#Financial Management Course Description

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Terms of Lease

Johnny (Soap) McTavish x F Reader

Synopsis— After your landlord raised the price on your flat, you’re left scrambling for a last minute roommate. Luckily or unluckily for you, a certain Scotsman with a shady work background seems to be the perfect candidate for a flat-mate.

Word count: 22.3k

Tags— Smut, strangers to friends to lovers, mild violence, slow burn, mild danger, Scottish men with red flags, cannon divergence?

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Modern 2-Bedroom Co-Living Apartment in Manchester City Centre, Price: £1,060/month per room (all bills included).

Description: "Fully furnished ensuite rooms in a contemporary two-bedroom apartment. Shared kitchen and living area. Flexible short stays. No deposit required."

Your fingers hovered over your laptop's keypad, switching between sleek photos of your kitchen in good lighting and the empty spare room across the hall. Everything had been perfectly curated: the listing had gone up, pictures had been taken, and your contact information had been provided.

All that was left was to wait for someone to bite the bait and take the room.

You glanced back over your shoulder to stare at the door to the spare room, a slight grimace settling onto your lips. You hadn’t intended to have a roommate; the whole point of moving to Manchester was to get away from a poor living situation. Not bounce from one to the other.

But alas, private education was not free. Your psychology degree wouldn’t pay for itself, and neither would your apartment. You’d managed to snag a part-time job at the pub down the street to ease some of the financial burden.

However, your landlord had been so kind as to raise the rent. Which brought you here, stuck endlessly re-scrolling your apartment listing, hoping someone would click. There was a sour kind of irony in having fought so hard for your own space, only to be forced into sharing it with a stranger.

You subconsciously gnawed at your bottom lip in worry; what if you didn’t find someone in time? Or worse, what if the person you ended up co-living with turned out to be a psychotic serial killer?

You shivered as your mind dug up endless Reddit threads about roommate horror stories.

Note to self: conduct thorough background checks.

You sighed, your head lulling back against one of the couch cushions. Well, at least if your hypothetical roommate did end up axe-murdering you in your sleep, there was free healthcare to make up for it on the odd chance that you survived.

A small noise chimed from your laptop, interrupting your train of thought. You looked at the screen. A small red dot was attached to the message icon of your contact listing. You clicked on the icon.

Message: “Hi, I’m interested in the available room. Any chance you could provide more details?”

You stared at the text briefly, your fingers hovering motionless over the keys. “Seems normal enough,” You muttered. You glanced at the name of the messenger, “-Okay…Johnny McTavish, let’s see if you’re going to axe murder me in my sleep.”

Message (You): “Of course, I’d be happy to send you more of the details…”

. . . . . ◟੭

In hindsight, was taking the first offer for the spare room an intelligent decision? No, probably not. However, you had worked yourself into an anxious spiral, fearing that this was your one and only shot.

So much for conducting thorough background checks.

Whatever information you did manage to get seemed normal enough, nothing that screamed “roommate from hell.”

You thought back on everything you knew about your soon-to-be housemate. His name was Johnny, he was in his mid-twenties, and he was in Manchester to “sort a few things out, " whatever that meant.

He also had a job; what he did exactly, you didn’t know. The term “security” seemed like a pretty general job description.

But, as a fellow person with trust issues, you couldn’t fault him for being slightly vague. As long as he could pay his half of the rent and co-exist with you like a normal person, you didn’t quite care to learn the nitty-gritty details.

Despite his elusiveness, everything else seemed to check out. So, you went ahead and arranged a date for him to tour the apartment before he officially moved in.

Speaking of, you glanced back at the wall clock. Watching the small hand point to the four mark, as if on cue, you heard someone knock on the door. Your eyebrows furrowed together. Punctual.

You stood up, making your way over to the door and wrapping your hand around the knob to pull it forward.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but whatever it was, was miles away from the person standing at your doorstep. He was tall and broad, with large shoulders and pale skin. His hair was brown. It was shaved down at the sides, making the middle portion slightly longer. It was almost like he had decided to shave it into a mohawk and gave up halfway through.

His face was angular, with a strong jaw and soft stubble. His eyes were a shade of pale blue, almost grey, framed by dark eyelashes. And he was dressed in a simple cotton T-shirt and jeans.

By the time your mind caught up with your eyes, he had started to speak. His hand held a small piece of paper the size of a Post-it note with an address scribbled down. “Excuse me—Lass, don’t suppose you’re the one who posted the room ad?”

His voice was thick and deep, shrouded by a heavy Scottish accent. You had to force your jaw shut before you started gaping like a fish.

He gave you a funny look the longer you stood there, his eyes darting from side to side. “Hope I’m not early.” He said, breaking the silence.

You shook your head, regaining the ability to put thoughts into words. “No,” you said, blinking hard. “You’re-uh, on time.”

His face broke into a smile. “Oh, great, then.” He shoved the small paper into the pocket of his jeans. His other hand extended forward. After you realized he was offering a handshake, you extended your own to meet his.

“I’m Johnny,” he said as his hand squeezed yours.

“[Name],” You replied. As you pulled away, your palm tingled. His hand was warm and rough, leaving a lingering spark on your fingertips.

He brushed past you with an easy, practiced gait. Confident. Like he’d walked into a hundred strange rooms before this one. “Nice place,” he said, glancing around. “You decorated it yourself?”

“Yeah. And I clean it myself too. So, shoes off by the door.”

He paused, then gave you a mock salute before toeing off his boots.

You walked back in, shutting the door behind you gently. You folded your arms. “So, Johnny. What brings you to Manchester?”

Of course, you had already asked him that beforehand. However, you figured you had a better chance of getting a narrower answer if you asked him in person.

He smiled, looking back over at you. “Bit of leave. Needed somewhere quiet to crash while I sort a few things.”

Internally, you slumped. The same vague, useless answer he’d given you before.

“You mentioned you work in… security?”

“Something like that.” He walked further into the apartment, making his way over to the kitchen. “Won’t be around much, no late nights. No parties.”

This guy wasn’t letting up.

No matter, you had plenty of time to investigate later. For now, as long as he paid the rent and stayed out of your way, everything would go smoothly. Plus, the whole point of the tour was for both of you to suss each other out and get an idea of who you’d be spending the next few months with.

Johnny wasn’t hard to look at, so you supposed there was a pro there. Maybe a suspiciously attractive Scotsman crashing in your flat wasn’t exactly what you needed, but it wouldn’t hurt.

“Well,” you said, “feel free to look around. Only thing that’s off limits is my room, second door on the right.” You pointed to one of the doors further down the hallway from the kitchen.

Johnny nodded as you spoke, “Yes, ma’am.”

“If you’d like, I can show you where your room is.” You offered, to which he accepted, following closely behind as you pushed the spare room door open.

It wasn’t much to look at, an empty bed-frame, a closet, a window, standard stuff. You glanced back at him, “Sorry, it’s a bit barren at the moment. Hopefully, you weren’t expecting a fully furnished bedroom.”

Johnny shook his head, walking past you to stand in the middle of the empty space. His hands set firmly on his hips as he looked around, “No apologies needed, Lass. Looks exactly like the photo, s’all that matters.

“Though,” he said, looking back at you. “I wouldn’t expect my decorating capabilities to match up to yours. Just to keep expectations low.”

A slight smile grazed your lips, “Noted.”

Johnny looked back at you, brushing off his hands like he had just gotten through with a day's work. “Should do just fine,” he said, “-I can move in as early as Wednesday, no rush though. I’ll give you a bit to think about it.”

You thought about it, chewing on the inside of your lip. That was early, however, Johnny seemed like a nice guy. Who knew when another opportunity for a housemate would arise? Maybe you were rushing into things, but rent was due by the end of the month. And with that subtle push you nodded.

“Wednesday it is.” You said.

. . . . . ◟੭

The smell lifted your head from the pillow before you were fully conscious enough to know you’d woken up.

You shifted, hands fisting the thick material of your comforter. It was dim, a warm light flooding through the crack in your door. You bitterly brought your hands up to rub the sleep from your sockets. Your nose wrinkling up with the dismay of being conscious again.

Your scalp ached dully; you reached back to scratch it when you realized you hadn’t taken your hair out from its ponytail the night before.

You grimaced, shifting until you were in an upright position. Apparently, you hadn’t bothered to change into pajamas the night before either, considering you were still clad in your work clothes—black jeans and a matching T-shirt with the pub’s logo placed in the top right corner of the shirt. With the addition of a black apron that reached your hips.

You smelled like a brewery.

An unfortunate side effect of working as a bartender. You let out a deep sigh, rubbing your hand over your neck to work out the tenseness of the muscles.

After a beat, you smelled it again, not beer this time, it was breakfasty, like eggs. As soon as you registered what the smell was, you heard the subtle crackling of oil in a pan with a soft sizzling noise. You paused, had you been sleep-cooking and tucked yourself back into bed somehow? Was that even possible?

Images of a singed black countertop with a large flame hovering over a melting pan flashed before your eyes.

You shot out of bed in a panic.

Throwing open your door, you stumbled your way down the hallway, one hand leaning against the wall to hold yourself up. You were half-expecting to see your kitchen engulfed in flames, but instead, as soon as your eyes adjusted to the influx of light, you saw…skin?

Standing with their back facing you was a man, back on full display with loose grey sweatpants hanging around his hips. Pale skin accompanied defined back muscles and oddly cut brown hair atop his head.

You stood statue still, unsure of what to do. Whoever the person was turned around, most likely alerted by the unseemly amount of noise you had just made running into the kitchen half awake.

Blue eyes met yours. “Mornin’, sorry bout’ the noise, didn’t mean to wake you or anything, Lass.”

Oh.

Right, your mind finally seemed to catch up with the situation. You now have a roommate.

A very shirtless roommate at that.

You swallowed thickly. Last night was Wednesday. You were put on a last-minute shift because your co-worker called in sick. Your boss had called you begging for you to cover it, and due to your lack of backbone, you relented.

You thought back to the message you had sent Johnny:

Message (You): Hey Johnny, so sorry but I have to cover a shift tonight. Feel free to get settled in without me, I left the extra key under the welcome mat. Just let yourself in.

Message: No problem, thanks for the heads-up.

Somehow, the notion that he’d moved into your apartment had completely slipped your mind. You were so swamped last night due to the lack of help that you weren’t entirely surprised that you managed to forget another person was in your own apartment.

“Rough shift?”

You blinked, zoning back into the present moment. “I-uh, yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Now that he was facing you, you had a full view of his shirtless body. If he didn’t look big before, he sure as hell did now. His chest was wide, his abdomen carved from straight stone. It was like looking at one of those raunchy men’s-fitness magazine covers.

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from his body and back to his face. “Sorry, I‘m just disoriented. Late night.” You said, swallowing thickly.

“No need for apologies, Lass. I get how it is.” Johnny shifted back to grab one of the spatulas sitting on the counter. Grabbing the pan on the stove and flipping the egg inside. “-You want one?” He said, gesturing to the egg.

You opened your mouth to refuse, but before you could, however, your stomach gave you away. A slight gurgling noise belched from your stomach, much to your embarrassment.

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you.” You muttered.

Johnny grinned at you, grabbing a plate from the overhead cupboard to place an egg there. Obviously, he had gotten acquainted with the layout of your kitchen while you were gone.

You gingerly took the plate with another small thanks, standing at the counter adjacent to him. Watching as he cracked the shell of another egg into the sizzling pan.

“You normally cook half-naked?” You mused, trying to fill the silence.

Johnny smiled, shrugging his broad shoulders as the egg cooked. “Sometimes, I can change if you’re uncomfortable.” He said, glancing back at you.

You shook your head, albeit a little too quickly. “Not a problem, just curious.”

Before you could grab a piece of cutlery, he beat you to it. Holding out a fork in your direction, you paused, extending your hand forward to take it. As you grabbed the metal, your fingers brushed against his. His hand was just as warm as you remembered.

Your fingers twitched, jerking back like the contact had burned your skin.

Johnny raised a brow at your skittishness. “You alright there?” He spoke casually.

“Just tired.” You lied, forcing yourself to look down at the plate as you cut your egg in half.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or the surprise. Or the sheer warmth of his palm brushing against yours. Either way, it lingered longer than it should have.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had a man in your flat, nor could you recall the last time someone had cooked you breakfast…or touched you, for that matter.

As startled as you were, it wasn’t an unwelcome interaction. Just…unexpected.

Living alone had made you hyperaware of how foreign touch seemed to be in your life. Maybe that’s why you felt like you were being electrocuted when your fingers brushed.

You took a bite of your egg; “This is good, thank you,” you spoke.

Johnny nodded, “Got to earn my keep somehow.” He said, loading the last of the eggs onto his plate.

He stood parallel to you, plate in hand, as he ate. It was silent for a moment, filled with the sounds of metal cutlery clanking against the ceramic plates.

Johnny was the first to break the silence, “I’ll be out this evening. Probably get back late, but I’ll try my best to keep quiet.”

You looked back at him, curiosity in your stare. “Does this have anything to do with your job in ‘security ?’” You mused.

He didn’t respond for a beat, “Something like that, yeah.”

You ate in silence for the remainder of the morning. You weren’t sure what he was really doing, and he clearly wasn’t about to tell you. But the eggs were good, and for now, that was enough.

. . . . . ◟੭

You had never considered living with someone to be ‘nice.’ It was convenient at the best of times, downright painful at the worst.

Sharing a space with someone meant opening yourself up to a variety of ways your privacy could be violated. You’d promised yourself that after you cut contact with your family, nobody from beyond that point would be able to violate you in the ways they did.

With time, your distrust of people slowly subsided; it ebbed and flowed most days. But when you concluded you needed to find a random roommate, your anxiety returned, almost like it’d never left.

However, the minute Johnny walked in, with his stupid Scottish accent, his odd habits, and elusive work life. Your previous fears seemed to slip away.

And now you could afford to pay your rent on top of university, which was always great.

Somehow, in the span of a few weeks, you and Johnny settled into a shared routine. Three days a week, you would get up for your morning classes to find a coffee already waiting on the kitchen counter.

Johnny was a freakishly early riser.

You would go to your class and come back with lunch, which Johnny was always present for. You’d either eat at the kitchen counter or, more recently, eat while walking around the small park near your complex.

By the time you finished, you usually had enough time to shower or work out before getting ready for your late shift at the pub.

Johnny was home for most of the day; he worked mostly nights. So, you tended to get back to the flat from working around the time he would leave. Each time he left, you had a silent understanding not to ask.

You never brought up his work, the answer was always the same. He would either shut you down immediately or find a way to deflect.

That didn’t stop you from wondering, though, because you did. You watched him like a hawk, gathering small pieces of information to hopefully create a clear image of what exactly he did when he went to work. Unfortunately, you never got far.

You caught small things, his hushed voice on the phone in the late hours of the night, a stack of papers hanging messily off of his dresser, dog tags dangling from his neck, which were almost always hidden in his shirt.

Obviously, he didn’t work your typical 9-5, you were sure of that. However, his odd hours, which left him absent well into the night and into morning, left you grasping at strings, trying to put the pieces together.

You had your theories, sure, but it was just that, a theory. You couldn’t very well spy on him during the night either.

But spending so much time during the day at the apartment apparently gave him countless opportunities to fix the place up.

Johnny proved to be an excellent handyman. Within the first few days, he fixed your leaky kitchen sink—then the creaky floorboard near your room, then the flickering kitchen light, and so on.

You also managed to convince him to teach you Scottish slang like “Eejit” (Idiot), “Blether” (Chatter-box), and your personal favorite: “Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally” (Meaning you’re looking ill).

No matter how often you heard him mutter under his breath in Scott, you couldn’t hold back your snickers. However, apparently saying “it just sounds funny” wasn’t a good enough response when he inquired about the roots of your amusement.

Alas, all things considered, things were going well. It wasn’t perfect harmony, but things were quiet, even domestic.

It was a Friday, and you were scheduled for the late shift at the pub, from 10pm to 2am closing. You mentally prepared yourself to be accosted by swarms of people who were there to get shit-faced while watching football (or soccer, whatever you call it).

Friday was your least favorite shift because it was the busiest, but your boss seemed to enjoy taking part in watching you suffer. So, begrudgingly, you got dressed and put your hair up. Swiping your house keys from off the kitchen table, you announced your departure to the empty room, a habit you’d picked up from living with someone else. Johnny knew your schedule anyway, but it was the polite thing to do.

Just as you feared, the minute you walked into the pub, you were hit with the stench of body odor and brewery. It was a madhouse, with people packed in booths and standing in clusters on the open floor between tables.

The bar was packed, too, with people lining the stools and any open space they could. The TVs turned up to the max on the sports channel.

“Oh, thank god you’re here.”

You turned as someone grabbed ahold of your hand; a middle-aged woman dressed in the same uniform stood in front of you. She had kind eyes with slight bags and medium-length thinning hair pulled back into a claw clip.

“Janet.” You breathed, “What’s going on in here? Did all of Manchester decide to show up?” You spoke, taking in the state of the bar.

She let out an exasperated breath, “Looks like it, doesn’t it? No, just another one of those sports cups.”

You nodded in bewilderment; you knew there was a reason you should’ve been keeping up with British sports games. Maybe then you would’ve had the hindsight to call in sick.

She sighed, “You better get behind that bar, love. Before Arthur quits for good this time.” Pointing at the bartender currently behind the bar, a scowl plastered to his reddish face.

You gently patted her shoulder in sympathy, “He always says that, but he never does.” You said cooley, trying to ease her worries. You pushed her away from the rearing crowds as you went over to relieve Arthur of his duties.

You somehow managed to hold down the fort (more or less) with help from Janet and some of the other staff for the next 4 hours. The crowds had slowly depleted and all that remained was the stragglers.

You looked down at the counter, more specifically at the damage. Some of the syrups would need to be refilled, the trash was practically overflowing, and you didn’t even have the heart to look at the drip tray. Whatever mystery liquid was brewing inside that silicone tray was likely radioactive by now.

An hour till closing, and the minutes couldn’t possibly pass any slower.

You turned around, grabbing the trash and tying the top in a knot. Maybe getting started with clean-up would help the shift pass by quicker.

To say you were tired was an understatement; it was a miracle you were still standing.

However, the trash refusing to come out of the bin didn’t help your case.

You gave it a few sharp tugs, your frustration growing with each failed attempt. You were about to give it another go before you heard one of the stools being pulled out behind your bar.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to compose yourself. You brushed your apron off, turning around with what you hoped was a welcoming smile.

“Don’t suppose you could fashion me a drink, aye, Bonnie?”

You did a double take; you knew that voice. “Johnny, " you breathed. Lo and behold, your Scotsman was sitting on a barstool right before you.

His lips stretched into an amused grin at your surprise. Looking you up and down at your disheveled attire, he raised an eyebrow. “Jeez, I would ask how the shift’s going, but I’m not sure I want to know, " he mused.

You groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. “You have no idea.” You said, exasperated.

You leaned against the bar, shoulders slumped. “It was terrible; the sports cup was on tonight, so everyone and their mother came here to get pissed. I swear it was like a war zone in here; some guy almost puked on me while I was taking out the trash, and another one spilled his pint all over the counter.” You said, gesturing to the bar that you were currently leaning against.

“-Oh, and another one got all up in my face for giving him the wrong beer.” You recalled, making Johnny raise a brow.

“Did he now?” He said.

You nodded, rubbing your temples to soothe the ache that pounded at your head. “Yeah, he had to get dragged off by someone else.”

You let your forehead drop on the table with a soft thunk, not the most sanitary thing to do, but you were too tired to care.

Johnny let out a soft chuckle, patting the top of your head as to convey his sympathies. You looked up to meet his gaze, “What are you doing here? I thought you worked nights?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Got tonight off.” He said. You nodded, figuring it was a good enough answer in your book.

“Now—uh, bout’ that beer…” He said with an impish smile.

You rolled your eyes, pushing off the counter to stand back up. “Yeah, you’ll get your drink.” You said, grabbing a glass and moving over to the beer tap. You caught one of the handles, putting the glass underneath the tap.

However, Johnny raised his hands to stop you. “Hey, I ain’t even told you which one I wanted.” He said, eyebrows pinched together in offense.

You shot him a look, “You’ll get what I give you.”

He seemed to have received the message, graciously accepting the glass with a smile and a nod. After a sip, he conceded a little, “Thanks, Lass.”

You waved him off, “Don’t mention it, doll face.” You said sarcastically, “-After all, you’re still paying for it.” You spoke as you returned to the trash, grasping the knot and pulling it hard.

By the grace of God, the trash bag was lifted from the bin, and you hoisted it up and onto the floor so you could drag it to the back door. There was already another one sitting against the door that you’d left hours prior, making the job just a bit more annoying.

You pushed the back door open, cold air hitting your face. It was dark. The back alley near the trash bins was poorly lit and smelled of cigarettes and rotting food.

You stood in the doorway for a beat. Then you shut the door.

Now, you liked to think of yourself as a strong, independent woman. But even strong women had their limits. And tonight—cold, tired, and alone behind a bar—it was starting to feel like yours was being tested.

You chewed on your bottom lip. Usually, one of the other bartenders or staff took out the trash. But they’d all left after the rush passed, leaving you to fend for yourself during the closing shift.

“Johnny.” You said, popping back from around the corner. “How about a deal?”

He looked over at you, his pale eyes scanning your face with skepticism. One of his dark brows raised, “Aye, what’s the deal?”

“You don’t have to pay for your drink, but you have to help me take out the trash.” You said, silently praying he would.

“Deal.” He said almost immediately. Standing up from his seat, he walked around to meet you.

You led him down the hallway to the back door, the trash bags sitting idle against the door. You reached down to grab one of them, “I’ll take one, and you can grab the other.”

Before you lifted it, he swatted your hand away. “Bonnie, who do ya’ take me for?” He said, amused. Reaching over and grabbing your trash bag with one hand and grabbing the second bag with his other hand.

He lifted the bags easily, the glass bottles inside clanking together. You looked at him, forcing your eyes to tear away his biceps. Clearing your throat, you pushed the door open, “Show-off.” You said under your breath.

The small rush of cold air hit you again, sending goosebumps pebbling against your skin. But now that someone was with you, your unease faded away into static.

Johnny made quick work of the bags. With you holding the bin's lid open, he easily tossed them into its dark mouth. You sighed, brushing off your hands. “Great, thanks for the help.”

You looked back up to meet his gaze, to which he was already looking your way. You held his stare for a brief moment, unmoving.

He looked good like this (somehow), standing there in the dark. His hair had grown a bit longer, making it look like a real haircut instead of a half-assed mow-hawk. His eyes were a dark shade of blue, almost grey. Small flecks of warm light from the dim streetlamp glassed over his pupils.

Johnny blinked, clearing his throat into his hand. “Aye, happy to help.” He said, walking back to the door and holding it open for you to go through.

You ducked inside, happy to be out of the cold night air. He followed suit, letting the door swing shut behind him. The air had gained a thick tension, one you didn’t understand how or why it was there.

Like a thick fog that lingered between your bodies, it filled your ears with cotton and clung heavily to your tongue like syrup.

Your brows furrowed; you didn’t understand it. He was just looking your way; why did the gesture suddenly feel so much bigger than it actually was?

Johnny seemed to have picked up on your sudden discomfort, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You weren’t exactly sure how to answer, so you shook your head. Chalking it up to your lethargic brain, “Don’t suppose you want to help me with closing now, do you?” You said to him instead.

Your voice holds a sarcastic but underlying hopefulness.

He eyed you, “Depends. What do I get for it?” He said with a wry smile as you walked back into the heart of the bar.

“My everlasting thanks,” You breathed humorously. “…And I’ll buy your next round.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” He grinned.

You nodded, eyes catching his for just a moment too long.

It was just a favor. Just a drink. Just a shift.

. . . . . ◟੭

Manchester was a grim scene, thick and heavy rainclouds loomed over rooftops. Shrouding the surrounding area in a dark mask of grey and blue. Soft raindrops hit against your window, progressively growing in size.

You looked up from the sink, hands soaked in steaming hot water mixed with dish soap. Various plates and cutlery sitting in the murky water.

Your small window wasn’t much, but even you could watch the streets pool with shallow puddles.

Johnny sat on the couch a few feet away in the living room area, sprawled in his usual corner, his long legs propped on the coffee table, one arm slung across the backrest. He was watching the telly, though his eyes didn’t really seem to be following what was on. Something old was playing—grainy black-and-white, probably for background noise more than anything else.

You looked back out at the window, taking in the sounds of the rain. You didn’t think much of it, Manchester had storms all the time. You liked the sound of rain, even. It was comforting, in a weird, nostalgic way.

Then the first rumble hit.

It was like someone had beat on a drum from far away, the sound reverberating off your ears and causing you to perk up again.

Another rumble followed a few seconds later, closer this time. The small overhead light above the sink flickered.

You looked up, squinting at the flickering light.

Withdrawing your hands from the sink, you grabbed one of the dish towels and wiped the soap bubbles from your fingers.

You turned over your shoulder and walked into the living room. Glancing at the TV, you threw the dishtowel on the edge of the couch's headrest.

“I think we’re gonna have a storm tonight.” You said, leaning over the edge of the couch slightly.

Johnny looked at you, “Yeah?” He asked.

As if to illustrate your point, another low roar of thunder came over the living room. You glanced back at Johnny, his fingers curling white-knuckled around the armrest. He grimaced, flopping his head back against the couch cushions. “Fuckin’ hate storms,” He breathed.

You raised an eyebrow at his grip strength on the poor couch, shrugging your shoulders. “Shouldn’t be too bad, just a bit of thunder and lightning. They would have sent out a weather alert if it were anything to write home about.”

Johnny gave a long sigh in return; obviously, he wasn’t thrilled about the weather. You opened your mouth to say something else when the overhead lights flickered again, causing you and Johnny to snap your heads up.

After another moment of flickering, Johnny looked back at you, “I hope you have candles.”

You hesitated momentarily, unsure if the single scented candle you kept in your room would do the job if the power went out. “I have a candle.” You replied.

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “A single candle,” he deadpanned. “What a’bout flashlights?”

“That I have,” you said, happy to give him some good news. You quickly returned to the kitchen, digging through a drawer of miscellaneous objects. You fished out a small flashlight, proudly walking back over to Johnny to show him.

“See?” You said, pressing the small button at the bottom of the flashlight. Unfortunately, the light remained out.

You clicked it again…and again…and again, but it failed to illuminate despite your efforts.

You sheepishly looked back at Johnny, who was now pinching the bridge of his nose between his pointer and thumb. “It’s fine, Johny,” you said, waving off his concern. “What are the chances the power will go out anyway?”

Well, the power went out.

Around eight or nine, everything plunged into darkness after a particularly close strike of lighting. Neither you nor Johnny were scheduled to work, so when it did go out, you were halfway through brushing your teeth.

You blinked—still dark. You felt around for the sink, spitting out the last of your toothpaste.

“Johnny?” You called out, pushing the bathroom door open. You could navigate pretty well in the dark since you knew the layout like the back of your hand. But you still felt around the walls and put your arms out blindly as to not run into anything.

The flat remained silent. Your brows furrowing together at his lack of response, “Johnny!” You called out louder, waiting for him to respond.

You listened for his voice, but it stayed quiet like the last time. You frowned, suddenly on edge from the silence.

Your fingers slid along the walls, feeling the slight grittiness of the paint. You didn’t understand why he wasn’t responding. “Johnny, where are you?” you called out, your voice tinged with frustration.

“Johnny, this isn’t funny! Talk to me.” You bit out, growing more frantic with each failed response.

You silently cursed yourself for not getting more batteries for that flashlight. Your voice was loud; there was no chance that he couldn’t hear you. Maybe he was ignoring you? But that wasn’t like him; your mind started to conjure up worst-case scenarios. What if he was hurt? Or passed out? What if he had a seizure and died?

You knew it was silly to overthink, but you couldn’t help it. Your mind proved to be your worst enemy sometimes, and this was one of those times.

Your hand slid over the familiar ridges of a door frame, Johnny’s room! You felt around for the knob, hoping that maybe you’d find him there. You pushed the door open, holding your arms out in front of you like a blind man. Your legs are shaky and slow, trying your best not to accidentally step on something or stub a toe.

“Johnny?” You breathed, voice lower.

You took another step, your arm dripping down to feel for a desk or the bed. Instead, your hand brushed over something warm and sturdy, you felt it flinch. Yelping in surprise, you drew back like an open flame had scorched your hand.

“Fuck!” Came a loud masculine voice.

Ah, so that’s where he was.

You heard something hard hit against wood, cringing when you realized it was probably Johnny. A slight hiss of pain confirmed your speculation, “What’s wrong with you?” He bit out.

You couldn’t see anything, but his voice came lower to the ground, deepening your confusion. “What? What do you mean by ‘what's wrong with me’? I was calling for you because the lights went out, and you didn’t answer me. I got worried and came in here.” You seethed, your heart palpitating from the adrenaline.

“I’m well aware the lights are out, [Name].” He responded, “You can’t just come up out of nowhere and scare me like that.” He said, his voice aggravated.

Your frown deepened. “I called your name, Johnny. Multiple times.” You huffed. “-What are you even doing on the floor?”

There came a beat of silence, “I’m…Y’know, grounding myself.” He said awkwardly.

You paused, “Grounding yourself.” You repeated.

You knew what grounding oneself meant, safely speaking. However, you were unsure if he was literally grounding himself, considering he was sitting on the floor from what you could tell.

You heard him sigh, “Yes, it’s like something you learn in therapy. Something a’bout dealing with stressful situations.”

You didn’t respond for a moment, your mind processing his words. Slowly, you crouched down to meet him on the floor. “You didn’t tell me you were stressed.” You said, hoping you were at least talking in his direction.

“I told you; I don’t like storms.” He responded.

For some reason, you had a feeling it wasn’t just the storm. You pursed your lips together tightly, trying to conjure up something to say. Yet, you were coming up empty-handed, the downpour from outside filling the room's silence.

Even with your knowledge of the human brain and the cookie-cutter steps to comfort someone, you didn’t think he deserved a rehearsed ‘I’m sorry about that; why don’t we dive deeper into the root cause of this fear?’

You sighed, “I’m sorry for scaring you. I didn’t mean to; I was just worried about why you weren’t responding.”

“It’s fine, Bonnie. I shouldn’t have yelled either.”

Another beat of silence followed, and you gently sat down, back pressed against the wooden bed frame. “I don’t want to force you into saying anything you don’t want to…” You started, your voice unsure. “But, if you want to talk about anything, I’d be more than willing to listen.”

“What’s there to talk a’bout?” He said avoidantly.

You tilted your head toward his voice; it was clear as day that he was dancing around whatever was bothering him. However, he seemed to have felt your stare through the darkness.

“I just…get like this sometimes. With loud noises, I’m usually better a’bout keepin’ it under control. S’just with the power going out and all…” He trailed off.

You didn’t need him to finish his sentence to understand. The message he was trying to get across was clear. But he kept going before you could respond.

“Maybe it’s not the noise,” he said after another beat. “It’s the waiting for it. Not knowing when it’s gonna hit.”

You sat there in stillness, the rain and wind outside filling the gaps of silence like static. “Is there anything that helps with it?” You asked slowly.

Johnny considered it for a moment. “Sitting down helps,” he exhaled. “Breathing does, too, the slow kind.” You nodded along with his words.

You inadvertently took a deep breath, breathing in for four seconds and holding it for the same amount of time, then exhaling for another four seconds. You repeated the steps, and the sound of your breath soon matched that of his.

You stayed like that, breathing, letting the seconds pass.

Eventually, the thunder softened to a low murmur, rolling lazily across the sky like a tired lion. The sharp cracks were gone now, distant enough to feel unreal. You weren’t sure how much time had gone by. Ten minutes? An hour?

In that time, Johnny had shifted and was now shoulder to shoulder with you on the floor, backs pressed against the bed frame. You hadn’t said much. You figured he didn’t need the noise.

Eventually, he spoke, voice low. “Didn’t mean to make it your problem.”

You glanced at him; even though the room was shrouded in darkness, you could make out the shape of his face. “It’s not a problem.” He gave you a half-laugh through his nose, not quite convinced.

You bumped your knee against his gently. “I just don’t want you going through it alone. That’s all.”

There was a long pause. Then you felt it—his hand, brushing against yours. Barely touching. A test.

You didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

Instead, he let his fingers hook around yours. Not tightly. Not completely. Just enough.

Just enough to say thank you, without saying a word.

. . . . . ◟੭

The weeks flow on after the thunderstorm without much change. Everything seemed to go back to normal. However, there was a shift in trust. It wasn’t much; barely even noticeable. But you could sense it, sense how the edge was taken off when he spoke to you.

And you held fingers with someone else for the first time in a long time. A small amount of intimacy that held more weight than you wanted it to.

Whatever you felt, you pushed it down. Burying its ugly head like an ashamed child because, in some ways, you knew it was childish.

It was childish to expect so much change from so little and to hope for something more to come out of it.

Because after Johnny “sorted things out,” he would be on his merry way. And you’d be left alone again.

You tapped your mechanical pencil against your temple, staring down at your notebook spread across the kitchen table. Surrounding it was your laptop, open to your lecture notes from the previous day.

Highlighters and sticky notes littered the space around the table, creating a colorful display against the brown surface of the wood.

Your environment was surrounded by material, but your mind was everywhere but what you were supposed to be studying for. You groaned, stabbing the eraser of your pencil harder into your temple.

It wasn’t like you to space out so much, but it had been getting more difficult to focus lately.

You glanced down at your phone, the time flashing at you again, reading 2:34 AM.

After spending so many shifts closing at the pub, you’d acclimated to the nightlife. Maybe you could change your career to that of a vampire. You probably had about another hour till you’d be able to sleep. Which meant forcing yourself to keep studying.

If you weren’t going to sleep, you could at least be doing something productive.

The warm kitchen light spread across the table, illuminating the area in a soft glow. Your phone at half-volume shuffling your study playlist.

Click.

Your face snapped towards the sound of the lock at your front door being opened. The doorknob turned slowly as the door was pushed open.

In stepped Johnny, clad in his jeans and boots with a solid color t-shirt and a thick coat-jacket. His keys dangling from his outstretched hand, and his blue eyes staring at you in confusion.

“You’re still up? Thought you didn’t work tonight.” He said, closing the door behind him.

“I don’t,” you said. “Couldn’t sleep, figured I’d study instead.”

“Ah, gotcha.” He said, toeing off his boots and shuffling off his coat-jacket. He hung it loosely off the coat rack, reaching behind his neck to work out the taut muscles.

His brown hair was slightly messy, no longer a mow-hawk but now a slightly disheveled short style. His sides were still slightly shorter than the middle chunk of his hair, but it looked good. He looked good.

You glanced away, feeling silly for staring at him. Warmth creeping up into your cheeks like the mere image of him set you ablaze.

He came over to where you sat, hovering next to you. He took one look at your note page before walking back over to the kitchen, “I would offer to help, but I can’t understand anything on that page, Lass.” He said humorously.

You sighed, scratching the back of your head. “I guess we’ve got that in common, " you said hopelessly, staring back down at your notes, which were progressively looking more like hieroglyphics than English.

He laughed, pulling a glass from the cupboard and going to the fridge to fill a glass of water. The soft hum of the refrigerator blending in with your music.

Your song ended, transitioning into a softer, more nostalgic melody. It was one of those old-school love songs with an upbeat tone and chorus, even with its slow instrumentals. Johnny drifted back to the dining room where you sat, watching you rub your temples in exhaustion.

He glanced down at your phone on shuffle play. “This what you study to, Bonnie?” he asked, a grin on his face as the cheesy tune played.

You brushed him off, used to his teasing by now. “Helps me think, " you murmured back, too tired to engage. Looking back at your laptop, you winced at the blue light, squinting as best you could so as not to get a headache.

Johnny stayed silent for a beat, looking down at you.

Without warning, he reached out and shut your laptop. Making you blink in confusion, you glanced back at him. “Wha-“

“Dance with me.” He said, cutting you off.

You stared at his face, eyes scanning his features to detect any signs of teasing or a joke. But you couldn’t find a trace of humor in his face. You raised an eyebrow, unsure what to make of his blatant command.

“What? Why?” You said, eyebrows furrowing together.

His face broke out into a boyish grin. Reaching out, he took your hands. “Because this is a good song, Bonnie, " he said smoothly.

The mechanical pencil you had been holding clattered down on the table. You hesitated for a moment, surprised by the contact. But you let him gently pull you up and out of your chair.

He pulled you over to where there was more open space, the song playing in the background.

Johnny guided your right hand until you looped it around his neck, holding your left as his free hand snaked around your torso. He was warm, like every time you had touched him, just like a furnace.

Your palm cupped the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the soft hair near his nape. Your other hand gently held in his, the pads of his fingers rough and calloused. He had the hands of someone who had grit, but the way he held you suggested everything but. His grasp on your hand and your side was light and gentle, like he was holding glass.

You sucked in a hollow breath as you started to sway, shuffling your feet to and fro with the rhythm of the song.

He was close. Like, really close.

Your eyes darted to meet his for a fraction of a second, scared to make eye contact for too long. Looking at him this close made you nervous and uneasy.

You felt stiff, the awkwardness of your movements stemming from your nerves. You breathed a half-laugh through your nose at your clumsiness. “Sorry, I don’t make a smooth dancing partner.” You said lightly.

Johnny’s lip curved up into a small smile, one of amusement and fondness. “S’okay, just relax. I got you.” He said, the raspiness of his voice sending shivers down your spine. His voice was so close to your ear, making it hard to focus on anything but his breath.

You swallowed thickly. Just relax, easy peasy.

You inhaled slowly, taking a deep breath to calm your growing nerves. You didn’t understand how you managed to get worked up so much in the span of a few seconds. But Johnny seemed to have that effect on you.

The music continued softly, letting you focus on something else besides the rising heat in your face. After a few moments, you loosened up enough to be slightly more confident in your swaying abilities.

His hand on your side gently squeezed your torso, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of your shirt.

You slowly managed to look up at him, “This isn’t so bad.” You breathed, “Especially for a first time.” You added on.

One of his dark eyebrows raised, pale blue eyes looking at you quizzically. “You’ve never danced with anyone like this?” He asked, surprised.

You shook your head, shrugging your shoulders lightly. “Guess I never got around to it.”

His smile returned, the boyish smirk that you knew oh so well. “Well, that’s a bloody shame. You’re doin’ just fine.” He said, lightly teasing.

You let out a soft breath, rolling your eyes. “I just-” You stopped yourself, unsure. But after another moment, you continued, “-I guess I just never let anyone get that far. Even the small stuff, y’know? I know it’s a bad habit being so…untrusting, but it’s just been easier to breeze by without letting anyone in. But-uh, it’s nice, dancing—I mean.”

You glanced back at his eyes, holding his stare. Watching the way his eyes softened at your little spiel.

“Yeah, it is nice, isn’t it?” He replied, his voice softer.

You held his gaze, forcing yourself not to tear your eyes away. It was strange; you felt pulled to him like an electric current. Yet simultaneously, you wanted nothing more than to run away and dig yourself into a hole.

You felt your body pulse. When did your heart start to race?

It was beating so loudly you could hear it ringing in your ears, sending warmth blossoming across your cheeks.

Your faces were so close you could see the wisps of his dark eyelashes. You could make out the gentle creases that lingered near his eyes or the soft crook of his nose. Your eyes trailed lower, dipping down to the outline of his lips.

You caught the way he swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing in place. Your gaze flickered up, back to his eyes.

Somewhere along the line, you stopped swaying. However, neither of you seemed to notice.

Both of you seemed to recognize the significance of the moment, the thick tension that had developed between your bodies. It seemed to spark randomly like an open cable wire, waiting for someone to touch it.

Before you could think about anything too thoroughly, though, your lips seemed to connect along the way.

You felt your breath hitch at the contact, his lips warm and smooth. But whatever initial surprise you had faded into the yearning to be even closer.

Your hand slid into his hair, grasping at the brown locks like he’d disappear. You felt him sigh against your lips, pushing deeper.

You let him in, eagerly parting your lips for him. The slow and soft noises of lips moving against each other rang in your ears along with the music. The hand that held your torso slid along your back, pulling you closer to him.

The kiss was sweet but deep. It held so much tension and built-up emotion, you didn’t know where to start, weeks of occupying the same space and subtle contact all to lead up to this.

You felt his stubble brush against your skin, the warmth of his body making you dizzy. He nipped softly at your bottom lip, pulling the skin between his teeth. You whimpered, preening for something, anything.

His other hand let yours go, traveling up your waist to slide under your shirt—

Bzzzr…Bzzzzr

The tell-tale jingle of a call vibrated against his pocket; you broke apart. Startled by the sudden interruption. Standing inches away, breathless and wide-eyed.

You stared at him, snapped back into reality. It felt cold again, and your breath caught in your throat like someone had knocked the wind out of you.

Neither of you moved for a minute, too shocked to do anything but stand there. Then, Johnny cleared his throat, awkwardly reaching into his back pocket to pull out his phone. As he looked at the caller ID, he snapped his face back up at you, his eyes remorseful and guilty.

“Sorry, Bonnie. I’ve got to take this, work call.” He breathed; his voice strained.

He ducked out of the room, stepping out to take the call, leaving you a standing statue. The song slowly faded into the background as it came to its end.

You inhaled, looking around the room, bewildered. Your chest was tight. Your skin still tingled where he'd touched you.

What the hell had you just done?

. . . . . ◟੭

You weren’t sure what was worse, how easily Johnny had kissed you or how easily he seemed to forget it.

The night of the kiss still played fresh in your mind despite how much you willed it to go away. Whatever chances you had of protecting your friendship with him slipped through your fingers like dust the minute your lips touched.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to happen afterwards, a discussion? A confession? Maybe just a small acknowledgment that it was real and not a vivid dream?

Instead, nothing happened.

The world kept spinning even though yours felt like it was crashing down.

Confronting it wouldn’t have been a problem, but it was the lack thereof that perturbed you. It was like the kiss didn’t matter—like you didn’t matter. And that alone ate at you more than the silence.

The days that followed felt bizarre. You were living with someone else, but at the same time, you’d never felt more alone.

You still woke up to a hot cup of coffee, but there was nobody on the other side of the kitchen counter to greet you or make fun of your bedhead. When you brought home lunch, there wasn’t anybody to tear through the flimsy plastic to-go bags like a hungry bear.

Johnny still acknowledged you when you left for a shift or got back home, but he didn’t look at you. And when he did, it was brief.

Most times, you didn’t even see him; he was gone for long stretches of time that left you questioning if he’d come back. Sometimes, a day or two passed without you seeing him, leaving you alone.

Sometimes, you found yourself waking up to the sound of his footsteps in the late hours, listening to the way his steps creaked against the wooden floorboards. You would watch the front door to his room, silently observing the shadow that passed underneath the door. As if to remind yourself that he was still there, that you didn’t lose him, even if it felt like you did.

But it was the small moments in passing that hurt you the most; you had been carrying your laundry back to your room, walking into the narrow hallway to get to your door. Only for Johnny to be on the other side, just emerging from his own room.

His shoulders tensed as soon as he saw you. His lips pulling into a civil, yet tight, smile.

He nodded at you before twisting his body to the side to brush past you. Yet even with his back pressed against the wall, his chest still brushed against your shoulder as you moved.

The contact was light, obviously accidental, but it made your gut twist sourly. Like the ghost of that night, of his hands on your body could still be felt.

You had also caught him in the kitchen at the crack of dawn, which meant he was already brewing coffee. He had just set your mug on the counter like he always did when you’d marched in.

Already dressed in his work boots and coat you eyed him up and down. “Morning,” you said hesitantly, grabbing the cup, bringing it to your lips, and taking a sip. It was perfect. Like always.

Johnny glanced at you, pouring the scalding black liquid into his thermos. “Mornin',” He replied politely.

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed over your body, silently observing him go about his morning tasks. You needed to say something, to ease the awkwardness that lingered in the air like toxic gas.

You cleared your throat, “You-uh, you’ve been working a lot recently.” You commented, trying to bridge the gap between each other.

Once again, he gave you a sideways glance. “Keeping busy.”

You wanted to ask why, to scream and shout, cry out to him; why was he doing this to you? Why either of you were too scared to address what happened. But you didn’t.

You stayed quiet and watched him leave. Not wanting to be the one to bring up the elephant in the room.

Pride is a bitter thing.

And both of you had let it ruin your friendship or whatever you had going on with him.

You missed it, you missed him, so desperately it hurt.

And you hated yourself for it; you hated how easily you’d slipped down the path of caring for another. And having him retreat like he did was a brutal punch to the gut and a harsh reminder of why you struggled so deeply with letting people in.

You cursed yourself for getting involved with a man who was just supposed to be a roommate. But he wasn’t, not now at least.

You dug through your laundry hamper, fishing out your work uniform. It was around ten past noon, and you’d been placed on the midday shift. You had class the next morning and practically begged your boss not to put you on another late night.

You slipped your shirt past your shoulders, brushing out the slight creases from the fabric. While fixing your hair, you caught your reflection in the standing mirror by your closet. You had slight bags under your eyes and a slight worry line forming on your upper brow.

You frowned; you hadn’t been sleeping well. And the combined anxiety of your classes paired with the shit-show of your co-living situation had taken its toll.

Your hand unconsciously tried smoothing your face. Trying to wipe the frown lines from your skin. You sighed when it proved unsuccessful, glancing back over to your vanity your makeup bag caught your attention. You wore makeup, but it had been a while since you’d really dressed yourself up for a shift.

Checking the time, you realized you still had half an hour until you needed to be at the pub. You peeked back over at your bag, reaching over to unzip the opening.

Look good, feel good, you thought. Maybe switching up your appearance was just what you needed; it couldn’t hurt.

You finished with just enough time to spare. When you caught your reflection in the mirror this time, your lips didn’t settle into a disappointed frown. You stared at yourself for a beat, trying to muster up a realtor-worthy smile.

You looked pretty, even if you didn’t feel your best.

“Get it together.” You muttered, taking one last look at yourself before leaving your room.

You passed Johnny on your way out; he looked like he had just gotten back. Halfway through untying the laces on his boots. He glanced up as you passed, and for a moment, his lips parted like he was going to say something. But they shut just as fast as they’d opened.

You tried not to be disappointed, pursing your lips tightly as you closed the door behind you.

The pub wasn’t overwhelmed with customers, to your relief. Since it was the afternoon shift, most people were still working or doing something more productive than day drinking.

Your eyes caught wind of a familiar black head of hair tied up in a claw clip. “Janet,” you said, perking up.

She glanced over at you at her name being called, her thin lips pulling into a bright smile when she noticed you standing there. “[Name]! You didn’t tell me you were on; you usually only work nights.” She said, a tray of food in her hand.

You made your way over. “I’ve got an early class tomorrow.” You said, watching as she set the tray down.

“Ah, well, that’s nice Mike put you on the afternoon shift,” she said, referring to your employer. “-Good thing, too, you’ve been looking so tired this week.” She said, not in a mean way. More of a worried motherly way. Yet it still had the same effect as a normal insult would, making you deflate a little.

You breathed a half-laugh through your nostrils, “Thanks, Janet.” You said through your teeth.

She crossed her arms, looking you up and down. “You look good, though; did you do something different?” She asked curiously.

You shook your head, not wanting to tell her you had just covered up your tiredness with more foundation. “Just got more sleep, I suppose.” You lied.

After catching up with Janet, you slipped over to the bar counter, beginning your usual routine of making drinks and pouring craft beers for men in their late 50s sitting at the bar watching the television.

For the most part, you didn’t have much to do. So, you spent most of your time either helping Janet when she needed a second hand or slipping beers into the back kitchen for the line cooks in exchange for fries.

But during the last hour of your shift, things started to pick up a bit, by now most 9-5’s had ended. Which meant that everyone came flocking to the club for a pint, of course.

At least you were busy; there was no room to think about what awaited you when you got home.

You saw someone slip into one of the open bar seats, turning your body, and you faced them. “Hi, what can I get for you?”

The man sitting down was tall, at least, you think he was based on his sitting position rising above some of the others around him. Definitely not bad looking either, good facial structure and soft brown eyes.

His eyes scanned the counter, then back up to you. “What do you recommend?” He asked, his arms crossed and resting on the counter in front of him.

“Well, our craft beer is always a safe bet,” you said, turning over to your counter and browsing the collection of ales. “There are also some specialty beers, like our barrel-aged ale. But if that’s not to your fancy, I can always make you something else, like an old-fashioned.”

He sat there for a moment, mulling over his options. “Don’t suppose you could decide for me? You seem like a trustworthy source.” He said, the corners of his lips pulling into a soft smile.

You nodded, “Yeah, I can do that.” You turned to the beer tap, truth be told, you weren’t actually thinking about what this guy would like. Beer was just the easiest thing to make, which saved time. You could already feel other people starting to crowd around the counter.

You slid the pint over to him, “Alright, hope I made a good choice.” You said with a smile, a nice tip in the back of your mind. “Do you want to start a tab?” You asked.

He looked at you, “Yeah…think I’ll stick around.”

Once you opened a tab for the man, you returned to helping other people; however, the same guy seemed to bleed his way through every interaction. You started to make pleasant conversation as you made drinks, nothing inherently new.

Through the conversation, you learned that his name was Thomas, he was in Manchester for work, and he was originally from the States. You bonded with him over the shared experiences of moving to the U.K. and the differences and similarities between the States and Britain.

Overall, he was a nice guy. Maybe he was a little too confident in some respects, but he wasn’t a pain to be around.

“So, what time do you get off?” He asked after maybe thirty minutes of conversation. You raised an eyebrow, glancing back at him.

“Why do you need to know that?” You said back, a tad skeptical.

He smiled, looking up at you with a boyish grin. One that reminded you of Johnny. “Maybe I want to get to know you outside of a pub. Anything wrong with that?” He said, leaning forward on his arms.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, so why did it feel like there was? “No, nothing wrong with it.” You agreed, turning to the countertop to busy yourself with cleaning the surface.

“So then, do I get to know when you get off?” He said persistently, looking at you with a hopeful expression.

You glanced back at him, swallowing down the lump in your throat. He was an attractive guy, nice for the most part, and he wanted you. Something that you were lacking at the moment.

Your mind flashed back to Johnny. Your fingers twisted into the cloth of the rag you were using to clean the counter. You thought about the kiss, and then you thought about how he’d left you. A bitter taste bloomed in your mouth the longer you thought about it.

Fuck it, you thought.

You glanced back at the clock, “I get off in fifteen.” You said, turning your face back to meet him.

He smiled, a look of relief washing over his face. “Yeah?” He looked back down at his drink, finishing the last of the liquid. His cheeks were slightly rosy from the alcohol. “Guess that means you can close out my tab.”

You didn’t even make it out of the bar before he was on you. Maybe it was a little bit of both. You couldn’t really process anything.

He had gone with you to clock out; you were in the back hallway near the side door. Somehow, while walking, his hand slid over to your back to lead you out. Which spiraled into your back being pressed against the side wall, his body caging you in with his knee wedged between your legs.

Your hands were looped around his neck while his were on your body. Trailing his fingertips up and down your sides.

It started as slow kissing, but it progressively got more heated the longer you stayed. You could taste the beer on his tongue, the smell of his strong cologne, the sweat of his skin. It felt wrong.

You shut your eyes tight, trying to immerse yourself in the experience, trying to be normal about the fact that you were making out with a stranger you’d met only an hour before in the back hallway of a pub.

You sucked in a breath as his lips detached from yours, his face ducking down to your neck to suckle and kiss at the skin. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to pretend that his wispy hair was slightly darker. That his brown eyes were a shade of light blue. That instead of his hands that were holding you it was Johnny’s.

You could feel yourself choking up. This was a mistake. Kissing a random guy wasn’t getting your mind off of Johnny; in fact, it was amplifying your feelings.

He seemed to have noticed your change in demeanor because he suddenly pulled away. Leaving you panting against the wall, he looked down at you. His cheeks are equally red, and his lips kiss swollen.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked.

You couldn’t look at him; you didn’t want to because you knew Johnny wouldn’t be staring back at you.

You cleared your throat, trying to muster up anything to say. “I-I don’t know.”

Your words lingered in the air, a twisted type of shame washing over you. You felt ashamed that you agreed to this and guilty for potentially leading this guy on. Even if he was a stranger, he didn’t deserve a lie.

You looked back up at him, “I’m sorry.” You breathed, guilty. “-I just can’t.”

A look of confusion crossed his features before morphing into a small amount of understanding. Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say; instead, he nodded. Clearing his throat and backing off of you.

You managed to get in a soft goodbye coupled with another apology before he left you, standing with your back against the wall. You stared off into space, your hand subconsciously brushing against the area on your neck where he’d kissed you.

You felt like you were going insane, like Johnny had infiltrated every facet of your life without even trying. Just by a kiss you’d been doomed for who knows how long.

You looked back at the door, looking at the small glass square. It was dusk, the suns golden hue fading into a soft blue that cast a slight glow on window.

Maybe if you were lucky Johnny wouldn’t be home when you got back.

You got back to the flat around 7pm, pushing the door open and letting your bag slide off your shoulder and onto the floor. Toeing off your shoes and shrugging off your coat. As you hung up the garment you saw Johnny’s jacket was still hanging on one of the hooks.

So, he was home.

You heard someone walking out from the kitchen, turning your head, you faced Johnny. His keys dangling loosely from his hand. His head turned when he heard you, noticing you at the door. “Sorry, didn’t hear you come in.” He said in acknowledgment.

He turned away like he usually did, but halfway through he turned back. His eyebrows furrowed down his face like he was doing a double take, you stiffened as those blue eyes trailed up your form.

You couldn’t read his face, suddenly uncomfortable by the lack of emotion across his features.

“That a new perfume, Bonnie?” He said, his voice tight and curt.

You paused, caught off-guard by his words. Unsure of what to say for a moment before it clicked. Ah, the cologne. It was strong, no surprise it probably lingered on your clothes and your skin.

You swallowed, “Why, you like it?” You replied, playing it off.

He hummed; jaw clenched. “Not really.”

His face was hard, a silent judgment that left you wanting to hide. You felt exposed, like he knew your shame.

When you didn’t respond, he rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Have a good shift?” He said, his voice betrayed the mundane nature of his question.

You didn’t enjoy the pointed nature of his words, “Yeah, it was good.” You snipped.

His laugh—if you could even call it that—was sharp, a slight exhale through his nostrils. His eyes darting away from you, “Right, looks like it.”

Your lips twisted into a tight frown, instinctively, your hand slid up to your neck. Your fingers brushing over the tender blooming heat of it—the mark you’d let someone else leave. Almost as if you were shielding it from his eyes.

Shame flooded your chest again, molten and ugly.

Your eyebrows creased, pinching at the bridge of your nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You snipped.

He looked back at you, as if he didn’t expect you to get cross with him. You saw the muscles in his jaw work slightly, tensing up, “Nothing.” He breathed, shrugging his broad shoulders. “None o’ my business.”

You crossed your arms, heat crawling up your face. “Could’ve fooled me.” You quipped.

His head snapped back at you, something you couldn’t pinpoint flickering behind his pale blue eyes. “You think I give a fuck who you let maul you in a back alley?” He said, his voice cold and cutting.

You flinched like he’d struck you.

Never had he ever spoken to you like that, not once. And it caused something to burn deep inside you like a lit match.

“What the fuck is your problem, Johnny?” You said, throwing your hands up. “You don’t get to do this with me, you don’t get to act all offended and like you care when you can’t care enough to even acknowledge that you kissed me.” You scolded.

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

So, you barreled on, voice cracking despite yourself. "You push and you pull and you flirt and you kiss me like you fucking mean it, and then you act like I’m a goddamn stranger the second it gets real!"

You shoved your hands through your hair, breathing hard.

“[Name],” Came his voice, strained and tight. “I know you’re upset, and you have a right to be mad. But you don’t know everything, I’m-I’m not doing this because I want to, I have my reasons.”

You could’ve screamed at him, “Then tell me!” You snapped back.

You saw him hesitate, “I told you- “

“You didn’t tell me anything. You just show up and expect me to know what you want. To be totally good with all of this,” you said, gesturing to the air around you.

Everything seemed too much and not enough at the same time, like the man in front of you was a lie. You huffed, looking around the room in bewilderment, at his pair of boots that sat on the shoe rack, at his spare coat on the hanger, the small traces of his presence he left in your home.

“I-I don’t understand how I didn’t see it, how I didn’t see you for what you are. I barley even know you. You can tell me your favorite color, but you can’t tell me where you work or why you disappear on me for days at a time?” You fired, digging up anything you could throw at him.

You saw his jaw work again, his hands bawling into tight fists at his side. “Then what, you want me to reveal my whole life to you? Fight off every guy that even looks your way?” He said, voice cut with disbelief.

You shook your head, practically in tears. “No. I want you to stop acting like I’m yours when it suits you, then pretending like I don’t exist when it doesn’t!”

Johnny threw his hands up this time, “You’re not mine, [Name]! You never were.” He snapped, his breath heavy. After another beat, he spoke, his voice slightly calmer this time. “Happy?”

You stood there, staring at him. The white-hot anger fading into a soft dread that pooled in your stomach and burrowed in your throat. It was silent apart from the sounds of your own breathing.

You swallowed thickly, feeling a burn in your throat. “Yes.” You lied.

For a second, one miserable second, something in his expression crumbled. Something small and helpless and so achingly human.

But then it was gone just as fast as it appeared.

"Won’t matter anyway," he said, voice flat. "-Works nearly sorted." He brushed past you to sling the strap of his jacket over his shoulder like it was a coffin he was carrying.

"I’ll be outta your hair soon enough, Bonnie. You’ll get your peace back."

He didn't wait for a response.

Just turned and yanked the door open, the heavy slam echoing through the flat as he left you standing there, blinking hard against the burn in your eyes.

As the dust settled, the full weight of his words seemed to dawn on you. You hiccuped, biting down on your fist as fat tears slid down your cheeks.

As far as you were concerned, your Johnny was gone.

. . . . . ◟੭

You offhandedly glanced back at the clock that hovered over the pub entrance for the fifth time in a few minutes; it seemed to stare back at you with a grin. Taunting at you as if you were a bird trapped in a cage, and these days, it didn’t feel far off from reality.

You had another few minutes before your shift ended, yet your fingers itched to grab your coat and leave.

Casting your line of sight down back to the bar counter, you thrummed your nails against the wood. It was a grim scene, a dead bar that only housed a few people. The television was playing re-runs of an old game show, and the yellow lights cast the bar in an almost sickly glow.

Most of your time now consisted of this, staring at the countertop of an empty bar. After all, it was better than staying in your apartment. But now you were starting to feel like a hamster trapped in the same cage.

The days following your argument with Johnny seemed to bleed together, like you were watching the days play out instead of living them.

You spent long hours slaving away over your laptop, fingers perched over the keys while your eyes scanned columns of text. You spent even longer hours at the pub scrubbing the bar counter and pouring drinks to old timers.

Somehow, though, throwing yourself into your studies and job did little to keep your mind off Johnny. You had gotten what you wanted, or rather, what you thought you wanted—an answer.

But it wasn’t the answer you wanted.

Something small and ugly inside you wanted him to fight for your affection, to run after you even after you’d told him not to. But whatever feelings you had towards him weren’t worth dwelling on, not now.

What remained in the absence of your ‘friendship’ was a cordial silence, one that spoke a thousand words and none at the same time. A harmony that felt like an open wound that wouldn’t close.

You pushed yourself off the counter, reaching behind you to untie yourself from the small black apron that hung around your hips, slipping back into the back kitchen to grab your coat from the hanger near the door.

You shuffled into the garment, grabbing your bag and keys hanging off the nearest hook from where your coat rested. As you pushed past the door to make your way to the exit, you heard someone speak up.

“You on your way?” Came a soft feminine voice.

You looked up to see Janet, who had been put on the closing shift and, therefore, still had a way to go before she could escape, too.

You gave a half smile, stuffing your apron in your bag. “Yeah. Not really any customers to serve, so I thought I’d get out of here.”

She nodded, the soft wrinkles near her eyes creasing. She looked at you with a hint of pity, like she could see how your life was somehow crumbling. You didn’t look back at her, not wanting to watch the sadness cross over her face when she saw how the bags under your eyes had deepened.

You heard her softly hum, “Get some rest, sweetheart.”

You nodded in acknowledgment, responding with a hum of your own. You slipped past her to leave through the front door. As you pushed it open, the bell jingled above your head.

“-And stay safe, it’s late.” She called after you.

The walk back to your apartment was short. However, you still heeded Janet’s words, the cover of darkness seemed to bring out seedy creatures no matter how quickly you managed to get home.

You climbed the up stairwell, walking down the hallway lined by doors until you came to yours. You were on autopilot as you fished for your keys, your eyes dully staring into the abyss.

As you reached out to slide the key into the lock, the door creaked open under the pressure—already unlatched.

You paused.

For a split second you stood still, staring blankly at the door. Huh, that’s odd. You hesitantly peeked your head inside looking around your empty apartment.

It was dark, and silent.

The partially open door obstructed your view of the full kitchen, you swallowed. “Johnny?” You called out into the room, still halfway through the door.

There was no answer, you glanced at the coat hanger at the entrance. His coat wasn’t hanging up which meant he was out. But if he was out, then why was the door open?

You unconsciously chewed on your bottom lip, maybe you were just being paranoid. The most likely scenario was that he just forgot to lock it on his way out.

But the small chance that it was something else moved you to grab your phone, you sheathed it from your pocket. Typing out a message to him.

Message (You): Hey, do you know if you locked the door on your way out?

It was brief, in the case of it being nothing more than an accident you didn’t want to seem panicked.

You stepped inside, flicking the lights on.

You were still weary, but you’d managed to talk yourself out of suspecting the worst like you usually did.

You shrugged off your coat, shutting the door behind you. But as you turned something caught your eye.

The first thing you noticed was that the kitchen cabinets were open, the drawers too. Pulled out with its contents scattered on the countertop as if they’d been rummaged through.

You paused again, eyebrows furrowed half-way down your face. “What the fuck,” you muttered under your breath. Johnny may have been slightly disorganized at times, but you’d never seen him leave your apartment in disarray.

You looked around, pulse beginning to quicken. Maybe he had been in a rush, you thought. But even that didn’t sit right.

Without thinking, you walked down the hall. Turning all the lights on as you went, the doors were open. Thrown ajar to reveal a state of chaos.

You stared at the inside of your room, your closet wide open and clothes thrown about the room. Your dresser, drawers, bookshelf, all rummaged through. You doubled back, running into Johnnys room to find it in much the same state.

You never went into his room; it was an unspoken rule between you that unless you were given permission it was off limits.

However, right now you couldn’t stop yourself.

You felt your heartbeat before you realized it was racing; your blood seemed to run cold at the state of your home. Whatever was in your apartment was searching for something, yet all of your jewelry was still in your room. Your TV sat in it’s proper place in the living room and small amount of cash you kept in your dresser had been untouched.

Were these not items of value? What could anyone possibly be looking for in your apartment if not money or valuables?

Your hand found your phone again before you realized what you were doing. You should’ve been dialing the authorities, but your trembling fingers could only seem to find Johnnys caller ID.

You held your phone to your ear, listening to the ring of the call. With each chime you felt your hands shaking harder, as if you had a sudden cold.

Doubt gnawed at your mind, you knew there was a slim chance of him picking up the call. And even slimmer chance of him being able to fix the situation in any way.

There was another ring before you heard the familiar static rustling of the call being picked up, you felt your breath catch. “Johnny?” You choked out, your voice breathless and trembling.

“[Name],” came his voice, confusion written in his tone. “What’s wrong? You know not to call me when I’m out.”

You swallowed your fear, trying to force the words from your lips. “I know, its—somethings wrong. The door was unlocked when I got home and everything’s a mess. I think someone was here.”

You felt a pause, the static of the phone buzzing in your ear. Then came his voice, sharp and cutting, “Where are you?”

“I-I’m in the house.” You replied.

“Are you hiding somewhere? Do you think there’s anyone still in the house?” He said sharply, his voice borderline panicked.

You blinked, “No I’m-“

“Get in your room and lock the door, I’ll call for help. When you find a place to hide, stay there, I’m coming to get you. Now.”

You stayed frozen for a moment after the call ended, your phone still clutched tightly to your ear like it could somehow anchor you. The line had gone dead, but your heart pounded in your ears loud enough to drown out everything else. You took a shaky breath and backed into your bedroom, locking the door behind you with trembling fingers.

A few minutes passed. Maybe more. It was impossible to tell, time had slowed into something warped and syrupy. Every small sound in the apartment made your skin crawl. The creak of a pipe. The groan of the building. Your own breathing, too loud in the silence.

Then you heard it—footsteps.

Not heavy. Not rushed. Measured. Controlled. You froze again, heart in your throat. The front door creaked open wider, hinges groaning.

“[Name]?” came Johnny’s voice, “It’s me.”

You flung the bedroom door open before you could talk yourself out of it. “Johnny?”

He was already moving toward you, clad in his jacket and work boots. His brown hair slightly tussled and his eyes scanning your face. You caught the way his hand lifted for a moment to cup your cheek, but at the last moment, it hesitated. Trapped in the air.

There was a slight pause between you, one that said too much and not enough at the same time.

As if the look on his face was screaming, belting out the words ‘I still care.’

Instead, what came out was a breathy “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, swallowing thickly. “No. I-I didn’t touch anything-”

“Good.” He cut you off before you could finish, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the door.

You let out a strangled noise of surprise mixed with discomfort; Johnny’s grip was rough. Using the force of his strength to pull you like a rag doll. After your split-second of surprise wore off you tried resisting his grip, “Johnny-!” You huffed, trying to pull away.

You were already through the door, the cold night air nipping at your skin in the hallway. He didn’t look back at you. “We’re not staying here,” he breathed, “Come on.”

You had half a mind to slap him for his behavior, but you were so frazzled you could only let yourself be pulled along like a tugboat. “What about the police? They’ll need us to be at the apartment if we want to find out what’s going on.”

Johnny led you down the stairwell, his hand was cold and clammy. He stayed quiet as he dragged you out of the complex, making your skin tingle with nerves. You furrowed your brow, trying to dig your heels into the concrete to pull him to a stop.

“Johnny, you said you called for help.” You bit at him, your voice trembling. Forcing your body to lean backwards to stop him from moving any forward.

He looked back at you from over his shoulder, staring at your body resisting his pull. You saw something flash in his eyes, guilt? Fear? Hatred?

Johnny turned to face you, his hand leaving your wrist so both of his palms could clasp your shoulders. His fingers were trembling, “Do you trust me?”

You paused, “I-I don’t understand.”

You felt him squeeze your shoulders, his gaze pleading with you. “Do you trust me, Bonnie?”

Against your better judgement you nodded, “Yes.”

With your confirmation, he grabbed your wrist again. Pulling you forward towards the sound of a car engine. But this time, you didn’t pull away, stumbling after him, your mind catching up a beat behind your body.

Johnny pulled you into the passenger seat of a car, its headlights glaring in the night air. You sat down in the leather seat like it was made of stone, your body prickling with nervous tension. He situated himself in the driver’s seat, wasting no time pulling out and onto the road. His hands white knuckling the steering wheel.

You stared out at the road as he drove past the familiar landscape of your neighborhood. Your hands bawled into fists on your lap. You didn’t look at him; you couldn’t, not when he had hauled you into a car with no explanation of why nor where you were headed.

“Johnny,” you said, trying to keep your voice controlled. “-Where are we going?”

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw his hands shift on the wheel. The silence that followed made you want to scream. You wanted to get out of the car, to make him turn you around and drop you right back off at the apartment.

You sucked in a small breath, tears sliding down your cheeks and onto your shirt. You bit down on your cheek, “Johnny, answer me right now. Where are you taking me?” You bit out.

By now, you had turned your head to look at him, watching the way his jaw tightened at the sound of your sobs.

You stared at him, your gaze practically begging him to answer you. You were progressively getting more frustrated the longer the silence was prolonged.

“Say something!” you shouted, voice cracking. “You’ve been keeping secrets, dodging questions, making me feel like I’m crazy and now someone breaks into our apartment, and you’re dragging me god-knows-where, and I still don’t know what the hell is going on!”

His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.

After a beat, he spoke. “We’re going to a safe house just outside Manchester, it's in Simister. We won’t be there for long; I just wanted to get you somewhere safer as a precaution.”

You blinked, “A precaution for what? We couldn’t have gotten a hotel or something?”

He blew out a small, apologetic, laugh from his nose, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes with a sorry expression. “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly.’” You said, your eyebrows furrowed.

Johnny sighed, one of his hands reaching behind his neck to rub at his nape. “If whoever broke into the apartment is who I think it is, getting a hotel room wouldn’t do us any good.”

You felt your eyes narrow. Somehow, the more he told you, the less you understood.

“Were you anticipating this?” You asked in disbelief. “-and who would want to break in?”

When he didn’t respond, you found yourself speaking instead, “This has something to do with your job, doesn’t it?”

The silence was louder than any answer that he could have given.

“You have to understand,” he started, his voice heavy with guilt. “I was obligated not to tell you; it was never because I wanted to keep secrets with you or that I didn’t trust you.”

His eyes caught yours in the mirror again, eyebrows pinched together, and his glances quick. “My job, its- its not something I ever wanted you to come into contact with. The less you knew about it, the safer you were.”

You stared at him, unsure how to process what he told you. “So, what? You’re like a part of the mafia or something?” You breathed, half joking.

“British SAS.” He corrected.

You paused, staring blankly in his direction as he looked out at the road.

He spoke again before you could comment: “I operate on a team connected with US and British special forces. A year ago, one of our ops got screwed over, and I had to be put on recovery watch before I could go back. So, instead of sending me back out, they put me here for the time being.”

Johnny kept his grip on the wheel, “-For the past couple of months, I’ve been tracking an arms dealer operating out of Manchester. They’ve got ties to half a dozen paramilitary groups.” He glanced at you, something dark and regretful in his expression. “If someone hit our flat, it’s because of me. Because I live there. Because I live with you.”

Silence fell again, heavy and suffocating. You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, the tears coming back, hot and fast.

You sniffled, raising your hand to cover your mouth, trying desperately to bite back the spill of a sob. It was so much to take in, knowing that you were in danger, that the man you thought you knew wasn’t who you thought he was.

You turned your head away from him, staring out at the landscape of houses and stores as you passed.

“So, all of this,” you said, defeated. Gesturing to everything around you, “-Was just collateral? Is that what I am to you, Johnny?”

“No.” He snapped, turning his head sharply to give you a brief look.

“You-” a pause. “-You’re the only real thing I’ve had in a long time, Lass.” He breathed.

A silence hung in the air after his statement. You didn’t know what to think; you could barely process what was going on with your own life, let alone his.

You pursed your lips together in a tight line, letting your head fall against the car window. “You should’ve told me,” You whispered.

“I couldn’t.” His voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t want anyone finding you.”

You went silent after that, screwing your eyes shut to will away the tears. The drive grew quieter the closer you got to your destination. Johnny’s hands hadn’t left ten and two; his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack. You didn’t speak; afraid your voice would break if you tried.

Eventually, the city lights fell away, swallowed by the dark stretch of country road. Then the car turned off the main path, tires crunching against gravel until you saw a fence, tall and topped with security wire, surrounding what looked like a repurposed farmhouse. A floodlight clicked on as the car pulled up, illuminating the porch and front door.

Johnny got out first. You didn’t move.

It wasn’t until he opened your door and leaned down, voice softer than before, that you even looked at him.

“Come on. You’re safe now.”

His words did little to ease your worry.

You stepped out slowly. The air was cold and sharp, biting through your clothes and waking up all the dread in your stomach. The gravel crunched beneath your shoes, leaving footprints in its wake.

When you reached the porch, Johnny opened the door, letting you inside first. The place was clean but bare—minimal furniture, reinforced windows, no personal touches. It looked like a temporary shelter for someone always expecting to run.

You hovered near the entrance; arms crossed tightly over your chest as he locked the door behind you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Johnny exhaled sharply, pulling off his jacket and tossing it across the back of a chair. “I know you’re angry.”

“I am.” You confirmed, your voice hollow. Vocal chords raw from crying.

You saw his jaw flex, his eyes sorrowfully looking down at you. A small worry line furrowed against his brow. “I’m sorry.” He signed, shoulders deflating.

Johnny raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose with his pointer and thumb. “I never wanted this to touch you.” His voice cracked, “Everything I did, it was to keep you away from it. I thought I could… separate both lives. Protect you. But I let you down.”

You swallowed hard. “You lied to me.”

“I did,” he said, stepping closer. You almost backed away from him, but you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like that, like a man lost. It was so human it made you sick.

You stared up at him, meeting his gaze. You parted your lips to speak, but no words came out, so he spoke instead.

“I cared about you more than I was supposed to. More than I should’ve.” His voice had dropped low now, steady despite the shake in it. “I know I was an asshole for kissing you and an even bigger one for pretending nothing happened. But I couldn’t let myself get attached. I thought if I pushed you away, you’d be safer.”

“Do I look safe to you now, Johnny?” you whispered.

He swallowed, a pained look crossing his features. “No,” he answered.

You huffed, holding yourself tighter. Your nails digging into your arm, tears burning in the back of your eyes for the third time that night. You frowned, brushing at your face angrily. “I can’t believe I let myself get here; I knew you were hiding something, and I still-“ You choked on the rest. “God, I hate you for making me care this much.”

You flinched when you felt something warm brush your cheek. You snapped your head back up to look at him. His hand was trembling, nervous, like you would scorch his skin if he touched you, yet it hovered an inch away from your face, almost cupping your cheek.

You watched his throat bob, eyes darting from your eyes down to your lips. “I never stopped caring,” He said. “Not for a second.”

The was air thick between you, and for a second neither of you moved. His eyes searched yours like he was still looking for permission. When you didn’t stop him, his hand slid to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the fresh tears.

Everything in you wanted to rip away; you were falling into the same trap he had put you in before. But you stopped yourself, your mind at war with itself.

“I’m so sorry, Bonnie.” He whispered. The sincerity of his tone beating you down, “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to cooperate. Just for a little while.”

You watched him hesitate for a moment, “-I thought I was going to lose you back at the apartment, I can’t do it again.”

You felt yourself crumbling, loosing the will to fight back.

You wanted to ground yourself in him, lost in what you knew you couldn’t have. Self-preservation be damned.

So, you surged forward first.

Your lips crashed into his with weeks of confusion, anger, and heartbreak behind them. You felt his breath hitch, taken aback by your sudden boldness. Like he was stunned you’d still want him. But you did. God help you, you did.

Just as quickly as his stiffness appeared it vanished, replaced by unbridled want.

He cradled one hand on your cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing against your hair. Johnny’s face tilted slightly so he could kiss you deeper, his lips warm and inviting. Despite everything, it felt safe. He felt safe.

You let your lips part, savoring the feeling of his tongue brushing against your upper lip. Your hands slid up his chest, one looping around his neck to pull him forward. It was tactile, the pads of your fingers brushing up against his nape. How his eyelashes tickled against your skin and his nose brushed against yours.

Johnny slid his other hand over your waist, drawing you in. Your body met his; it was warm and firm.

Each time you pulled away for a breath, he drew you back in, searching for your lips like a man starved.

Your fingers curled in his hair, grown out while still being short, fisting the brown locks between your fingers and tugging him closer. He groaned into your mouth, your hips brushing against his with each pull.

You didn’t realize you were moving backwards until your back hit flush against the front door, trapped between the wooden surface and his body. You broke apart for a moment to breathe, your foreheads pressed together.

Your chin tilted upwards, trying to find his lips again.

This time, Johnny pulled back slightly, hesitating to meet your lips. Your brow furrowed, confused to why he wasn’t reciprocating your advances. He met your gaze for a moment, conflicted.

“We shouldn’t,” he breathed. “-Not like this.”

He thumbed over the apple of your cheek as you shook your head. “Johnny, it’s fine.” You said, lips pulled into an impatient frown.

He opened his mouth to respond, before he could you silenced him with another kiss. Forcing him to meet your lips. He groaned into your mouth, your leg shifting in between his thighs to nudge into his crotch.

He was hard, achingly so.

You forced yourself to pull away, “You-“ you sucked in a breath. “-You put me in this situation. The least you could do is try to make up for it.”

He swallowed, pausing for a moment. “Is that what you want me to do, Bonnie? Make it up to you?”

You licked your lips unconsciously, fighting the heat crawling up your face. “Yes.”

You stood there for a beat, watching how his eyes dripped down your face and traveled lower only to flicker back to your line of sight. His hand slowly trailed down your cheek, the pads of his fingers brushing down the side of your neck to tilt your head back against the door.

You shuddered, the molten bloom of blush spreading up your face. You stood statue still as his face dipped into the junction of your neck, lips brushing against the burning skin.

He pressed a slow kiss to your neck, letting his lips linger against your flesh. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing another one lower. “-I’m sorry,” another further down. “I’m sorry,” again, and again.

It was maddening, his breath fanning against the shell of your ear and his lips dragging down your neck. The warmth of his lips and tongue over your flesh felt like trails of molten lava.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to keep your breathing even. Your fingers digging into the back of his shirt and his hair.

He slid down your front, lips trailing down from your neck to your collarbone. Large hands mapping out your body as he went. Johnny dipped lower, littering soft kisses down your stomach, dropping his legs to kneel before you like he was worshiping the ground you stood on.

Your body buzzed with anticipation, pliant in his grasp. You almost couldn’t bear to look down, too scared and flustered to see what you had made of him. However, you didn’t need to look down.

Because you could feel it without even looking—his gaze on you.

His stare was blistering, he was sorry, and he wanted you to know it. To feel it. To watch you come undone.

Somewhere along the way, he had snaked his hands up your thighs. Wedging your legs apart until he knelt between them.

“Look at me.”

You tensed, your breath stilled. Blinking hard you forced yourself to tilt your head downwards, meeting his eyes.

Johnny’s lips were parted, cheeks and ears tinged slightly red. His hands squeezed the back of your thighs, “Atta’ girl.” He murmured, voice smooth and thick like syrup. He slid his hands away from your legs, dragging them over the front of your pelvis. Slowly taking his time in popping the button on your jeans and guiding the zipper down.

He slid your pants down, carefully helping you out by moving your legs. After discarding the garment, he directed his attention back to you.

You couldn’t help the slip of a moan as he thumbed a finger over your underwear, rubbing soft circles over your clothed clit. One of your hands grasping at the flat door, trying to curl your fingers on its surface.

His fingers slid down, pressing flat against you as he pressed another kiss to the fabric of your underwear.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, holding back a whine.

Johnny curled his fingers slightly upwards, pushing the fabric against your entrance. Your breath caught, insides churning with the contact. “You’re wet,” He breathed against you. “-That from me, Lass?”

He glanced up at you, a small, proud, grin stretching his lips.

Without waiting for a response, he hooked a finger under the elastic. Sliding it down your legs before attaching his lips to your cunt.

You gasped, caught off guard. one of your hands gripping his hair, coiling your fingers into the soft brown locks. “Johnny-!” You choked out, shuddering.

He hummed against you, flattening the front of his tongue against your core.

Whatever you said fell on deaf ears, his hands clasped at your thighs to hold you up against the door. Preventing you from moving away. You bucked your hips into his mouth, unable to stop the small involuntary movements.

He groaned, circling his tongue over your clit while one of his hands returned to your soaked pussy. You could barley register that one his hands were moving before you felt the pad of his middle finger dip between your lips, gently prodding at your entrance.

You almost choked, throwing your head back against the door. “Fuck,” you cursed, voice slurring.

Johnny hummed against your cunt, slowly pushing a finger inside you. Curling it backwards until your back arched off the flat door.

He pulled back for a moment, panting. His lips slick and shiny with your juices, eyes slightly glazed over with a blush tinging his ears. “You’re so beautiful, Bonnie. You know that, right?” He groaned, staring up at you as his finger worked your cunt.

You could barley respond, fucked out on just his finger and tongue. “-You want another?” He asked, placing a soft kiss to your clit.

You could only manage a small nod, concentrating all of your strength into staying standing. Yet you couldn’t help the small buckle of your knees the second you felt a second finger dip inside you.

His digits worked you open, stretching your walls until he could easily pump his fingers in and out of you with ease.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, just like I knew you would.” He panted, his breath fanning your skin. He leaned back in, swirling his tongue over the bundle of nerves until you felt your toes curl.

Johnny was groaning as if he was deriving pleasure from eating you out. The front of his tongue flattening against your cunt, greedily slurping. He suckled against your clit, alternating between running his tongue up and down and side to side.

Whatever his tongue and mouth couldn’t reach, his fingers did. Long thick digits sliding in and out with ease, the pads of his fingers brushing against your soaking walls. The muscle of your core constricting around his fingers with each plunge.

You could only moan, trapped between the door and his mouth. His fingers curling inside your walls, leaving you gasping for air. Preening for the tension in your gut to spill over. A part of you wanted to be furious with him for screwing you over and then proceeding to giving you the best head of your life. Yet with the way his tongue worked on you, you couldn’t find it in you to care.

You were approaching your orgasm fast, much faster than you would’ve liked.

“Johnny—Johnny, I’m close. Slow down, please.” You simpered, begging for him to ease up so you could bask in the pleasure a little longer.

However, he had other plans. Doing quite the opposite as to double down, the pace of his fingers increasing in tandem with his mouth on your clit.

You felt the molten coil in your stomach tighten, threatening to snap at any moment. You couldn’t bare it, being stretched open by his fingers mixed with the sensation of his tongue mouthing over you clit. It was too much, too fast, too good.

Then it snapped. Thighs locking around his head as your orgasm spilled over, washing over you like waves against the sand bar. Your cunt fluttering around his fingers and your hands curling in his hair.

There was no moan, no cry, only a silent gasp for air. Your spine arched with your hips rhythmically pushing deeper into his mouth.

He didn’t let up, letting you ride it out until he felt you loosen around him. Leaving you a panting mess, legs reduced to jelly.

Your vision was blurry; you had closed your eyes so tightly you swore you were starting to see colors, patterns, and stars that crossed behind your eyelids.

As he pulled away, Johnny kissed the inside of your thigh.

You took a moment to recover, slowly managing to look back down at him. As the fog of your orgasm cleared, you were left speechless. You had just let Johnny put his mouth on you.

Worse, you didn’t regret it. Not even a little.

Maybe that was what scared you, you could never push him away completely. He somehow managed to always wriggle his way back into your heart, and in this case, your pants. You weren’t over the fact that he had been lying to you, nor how he had scooped you up only to drop you off at a safe house in the middle of nowhere.

However, your initial anger was starting to melt, gradually.

Your lips parted, trying to form the words. “I’m still mad,” is what came out. Your voice unsure, as if you were trying to convince yourself of your words.

Johnny nodded, the small scruff of his stubble brushing against the skin of your thigh. “I know you are.” He replied, blue eyes staring back up at you.

“But I’m willing to keep making up for it.” Johnny said, “-s’long as it takes.”

It was almost sickening how remorseful he looked; how genuine it all was. You wanted him to do something, anything that would even hint that this was all an act to obtain your forgiveness.

But it wasn’t. It was real.

You swallowed, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh for a second time.

You couldn’t go back know, the damage had already been done. The lies, the kiss, the break in, and now this. Whatever it was, it pushed you further. A recklessness that snaked its way past your rational, if you were going off the deep end, you were going to make it count.

A hand slid down into his hair, your fingers curling into the soft brown locks. Tightening your hold, you slowly pushed his head back, forcing him to look up at you.

“Then keep going,” you said. His eyes scanned your face as you paused. “-Keep making it up to me, Johnny.”

Johnny’s palms spread out over your flesh pulled taut, grasping at you, not rough, but desperate to anchor himself. Then his lips parted, breath heavy. “You still want me to touch you?” He asked, voice low and frayed.

You nodded, holding in a breath. “Yeah, I do.” You confirmed.

With your confirmation, he dropped his head, forehead brushing against your knee. His nose and lips tingled on your skin as he dragged his head up your leg, “You’re killing me, Bonnie.” He said as he drew in a long breath.

Then he began to move again, slowly, with intent. His mouth traced a line up your thigh, higher, lingering like he didn’t want to rush it. Like he wanted to earn every second of it.

“Having you close like this, when I thought I lost the right to touch you?” He murmured into your skin.

His lips found your hips again, then your stomach, and then higher still, warm hands sliding up your sides. When he reached the side of your neck you let your hands snake around his nape, grasping at his broad shoulders.

His chest pressed into yours, your legs pushing up to wrap snugly around his hips. Johnny made quick work of your new position, large hands holding you up by your thighs.

You twisted your face to meet his, noses brushing together as your lips connected. You moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. You were pushing into him, desperate to create friction.

You offhandedly realized that he had stepped backwards off the door, holding you to him as he backtracked into the safe house. Lips still moving against yours.

After a few bumps on different pieces of furniture, he managed to find his way to another door, his back hitting against the wood as he blindly searched for the handle. It was a miracle he didn’t fall backwards as the door swung open on its hinges.

He stumbled in, barely breaking stride as his boots scuffed against the floor. The room was dark, just the faint outline of moonlight bleeding through the shuttered windows.

Johnny kicked the door shut behind him with a solid thud, the sound echoing in the quiet. Then you were falling, not hard, but a tad clumsily onto the mattress behind you. Sheets still cold, the room unfamiliar.

He hovered above you, chest rising and falling fast, like he’d just run a mile. His eyes searched yours again, pupils blown, lips parted. At the same time his hands wasted no time in pushing up your shirt, revealing the bare skin of your torso.

You aided in wiggling out of your top, your bra following shortly after.

Johnnys eyes dragged up and down your form, as if he were carving out the image of you underneath him into his mind. “Fuck me,” he breathed, in awe.

He slid his hands up your sides, cupping your breasts in his palms. The pad of his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples.

You inhaled, back arching off of the mattress as he pawed and pulled at your chest. Your fingers twisted into the crisp white sheets as Johnny’s head dipped down, his tongue swirling over the hardened bud.

You couldn’t hold back the soft whine that escaped you as he suckled and kissed at your nipples. Taking his time in alternating between your breasts, savoring your flesh like a starved animal.

“I’ve wanted to see you like this,” he said in between kissing your breasts. “-Was a fuckin’ miracle I could keep my hands off you to begin with.”

Your front teeth dug into your bottom lip, holding back a groan at his words. You thought back to your days around the apartment, the subtle touches, the glances your way, wondering if he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. If he too spent his nights with a hand down his pants while the other covered his mouth.

Your pulse quickened.

“I didn’t realize you wanted me so bad.” You said between heavy breaths, almost joking.

Johnny glanced back up at you, blowing air out from his nose in a half-laugh. “Always, baby, always.” He exhaled, pressing one last kiss to the underside of your breast before leaning back to tug off his shirt.

You watched him like a hawk, gaze unwavering as the cotton slid off of his body to reveal the pale skin underneath.

Obviously, you had seen him shirtless countless times. Curtesy of his morning cooking attire (sweatpants and no shirt). But something about this was different, it felt more raw, private.

Your gaze fell from his abdominal muscles down to the V-line peeking out from his jeans, a light happy trail of brown hair snaking down beneath the waistband.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away even if you wanted.

A small grin stretched his lips, “Looks like I’m not the only one.”

You shot him a look, a heat creeping back into your cheeks. “Just take your pants off,” you said impatiently.

He nodded, reaching down to unbutton his trousers. “You’re the boss.”

Johnny made quick work of his pants, sliding them off along with his boxers. Whatever you had expected him to look like down under was almost insulting compared to what he shaped out to be.

He was big, thicker than the average male. Hard, and heavy.

You quickly snapped your eyes back up, flustered from the color in your face. Swallowing the dryness in your throat as discreetly as humanly possible.

He stood at the edge of the bed, an almost imposing figure. With one hand he reached down to pump his cock a few times, the weight of it in his grip made you shift. “You see what you do to me, Bonnie?” He rasped.

His jaw was taunt as he stroked himself, exhaling though clenched teeth. His dark, thick eyebrows knitting together, pinching the skin of his brow.

When you didn’t respond he leaned down, his free hand sliding over your knee to part your legs until he stood in between your bared thighs. You were braced on your elbows, fingers twisting into the sheets.

“Hm?” He said expectantly. “-You want me, Bonnie?”

You jumped as his dick hit your bare pussy, slapping his cock against your clit a few times. Your legs tensed at the contact, blood running thick and hot.

“Yes,” you breathed, sounding much more winded than you would have liked. “-Yes, I want you.”

Johnny groaned, let the tip glide over your soaked cunt with ease. Coating himself in your arousal. His dick was heavy against your entrance, now that you could feel the full weight of it pressed against you.

He gave an experimental, shallow, push. The head of his cock plunging into your cunt with a lewd squelch.

Your head fell back for half a second, gasping for a breath of air like your lungs had been filled with water. “Johnny,” you panted, voice thin and shallow. A hand placed at the side of your head tightened in the sheets, his body caging you in.

“I know.” He hushed, the free hand cradling the back of your neck to push your head forward. Your forehead met his, noses bumping together like a fitted puzzle piece. Your breath tangling somewhere in between.

You inhaled, waiting, adjusting.

After another moment, he pushed his hips forward. Your body was able to accommodate all of him by some miracle. Walls stretched open in such a way that you felt full.

You grabbed the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin. “Oh god-” you exhaled, lips brushing against his as you spoke.

Johnny groaned, voice thick with want. His face dropping into the crook of your neck and collar, heavy breaths fanning onto your skin, burning like hot magma. “So fuckin’ tight, so perfect for me.” He murmured.

It was silent for a moment, save for the heavy panting between you. A brief pause that left you aching for more, desperate for him to do something. A carnal desire for the man inside of you that seared white hot in your blood stream.

You couldn’t bare it, not when he was withholding such pleasure from you.

“Johnny, move. Please, I need you to move.” You simpered, nails dragging down his back.

He grunted, shaping out a soft nod. Leaning back slightly to grab your spread thighs, rough palms squeezing the fleshly underside of your hamstring. Carefully, he maneuvered your legs back, brining your knees up to your ears. Murmuring a gentle ‘that’s it,’ and ‘almost there,’ as you assumed your position.

Johnny held your legs in place as he set your legs over his shoulders, draped over his back like curtains. He drew his cock out of you, leaving just the tip inside. After a moment he sheathed himself back inside, slowly.

You moaned, eyelashes fluttering as your eyes rolled back. He thrust deep into you, again, slowly, but forcefully. Just enough to leave your toes curling and your heels digging into his trapezius. A steady stream of grunts and moans leaving both of you.

He gradually began to speed up the longer he fucked into you, fingers taunt as they dug into your flesh.

Your ears rang with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the air thick and heavy around you. Your hands tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. “So good,” you slurred, drunk off of his cock. “-Feels so good.”

The more you spoke the more vigorous he was, forcing his hips deeper into you, harder, faster. Eager to please.

“Keep talking,” He moaned, vocal cords raw from grunting and moaning. “-I like it when you talk. Sounds so fuckin’ sweet when you’re taking my cock.” He grit out.

If you could blush anymore, you would’ve. You weren’t very experienced at dirty talk but you supposed theres a first time for everything.

You whimpered, trying to form the words through gasps and moans. “You make me feel so good, Johnny. I want you to keep fucking me,” you exhaled, your bottom lip trembling.

He moaned, a confirmation that you were doing at least one thing right. You wanted to please him just as much as he wanted to make you feel good. Desperate for any shred of praise.

You felt the head of his dick press up deep inside you, sending your spine curling like a whip and the soles of your feel arching. “Oh-” You gasped, voice shrouded in a lustful haze. “Do that again, fuck.” You pleaded.

Johnny’s lip curved up, “Yeah?” Angling his hips to thrust back inside at the same area he did before. “-You like when I fuck into you like this?” He exhaled.

Your head fell back into the mattress, small sparks flashing behind your eyelids. Johnny letting out a tortured “Fuck,” as he spurred on. Nails, mouth, teeth, skin, hair, you couldn’t tell where it all began nor where it ended. A blur of lust and so much more, affection, was it? Love?

You couldn’t tell, but it felt like a live wire between you. An exposed cable that sent currents through your veins and left you gasping for air.

“So good to me, Bonnie.” He breathed, “-Dreamt ‘bout you for months, fucking wishing I could have you.”

The mattress caved around your body, molding to the shape of your body. Johnny’s hands leaving a bruising grip on your thighs.

You tried your best to shake your head, forcing your eyes open. “You have me,” You moaned. “-You have me.” You repeated, a broken record. Trying your best not to go too deep into the meaning for your own words, caught up in the moment.

You felt like you’d been reduced to one giant raw, exposed nerve. Molded to the shape of his cock, your limbs dangling in his hold like a sack of flour. The pressure in your stomach climbing, a lull of heat creeping down from your pussy all the way to your toes.

Johnny let one of his hands slide down to your cunt, thumbing over your neglected clit. Without warning he circled over the swollen bud, sending you convulsing.

You gave a sharp cry, the stimulation borderline painful. You never imagined that anything could hurt so good, a taboo sort of pleasure.

Sweat coated your skin, your clit throbbing and your pussy pounding like a heartbeat. It was so good, too good.

It seemed as if Johnny was in the same boat, his rhythmic thrusts had devolved into sloppy, and sporadic. You wanted him to stay inside, you wanted to feel the pulse of his dick when you came.

“Johnny, I’m going to cum.” You gasped, your body pulling taunt.

He nodded, sweat shining on the skin of his temple. “I want you to, I can hold out.” His voice was wrecked, raw, jaw clenched tight.

You seemed to slip out of yourself as you came, like you were floating. A current of euphoria that washed over you, head lulled back while your body strained. The drive of his cock into you combined with the pressure on your clit sent you spiraling.

You couldn’t help the moans leaving you, ears ringing and vision blurred.

You briefly registered him pulling out, his grunts sinking into you before you felt a sharp spurt of liquid somewhere on your stomach.

What followed after was a moment of silence, a bliss that lingered in the air and seemed to cloud the room in a warm glow. You didn’t even realize your eyes had been closed before you felt them open as a hand brushed over your forehead.

You blinked as Johnny brushed the stray baby-hairs from your face, sticking to your skin from sweat.

He gently set your legs off his shoulders, carefully placing them down on the bed. Everything about you felt heavy and sluggish, like your limbs had tuned into cinder blocks. Even so, his touch still managed to tingle your skin.

There was a calmness to it all, a domesticity that felt just as good as it was temporary. You knew of course that sleeping with him wouldn’t magically fix everything, it was still crumbling around you. But he was the safest thing around a place that felt unfamiliar.

You knew he felt it too, the tension setting back in. Responsibility, reality.

“So, what happens now?” you said, cutting through the silence.

There was a pause before he shifted, leaning back. “Well, I was going to clean you up.” He said, voice almost blasé, but you knew there was more to it. “-But I guess we can’t really go back to what things were before, not with the break in and all.”

Getting up, he reached into the bedside table, a box of tissues inside. Taking a few he wiped you down, carefully, guiltily. Tossing them out into the small bin tucked into the corner of the room, picking up his briefs on the way to clothe himself a little.

After, Johnny adjusted his position beside you, the mattress shifting under his weight as he sat down on the side of the bed. His eyes lingered on your face, torso twisted to face you. His eyes trailed down your body, slow, not lustful this time, just taking inventory, like he needed to confirm for himself that you were whole.

“Are you going to answer me for real?” you said quietly.

He stilled. His gaze flicked back to yours, and there was something unreadable in his expression. Guilt, maybe. Or fear.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, the ache in your muscles sharp but not unwelcome. “I mean… with us. After this.” Your voice faltered for a second. “I kind of got the message that we’re supposed to stay here for a day or two until you know for sure who broke in. But I just don’t know where we go after that.”

Johnny dragged a hand over his face, scrubbing at the stubble on his jaw. “I’m not sure if I have the answers you want.” His accent was thicker now, softened in exhaustion. “I’ve got no right to ask for more from you, not after the shite I pulled.”

“But you want to,” you said. It wasn’t a question.

He gave a short laugh, humorless and brittle. “Christ, Bonnie. I never stopped wantin’ to.”

You sat with his words for a moment, deciphering the meaning a hundred different ways. Caught between what you wanted and what you knew what was probably best.

“I still don’t know where I sit with this.” you whispered, “-I can’t exactly just forget what happened, I don’t think I could if I tried. And I’m still mad about the lying.” You spoke.

After a beat, you continued, “-But I also know that you were doing what you thought was best. Even if your best was shitty. I guess I’m just mad because I lost you for a good while there without even knowing why. And now I don’t even know if I’m going to lose you again once this blows over.”

Johnny looked at you, eyebrows creasing. “You’re not something I’ll be able to just move on from either, even if it all does ‘blow over.’” He said, frowning.

There was another beat of silence, this one gentler.

“But I meant what I said earlier. I’ll keep makin’ it up to you.” He reached over, his thumb brushing over the curve of your wrist as it laid on the bed. “Even if it takes the rest of my damn life.”

You turned your head toward him, eyes meeting his. “Don’t make promises like that.”

“I’m not.” His gaze didn’t waver. “It’s not a promise. It’s just the truth.”

You felt his fingers dip into the curve of your palm, running along the indented lines until his fingers tangled between yours. A soft squeeze that said, ‘I’m here.’ You squeezed back, a silent exchange that said so little yet so much.

Flickering your gaze back up to meet his eyes, you pulled on his hand, beckoning him closer. And for whatever reason, he let you. The mattress shifting under his weight once again as he crawled behind you; not hovering, not crowding, just close.

His arm slid beneath your neck, the other tucking around your waist. His touch was warm, not lustful, at least not anymore. It was something quieter. The kind of closeness that only made sense after everything had been said and done.

Johnny exhaled into your shoulder, breath fanning the damp skin there. “If it means anything,” he spoke, voice faint. “-What we had together…it was good. We’re good together.”

His voice was almost a plea, a last-ditch effort to show you he wanted it, he wanted you.

Your throat tightened.

You shifted back against him just a little more, letting your spine curve into his chest. His hand found yours again, fingers fitting into the spaces between yours with the same unconscious ease he had when brewing coffee in your kitchen. Like a habit he didn’t want to break.

“We are good, Johnny.” You agreed, turning slightly, just enough to glance back at him. You hesitated slightly before speaking again, “But I’m scared of waking up tomorrow and pretending this didn’t happen.”

His hand squeezed yours again, drawing you in.

“Then don’t,” he said. “Not this time, not again.”

You were quiet for a beat, then: “…One more chance. You get one more chance, Johnny. And when we figure things out, we do it together, no secrets.”

“No secrets.” He echoed. A promise.

You didn’t say anything after that, you didn’t need to. The room seemed to still too, a peaceful lull in its darkness.

His breathing evened out behind you, steady and slow. You could feel it where his chest pressed against your back, where his lips brushed your shoulder one last time before stilling.

Your eyes stayed open a little while longer, just to make sure he was still there.

And in the hush that followed, with his arms wrapped around you and your hands still laced together, the ache dulled, just a little.

Sleep found you like that. Quiet. Not fixed. But no longer alone.

. . . . . ◟੭

The morning settled, soft and muted against the walls, brushing over your skin in pale shades of silver and blue. Somewhere beyond the window, the world stirred.

You blinked awake slowly, the edges of your vision blurred with sleep, the air around you heavy with warmth. It took a moment to remember where you were and why you were there to begin with. Why your body felt weightless and sore all at once.

You unconsciously shifted, stopped by a weight draped over your stomach.

Johnny’s arm was still curled loosely around your waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm behind you. You shifted again, just enough to turn onto your back, the mattress caving slightly with the movement.

He was asleep. No tension in his brow, no dreams pulling at the corners of his mouth. The way his hand rested over your hip made you ache with a tenderness you didn’t expect.

You studied him for a long moment. The way his dark lashes cast faint shadows over his cheeks. How his hair curled ever so slightly at the nape of his neck. You could almost trick yourself into thinking this was normal. That this was something you’d done before, would do again.

It was almost odd; you didn’t feel the panic you thought you would.

You had expected regret. Or at the very least, that gnawing ache of uncertainty that always crept in when things got too real. You’d braced yourself for it. For the guilt. The fear. The voice in your head that always whispered, this is a mistake.

But it didn’t come.

All you felt was calm. Maybe not certainty—not yet—but something close. A stillness you hadn’t known you’d needed.

You exhaled slowly, letting the breath deflate your chest. Johnny stirred slightly behind you but didn’t wake. His grip around you only tightened, fingers curling softly against your side on instinct.

You let your gaze linger on him a little longer.

There was still so much between you. Things to say, things to fix. But last night hadn’t been about pretending everything was okay. It had been about choosing to stay anyway.

Your fingers drifted toward his, brushing lightly over his knuckles. A warmth dancing across his skin like the embers of dying flame.

You turned slightly, just enough to face him again, your forehead nearly brushing his. His breath was slow and even. Yours followed suit.

Your eyes drifted shut.

And for the first time in what felt like forever—

you let yourself rest.

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Hey wait don’t go!

First off, big thanks to all of you for waiting so long for another story. I know I totally disappeared for a minute, but unfortunately, life is just like that sometimes.

It would mean so much if you could like, repost, or comment under the story! I love hearing your thoughts and suggestions for later works!

Hopefully you enjoyed because I know I sure did, I know Soap doesn’t get as much love as the other characters but he makes for just as much of a good story.

Thanks for reading and I’ll see you in my next post!

Toodles! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

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[thollandneedy]

Don't you know- Peter Parker

A/n: Nah 'cause that fucking happened to me last week and i HAD TO write about it (Ofc with very different context and description). Btw, i listened to "Don't you know" by James Young while writing it, in case someone likes to listen to music while reading

Warnings: Swearing and smut

Summary: Peter and Y/n get stuck on traffic, but that doesn't mean that it have to be boring...

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

"Shut up" Y/n exclaims, smiling at her boyfriend.

"I told you May, would get me one," Peter comments, crossing his arms and looking sideways at the girl next to him, who seems to be enchanted by the small black car the boy had gotten for his eighteenth birthday.

"It's so cute! I love it." The girl laughs, walking a few steps forward and leaning her weight on the open window, so that she can see the details of the car her boyfriend had won.

"Say goodbye to meters and borrowed cars. Now I'm a new man." Peter walked to the front door, opened it and sat down in the driver's seat. His body slouches forward, reaching out and pulling the door open so that his girlfriend can get into the car too. "And I'm going to take my dear lady for a ride in this little beauty here" The brunette put both hands on the steering wheel.

May had always been a hard-working woman, and supporting her nephew when the boy's parents died had become a kind of livelihood so that she could have the energy to work. Due to financial difficulties, Peter didn't have anything above his aunt's budget, but after a promotion, she had finally managed to scrape together enough to give her nephew a car. Stark had also helped with some of the finances and to make the car more powerful than it already was, so it was a gift from both of them to the hero.

Y/n put on her seatbelt, pulling one of its sides until she could feel the pressure against her body. The girl slipped one of her free hands over Peter's hand, which was on the automatic gearshift, allowing him to give it to her after shifting into gear and continuing his journey. Late evening in New York was slowly falling, as the orange light from the buildings reflected off the crowded streets during rush hour. A few bars and restaurants were starting to open, and Peter had his plan to take his girlfriend out for a bite to eat and then park their conversations in an empty parking lot so that they could also get some alone time. The girl took off her two shoes, crossed her legs covered by jeans, and opened Spotify on her transparent cell phone with a Polaroid photo of the two of them.

"Can I put on a song?" The girl asks.

"Sure, love." Peter updates the car's multimedia while his girlfriend searches for something to listen to. 

"So, tell me. Who chose the car? Did you know you'd win?" The girl rests her hands on her lap.

"May had commented that one day she would give me everything I asked for, but it was never something I cared much about. She got a promotion at the hospital, and consequently her salary increased. Ever since I turned 16, she was raking it in." Peter comments without taking his eyes off the street.

"So you're going to be my private driver?" Y/n asked jokingly, causing the brunette to check his eyes in response.

"As far as I know, you have a driver's license." The hero laughs.

"Why would I drive if now you can take me wherever I want? I thought that was the definition of a passanger princess." The girl put her hand to her chest in an attempt to express surprise.

"Oh yes! Of course." Peter laughs.

(...)

"I'm literally going to explode," Peter says, opening the restaurant door so that his girlfriend can get out first. 

"Tell me about it." The girl says, putting her hand on her stomach and then looking at the time on her cell phone. "Fuck, we've got to get going. My parents will kill me if I'm late on a weekday."

"I thought they'd take it easy on you after eighteen." Peter takes the car key out of his pocket.

"They trust me, but still, we live in New York and they're worried." The girl shrugged, unable to contradict her parents.

"I'll take care of you, kitten. You're safe from the dangers of the night when you walk with me." Peter says proudly, causing a low chuckle from his girlfriend who was walking with her arms crossed.

"Of course! Let's pull you out of the superhero closet and tell my parents that I'm dating a guy who could have an accident at any moment in a fight with evil, technological villains." Y/n opens the car door, then sits down again.

"I think it's a great idea. We can let them know that you'll be moving in with me when I pass MIT, and we'll live in a house in the country with two kids and a dog." Peter comments, closing the car door and continuing his journey.

The white lights of the streets, together with the moon, gave the teenagers an unreal feeling. That feeling that the world isn't real, and their existence is just another speck in the middle of several grains of sand on a beach called the universe. The car drove slowly, on purpose, as Peter didn't want his girlfriend to leave. A slow song was playing on Y/n's Bluetooth, which responded to the music by diverting its eyes from the multimedia system implanted in the center of the car's dashboard. 

Peter laughed out loud when he read the name of the playlist the song was part of

"Really? Sexy guilty pleasure? That's the name of your sex playlist?" Peter makes fun of his girlfriend, who stares at him while holding in her laughter.

"In my defense, I started it when I was 16 and I haven't changed it because I find the name comical." The girl smiles as she says it, remembering when she had started exploring the literary universe of hot scenes in books that seemed innocent.

"Your sex life is comical, Y/n." Peter laughs, but then realizes what he's just said, and also jokes about himself without realizing it.

Y/n laughs out loud

"You're terrible at insults." The girl nods, looking at the passing streets like a drawing blurred by the speed of the car.

"Why haven't I ever heard that playlist?" The brunette lowered his eyes again to the name of the playlist playing in his car.

"I use it from time to time to read, or even when I... well... you know." Peter feels the blush rising to his cheeks.

His sex life with Y/n was almost restricted, and could even be considered for those over 14 if they were to classify it. Peter and Y/n hadn't had sex yet, let alone talked about it openly since their time together was considerably short. Even when they were friends, the subject of sex had never come up, unless they were in a circle of older friends and both were drunk. But even in this state, it seemed like a great sin to talk about sex. 

"Really?" Peter swallows dryly, stopping at a red light and running both hands down his dark-wash jeans.  "And what's that like?"

Y/n sucks in a breath when she hears her boyfriend's question. Their eyes meet, then dart away again in an attempt to make the conversation as awkward as possible. Y/n never had a problem talking about sex, but when it came to Peter, even his presence made her nervous.

"When I..." The girl tries to finish the sentence, really being precise in asking if he was asking about what she does in the long hours alone at night while Peter is asleep.

The boy can hear his girlfriend's heartbeat increasing and her throat swallowing. 

"That's it." He cuts her off.

The light turns green, and the blaring horn of a car cuts through the tension created between the two. Peter turns his eyes to the busy streets, while Y/n searches for confidence in herself. 

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye.

Gray shirt clinging to her toned muscles

Tight pants drawing her ass in perfectly

Puffed-out chest

Perfectly wavy hair

Her legs cross over each other, shrinking her body.

“Holy fuck” Peter thinks when he saw his girlfriend crossing her legs 

"It's nice. I like listening to music and closing my eyes, because I seem to get lost in time and sensation." The girl says, still silently watching hers boyfriend's reaction. "I like being without anything on my body. Just the cold sheets because of the air conditioning I turn on, so I don't sweat so much."

Peter pressed the steering wheel against his hands

"And what do you think about?" The boy asks as if his words were sailing over brittle ice.

Y/n takes a deep breath, turning half her torso towards her boyfriend.

What was she thinking?

Perhaps the times her parents went out on business, and the couple found themselves on the sofa taking off only their blouses. Or when she first felt Peter hard while she was on his lap kissing him

When he came out of the shower with just a towel tied around his waist, and his hair dripping with cold water. 

When he used his index finger to touch her chin, and pull her into a kiss

Those same fingers that could touch you so deeply that your legs would collapse without the strength to stand up, and he would pick you up to use you once again as whatever he wanted you to be. Only he could make you feel so wet that you didn't want his touch so close for fear of losing the track.

"You"

Peter feels his cock against the factory of his underpants.

"Tell me about what." His voice comes out sultry, as if for a few seconds, he had put his shame aside. "I want to hear you, love," the brunette asked, taking one of his hands off the gearshift and slowly reaching for Y/n's hand, which was resting on his thigh with the cell phone.

Peter had never acted or spoken like that, but he couldn't deny to himself that he wanted more. He always wanted more, not even if he had to imagine tasting his girlfriend's sweetness. His cock was throbbing against his pants, and he could feel it twitching inside them, while his breathing made a point of being nervous. Feeling Y/n on his fingers, wrinkling them with the groove of his cum, or even thinking about the sensation of his walls meeting his cock, made him lose his shame in seconds. 

When he thought about it, it was something extremely out of touch with reality, but everything he wanted to do, fortunately the initiative had to come from him. Hearing from his own girlfriend that she masturbated thinking about what he was doing was like raising the hackles of a king

The car seemed to get smaller and smaller, and not even the wind in the air could stop them both wanting to take off their clothes. The leather seat seemed to cling to their sweaty skins, searching for something to hold them inside the car. For Y/n, she couldn't describe whether the situation was good or bad, as her sexual experiences had not been very positive during her teenage years.

"I think of your touch. That time we kissed, and I could feel you brushing past my thigh and slowly trying to find my clit." The girl adjusted her posture in the chair, letting her legs relax as well as her posture.

Peter, for his part, could feel everything she was feeling. His powers allowed him to see that she was getting more and more comfortable in the seat because her hard-on was increasing with every double entendre word that was directed at her, and it was a very interesting game to play in the car during a post-work commute in New York. The cars moved slowly, and even if the clock asked them to go faster, they didn't want to. 

"Did you like it?" One of Peter's fingers slid down, tracing a straight line between the upper part of Y/n's thigh.

"Uh-huh." The girl commented, seeing that her hand had now lost the warmth of his touch, so that her body could feel it. 

"Me too." Peter comments, allowing his whole hand to touch Y/n's thigh, squeezing it briefly as a silent sign of confirmation that everything was okay. Then, his middle finger traced a line down the middle of her legs, causing a low moan to escape Y/n's mouth, who, still embarrassed, allowed her legs to spread further apart. The hero's cock was begging to be touched, but this wasn't the first time he'd thought of doing it. His plan had always been to let things happen naturally, but he was also smart enough to know that now with a car, he had more freedom.

"Peter." Y/n's hand finds his fist. "And if anyone sees. There are traffic cameras that can...

"The windows are tinted." Parker comments, looking directly at his girlfriend's breasts which were becoming more and more exposed against her clingy blouse. " Are you okay?"

"Please." Y/n begs in a sly request, drawing a naughty smile from the brunette. 

His index finger fingered his girlfriend's wet spot against the factory of her pants, putting pressure on the girl who relaxed her body against the seat. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other between his girlfriend's legs, Peter grunts to himself.

"Fuck, Y/n. You... you have no idea how much I've wanted to touch you for months." Peter confesses, biting his lip as he feels the girl roll against his fingers and lay her head back on the bench. 

"You have?" The girl gasps.

"We've never been able to spend much time alone, and I've always refused to do anything because... fuck... I can't want to fuck you," Parker confesses, trying to balance the car, his hard-on and his girlfriend at the same time.

Y/n feels her feet fall from the stereotypical virgin pedestal she has built for herself. Peter had never been a saint, and as hard as it was to believe because of his cute face and lack of girl-talking skills, he was still a male teenager who had desires and wishes repressed by shame. 

"Peter." Y/n groans lowly, gripping the hero's wrist tightly as he manages to find her weak spot.

A satisfied smile came from his lips as he began to make circular movements, causing the girl to moan a little louder. Y/n lowered her eyes to the pants that suddenly seemed to be tighter than usual on hers boyfriend. His decency as a person had gone, and all she could think about was tasting him and making him feel so good that he spoke his name out loud without caring if anyone heard.

"Yes. Speak my name, Y/n." The brunette asked, continuing his movements, but increasing the speed.

The friction was intense, and it would have been easy for her to finish right where she started, but her sense of justice and pity tried to speak louder.

"I wanted to touch you." Y/n exposed, staring shamelessly at the bulge in Peter's pants. 

"You talk so innocently as if you didn't want me to be fucking you with my fingers on this very bench." Peter lets out a sarcastic laugh, denying it to himself, and casting a longing glance at him.

Y/n's walls contract as he speaks, as if his body had a will of its own and felt empty when he had nothing to satisfy his carnal desires. 

"I can hear your heart racing, darling." Peter takes his hand off the wheel for a moment, squeezing his hard cock as a form of relief.

Removing the hand that was between his girlfriend's legs, he adjusts the rearview mirror and looks both ways down the avenue. 

"Why did you stop?" The girl straightens her posture in concern.

"I need you now."

"What?" Y/n swallows dryly.

"I want to have sex with you now. Do you?" Parker asks angrily.

Without thinking, Y/n replies:

"I want to" 

"Okay." The boy shifts into gear so that he can change lanes and find another road that leads further away. In a moment of anxiety, the car dies. "Fuck!" Peter curses, drawing a nervous smile from his girlfriend.

"Let's get out of here, Parker. I'm dying to get a taste of you."

[ariadnes-elixirs]

thinking of a villain yandere...

(male yandere x gn vigilante reader)

tw: things like implied violence and description of injuries. no yandere behavior yet, but it will come.

in a world full of glamorous and shining stars, you were one of the ones that actually deserved that title. the "heroes" claim to be bringers of justice and champions of the people, but everyone knows that's not true anymore.

in the beginning, the heroes and their agencies did genuinely begin and operate with the intentions of helping the general public. now, they turn a blind eye to anyone that isn't from a wealthy area. they're only interested in what makes them the most money, which means they only fight the big bad "villains," and help the people who can pay the most.

fortunately, you had the power to actually make a difference. instead of working as a hero, you decided to embark on a different path.

two years ago you became a vigilante.

two years of helping the people who need it the most.

two years of helping the people who couldn't cough up the cash to keep the heroes interested.

someone needed to deal with the less-than-glamorous problems that the heroes conveniently forget about.

someone needed to deal with the issues and crimes the heroes refused to touch.

and that person was you.

~

as you were finishing up a patrol, you noticed a slumped silhouette in an alleyway. you couldn't tell what it was at first, but you realized it was definitely alive when it started moving

as you approached, you moved quietly and cautiously, trying to assess the situation before making any snap judgements. all you could see from this distance was a dark human-shaped blob.

you crept closer and closer, now around five meters away while trying to stay silent. as you steadily moved forward, you could make out more of the figure.

it looked like a man on the taller side. you noticed that, he was wearing some loose and dark clothing that obscured his figure. it looked to be reminiscent of a techware style, designed with functionality in mind above fashion.

there was no mask or anything covering his face, but you could see a small cut cross the right side of his face.

he appeared a conventionally handsome man, probably in his twenties, and had dark hair to his ears.

the man was slumped on the ground, possibly unconscious. his dark clothing also made it difficult to check for injuries, but further examination revealed a small trail of blood coming from elsewhere leading to the man.

after this making observation, you crossed the remaining distance and crouch directly in front of him.

it was clear that someone had attacked him and he had managed to escape. in addition to the trail of blood, his gloved hands appeared to be clutching some small object.

maybe someone mugged him and tried to take... whatever that is?

or maybe he took it from someone?

you weren't totally sure, but it wouldn't be the first time you ran into someone in a situation like this. while it may seem stupid at first glance, you decided the best course of action would be to bring him to your apartment to patch him up.

bringing a complete stranger covered in blood to your home generally isn't a good idea. however, you don't know this guy's financial situation and if he can afford to go to a hospital. additionally, you need to determine the severity of his injuries before deciding whether he needs medical assistance from a professional.

after making what could possibly be the dumbest decision of your life, you remind yourself of what you set out to do when becoming a vigilante.

you set out to help everyone you could, and if you had the means to help, you would.

most superpowers were separated into different classes based on their roles in combat. technically, your power officially falls under the "support" class, but it has its applications both in and out of combat.

you happen possess the unique gift of lulling someone to sleep and then keeping them asleep until you wish to wake them.

your opponent can't fight if they're asleep, right?

all it takes is your target being in your line of sight and a snap of your fingers.

the man was already almost out cold, so there's no harm in just... making sure he's completely out cold.

snap

as the rest of his consciousness leaves him, he completely slumps over onto ground in front of him.

you move to pick him up, noting that he is more... lanky... than he appears. eventually, you are able to bring him up and throw his arm around your shoulder in a makeshift fireman carry. from this position, you can move him, albeit slowly, to your apartment.

~

somehow, this turned what should be a five minute walk into a thirty minute herculean task. you underestimated just how tired you were after a full day's work and a five hour patrol.

eventually, you make it up to your apartment while carrying the man. as you feel your strength about to fail, you gently set the man down on the ground in front of you so you can find your keys and unlock the door.

once your front door is open, you drag him to your living room couch as gently as you can. at this point, you can't even muster the strength to lift him up onto the couch. usually you don't keep someone unconscious for more than a couple minutes, so thirty minutes of using your powers really made the fatigue hit you even harder.

you can feel your legs about to give out as well, but you have to deliver first aid as soon as possible.

one catch that comes with your powers is that to put someone to sleep and keep them asleep, they have to constantly be in your line of sight.

in order to make sure he stays asleep, you keep your eyes on him and walk backwards into your bathroom. then, you make a run for it to grab the first aid supplies and return to where you can see him as quickly as possible since he's left your line of sight.

now holding the first aid supplies and rushing back to his side, you notice that even with your power's grip weakening, he's still out like a rock.

this gives you the chance to further assess his wounds and patch him up. after removing his jacket, vest, and shirt, you can finally get a decent look at his torso.

it looks like most of his wounds are localized to his right shoulder, with a trail of wounds leading across his collarbones and down his left arm. this confirms that he was attacked, probably by someone attacking from his right side? maybe?

it's hard to tell, but you clean and disinfect as much as you can, stitch up any open cuts, and wrap the affected areas with bandages.

you'll have to redo the bandages in the morning, but that should suffice for now.

you take a couple minutes to gather yourself before finally moving him up so he can lay on the couch. you take a couple steps backwards whole keeping your eyes glued to the unconscious man and feel for a blanket you left on a chair nearby.

after grabbing it, you move back to the couch and gently place the blanket over him.

then moving to sit on the chair you took the blanket from, you finally get to sit down for the first time in hours.

the sheer weight of your exhaustion overtakes you as you find your own consciousness slipping.

your sleep deprived brain seems to momentarily forget about the strange man you brought into your home.

you had planned on staying awake to keep an eye on him, but it appears that that won't be happening.

as your eyes close, you try to shake the feeling that you've seen him before. he wasn't wearing a mask, but his outfit definitely looks like one you would see on television. maybe he's a hero? villain? another vigilante?

but the odds of that were low, he's probably just some civilian that got caught in the crossfire of some confrontation, right?

regardless, that was tomorrow you's problem, as you finally find yourself falling asleep. completely unaware of just who you had brought into your home.

completely unaware of how this one act of kindness will change the rest of your life.

a/n: sorry this was mostly set up, how do we feel so far? any thoughts? should i keep it going?

also i will probably be busy for the next two ish weeks, but i'll have a decently long break after that so i hope to write some more then!!

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Hyper & Chill | psh

act 37: Job Hunting

prev

Graduation had been a mix of emotions—pride, relief, and a looming sense of uncertainty. With school behind you, the reality of adulthood was settling in fast. Job hunting became your full-time routine, and the weight of securing a stable future was heavier than ever.

Every morning, you and Sunghoon sat side by side at the dining table, laptops open, scrolling through job postings.

“Marketing Associate… Entry-level but requires three years of experience? Make it make sense,” you muttered, clicking away in frustration.

Sunghoon, sitting across from you, smirked. “I swear these job descriptions are just setting people up for failure. Look at this—‘Finance Analyst: Must be a fresh graduate with 10 years of experience and an Olympic gold medal.’”

You laughed, appreciating his attempt to make you feel better. It was comforting, going through this together. At least neither of you had to do it alone.

Despite your shared struggle, one thing was clear—Sunghoon was surprisingly calm about it all. While you spiraled over deadlines and rejection emails, he remained composed. It wasn’t until one particularly stressful night that you realized why.

“Lolove,” he said as you stressed over your bank balance, “you know you don’t have to worry too much, right?”

You sighed. “Easy for you to say. My savings won’t last forever.”

Sunghoon hesitated before finally confessing, “I’ve been saving since I was a teenager.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I worked part-time in high school, and even during uni, I invested some money,” he explained, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really spend much unless it’s necessary, so… I have more saved up than you probably think.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, what?”

Sunghoon chuckled at your reaction. “I majored in finance, Lolove. Managing money is literally what I do.”

It made perfect sense. While you liked to splurge on coffee, books, and occasional shopping, Sunghoon was careful with his spending. He wasn’t stingy, but he knew how to manage his finances wisely.

“That explains why you never panic,” you said, still processing.

“Well, I also know we’ll both find jobs soon. We’ve worked too hard for this.”

His confidence was reassuring, but something about what he said didn’t sit right with you.

You let out a breath, pushing your laptop away for a moment. “I don’t want to depend on your savings, Lolove.”

Sunghoon’s brows furrowed slightly. “It’s not about depending on me. You know I’d help you if you needed it.”

“I know.” You reached for his hand, squeezing it. “And I love you for that. But I want to stand on my own too, you know? I want to earn my own money, feel secure because of my own hard work.”

Sunghoon looked at you for a long moment before nodding. “I get it. And I respect that.” Then he smiled. “But just so you know, if we ever do struggle, we can have my emergency fund.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Idiot.”

But deep down, you knew that no matter what, you had each other’s backs.

After a month of job hunting, the breakthrough finally came.

You were in the kitchen making breakfast when Sunghoon’s phone rang. He answered, his expression unreadable at first, then his eyes widened.

“Wait, really?” he said, standing up straighter. “Yes, of course! Thank you so much. I’ll see you Monday.”

As soon as he hung up, he turned to you with the biggest grin. “I got the job.”

Your heart swelled with happiness. “Hoon!” You rushed over and threw your arms around him. “I knew you would!”

He laughed, hugging you back tightly. “One step closer to financial domination.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were so proud of him. Sunghoon had always been diligent, and it was only a matter of time before he secured a position.

Then, as if fate wanted to make the moment even better, your own phone rang.

You answered hesitantly, but when you heard the words “We’d love to have you on board” from the HR representative, you almost dropped your phone.

“No way…”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened. “Did you—?”

You put the call on speaker as they gave you the details—title, salary, benefits, and your start date. But the real kicker?

You and Sunghoon had both landed positions at the same corporate company.

The moment you ended the call, you and Sunghoon screamed in excitement, jumping up and down like kids.

“This is insane!” you laughed. “We’re gonna be coworkers?”

Sunghoon grinned. “Partners in crime and business. What could go wrong?”

Little did you know, working together was going to bring a whole new dynamic to your relationship. But for now, you were just grateful—grateful to have him by your side as you both stepped into the next chapter of your lives.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

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[katakaluptastrophy]

What do Captain Deuteros, the Princesses of Ida, the Baron of Tisis, the Lady of Koniortos Court, the Duchess of Rhodes, the Master Templar, and the Reverend Daughter all have in common? They almost certainly own slaves.

Ok, not "slaves". As I'm sure Housers would be the first to tell you, they do not have slaves. Gideon herself explicitly establishes this in chapter one:

I’m indentured, not a slave.

But functionally, what does that mean?

We don't get a definition of what Gideon means by a slave, or how this word is used in House (do the Houses also have slaves? Are slaves something other, uncivilised people have in the benighted darkness beyond the light of Dominicus and the empire?). Gideon is an unfree person who is subject to violence and exploited for the financial gain of her masters, but it means something to her that she is not, in some economic or legal sense, a slave. So what is an indentured servant?

Gideon's status is referred to using several other terms over the course of GTN, primarily by Silas Octakiseron. While Silas is not an unbiased commentator, it's interesting that his objection to Gideon is not just because she's Ninth, but because she has usurped her social position:

“Thrall,” said Silas. “Serf. Servant... Villein,” continued the necromancer of the house of the Eighth, warming to his thesaurus. Colum was staring at Gideon, almost cross-eyed with disbelief. “Foundling. I am not insulting you, I am naming you for what you are. The replacement for Ortus Nigenad, himself a poor representative of a foetid House of betrayers and mystics.”

We don't know the exact connotations of these words in House. But a "serf" historically was a sort of feudal peasant tied to the land of a manor. Unlike a slave, a serf usually couldn't be bought or sold as an individual, but could be transferred wholesale with the land. Generically speaking, serfdom involves a tie to the land, an obligation to generate income/goods for the feudal lord of the land through labour and/or rents, and a lack of freedom of movement. It could be from birth or a voluntary indenture.

The contextual information that we get about Gideon's status backs up this very feudal image:

Gideon is, as Crux repeatedly reminds her, in some way the property of the Ninth. She wears a security cuff, and her attempt to run away is described as theft and misuse of House goods. In a typically House way, it is not just that she owes them her labour - she owes them her body once she dies. (What's interesting is that this part isn't specifically tied to her status as an indentured servant, but it fundamentally colours how it is understood in world.)

"You talk so loudly for chattle, Nav... You chatter so much for a debt. I hate you, and yet you are my wares and inventory."

Crux is Harrow's seneschal. And it would seem that at least on the Ninth, this role is very much the same as its medieval feudal equivalent: the official in charge of the management of the estate's goods and labourers.

Gideon is a legitimate subject of violence in House law: Harrow talks about how it would be "master's sin" if she "employed unwarranted violence" against her. Which means that some degree of violent punishment of indentured servants is legally permissable.

She is meant to be a financially useful asset: regulations exist governing indentured people joining the military, where they can generate revenue for their House. However, Harrow warns Gideon that "the Cohort won’t enlist an unreleased serf" - because the movement of a serf is at the discretion of her Lady, not something over which she has free choice.

The description of how Gideon came to be of the Ninth is particularly interesting in shedding some light on the institution of indenture in the Houses:

The Ninth had historically filled its halls with penitents from other houses, mystics and pilgrims who found the call of this dreary order more attractive than their own birthrights. In the antiquated rules of those supplicants who moved between the eight great households, she was taken as a very small bondswoman, not of the Ninth but beholden to it: What greater debt could be accrued than that of being brought up?

Medieval serfs too had no freedom of movement; they required a license from their lord to spend extended time away from the manor.

It's easy to forget, when the Houses themselves likely range in scale from the size of Los Angeles to Aotearoa New Zealand, that legally they seem to understand themselves to constitute feudal households. Those born in each House are part of - or in some cases it would seem, property of - the House. We see discussion in the Sermon on Necromancers and Cavaliers of the heirs of cavalier lines being traded between Houses for political capital. Necromancers, meanwhile, are apparently such a political or reproductive asset that they are usually not allowed to marry outside their House. Obviously, these are examples of people at the top of House society, whose movement brings with it political power, or financial assets, or reproductive capacity. Where does that leave a more ordinary person who lacks those desirable assets? It would seem that they can be their own asset, granted access to another House on a debtor's bond - it's not clear in the House context whether this is typically an exchange of people already debt bonded to their House, free people entering into such bondage to secure a right of passage to another House, a combination, or something else entirely.

But it speaks to a much more ancient understanding of how people are tied to lands and lords, alongside the Houses' very different attitude to the value of human lives:

“You’re no slave, but you’ll serve the House of the Ninth until the day you die and then thereafter"

One could infer, since we've encountered nobles and serfs, that the Houses have something akin to a three-tier system like many historical European feudal systems, with nobles, freedmen, and serfs.

The medieval European feudal system was primarily a function of the management of land - serfs and freedmen's statuses were a result of their relationship to obligations to the land - requirements of work, or rents to their lord, who ultimately controlled and profited from that land. This is where the tricky difference between serfdom and slavery tends to arise.

But the Houses are not a European medieval feudal kingdom. They are not, presumably, a primarily agrarian economy. So what use might such bondspeople be? What does that society look like, outside of its highest nobles investigating each others' murders and its strangely incestuous demigods?

There must be some agriculture and industry. Given the trying conditions of living in inhospitable space environments, that there might be some class of labourers fundamentally tied to their Houses, perhaps initially stemming from the order or situation of their ancestors' resurrection, isn't impossible to imagine (after all, ruling families and cavalier lines also trace their status from the Resurrection). From the information about the rules governing movement between Houses, perhaps there are also people living in dire conditions on remote moons willing to sell their freedom for a chance at slightly better conditions, or a new start in a different House. Most Houses do not have the necromantic capacity to create skeleton constructs on a scale to manage most of their labour - in The Mysterious Study of Dr Sex, it's clear that the Sixth has a finite supply of skeleton constructs that they would require Ninth input to overhaul. We have to assume most labour on most Houses in human, and some portion of it at least in some way unfree.

But the Houses are a spacefaring society with a large, centralised military and an economically complex empire. It does not function entirely like a medieval kingdom, however much it may sometimes look like one. Much of its imperial structure seems to be on a much more 19th or 20th century model.

And the Cohort is one area where we can see some non-medieval, but awful implications to the Houses' practice of serfdom. Consider the commission that Harrow offers Gideon:

It purchased Gideon Nav’s commission to second lieutenant, not privy to resale, but relinquishing capital if she honourably retired. It would grant her full officer training. The usual huge percentage of prizes and territory would be tithed to her House if they were won, but her inflated Ninth serfdom would be paid for in five years on good conditions, rather than thirty.

Gideon is not being promised as canon fodder - this is a promise of officer training. And yet, Gideon is a serf - and that officer training would be an investment in financial returns from her involvement in the bloody machinery of empire.

How many people in the Cohort are not free? Are serfs released from their usual obligations in the House to which they are debt bonded to instead generate income for their House on the battlefield or die trying? What proportion of the Cohort are functionality enslaved children, sold a dream of glory by smutty comics and released by their Houses because their eventual deaths will be more profitable to their Houses than their labouring lives?

And fundamentally, if the Houses are in some way substantially reproducing aspects of medieval feudalism, there's only one person who can be responsible for that...

[sophie-frm-mars]

As someone who is poly, what is your perspective on emotional affairs? How do you navigate managing different relationships?

I think that the management of different relationships simultaneously is a lifelong practice that nobody will ever be perfect at and everyone will always need to learn new things. this requires patience, communication, patience, communication, patience and some more communication, and then probably a bit more patience and of course communication. As Catherine Angel observes in Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again, communicating our needs, desires and boundaries first requires that we understand what each of them are, and that's actually pretty fucking daunting. As Clementine Morrigan has pointed out, polyamorous people have to learn things about their attachment styles and the challenges of them just as much as monogamous people, and you don't get better at secure attachment without practice, so if you're poly you're probably going to spend some amount of time being insecurely attached to multiple people, probably in different ways. bell hooks says in All About Love that love is "the extension of ones self for the spiritual growth of yourself or someone else", and to that end love will always be as completely unique as human beings can be, and can't be perfectly analysed in terms and rules. Patience and communication.

You have to use some amount of trial and error to gain self knowledge in order to communicate to others what works for you and know when what someone else needs doesn't. I can't do long distance relationships, for instance, and I'm glad I know that about myself but finding out was a painful process.

Personally, having been poly for over a decade and found my own capacity for different things through trial and error, I personally approach relationships descriptively instead of prescriptively. I don't like saying that I'm using this or that model for being poly, "primary partner polyamory" or "relationship anarchy" or "solo poly" (as an aside, I think everyone should prioritise their relationship with themselves first and foremost and don't find this a useful distinction for people "doing solo poly", but when I think of it to myself as "needing more space for my relationship with myself" it works better). What I mean by descriptive rather than prescriptive is that if I am in a relationship and it is clear to me and another person that it is working in a way that is going to be long term, I like to have a conversation about what the relationship has become rather than name it some way and try to start acting differently according to that.

As for emotional affairs - I had to take some time to understand what you're asking so I'm going to try to define it here to be on the same page. You're asking about when someone becomes close to another person in a way that doesn't necessarily involve sex, but feels like a sharing of oneself with that person in a way that crosses the boundaries of their partner. All cases where someone shares something of themselves with another person in a way that crosses the boundaries of their partner have to do with the interdependency of their relationship and the conditional boundaries of their partner. What I mean by that is, Sue might agree to be in a relationship with Jen on the condition that they only have sex with each other, and therefore it would be crossing Sue's boundaries for Jen to have sex with Alex. Someone who takes a more anti-monogamy stance might say this is an unreasonable boundary to have as your boundaries should be your boundaries and shouldn't limit the freedoms of other people. However, if Sue and Jen have built a life together and depend on one another emotionally, financially, and for the logistics of their regular schedules, then Jen spending more time with Alex whether or not they have sex may feel threatening to Sue because she feels like the ways that she depends on Jen are at risk. However, here it is only useful for Sue to look at her relationship with Jen. If they are just as close as ever, spending the same amount of time together and so on, then Jen's time with Alex isn't actually doing anything to Sue: she is just experiencing jealousy, which is a tricky feeling for many people because it isn't often discussed and rarely discussed kindly, but a feeling like any other that we have to move through. If Sue looks at her relationship with Jen and realises what she needs is more time together, more intimacy, or whatever, she has to communicate that to Jen

[themedialmercurial]

Asteroid Novalis (8052) and your preferred literature choices

Asteroid Novalis represents our favourite type of books to read (hence "novel") and potentially our preferred writing style if we choose to engage in such a task. The House placement is indicative of the reason(s) why you actively engage in reading.

In other news, it's good to be back (kinda)! School's been really busy so I have to of course put my focus mostly on that😅

NOVALIS IN ARIES You have a preference for fast-paced, energetic and action-packed books as you tend to get bored easily if otherwise. You'll also like books through which you can find elements you relate to.

NOVALIS IN TAURUS You have a preference for predictable books, ones through which offer practicality. Also, you'll like books with an artistic flare and descriptions (makeup, furniture, architecture, etc)

NOVALIS IN GEMINI

You have a preference for books that challenge what you think you may already know. With your flexible mental nature, you'll thrive reading educational books.

NOVALIS IN CANCER

You have a preference for books that remind you of a cozy home environment and your family. You seek literature that is nurturing and tugs at your heartstrings.

NOVALIS IN LEO

You have a preference for dramatic books, ones by which there is a great plot twist. You overall love books that are fun (I know this isn't a book but Disenchantment comes to mind bc there's literally no rules, just fun lol)

NOVALIS IN VIRGO

You have a preference for books that serve of use for your personal likes. You like books that are deeply detailed and analyze whichever topic is being studied. Devils advocate comes to mind.

NOVALIS IN LIBRA You have a preference for harmonious books, ones through which the characters are all treated equally. You would also like bits of romance.

NOVALIS IN SCORPIO You have a preference for dark books (true crime and mystery come to mind), ones that aren't afraid to hold back. You enjoy the intensity and passionate nature of such literature.

NOVALIS IN SAGITTARIUS

You have a preference for books that make you feel hopeful, ones through which you can metaphorically take a trip to a new destination. You enjoy fantasy-like books.

NOVALIS IN CAPRICORN You have a preference for books that offer structure in your life. Self help books come to mind, ones in which inform you on how to become more disciplined in your life.

NOVALIS IN AQUARIUS

You have a preference for books that challenge the status quo and are rebellious in nature. Dystopian-style books such as The Hunger Games and The Maze Runner come to mind as not only do they challenge societal norms, they offer to help people in the process.

NOVALIS IN PISCES You have a preference for books that act as an escape from reality, such as magical and fantasy genres. You too could enjoy literature pertaining to spirituality and your beliefs.

~Why you may enjoy reading~

NOVALIS 1H

As a means of self-improvement, personality growth and glow-up opportunity

NOVALIS 2H

As a means of growing your finances, learning financial literacy and how to manage your belongings

NOVALIS 3H

As a means of improving communicative ability and to be more efficient in self-expression

NOVALIS 4H

As a means of gaining awareness of ones heredity (particularly the mother), traditions and roots.

NOVALIS 5H

As a means of unlocking your creativity, a side hobby (just for fun)

NOVALIS 6H

As a means of necessity (for work/employment), to improve health overall (nutrition, physicality)

NOVALIS 7H

As a means of recreating romantic opportunities (or manifesting such)

NOVALIS 8H

As a means of exploring topics considered as taboo, to transform as a person, or just smut lol

NOVALIS 9H

As a means of growth, learning about other cultures (places and languages), philosophy, religion, upper education, indulging in social media

NOVALIS 10H

As a means of developing ones reputation, improving career, involving authority

NOVALIS 11H

As a means of achieving ones dreams, manifestation tactic (imagining your dream life through the litterature)

NOVALIS 12H

As a means of exploring ones fears, secrecy and privacy.

I have Novalis in Gemini 9H and I find that it resonates. I tend to read smaller articles online and, since I'm very curious by nature, I love literature that goes against what I thought I already knew

What's your Novalis placement? Does it resonate? Let me know in the comments🤍🤍

[milfgyuu]

Satellite  Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x Fem!Reader Series: Svt x Harry’s House Tags: 3.1k, Complicated Lovers, Angst, Comfort. Warnings: Rated PG-13. Mostly angst in this piece, mc is a hot mess (non-descript familial, health, financial issues) and highly self-critical, brief nudity but no explicit content. Summary: Wonwoo is tending the bar on a stormy summer evening when you walk back into his life and though he’s been patiently allowing you the space to work things out on your own - he’s not sure he can watch you walk right back out that door again.

The bar is quiet today and Wonwoo could not be happier to spend his time cleaning glasses, restocking, and watching the rain outside the tall glass windows. 

It had been pouring all afternoon and well into the evening which either drove folks inside or kept them home and today seemed to be the latter. The few patrons he had were easy keepers and so he minded his workspace - meticulously scrubbing and polishing. 

Something to keep his hands busy to pass the time.

A sudden rush of sound enters the quiet space signifying another arrival. Wonwoo glances up with a generic greeting on his tongue but quickly notices you’ve come without an umbrella and are soaked to the bone. That much he can tell even as you’re facing away, cursing at your reflection in the door so instead of waiting, he takes off to the supply closet to search of a few handtowels to dry yourself a bit.

The tiny room is a mess, of course, but he manages to find a few clean towels and vows to restructure this dysfunctional system another day.

He almost walks right past you, having found the corner seat far from everyone else, but there is a slight sniffle and he turns on heels to follow the sound finding his mystery patron shivering and dripping water onto his clean bartop. His words fail him at the sight because it’s a rather pitiful one.

Your suit jacket is soaked through, your hair is slick and dripping from the ends, and your chin is tucked in defeat like you’ve been dealt a poor hand over and over and this is just the final straw. Like all of the fire and fight you had left had been smothered once and for all. He takes a tentative step forward and then you raise your head. Meeting his eyes, he’s now convinced require another exam, he is sure there is no way you’re looking back at him.

Your name is heard through a whisper of disbelief and your shoulders hike up, spine going ramrod straight. Of all the bars, restaurants, and cafes along this street surely you could have chosen somewhere know one would recognize you but instead you look back at the one person you hadn’t ever been able to fool. The one person you could not hide the truth from no matter how hard you tried.

Someone you ran from if only to save him from the disaster that is you.

“Wonwoo,” you quickly clear your throat and throw on a fake smile, “Hi.”

Its been four months since you disappeared and yet he doesn’t appear enraged or flood you with questions even though all you offer is ‘Hi’. He doesn’t bring up the fight that you started and subsequently walked out on the last night you were together. The night you finally realized you had to let him go before you hurt him anymore than you already have.

He instead pushes the towels into your hands and sputters his thoughts allowed, “I think I’ve got a towel and extra clothes in my gym bag in the car…give me a min-”

Wonwoo looks down at the hand suddenly clasped over his for a moment and then up at your soft stare. “It’s okay, really, you don’t need to do that for me.”

His brows furrow because of course he does and he will but again, you squeeze his hand. “Wonwoo,” you repeat slowly and it aches just to say his name again, “Don’t worry about it. Its okay.”

Wonwoo bites his lip and concedes, as usual. He slips his hand from your grip slowly, “Let me get you a drink at least.”

You nod and he doesn’t ask what you want, he already knows. 

The shame that’s always sat heavily in your gut eats away at you as you watch him pour. A man that you’ve so selfishly loved since the moment you met him, Wonwoo has picked you up and put you back to together too many times to look at him now without the guilt of everything you’ve put him through threatening to tear you apart.

He sets the glass down and slides it across the bar toward you. Pulling it into your grip weakly, you just look down at the liquid with regret.

Wonwoo misreads the action and fusses with his glasses. “I probably should have asked what you wanted. I’m sorry I assum-”

“No! This is good!” you reassure him, taking a hardy sip from the glass - hardly wincing at the burn in your throat. Nothing is more painful than lying to him. “Everything is…good. I’m really happy to see you! You’ve obviously left the old bar near campus.”

He rests a hand on the counter, settling against it. “Not really my scene anymore.”

“Of course not,” you smile softly, shrugging out of your wet coat. 

This place is so perfectly Wonwoo. It’s quiet and warm - comforting. 

Wonwoo is frowning when you settle back into your seat and look up at him. You know its because you’re a wreck and your hand automatically reaches for your drink, downing another unsavory gulp to deal with your inherent urge to let him take care of you. The heat remains in your throat this time and makes speaking nearly unbearable. 

“How, um…how have you been?” you try. Its better to focus on him. 

Wonwoo just shrugs though. “I don’t do much - you know me. I come to work and I go home. Not much keeping me busy these days.”

You’re not sure how to take that last bit but his face is open and honest as always. No underlying accusations even though you know how ‘busy’ you kept him. Running to him first with every problem in your life, hanging onto him for support like a lifeline, slowly sinking him like a sailor on a ship with too many holes in the hull to patch. 

Taking and taking and taking with nothing to give in return. 

You muster some sort of wry smile though it feels like a grimace. “Sounds peaceful.”

“Maybe,” he glances down, “It’s a little too quiet for me though.”

Just then the door opens and both your eyes flit in the direction of the incoming patrons. 

Wonwoo hesitates for a moment like he knows how easily you could disappear again but you encourage him, grip tight on your glass, and whisper, “Its ok, go.”

Still he lingers for a moment and then walks to the other side of the bar.

You watch him, weary of being caught, but its so good to see him - to be near him.

It feels greedy to take in the sight of him, to think about how much you’ve missed Wonwoo because you know you can’t think about it without breaking down and it’s your fault in the first place. You left him, not the other way around.

You miss his gentle hands and soothing voice. You miss the way he’d hug you and hold you for however long you needed and then some. You miss the way he made all the big things in life seem so very small and powerless when they loomed over you.

Wonwoo was…love, and warmth, and shelter from the storm but one day you realized you were the storm and coudn’t bear to keep dragging him through the muddied path you followed. Life was cruel but to hold onto Wonwoo was crueler. 

Across the bar, Wonwoo notices the way you’re staring down at the counter, swirling the contents of your drink without really touching it. He can feel your anguish like a knife in his chest, he always could, but it twists painfully knowing you won’t let him help. 

Boundaries. That’s what tethers him. Ones you put in place and held the line so furiociously he hadn’t dare crossed it in fear of losing you for once and all.

Instead he hovers like a satellite in your universe waiting for you to let him back in the way you both so desperately need. However long it may take. Months…years…he doesn’t care. He will wait right here for you forever.

He just hopes and prays it comes sooner than later. Neither of you seem to fair well without the other.

A loud crack of thunder rumbles through the bar and Wonwoo is thankful for the ongoing storm that drove you inside, hoping it might keep you here longer.

Unfortunately, it brings in more of a crowd than he’d been expectating and it left him running around cleaning and serving drinks instead of talking to you but he’s always watching - waiting for you to run.

You don’t though and Wonwoo’s ache eases a little at your close proximity. At the fact that you’re only a few feet away. Safe, he thinks. You’re safe while you’re in here with him, even if you offer nothing more than false smiles and small talk. Here he can make you laugh and tell its genuine. Here he can care for you in the only way you’ll let him - in only the ways you deem safe, for him.

Shortly after two drinks, you switched to something non-alcoholic and with the storm raging on outside, you stayed put long enough to mostly dry your clothes and sober right back up. Even liquor couldn’t quite keep a hold on you.

You keep yourself busy either quietly conversing with Wonwoo when he was free or watching him work when he’s busy. Mentally catalogging each image of him, every word spoken in his deep, familiar voice. Filing it away for the inevitable plummet when you leave him again.

Nearly eleven o’clock you notice people filing out of the bar, back into the rain. Each minute passes and more people gather up and head out until you’re alone, glancing around like someone else might be lingering much like you are. 

Wonwoo dutifully wipes down all the tables and says goodnight to his co-worker, letting him know he can close up by himself at this point and panic floods your viens. You quickly gather your things and Wonwoo turns to you curiously. Seeing your bag strap looped over your shoulder, his heart drops.

“You can stay,” he says quickly emptying his hands, “It’ll just take me a few minutes to lock up and it’s pouring still.”

You smile sadly, shaking your head. “Don’t worry about me,” you urge, putting more space between you, “It was good to see you.”

“Wait,” he attempts to maneuver the counter but you’re so close to the door, “When can I see you again?”

You grip the door handle so tightly it cuts into your hand.

“I don’t…I don’t know. This wasn’t…seeing you tonight wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You quickly glance down at the floor, the pain in his face so open and obvious.

“At least let me drive you home,” he pleads but each step closer has you wrenching the door open, “Please, I just want to make sure you make it home safely.”

You can’t. You cannot even look at him.

You don’t even have a home right now and he doesn’t need to know that. He needs to stay here and forget about you. “I can take the bus,” you argue, “I’ll be fine. I’ve been fine, Wonwoo.”

You’re a liar and a coward.

Wonwoo looks helpless when you take a step out of the door and he can only whisper another desperate, “Please,” before you look back at him.

“Goodbye, Wonwoo.”

And you’re gone.

Hot tears streak down your face as you battle the onslaught of rain, thick droplets pelting your body as you run across the street. The bus stop is still a little ways away but you slow your steps, using the rain as camouflage to let yourself fall apart. There isn’t a soul on the streets and you let the emptiness swallow you whole until your knees are buckling, threatening to sink you into a puddle and let you drown.

Thats when you hear it.

A voice in the distance, strained and restless, calling out your name.

You turn to find Wonwoo running after you and another choked sob falls from your lips as you call back to him. “What are you doing?!”

Like a magnetic force, you close the distance between you and he grabs both your arms, dragging you against his chest. “Don’t leave again,” he shouts over the volume of the storm and adrenaline thumping in your ears, “Don’t walk away from me, please.”

Sorrow grips your heart in a vice, squeezing the last bits of light from you.

“You should be the one walking away from me! Don’t you get it?!” 

You grit your teeth so angry at the way emotion chops your words up when you’re begging him to understand. “I’m like poison, Wonwoo! My life is misery, and pain, and endless fucking disaster! Why can’t you see that? Why would you want me? I’m a broken, angry, selfish person. Why won’t you let me save you from me?!”

The last sentence hardly makes it out because Wonwoo’s lips crash against yours. He kisses you tenderly but with a firmness that tells you he won’t go. He won’t leave and let you crash and burn on your own. Cold, wet hands cradle your face, so gently, and make their way down to your shoulders and the middle of your back, anything he can do to keep you anchored right here in his arms. 

He kisses you in the rain for what feels like forever and you chase him when he pulls away for air because you’ve spiraled so far out of control you’re not sure how to bring yourself back to reality. You’re easily reconnected because he doesn’t care that its pouring and you’re both drenched. He doesn’t care that he’ll probably be sick tomorrow because he’s needed this, needed you, for so long now.

You tremble under his touch, fingers gripping and twisting into his shirt, holding him close. 

With his forehead rested against yours, he tries to shield you from the rain.

“Come back inside with me,” he pants, “We’re going home.”

You try to shake your head, pleading with him to let you go but he tightens his grip and stares back at you. “I’m not asking anymore,” he says resolutely, “I love you and we’re going back home, together.”

A fresh sob springs from your throat at the memory of home. 

He moves slowly as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together, and begins pulling you back toward the bar. You follow him, no energy or willpower to pull your hand from his and do the right thing. To spare him from inevitable heartbreak.

Wonwoo doesn’t let go of you once as he pulls you back inside, locking the front doors behind you. You follow him in silence as he flicks off lights and leads you out the back door, still working with only one hand to lock up and then he’s opening the passenger door to his car and you’re slipping inside. 

When he gets into the driver’s seat, he turns on the heat and then takes your hand again, holding it the entire fifteen minute drive back to his apartment.

What was once also your apartment.

Pushing inside the front door, you notice it looks exactly the same. As if time froze the moment you walked out and only the sound of the door shutting and locking behind you allowed it to resume. 

Wonwoo stands behind you, waiting for you to move or speak but when you can’t seem to do either, he takes your hand and you look up at him - conflicting emotions so evident on your face - and he guides you back into the bedroom and adjoining bathroom to start the shower because you’re both still soaked and you haven’t stopped shaking. 

“Come on,” he urges gently, “Let’s warm you up.”

Numb physically and emotionally, you don’t react when Wonwoo carefully begins removing your clothing and his, tossing them into the corner. He sticks his hand under the water and adjusts the temperature before walking you inside closest to the spray. You stand there motionless, staring at a spot over his shoulder as he reaches up to wash your hair quietly.

Everything is fuzzy and out of focus until your vision shifts to find a small freckle on his collarbones and it’s then that you finally speak. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

It’s not a question about his physical state and he knows this. He knows what you mean. 

‘Aren’t you tired of me?’

Wonwoo hums to himself, shaking his head and rinsing soap from your shoulders as he looks down at you. “Aren’t you, though?” he asks, stroking his thumbs against your skin, “The weight you’re trying to carry alone is crushing you - I know you’re exhausted.”

You are exhausted in every way, shape, and form. 

Your familial trauma and responsibilities, your failing career, your health, and the endless debt that keeps growing with each day - it’s killing you.

With another crackling sob, you fall against his chest, wrapping your arms around his bare torso until your fingernails dig into the soft skin of his back slightly. He tucks you in closer, bracing your trembling body against his own with one hand cradling the back of your head and the other rubbing your back as the showerhead continues warming you both.

“Allowing me to shoulder a little bit of your burdens will not hurt me,” he says softly, “I am tired of silence. I am tired of going to sleep and waking up in an empty bed. I am tired of watching you struggle to do it all alone with a fake smile to hide your pain but I am never tired of you.”

“Look at me,” he says after a moment and you pull yourself off his chest to meet his gentle eyes. “I’ve been waiting every single day of the last four months for you to come home. You told me to give you space and I’ve done all I can to stay and be patient, wait for you to finally let me in, but I am terrified that day may never come.”

“Wonwoo…”

He presses your foreheads together and lets out a shaky breath.

“I am begging,” he whispers painfully, “Let me love you. Let me help you.”

“Please.”

“I’m sorry,” you kiss him, “I’m so sorry for leaving.”

“I know,” he whispers back, kissing your lips and then the space between your eyes, “Just stay with me, okay? Come home and we’ll get through it together.”

Wonwoo has never once lied to you and you’re nodding before you can even form words but that’s all he needs as reassurance that in in the very least, you won’t slip from his arms and disapear in the middle of the night. He’d hold onto you until the sun rose and if you told him you weren’t ready, he’d wait but he hopes you’ll stay. 

Forever and a day could go by and he’d still be waiting for you.

Thanks for reading! 💗

SVT M.List | Main M.List |

→ Please do NOT copy, repost, or translate, any of my works here on tumblr or on any other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, Milfguu, 2019. ©️

[crazyw3irdo]

what is leverage about 🔥🔥🔥💥💥💥🔥 it sounds cool💥💥💥💥🐺(i had to spice up my ask)

leverage is a show in which every episode a crew of five people (mastermind, grifter, hitter, hacker, thief) scam rich assholes out of their money and give that back to the people they harmed!! it started right after the ‘08 financial crisis and oh boy does the hatred towards people who profit off of things that hurt normal people show

every episode is like “please leverage crew i need help this company’s business choices lead to the death of my loved one! i don’t care about money, i just wanna make sure they never hurt other people again :(“ and then the crew do something so insane that it ends up tanking the company’s reputation and the CEO personally is cancelled five times over and the person who asked for help and every other victim get thousands of dollars

it’s also absolutely hilarious and has some really compelling characters- and god watching it for the first time this year it is so refreshing to see a team like this just. be friends with each other?? and not get into conflicts constantly over nothing??? idk their team dynamic really reminds me of 2012 avengers fanfic where they all live together in the same building and hawkeye’s in the vents it’s just really nostalgic to me

and of course the biggest draw: it’s free on youtube baby!!!!!!!!!! here’s a link to the first season, if you like the first episode you’ll like the rest of it (i will say also. they really get better about writing parker and hardison. like the characters are gonna be a little rough in the pilot obvs but god rewatching that ep hardison is so “black character obviously written by white people” and parker has some cringe “lol random” lines)

that’s all you really need to know but also character descriptions below the cut because i like them :3 no spoilers this is all pretty basic stuff

nate ford - mastermind. an ex-insurance investigator with catholic guilt and an alcohol problem. this character sounds like he would be boring as hell (at least to me) but god he does some weird shit and acts in such a way that makes him somehow endearing

sophie devereaux - grifter. talented actress but ONLY when committing crimes. she particularly loves stealing art. overdramatic queen who loves dressing up and messing with peoples heads.

eliot spencer - hitter. they somehow manage to give him a fight scene in every single episode no matter what i fuckin love it the fight choreography is so good- anyway he’s my favorite character and i don’t know how to describe him concisely honestly.

alec hardison - hacker. young guy in his very early 20s (22 i believe?) who’s a total geek and thinks he’s hot shit (and. he is. he’s really good at what he does) i don’t remember if it’s canon he has ADHD but he does mention a few times he has attention problems and i find him relatable so

parker - thief. an autistic woman who’s special interest is climbing in to air ducts and then stealing all the money she can. genuinely probably the best autistic character i’ve ever seen i love her she’s so silly and heartfelt

anyway yeah i love them all they’re so fun :3

[somethingforsenro]

KSP HEADCANON

(i know, i know, these are dark times)

We all know the Kerbals can be… kinda stupid, at times. Mistaking moons for smudges on their lenses, reckless endangerment, apparent incapacity to do literally anything but build rockets (and even then, usually not good ones), "promoting" interns to test pilot roles for giving legitimately good advice, not promoting "janitors" at all  for the same offence, and blatant incompetence are all mainstays of Kerbal life.

We, the players, are free to point and laugh and sometimes speculate on those signs, all without taking them too seriously. We can even choose to ignore or dismiss that content altogether. But the question that sheer incompetence naturally poses for us, and the question that many have tried and mostly failed to answer, is thus:

If the Kerbals are so apparently incapable, how can they run a space program?

The answer to this, I believe, lies in the player. We are the competent ones, playing the straight-man to the endless comedy routine of Kerbal life. But what does that mean to the in-universe Kerbals?

Well, it means our player character, of course. And who would that player character be? Well, there are many options, but the one I favor most is the financial representative and implied administrator of the KSC, Mortimer Kerman.

Why's that? Well, firstly, because if he IS the administrator, then we have to play as him – after all, we're administrating the Program. And if we DO play as him – given the fact that we know  very    little about him other than that – it would stand to reason that he has more or less the same perspective as we do, given that he's being given more or less the same information and doing pretty much the same exact stuff as we're doing, with the notable distinction that it's actually real to him.

On top of that is the fact that, of what little we do know, at the top of the list is his description:

“He's an accountant, called Mortimer. He doesn't have many friends, but he likes things to be under control and arranged in right angles. This job is pretty stressful for him.”

…which is about the most un-Kerbal thing I can imagine.

All that being said, I would like to suggest for public consideration that maybe, just maybe, the reason why the KSC isn't the unmitigated disaster it has every right to be is because it's run by the one and only  actually competent Kerbal   in the entire world.

I offer that maybe, just maybe, every single Kerbal (yes, even Gene; yes, even Jebediah) somehow manages to be incompetent, reckless, short-sighted, and/or generally un-useful except Mortimer, and he's just BARELY managing to drag the rest of them into actually achieving something every now and then rather than constantly bickering, losing Kerbonauts, and blowing things up prematurely.

I offer that over the course of the program, while we're all laughing at the self-destructive stupidity of every Kerbal, Mortimer is growing more and more tired of and frustrated at his colleagues' increasingly incomprehensible mistakes and failings.

But most importantly, I also submit for public review that when a KSP save is inevitably played its last, then abandoned for one reason or another, what happens in-universe is that Mortimer, finally fed up with the rampant stupidity of everyone and everything to do with the program, hijacks one of the rockets he funded and blasts off alone into the cosmos, never to be seen again.

With Mortimer gone, the KSP is sure to find itself in the grips of failure after disgraceful failure, hemorrhaging funding, reputation, and Kerbonauts to a never-ending rat race of stranded Kerbals, suicide missions, and both literal and metaphorical explosions of more and more catastrophic proportions, until any program – no matter how large, no matter how well-funded or previously prestigious – finds itself bankrupt, its reputation in shambles, its crews of Kerbonauts gutted, and what few remaining craft it has all but guaranteed never to fly again.

And with the fall of the Kerbal Space Program, the very concept of space travel itself is soon enough relegated to the affairs of idiots and madmen; drowned in the incompetence of the very people who made it possible, just like it really should have been from the beginning. Kerbals will be forever relegated to their lonely home planet, slowly spinning its way to damnation.

And in these dark days, surrounded on all sides by the incompetence and unpreparedness of lesser space programs, only one team will remain, standing resilient against the helpless herds.

In these days, it will not be programs, but individuals, who save the Kerbal race. Jebediah and his crack team of Kerbonauts remain, the last relics of a bygone era, rescuing one stranded explorer at a time.

They will be Kerbalkind's last hope. And they will call themselves…

…THE BLUNDERBIRDS.

‌

[mariacallous]

I’ve been thinking about a famously orange-skinned former presenter of trashy TV programmes, who lives on a luxurious coastal estate. He has a history of racist and Islamophobic remarks, of blaming asylum seekers for bringing disease into the country and ranting about the “supercilious metropolitan elite”. He swept into a rightwing political party and refashioned it in his image, presenting himself as the antidote to politics-as-usual, whipping up culture wars and using the platform to boost his planet-sized ego.

I am, of course, describing the British former politician Robert Kilroy-Silk.

After he was sacked from his presenting job by the BBC for a crudely racist rant in the Sunday Express in 2004, he joined Ukip (the forerunner of Nigel Farage’s Reform UK), energising it and captivating the media with his culture war polemics against the EU, immigrants and “the political establishment”. His unnatural hue inspired the viral video Mr Tangerine Man. But when Ukip could no longer contain his ego, he broke away and started his own political party in 2005, Veritas (widely dubbed Vanitas), which quickly crashed and burned. Thank goodness there are no such characters on the world stage today!

I could just as well have been thinking of Silvio Berlusconi, the satsuma-tinged TV presenter and culture warrior, who, like a certain other politician, went to extreme lengths to hide his baldness. He became the demagogic, rightwing Italian prime minister, seeking (successfully) to return to power after being ejected from office, despite a long series of sexual and financial scandals and criminal charges. Like Donald Trump’s, his loyal supporters somehow managed to overlook his moral repulsiveness, childish attention-seeking and love-in with Vladimir Putin, and saw him as the saviour who would make Italy great again.

Of course, there are differences between these people, but every time one of these characters emerges, we are nonplussed by them. We react as if we’re dealing with something new, and appear to have little idea how to respond. But there are patterns to the emergence of extreme-right demagogues: patterns that repeat themselves with remarkable fidelity. By learning and understanding them, we can better defend ourselves.

I’ve spent part of my summer reading Arno Mayer, the great historian who died in 2023. His book Dynamics of Counterrevolution in Europe, 1870-1956, published in 1971, could have been written about any of the rightwing populists we face today: Trump, Farage, Viktor Orbán, Benjamin Netanyahu, Narendra Modi, the leaders of Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) in Germany, the National Rally in France, the Brothers of Italy and – lately – Jair Bolsonaro and Boris Johnson.

Mayer’s descriptions of the demagogues of his period are uncannily familiar. These leaders created the impression “that they seek fundamental changes in government, society, and community”. But in reality, because they relied on the patronage of “incumbent elites” to gain power (think, today, of media moguls like Rupert Murdoch, Elon Musk and Paul Marshall, and various billionaire funders), they sought no major changes “in class structure and property relations”. In fact, they ensured these were shored up. “They need to revile incumbent elites and institutions without foreclosing cooperation with them.” So their project “is far more militant in rhetoric, style and conduct than in political, social and economic substance”.

For this reason, Mayer explains how rightwing populists expose and overstate the cracks in a crisis-torn society, but fail to “account for them in any coherent and systematic way”. They direct popular anger away from genuine elites and towards fictional conspiracies and minorities. They variously blame these minorities (whether it be Jews, Muslims, asylum seekers, immigrants, Black and Brown people) for the sense of inadequacy and powerlessness felt by their supporters; helping “humiliated individuals to salvage their self-esteem by attributing their predicament to a plot” and giving them immediate targets on which to vent their frustrations and hatreds.

The fake firebrands often, Mayer remarks,also issued “rampant broadsides against science” (think of the climate science denial to which almost all today’s rightwing demagogues subscribe), and against innovation, modernism and cosmopolitanism. They combined “the glorification of traditional attitudes and behaviour patterns with the charge that these are being corrupted, subverted, and defiled by conspiratorial agents and influences”. Hello JD Vance and Ron DeSantis.

The demagogues of Mayer’s period adopted a purposely “ambiguous position”, when people who might have been inspired by their claims committed acts of violence – both inflaming the attacks and distancing themselves from them. This might trigger memories of Donald Trump during the January 6 assault on the Capitol, Modi during anti-Muslim pogroms and the video Farage made after the Southport murders, which is seen by many people as bearing some responsibility for last month’s racist riots.

But there is one major difference. In Mayer’s era, the development of what he called “crisis strata” of disillusioned, angry men to whom the demagogues appealed was a result of devastating war or state collapse.The rabble-rousers were able to appeal both to angry working-class men and to anxious elites by invoking the spectre of leftwing revolution. None of these conditions pertain today in countries like our own. So how does the current batch of populists succeed? I think they are responding to a crisis caused by a different force: 45 years of neoliberalism.

Neoliberalism simultaneously promises the world and snatches it away. It tells us that if you work hard enough, you too can be an alpha. But it also creates the conditions which ensure that, no matter how hard you work, you are likely to remain subordinate and exploited. It has enabled the formation of a new rentier class, that owns the essential assets and ruthlessly exploits younger and poorer people. Young men step into a world of promises – to find all the golden doors are locked, and someone else has the key.

It is in the vast gap between the promises of neoliberalism and their fulfilment that frustration, humiliation and a desire for vengeance grow: the same emotions that followed military defeat or state collapse in Mayer’s time. These impulses are then exploited by conflict entrepreneurs. Today, some of these entrepreneurs stand for office; others, using opportunities that weren’t available in previous eras, monetise the anger, making a fortune through their social media outlets.

Understanding the tradition these demagogues follow, which long predates the rise of fascism in the 20th century, should help us to develop a more effective response to them. We begin to see this in Kamala Harris’s intelligent campaign, which, in contrast to Joe Biden’s, is starting to land heavy blows on Trump and Vance,drawing attention to their creepy intrusions on people’s private lives and their attacks on fundamental freedoms. If we want to anticipate and stop rightwing authoritarian rule, we should seek to comprehend its eerie consistencies.

[ameliafuckinjones]

Interesting placements that embody Russia as a character and country. Here's his chart for reference:

♥︎♥︎♥︎

Russia's Chiron (the wounded healer) in Leo in the 9th house:

I believe during the early days of Russia's rise as an empire, he spent a great deal of time and effort on Westernizing himself, from military to fashion (and I believe this was how St. Petersburg came to be circa early 1700s as a sort of window to the West) to appeal to fellow European powers only to sometimes face rejection or scrutiny for this reason or the other. Which no doubt stung and set up the "not Western but not really Eastern" dichotomy that he often struggles with. This fits the theme of Chiron in Leo perfectly based on the description from astro seek. Also, his Chiron in the 9th house describes struggle with constant crisis in ideology that leads to an existential crisis, which I found very fitting when you consider 1917 and 1991.

♥︎♥︎♥︎

Neptune in Aquarius in the 2nd house:

I think the first thing that obviously comes to mind is communism and the unique Russian flavors that it came in (Bolshevism, Leninism, Stalinism) with regards to Neptune in Aquarius being a promoter of revolutionary ideals based on Utopian Socialism, (and this placement being in the 2nd house which governs finances, material wealth, values, possessions and in mundane astrology the economy, a nation's wealth, and financial institutions) but what really caught my attention was "the novel direction into established religions" because I immediately thought of Russian orthodoxy/Russian Orthodox Church and the idea of being the third Rome that emerged after the fall of Constantinople.

♥︎♥︎♥︎

Sun in the 9th house and Moon in the 8th:

I do believe that Russia, in his heart of hearts, is a true idealist, perhaps even more so than France and America in some cases, though that idealism and the belief in unattainable/extraordinary ideals often times triumphs over pragmatism. Though, in that, he is a true Romantic, and when you look back at Soviet Propaganda posters, the ideology is sort of looked at through a lens of Romanticism from the colors to the style to the messaging. It's the sort of Romanticism that became prevalent during WWI and WWII for most of the world but fell out of style afterward (America for instance started relying on movies/Hollywood to achieve that goal), though not for Russia. Which says a lot about the overall character. He truly did believe very strongly in those things and, for the better part of the 20th century, had an unwavering faith in those idealistic goals. If the Sun represents the ego, the vitality, the life direction and the sun is placed in the 9th house which governs philosophy, law, religion/ideology and the higher mind then this facet of his character makes a lot of sense. And when his idealistic ego is dealt a deadly blow, it is oftentimes catastrophic on an existential level, but somehow he manages to hold fast to something to revive that idealistic ego before truly succumbing to despair and ruin. And because the Sun is in Fall in the sign of Libra, I believe this happens quite often.

The description for the Moon in the 8th house mentions the likelihood to engage in a movement that will be for "the general good of humanity." Of course, what's considered the general good of humanity is subjective and entirely dependent upon the individual and the ethos of the movement itself, but I believe it's safe to say, for better or for worse, Russia did in fact engage in a movement that he believed would be for "the general good of humanity" and held a strong responsibility to those who also engaged in his movement (whether willingly or unwilling) via his Soviet Union.

All in all, he's a very intriguing character with a very intriguing birth chart (especially his Venus in Scorpio in the 12th house, which i might get into later). He has it within himself to be very brutal (Pluto in Aries, Mars in the 8th house), but there's no denying that he's a sensitive and soulful man, oftentimes to his own detriment.

[kyouxa]

Amnesia World: Normal World (Choice Story)

In terms of the gameplay: Whenever you’re given a choice in the game, the translation will lead to the different choices. The name of your MC will be Y/N (your name) in the translation, but in game screenshots it might mention my name.

— School

August 15th

Rika: I won’t give in anymore!!

Nova: What happened… after our earlier discussion?

The ladies and the manager seem to be arguing… Or rather, it seems like he’s being confronted.

Rika: —Oh my, Y/N! You came here just at the right time!

Nova: And of course she found us. Why did we think she wouldn’t notice us… ?

Rika: Will you listen!? Is this too much to ask for, manager!?

Mine: The costume plans we worked on were all turned down because someone is being cheap!

Waka: Hey, just a second! Will you stop saying things that lead to misunderstandings!?

Nova: …Um?

Waka: C-Come on. It looks like even Y/N is having trouble. You need to give an in-depth description of what took place...

Rika: …I suppose you’re right. I may have become too enthusiastic. 

…Ahem, Y/N. Let me explain to you what has happened so far.

—It all started an hour ago.

After we talked about it, we finished the first costume concept and gave it to the manager...

But he turned them down because it seemed to cost more than the Maid’s Sheep could afford.

Nova: M-More than we can afford… !? What kind of costumes were you going to make them wear? I kind of want to know now…

Rika: However, that’s not what we got upset about.

After the manager pointed this out… we were ashamed of our overconfidence and deeply regretted our ideas.

With that in mind, I tried my best to calmly think about what other outfits would suit Ikki and the others.

But… no matter the efforts I put into it, the manager keeps rejecting them all!!

Waka: No, they became significantly less expensive than the initial choice already! However, it is still outside our financial limits!

Rika: Any further compromises would only diminish Ikki’s beauty…!

Waka: Listen, Rika. I’m willing to meet your expectations to the best of my ability, alright?

But this fee is completely unjustified; I can’t allow you to waste this amount of money for no reason.

Mine: That means… it’s okay to spend this much if we have a good reason?

Waka: Well… perhaps. I would give it some thought if it doubled sales and made a significant profit.

Sawa: T-That seems difficult. I understand that, but…

Mine: I can’t think of anything after hearing that...

Rika: I don’t know anything about this either, of course...

Y/N, do you have any suggestions that the store manager might find convincing? 

Nova: …From one question to another.

Rika and the others aren’t likely to give up easily, though. We’ll have to try to convince our manager to give in.

Alright, Y/N. How do you think we can convince the manager?

Choices

1) We will attract more customers♡ ♡ ♡

2) We can make profit with the food…

*You’re forced to choose the first option

— We can make profit with the food… (Option 2!)

Waka: No, that’s not possible. That day’s limited menu was fairly expensive. That’s the highest we can go.

Sawa: Then why don’t we charge more for the food we usually serve? 

Waka: No. Customers who visit this cafe for the first time will think that the food is pricey if we do that. They might not return as a result of that.

Nova: It looks like this won’t work... let me tell you the other idea I had in mind then, Y/N.

— We will attract more customers♡ (Option 1!)

Sawa: ...You’re right. We are more likely to get people to come to the store if the outfits are flashy.

Mine: I bet curiosity will be sparked, and a bunch of new customers will show up then.

Waka: That certainly sounds intriguing... There aren’t numerous chances to draw in new clients, after all.

Rika: Is that true? You always talk about the store with such enthusiasm.

Waka: It’s more challenging than that. Every shop promotes itself online and hands out fliers.

There are numerous cafes in this area, so if we proceed in the usual manner, we will get lost within the crowd.

The only reason the Maid’s Sheep is still around today is due to loyal patrons like you, Rika, who visit so frequently.

Rika: I see... having a business is really hard work.

Waka: However, as Y/N pointed out, if we choose eye-catching outfits, we will surely differentiate ourselves from the competition.

Sawa: Our cafe has great food and great customer service, so anyone who comes here will be taken care of.

Waka: Absolutely. Making a positive impression could potentially result in a rise in our regular clientele.

Mine: So even if the event puts us in the red, new people will come in and make up for it.

Waka: I-It’s still something I’d like to avoid as much as possible… Generally, however, you would be correct.

You are absolutely incredible, Y/N. You’re even considering the future of the store.

If that’s the situation, I ought to get ready as well. Rika, could you please take care of this for me?

Rika: Yes, with pleasure! I am confident that I will win over the hearts of the female clients!

Mine: Just what I expected from you, senpai. We know we can count on you in a pinch!

Sawa: Should we attract a lot of customers, we will have to work much more in the kitchen!

Waka: Haha, indeed. It’s going to be a hectic day, so I’ll be relying on everyone’s support.

Rika: Ah, Manager. While we’re at it, I’ve also calculated how much the accessories will cost.

This is the total cost of the hair accessories, bracelets, and earrings. Could you verify it?

Waka: You are quick in your work. Allow me to see...

….. !?

Rika: Isn’t that amazing? My brother, an artist, personally designed them!

Especially those earrings! Based on the shade of blue Ikki prefers, he chose this aquamarine—

Waka: Farewell, everyone!

Sawa: Wait, where are you going, manager!?

Mine: Tomorrow, I bet he’ll throw that bill away and act like he didn’t know about it!

Rika: What did you say… !? But this was the only copy I had!

That’s not going to happen! Let’s go after him, you two!

Both: Yes!

Nova: …..

...They’re very energetic, even though it’s late at night.

Place: Home

Nova: Well then, let’s check how much magical power we’ve collected so far.

— How surprising. The results are better than I expected.

That’s amazing, Y/N. To think that we gathered so much magical power in such a short amount of time…

If this continues, it won’t take long until you’ll regain all your memories. 

Now that we checked our current situation, we can relax and watch some TV—

— Oh no!

What a shame; I forgot to ask you to record the show I was looking forward to!

Look, it was on the channel list this morning—

“The stage is the national stadium! A festival that only takes place once every five years, the national Geta Jumping Championship!”

*Geta is Japanese footwear resembling flip-flops.

Nova: I was planning on having fun, lying down, and watching it later!

Choices

1) Is it interesting… ?

2) I’ll check if anyone recorded it

— Is it interesting… ?

Nova: You’re asking me if it’s interesting or not… that’s a bit tricky, no?

It’s weird to explain. I just love these kinds of surreal TV shows.

— I’ll check if anyone recorded it

Nova: I appreciate the email, but I don’t think you can expect a reply from anyone…

I admit that I might have strange tastes in TV shows. The other young people who are interested in these kinds of titles—

Nova: There! He’s the youngster I was talking about! On top of that, he’s been preparing for it since last week…

— Ukyo, you have some really cool hobbies. If only he could see me, I’d love to have a long chat with him. 

end Choices

Nova: By the way, Y/N. What kind of shows do you like?

I’ve not seen you flip through the channels on your own… Maybe you haven’t gotten all of your personality back?

If I had to choose for you, you seem to like dramas… especially romance dramas.

Let’s rent a DVD and watch one together next time. Maybe this type of stimulation will make you remember something.

[lettiegrief]

Summary chapters 18-25 of Qiang Jin Jiu

Li Jianheng organized a banquet that was a disaster for Lanzhou and Ce'an.

Let's do it by steps.

Xi Hongxuan was at this banquet too, but he and Lanzhou, of course, pretended not to know each other.

Everyone agrees that Lanzhou is such a beautiful crystal. Fact.

Xi Gu’an lost the Empress Dowager's favor, which was already expected to happen after the student strike.

“Second Young Master Xi, take off your shoes, and we can use them as boats to play with.”

A moment to talk about fatphobia both in this novel and in other Eastern and Western books. It's very common to see fat characters in a position of evil, being described in a way that causes disgust, repulsion and humor, which, honestly, is very frustrating. I was a fat child, currently I only have a belly with some fat, and if reading these descriptions is already something very bad for me because it affects me personally, I imagine what it is like for fat and obese people. I can't speak for everyone, of course, but the lack of responsibility and sensitivity at these times is still undeniable.

Continuing.

The Donkey Roast was truly horrible. It was Ji Lei's mockery of Lanzhou that ended up hitting Xiao Chiye for free. They were both caged beasts, their freedoms are under the control of others, so of course Xiao Chiye demonstrated his fury, he can exercise his right.

I have things to talk about cezhou, but I'll save them for last.

Li Jianheng becoming the emperor will only benefit the Xiao clan, which fortunately I had already understood. Drawing for me:

Xiao Clan x Hua Clan = enmity/cold war. Because of Shen Wei and Zhongbo, the Xiao clan is under the control of others, Xiao Chiye being trapped in Qudu under the Empress Dowager's control is what keeps Libei on a leash. Xiao Jiming cannot and will not miss the opportunity to put Li Jianheng on the throne now that he has the opportunity.

There are also basically three factions: Hua clan/Empress Dowager and her subordinates; Emperor and his subordinates; Xiao clan and its allies. Ce'an and Lanzhou have the same enemies: Empress Dowager, Emperor, Ji Lei, Pan Rugui and all of the Empress Dowager's employees.

“They can deliver a powerful blow head-on like an iron wall, but they cannot respond with sufficient agility to a battle that involves back-and-forth pursuits. Drag him for too long and the exhausted ones will be Xiao Jiming’s troops.”

Ce’an proved that he can handle this type of situation.

“However, he attacked at exactly that exact moment. How could he have done this if he didn’t have extraordinary vision?”

And that's why he managed to survive (in part). The other party was Lanzhou who sided with him.

“But now, the Emperor no longer wants them, and so these twenty thousand men have become weapons without a master. It's okay if they really fall into the hands of a hedonistic young master. But if they fall into Xiao Chiye’s hands… Then what else is there to stop Xiao Jiming from sending troops to protect Prince Chu?!”

And that's exactly what happened! Ce’an won the loyalty of the soldiers of the imperial army, it was also thanks to this that he had a great victory.

If he was being prudent, then he shouldn't let Xiao Chiye get so close to Prince Chu.

The Xiao clan never intended to be on a leash having to prove their loyalty for life forever. They will do this until the opportunity they no longer need comes (which it did).

Lanzhou was one of hundreds ordered by the Empress Dowager to kill Li Jianheng. All the Imperial Bodyguards were on Li Jianheng's trail thanks to Ji Lei.

So that the holes in the government's financial accounts would not reach the Emperor, someone intercepted Xue Xiuzhuo's memorials. In summary: a budget of X value was created for city X, but the value delivered was Y, the remaining numbers disappeared. This embezzlement of money has been happening over and over again for years. No one knows who took all this money.

And those who know what is going on and who are doing this are clearly Hua Siqian (Hua faction, obviously), Pan Rugui, Ji Lei and everyone else allied with the Empress Dowager. Hua Siqian has power over the amounts that are handed over every year, Ji Lei controls the Imperial Bodyguards and intercepts letters and memorials that are from/to the Emperor when it is convenient, Pan Rugui likes to embezzle money too.

Even the Empress Dowager's influence makes the civil servants pay respect first to the Hua clan and then to Pan Rugui's residence, automatically paying respect to Empress Dowager, Hua Siqian, Pan Rugui and Ji Lei, who are the real rulers of this country. shit. The Emperor is truly just a puppet.

“Imperial Concubine Wei is already half a month pregnant, so how can Prince Chu ascend the throne?!”

The Empress Dowager's side wants a new heir created by her who can serve as a puppet for them to continue their corrupt schemes and influence. The Xiao clan wants Li Jianheng on the throne because that way they can get their freedom. It's difficult to think logically with an imperial policy where no one thinks rationally kakaka

Ji Lei suddenly spoke up. "Commander-in-Chief Qi is far away in Cangjun Commandery in Qidong. The Imperial Bodyguards are responsible for all incoming and outgoing correspondence. Your Majesty, it's time for you to wake up from your dreams!"

And here the battle officially begins.

Hua Siqian looked at Li Jianheng and smiled evilly as he said, "Prince Chu harbored the intention of staging a revolt in the hunting grounds. He even brought a bow and arrows. The evidence against him is conclusive! What are you waiting for? Kill him!"

He says this now and later he says that Li Jianheng is being held hostage by the imperial army. Lost in character lol

"As Viceroy of the Imperial Army in Qudu, I, Xiao Ce'an, want to see who will meet their fates under my blade!"

Just an appreciation of this scene.

"Whoever is able to break my arms and legs, I will not only give him a hundred taels of gold, but I will also call him Master."

"But if you can't break them, then your life is lost.”

It was a crucial battle. If Li Jianheng lives, the Empress Dowager's party would be known as traitors; If he dies, the Xiao clan, Qi Zhuyin, the imperial army and others would be so tied hand and foot that any movement could lead them to the guillotine, or to a rebellion that they don't want to cause because no one wants to die. It's a cold war.

Then there was a thud as the tip of Qiao Tianya's blade collided with a sheath. 

Shen Zechuan pressed his sheath against the other blade.

Lanzhou made up his mind. Thank goodness it was at the most crucial moment, it would be difficult to continue following the tide and be Ce’an’s enemy from that point on. If he didn't turn against the Imperial Bodyguards he would be increasingly trapped by the Empress Dowager.

His back collar was slightly open, and there were still mud stains on his neck. The contrast between them was too…

Very seductive. 

Xiao Chiye watched him. 

What sorcery was this? This man was still wielding a blade to kill earlier, and he wasn't acting like a woman, so why did he think of such a term?

After here, Ce’an spends a lot of time salivating over Lanzhou.

"I beg you." Xiao Chiye sighed. “Sit on my stomach. Don’t sit down anymore.”

MASTERPIECE!!! ABSOLUTE CINEMA!!! HOW MUCH I FREAKED OUT READING THIS SCENE!!!

Ce'an and Lanzhou have a lot in common, both in interests and personality. They fight very well together and have a good dynamic of biting and blowing, dog and cat, etc. I like all of his interactions, especially because Lanzhou is very cynical.

"Continue daydreaming. The political situation has changed. It's time for my Imperial Army to piss on your heads from above!”

The Qidong Cangjun Commandery's banner suddenly unfurled, and he saw that the one in front of the galloping horses was precisely Qi Zhuyin.

Ce’an turned the game around. This battle has been won. Holy shit, these chapters were incredible.

[mbti-notes]

Hi. My spouse and I (both entj or so) both handle conflict terribly. We stonewall, work around each other, withdraw to sulk for hours/days when called out, or at worst lash out verbally. I already find it hard to understand and articulate my emotional needs. It doesn't help when he seems to want clear black and white rules that don't ever have to change according to what's going on with me or accommodate me when I'm struggling. Do you have any tips on how to get started addressing this pattern?

When both parties handle conflict terribly, it's like the blind leading the blind. Since there isn't someone skilled enough to steer things in the right direction, it might be necessary to get expert help from a neutral third party in couple's therapy. It sounds like you both have a lot to learn about relationships. While it's possible to get tips online or read books to make some improvements to the situation, it might not be enough to help you tackle the deeper issues. Therapy is often a more efficient option because the learning is tailored to your specific needs and you get real-time guidance and practice.

Relationship skill is actually a set of skills including things such as: emotional intelligence, stress management, assertiveness, communication, negotiation, conflict resolution, moral reasoning. While it may seem overwhelming to think of how much there is to learn, you can view it as an investment. After all, you spent many years of your life learning reading, writing, and arithmetic so that you could one day be able to support yourself financially. Isn't it just as important to be able to handle yourself well socially in order to live a truly fulfilling life? If you agree, then you should be more than willing to put in the time and effort to learn these skills.

From your description, it's not yet clear to me that your spouse is as up to the task of learning as you are, so this seems like the first major issue that needs to be addressed. Imagine that you're learning to drive and you believe you must follow every little rule of the road at all times, in exactly the way the driver's manual taught you. Would doing this make you a "good" driver? Actually, it could make you a terrible driver and even create dangerous situations. An important aspect of being a great driver is adjusting to the immediate conditions of the road. For instance, driving in a snowstorm requires you to slow down, drive defensively, and grant leeway for others to make mistakes on the ice.

Generally speaking, human beings have succeeded as a species not because of rules, but because they have evolved to be highly adaptable, which keeps them in touch with reality and able to confront the challenges of their ever changing circumstances. Adaptability is especially important in relationships because social interactions are very fluid situations, with lots of variables in motion, with lots of potential for unexpected events. The more you can take the whole social context into consideration, the more likely you are to speak effectively and make good social choices. Emotional intelligence is one important way to increase your mental flexibility and thereby your adaptability, which you can read about in the dedicated articles I've already provided.

Of course, human beings need some rules because life would get too chaotic and fall apart otherwise. However, when a person relies too heavily on rules, they become more and more mentally inflexible, and then rule following can easily become a mental health issue that creates more problems than it solves. (I have discussed before how an exacting rule-based approach to life can be a sign of psychological immaturity.)

Mental flexibility isn't a genetic trait, rather, it's largely learned through environmental influences. This is an important point because mentally inflexible people tend to claim "this is just how I am". This is true only to the extent that people can become more and more set in their habits as they get older. However, this decline into stasis is not inevitable and it does not preclude the possibility of change. In fact, one should actually nurture the ability to change periodically in order to keep the mind active and stave off cognitive decline in old age.

It's quite possible to improve mental flexibility, but, first, a person has to acknowledge that their mental inflexibility is a problem that produces self-sabotaging behavior. Once they can admit the problem, they can address the underlying causes. For example:

- Some people feel as though they need fixed rules because they are afraid of making mistakes, getting caught by the unexpected, or feeling unmoored in unfamiliar situations. The underlying issue is often insecurity, low self-confidence, or distrust of the world. They don't feel as though they can handle situations successfully without rules to guide them through the challenges. Unfortunately, they don't realize that their strict belief in the rules is precisely what prevents them from being able to perform well on their feet. They usually need to learn and practice acceptance, in order to relax and go with the flow better.

- Some people only know to follow rules because they suffer from an utter lack of imagination. The underlying issue is often a stubborn narrow-mindedness or short-sightedness. For them, everything in life exists within the confines of the rules, which means life easily becomes stagnant. They never accept new ideas and thus never encounter ways to improve or progress. Eventually, life moves on without them and they become a relic of the past. This kind of alienation is a painful state. However, if they can acknowledge that pain, it can be used to motivate change and rejoin the flow of life. They usually need to learn and practice open-mindedness, in order to take advantage of good opportunities to move forward.

- Some people rely too much on fixed rules because they use laziness as a defense mechanism. They don't want to deal with complexity, complications, ambiguity, or shades of gray. The underlying issue is often an unwillingness to commit. They simply don't care enough to put out time and effort, often because their efforts have been met with disappointment too many times in the past. They may use rules as easy mental shortcuts or hide behind the rules to avoid being held accountable for bad decisions. Eventually, they fall into deep existential boredom that infects their relationships and drives people away. Their relationships won't improve until they can finally confront and resolve their fear of commitment.

- Some people harp on the rules out of arrogance. They take too much pride in their ability to follow the rules and in having the willpower to resist straying from them. The underlying issue is often egotism or perfectionism. They use rule abidance as a way to define people's worth and cast moral judgment upon those they dislike, and they might even lord the rules over people in order to feel superior. Unfortunately, their perfectionist enforcement of the rules can lead to blowback that worsens aggression in a vicious cycle. Until they can step back, reflect, and become more aware of what's really driving the perfectionism, their relationships will remain extremely shallow and unfulfilling for everyone involved.

I don't know your spouse, so I can't tell you why he's mentally inflexible. Perhaps he's resistant because he doesn't want to face up to his own shortcomings. However, it's important to acknowledge that, in many cases, relationship problems are rooted in the unresolved psychological issues of the individual. Thus, it is necessary to do a certain amount of self-work in order to be a better partner.

Psychological issues shouldn't be viewed as "personal failings" to be ashamed of. It's better to view psychological issues as matters of ignorance - lack of knowledge and skill - that can be properly remedied through learning, study, and practice. Many people think they should go to therapy because there's something wrong with them. In my view, therapy isn't about "fixing" what's "wrong" with oneself in any moral sense. Rather, it's about learning the knowledge and skills you missed out on for whatever reason earlier in life. You aren't born knowing everything and you don't always have the opportunity to learn all the tools you need to tackle life's problems.

Relationships are the prime example. People learn their approach to relationships unconsciously as children, through observing their parents, authority figures, and peers (see: attachment theory). This can be a problem when those people weren't good role models or were bad at relationships, thus passing on unhealthy ways to the next generation. As an adult, it's important to realize your true power. You don't have to keep those unhealthy lessons you learned earlier in life. You can learn how to do better at any time as long as there is opportunity and access to the right learning resources. Your motivation to learn should come from deep within you, from a longing to make the most of your potential.

Is there enough willingness to learn and improve, though? Resistance to learning new things is a big obstacle in personal growth and relationship growth. In order to establish the right frame of mind for growth, both you and your spouse have to nurture as much openness to learning as possible. Once the both of you are equally motivated and committed to improving, the learning can begin in earnest.

My suggestion is usually to start at the surface and move your way down into deeper territory as necessary, which allows you to go gradually from easy to difficult in a logical fashion. The first thing you could learn is better ways of communicating, e.g.: choosing more appropriate words; using more constructive language; framing ideas in a way that is more palatable to the listener; listening more carefully to the real meaning; asking clarifying questions in a neutral manner; etc. A therapist can help you with this and you can also consult the communication books I've recommended on the resources page.

In the process of improving your communication skills, you're bound to meet some obstacles. For example, you may find it difficult to communicate when emotions are heightened. This obstacle points to a deeper issue beneath the surface of the communication of not being able to manage emotions well. Thus, the second layer to work on would be emotional intelligence. When you're working on that, another obstacle may arise, such as a past hurt that keeps triggering heightened emotions. Exploring and resolving that past experience would then be the third layer to work on. And so on and so forth.

In short, each obstacle you run into while learning a psychological skill might point you to a deeper problem. In this way, you gradually get deeper and deeper until you finally bump up against the heart of the matter. There is no timeline I can give you as to how long this learning process takes because there's no telling how deep the matter goes until you get there. It really depends on the individuals involved and how much work each of them needs to do. For some couples, improving communication might be enough to get the relationship back on track. For other couples, they might eventually realize that individual therapy is necessary for healing old psychological issues before they can recommence together.

It's important to be patient and take one step at a time rather than focus too much on the end result. There is always hope to mend and salvage a relationship as long as both parties are willing to make some necessary changes and meet up somewhere in the middle.

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