that that’s out there and your heart is calming down just a bit, it gives your brain enough time to catch up. And now, you’re a little confused.

“Wait. Why’d you tell me I should go out with Kaito?” You laugh again; half from nerves, half from feeling so silly that you used the guy as bait instead of just outright asking Choso how he felt.

The silence has suddenly returned and any semblance of humor seconds ago has now vanished. Now, you feel nervous again. Like your gut is telling you to end this call immediately. This is the calm before the storm and that knife you were twisting into Choso’s back to try and urge an honest response from him soon finds its way into yours when Choso says, “Because you should.”

The knife twists.

“You like him, don’t you? Go on a date with him.”

“Ha ha.” It’s all you can think to say, because it’s keeping the pain at bay for just a second longer. Only a second longer.

“I’m being serious.”

Another twist. And the sting begins to settle in.

“Choso…”

He says your name back to you. “Do you like him?”

“I like you.” It’s the first time you’ve openly admitted it to him. A few seconds pass by with no response, so you keep talking, if only to fill the silence. “Obviously you feel the same way or that kiss wouldn’t be on your mind two years later, right?”

Choso sighs softly. How can he be so calm and collected when you’re sitting here just now realizing that you’re shaking, nearly vibrating out of your skin.

“I like you, too,” he finally admits. “Have for a long time. Couldn’t tell you when it started, but it’s been for as long as I can remember. So yeah, I feel the same.”

“Okay…” You should feel calmer now, confident in the fact that your feelings for each other are out in the open. But that sharp sting of rejection is slowly starting to build, the knife in your back ready to bury itself deeper. “But?”

“Hmm?”

“I know you. There’s a but coming…isn’t there?”

Another bout of silence and you’re starting to lose your mind having to sit through it. This is not how you expected this conversation to go. And you blame yourself for the way it feels like your heart is going to beat straight through your ribcage and fall flat to the floor.

“But I can’t do anything about these…feelings.” He spits the last word out like it’s bitter. “There’s no future where we could ever be together.”

The knife sinks in.

“Why not?”

“Because–”

“And don’t give me some bullshit reason, either.” You cut him off. Because you don’t want excuses. You want honesty, like Choso has always given you.

“What’s a bullshit reason to you?” His tone is snippy again.

What is a bullshit reason? You don’t know. All you know is that you have feelings for this man who once pulled you from certain death over a decade ago. And he has feelings for you, too! He just told you so! You want to be with him, but he doesn’t seem to want to be with you even if he hasn’t said so yet.

Ironically, all this makes you feel like you’re drowning all over again, struggling to pull your head above the water but going nowhere. It's Choso holding you under instead of pulling you out this time.

“...I don’t know,” you finally answer.

“I do,” Choso responds tersely. “I can give you a reason. Hell, I can give you two, three, maybe even four reasons why we can’t be together.”

“Cho–”

“But I don’t need all of those reasons. I only need one – I’m no good for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Choso, you’ve been my best friend practically my whole life. I cannot think of a single person better for me than you.”

He sighs your name, calling for your attention, but you keep going. “And you know me better than anyone else. I know you better than anyone else–”

Choso says your name again, a little harsher this time. You keep on.

“Besides, you said yourself how that kiss stays on your mind. It’s always on my mind too and we can–”

“Stop!” Choso’s harsh voice cuts through your droning. This time, you can’t ignore the snippiness. Never, in all the time that you’ve known Choso, has he raised his voice at you. At least, not in anger or annoyance. Maybe when you were kids, because kids yell. Kids are loud and bossy and Choso was both of those things as a kid. He was always yelling. But he had never yelled at you the way he just had.

You’re so shocked, your mind so suddenly frazzled, that you can’t bring yourself to respond.

“Why are you insisting on this?” Choso sighs, trying to calm himself, but his voice is still coming out a lot rougher than it ever has in your direction. And it’s hurting you in ways you hadn’t known possible, your little heart beginning to crack within your chest.

“I...I just thought –”

“Thought what, exactly?” Choso asks, a dry chuckle following. “Thought that we’d confess that we have feelings for each other and then we-we’d talk about our futures, make plans to be together forever and ever and then sail off into the sunset?”

“I mean–”

“No.”

That’s all he says.

“No?” You’ll need more than that.

“No. There will be no talking about futures together, making plans, sailing off into the sunset…none of it.”

Those little cracks in your heart start to spread, slowly chipping away. That sharp knife you were twisting into Choso’s back is now lodged deep into your own and it’s fucking killing you slowly.

“I don’t–” Your voice is quivering now and you have to take a deep inhale to steady yourself. “I don’t understand. If I have feelings for you, and you have feelings for me…you said the kiss meant more to you!”

“And I meant that.”

“Then why?! Why are you doing this? Is this because of Kaito?”

“Yes!”

“ I–I barely know him! I only brought him up being childish. I was hoping you would realize you had feelings for me. That’s it! I want to be with you!”

“But you should be with someone like him.” Choso’s voice is quiet now, the harshness of it finally gone. “It wouldn't have mattered if it was Kaito or Utahime or whats the other guy? Suguru? I can’t give you what he– what anyone who isn’t me can.”

Now you’re lost. “What?”

“I can’t be what you need me to be. I can’t be the boyfriend you need, the support you’d need if I were to become your boyfriend…”

It’s embarrassing how quickly you feel the tears brimming along your waterline. How your heart shatters into pieces as he lists off the reasons he isn’t good enough for you.

“Look at my fucked up life. No mother, a deadbeat piece of shit for a father, three brothers that I’m solely responsible for and have been for practically my entire life…” He says your name, like a plea, begging for you to listen to him. Like you should take his word for it and simply accept it.

But you won’t accept it.

“I know all of that, Choso. I know you and what you’ve been through – what you’re going through – better than anyone else. And I still want you.”

Now you say his name like a plea, begging for him to hear you and your words. You don’t care about his struggles, about how he’s had to keep his family together his entire life, forced to grow up too quickly and become the glue that holds everything together. You were there for all of that up until recently. And even through it all, you always found your way back to Choso. That won’t change now.

The quiet drags on, just dead air hanging between you two and when he finally speaks, he surprises you. “And I want you, too.” He tells you, lifting your spirits ever so slightly.

Then just as quickly, he breaks you. Again.

“But I’m doing you a favor, so please. Just go date whoever you want, whoever’s good to you.”

“Choso–” Your voice breaks, your lip trembling as you try to fight the sob threatening to crawl up your throat.

“Please.” You hear the way Choso’s voice cracks in a similar manner. Like he has a sob to match your own trying to escape as well. “You…God, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t waste it on someone like me. You have everything going for you. I have nothing going for me. Just some loser working a deadend job in the same deadend town I’ve always been in and will probably always be in. And I refuse to drag you down with me. I’m looking out for you…Like I’ve always tried to do.”

Your protector.

Even when you don’t want him to be. Even when you wish he wouldn’t be. Even when it hurts you.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you,” Choso tells you. “I do. Fuck, believe me when I say that. I would love nothing more than that because I've wanted it for so long…but you deserve so much more than this.”

“You are not a loser, Choso. Just…stop. I think we can–”

“I have to go,” He interrupts. “Need to finish this stuff up and head home. Yuuji has a project due tomorrow that I need to help with.” He’s quiet again, but you can just make out the sound of him sniffling, choking down that same sob before he says, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Choso ends the call abruptly, before you can even say goodbye, and the shakiness of his voice stays with you for the rest of the night. Even as you shower, numb to the excruciating heat of the water. As you brush your teeth and crawl beneath your sheets where you finally allow your heart to fully crumple. Even then, you hear the clear tremble of Choso’s words.

It hurts. This is a pain you don’t have any experience with. You don't know what to do with it. This is a pain you’d hoped you would never have to feel. And you never expected your best friend to be the one to cause it.

But you’re hopeful that you two will be able to patch things up. That you two will be able to go back to normal, even if things are awkward for a bit. Because you don’t want to lose Choso. He’s your very best friend, long distance or not. He means way too much to you for your crush to get in the way. You just hope you haven’t ruined things between you two.

Besides, he did say he would talk to you later. You take solace in that, finally letting sleep take over even as your tears still fall.

If only you’d have known that when you opened your eyes the next morning and opened your phone to send an apology text to Choso, that your text would fail to go through.

If only you’d known that you would go to check Choso’s social media pages only to see blank screens because he’d apparently blocked you. You'd search through every account he has on every social media platform and find yourself no longer able to see any of his information.

“I refuse to drag you down with me.” Those words play on a loop in your mind.

He really meant it.

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