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zepskies · 3 days ago

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UNRAVEL ME - Part 4

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: Here we go! Another big step in their adventure...

Song Inspo: “Mi Muchachita” by Luis Segura (English lyrics)

Word Count: 8.8K

Tags/Warnings: Fake dating (lol), meet the family, some old-school machismo, Dominican food, bachata, “North Cuba” (Miami), angst, rom-com vibes

💜 Series Masterlist

❤️ YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 4: Food & Family

After driving through the loops of highway along I-95, Ben grows frustrated at the thirty or so signs of exits that lead to different parts of the city. One wrong turn, and it could send you miles away from where you were—even over the bridge to Miami Beach.

You consult the GPS on your iPad, since your new “burner” phone is just an old-style flip phone.

You’re able to point him where to go to get to the airport. He finally takes the right exit, but he pulls off the highway split, off the main road, and heads into the alley of a side street.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer you, just pulls to a stop and shifts the car into park.

“It’s been fun, sweetheart, but I think it’s time we part ways here. I’ve got a couple errands to run before I get the fuck out of here,” he says.

You consider him shrewdly. “Errands? What the hell do you mean? How’re you gonna even get a plane ticket? You don’t have any money…”

And it dawns on you. You suck in a breath, then you glare at him.

“What’re you going to do, Ben?”

“That’s my fucking business, all right?”

“What’re you gonna do, knock over a bank? Kill a few people on your way out?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, sweetheart,” he says. He looks at the darkening alley ahead rather than at you. He’s keeping an eye out for anyone that might spot you two in the car, until you lean over and lay a hand on his forearm.

“Ben,” you say. “Look, I’ll pay for your ticket.”

His brows crunch together. “I don’t want your fucking money, all right?”

You hesitate. Now that’s a first. But you still take your hand back to start digging into your purse for your wallet. He reaches out and stops you with a big, warm hand over yours. Firm.

“You hear what I fucking said?” he snaps.

You just sigh. “Ben, breaking into a bank—”

“Doesn’t have to be a fucking bank.”

“All right, a store! Either way, that might raise a few alarms, don’t you think?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Ben says. His gaze cuts away from you and toward the city behind you both.

Suddenly, it hits you. This is it. No more of this asshole being a human crater exploding into your life.

But it’s also kind of hard to imagine him getting on that plane alone, fucking off to obscurity again. You bite your lip while considering him. It feels like a waste.

“What if��what if you stay and fight?” you say. “Fight off Homelander. Expose him for the piece of shit he is.”

Ben’s steely expression just hardens further. “I’m done talking about that frosted hole. Whatever formula they mixed him with in that fucking lab, it didn’t come out of my ball sack.”

You roll your eyes. God, he’s so gross. “Ben. For God’s sake. Don’t deflect—”

“You do realize I have the FBI, the CIA, and the whole rest of the alphabet soup on my ass, right?” he says. Finally, he looks at you. “They don’t want me here. They didn’t even try to find me when the fucking Commies… So no. Fuck ‘em. I’ll make new somewhere else.”

It’s truly incredible, considering how damn angry you were at him yesterday. Angry and afraid.

Now, you begin to feel a twinge of…concern. Yes, he’s arrogant and vulgar, selfish, and more than a bit of a dick at times. He’s killed people, whether on accident or on purpose, even if it was partially for your sake. But after last night, getting just a glimpse of what he went through, you wonder if he really deserves to be run out of the country.

I may regret this, but…

“Listen,” you begin. “It’s getting late. Do you want to have dinner with me and my family? You’ll get some good food, one more night States’ side.”

Ben looks just as surprised by your offer as you are to suggest it. His lips begin to quirk upward, albeit incredulously.

“You offering to be my tour guide?” he asks.

You give him a knowing look. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s just dinner. Nothing else.”

You raise a finger, gesturing at him to hold on a second, and you grab your phone to call your mom first. She’s easier to talk to than your father, who would probably bombard you with questions about the trip and why it was taking you so long to get home.

“Hello?” your mom answers.

“Hey, it’s me,” you reply.

“Why are you calling from this weird number? Did something happen to your phone? Is that why you haven’t been answering our calls?”

“Yeah, sorry, I lost my phone and had to get a replacement,” you lie on the fly. You’ve had to get good at it over the past week. “I made it to Miami though. I’m almost home.”

“Oh, that’s great! Meet at Mamá’s house though. We’re making dinner right now,” she says.

You smile. Looks like Ben is going to get to meet your grandma too. “Really? Oh, okay. We’ll meet you there then.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“Oh, I’m uh…bringing a friend,” you say, though your face begins to heat in a blush at the way Ben smirks at you.

“A friend, huh?” your mom asks, in a suspicious tone.

“Yeah, okay see you soon!” You hang up the phone before she can ask you any more questions. Sometimes she can be as bad as your dad. You shift your attention to Ben.

“Okay, let’s switch seats. I think it’ll be easier if I drive,” you say.

He raises a skeptical brow at you. “Where are we going?”

You offer him a smile. “Oh, just wait. You’re in for a good time.”

Homelander’s angry strides are heavy and unmistakable. Vought employees veer out of his way and give him a wide berth, keeping their heads down all the while. His heated steps bring him to the Surveillance team, where The Deep has been at the helm for the past couple of months.

And what the fuck does he have to show for it? He’s sipping a soda while flirting with one of the glorified interns trying to sort through the classified files on her screen. Deep perks up when he notices Homelander barging into the room.

“Oh! Hey, sir—”

“Where the fuck is my son?” Homelander snaps.

Ever since the incident last week, Ryan has been ducking out of his room more than usual. Despite him choosing the right side, Homelander’s side, Ryan hasn’t been working with the production team on his superhero image.

Nothing useful has come in about Soldier Boy, and now Butcher has disappeared from their sight as well. Though that one doesn’t matter so much. Homelander will be happy to see that bastard die of the cancer already eating his brain. There’s probably nothing Homelander could do that would be more fucking hilarious than that.

“Uhh, not sure, sir. But we do have something new on the Soldier Boy front,” Deep says. He cues a finger at the girl, Ashley or Annika or whatever the fuck her name is.

She presses a play button on her computer screen, and Homelander bends at the waist to scrutinize the footage. It captures an alleyway between the main building of Vought Tower and the garage.

“This is the day of the, um, the incident,” she adds.

Soldier Boy exits the building, stumbling out really. He eventually crosses paths with a young woman. To Homelander, she almost seems familiar.

Soldier Boy grabs her arm, says something to her that makes her eyes widen with fear, then drags her toward him so he can cover her mouth with his hand. They wait there against the wall for almost thirty seconds. Then, he pulls her into the garage with him.

“Who the fuck is that?” Homelander asks.

Allie chimes in. “Ah, she was a Vought employee, sir. She recently quit without prior notice.”

“See, we had Webweaver on this, but the police just found his body in Lake Marion, South Carolina,” Deep says.

A slow smile spreads across Homelander’s face. “Fucking finally.”

“Uhh, what?” Deep says.

It’s a lead, Homelander thinks. A trail. One step closer to hunting down dear old Dad.

Emphasis on fucking old.

Your grandmother lives south, west, and more west, almost right on the edge of the Everglades—a 1.5-million-acre wetlands protected by the state. When tourists and natives alike end up on the news for getting their limbs bit off by alligators or left half-dead by a cottonmouth snake, it’s usually because they were stupid enough to hike through the mangroves and jump into the swampy waters alone.

You pull up in front of your grandma’s house and park in the paved driveway. It’s a modest three-bedroom, Spanish-style home that your dad grew up in with his two brothers, your Uncle Felix and Uncle Luis. They re-painted the outer walls the color of a soft sunset in golden orange, the roof tiles a darker terracotta. A rod iron gate around the property meets at the front with a small arch Ben will later have to duck his head under.

You can already smell freshly cut grass as the sprinklers run in the front yard, but for the moment, you stay in the car to figure out the game plan.

“So,” Ben says, “what role am I playing for tonight, sweetheart? Your work friend, or your boyfriend? Both have their pros and cons, and potential benefits.”

His grin is far too cocksure not to irritate you on sight. You’re already regretting this lapse in your sanity that led you to try being nice to this asshole.

You also realize that you haven’t exactly thought this through. What if they recognize him from the news?

…Well, your parents don’t like social media and your grandmother barely even knows how to text, let alone what Instagram is.

“Let’s just play it by ear,” you say, resisting a sigh. “But for now…God, fine, you’re my boyfriend.”

“Okay,” he gamely nods. “How long’ve we been dating?”

“Long enough for me to bring you to see my parents, so let’s say a few months,” you say. Then, you grab his wrist. “Please, try to tone down the cursing and general pussy talk around my family. They’re Catholic and…conservative.”

Again, his lips twitch upward in a way you don’t really like.

“Sure,” he says, “I can turn on the charm.”

He turns his wrist under your grasp to bring your hand up to his lips.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I can be very convincing.”

A warm blush spreads across your cheeks, prickling down your neck.

Shit. You’re already regretting this.

After slipping your hand from his grasp so you can look yourself over in the little car mirror, you get out of the car first. Ben follows your lead and walks up to the front door with you.

You look over at him with a more critical eye, humming to yourself. You try to fix his wrinkled shirt, straighten his collar. Ben watches you do it with an amused gleam in his eyes.

“My mom is the queen of snap judgments,” you explain. “One damn smudge or wrinkle and she’s gonna think you don’t bathe.”

You lean up and sort your fingers through his hair a little, sweeping the strands away from his brow. You have to ignore the way he’s watching you.

When you turn and knock on the door, Ben settles a hand on the small of your back. You shoot him a raised brow. He winks at you. You don’t have time to comment or even push his hand away, because that’s when the door opens.

You greet your dad with a wide smile to cover up your nerves. Out of anyone that could’ve opened the door, why did it have to be him? He kisses your cheek when you lean in to hug him, but he eyes the man beside you with a note of appraisal.

“Who’s this?” he asks.

“Dad, this is Ben,” you say, choking out the second bit, “my boyfriend.”

“Sir,” Ben greets. He offers the man a firm handshake.

“Victor,” your dad replies, though he shoots you a look. “You didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend.”

“Is that her?” your mom says. She comes out to greet you and Ben, taking in his tall, handsome form with a pleased scrutiny. “My goodness, this is your friend, huh?” She gives you a teasing wink. “I didn’t buy that one for a minute, but it has been a long time since you’ve brought a man home.”

Ben’s smile takes on an amused glint when he casts you some side-eye.

“It’s kinda new,” you confess, trying to ignore the hot blush in your cheeks. Your mom is already having way too much fun with this, but she immediately levels up her own brand of Cuban Mom Charm, taking Ben into the house by his arm.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ben. I’m Gloria. This is my husband Victor,” she says, gesturing at your dad, who stands stoically behind her. Ben gives him another nod, then hits your mom with a kind of suavecito that would put James Bond to shame.

“Now I know who to thank for giving my girl her beautiful smile. We’ve got Miss Florida herself right here,” Ben flirts, squeezing her hand on his arm.

Gloria twitters a laugh, making you bite your lip against a snort.

She leads him further into your grandmother’s house, while you and Victor follow behind. Ben takes note of all the pictures on the walls and housed in various frames on virtually every shelf and accent table: your parents’ wedding, your father and your uncles when they were young, and you at various ages—kindergarten through your high school graduation, followed by your college graduation.

There are pictures of you with your parents, your ten first cousins and thirty second cousins, your aunts and uncles, and you with your grandmother—the woman who’s currently cooking up something that smells delicious in the kitchen. Garlic and onions and olive oil; the smells mingle together with the red and green bell peppers being sautéed in a pan with some kind of red sauce.

Your grandma Sofia takes in Ben from head to toe with wide-eyed, blinking surprise, even a bit of wonder. She glances at you, at Ben’s hand once again resting on the small of your back. Slowly, she brightens.

“Ay, Diosito mio, who’s this handsome man in my house?” she says.

Ben smiles, but you step in before he can flirt with her too.

“Mamá, this is Ben. Uh, my boyfriend,” you tell her while giving her a big, warm hug. You try to blink past the tears stinging your eyes. You’ve probably missed your grandma the most.

She squeezes you tight, but she also smacks you on the ass.

“Hey!” you protest, laughing in embarrassment.

“Oye, you couldn’t call to tell us you finally got another man?” she chides. “How long has this one being going on?”

“Um, a few months—”

The old woman gasps, as if you told her that her recorded episodes of Caso Cerrado, the Latino version of Judge Judy, had been erased. Taking another look at a highly amused Ben, she crosses herself and delivers a kiss to the heavens.

“Ay, Padre Santísimo. Finally, a man who doesn’t dress como un niño malcreado—like Justin Bieber.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. Your mother snickers, while Ben chuckles deeply. He doesn’t know who the fuck Justin Bieber is, but he knows about at least one of the pussy man-boys you’ve dated in the past. He slides you a knowing smirk.

“No, ma’am. She’s got a real man now,” he adds.

You blow out a subtle breath, trying with all your might not to glare at him. You do shoot him a tight smile, a warning in your eyes.

But he just trails a strong hand across the small of your back. The sensation makes tingles travel down your spine.

You bite your lip and return your attention to your mom, who grabs some cheese and salami for you and Ben to snack on. You sit with him at the kitchen island and help your grandmother peel potatoes for the meal. By now Victor has claimed his usual spot on the couch, no doubt to catch up on one of the ten new baseball games he always has recorded. If there’s one thing your dad is obsessed with, it’s baseball.

Ben lingers with you though, casually resting a hand on the back of your chair while he leans back in his seat at the island.

“What’s on the menu?” Ben asks.

“Carne guisada, white rice, and tostones. Eh, fried plantains,” Sofia replies. “Have you ever had Dominican food before?”

“No, but it smells delicious.”

“Ay, mija, have you not been feeding him?” your grandma reproaches, to your long-suffering sigh.

If she only fucking knew.

Your mom watches in amusement while taking over stirring the stew. Meanwhile, Sofia rounds the kitchen island so she can tug you down by your arm.

“What have I taught you, huh?” she whispers. “A man well-fed will stay in your bed.”

Mortification burns hot in your cheeks. Your hand comes up to half cover your face.

“Ay, Mamá,” you hiss. Inside, you’re dying a thousand deaths.

You glance at Ben over your shoulder. He sips at his beer, but by the way he’s smirking, of fucking course he heard her.

“You call her ‘mom’ too?” he asks.

“Yes, they all call me that because I am everyone’s mother here,” Sofia says. She wipes her hand free of parsley bits and pats Ben’s hand where it rests on the counter. “But you, young man, can call me Sofia.”

“Mamá!”

Ben eats dinner with gusto. Your grandmother is satisfied and pleased by how much he’s clearly enjoying the braised beef stew. She even loads him up with his third serving. You watch him in amusement, even though you shake your head.

He’s stuffing his face as if he’s never eaten real food before. Though you wonder when the last time he had a real home-cooked meal was…before you met him, that is.

Ben and Victor talk about baseball and the classic players they admire (with Ben having actually met a few of them). While the men are distracted with their conversation at the far end of the table, you have to endure your mother and grandmother’s grilling.

Where is he from?

What does he do?

How old is he?

Spring weddings are just beautiful in Miami, you know. Your cousin Julissa had a spring wedding by the beach. Wasn’t it nice?

Needless to say, you should be winning an Oscar for your own improv performance tonight.

“Where are you guys staying tonight?” Gloria asks.

Your grandma looks affronted. “Well, here of course.”

You laugh a bit nervously. “Actually, Ben can’t stay. He, um…he has a plane to catch in the morning, for a business trip.”

“Oh, what kind of business? You said he works at Vought too,” Gloria asks.

You nod, though you have to think quickly to come up with something plausible. You glance over at Ben, who briefly meets your gaze. The look in his eyes tells you that he’s caught the edges of your conversation and wants to know what you’ll say as well.

“Uh, Ben is in Vought’s Sales Division,” you say. “Sometimes they have him travel overseas.”

“Oh, wow. Where are you going, Ben?” Gloria asks him.

“Buenos Aires,” Ben replies. “Vought’s trying to develop another Voughtland down there. They’ve been trying for years, but the locals figure they’ve got enough entertainment, what with the tourist traps and the drug cartels and all. So they’ve brought me on to seal the deal. Think of me as a…well, as a closer. ‘S why they pay me the big bucks.”

You resist the urge to shake your head, but you do squeeze his thigh in warning under the table. He gives you a smile and a raise of his brows. Eying him pointedly, you shift the conversation.

“So he’s planning on staying at the airport tonight, since it’s such an early flight,” you say.

Sofia shakes her head, as well as a finger in the air.

“No, no. You are a guest in my home, so you will stay here tonight. I won’t take no for an answer,” she says.

Ben gives you a self-satisfied smile, before he answers her.

“Well, who am I to say no?”

It seems strategic, the way your mom corners Ben in the kitchen to try and fish more information out of him. Meanwhile, your dad pulls you aside into the living room.

“So tell me. What’s going on with that job of yours?” he asks. His brows have that telltale furrow of concentrated Dad Worry. On Victor, it looks just shy of being angry.

You cross your arms, debating with yourself for a moment. You’ve been lying a lot tonight, but this is something you know you have to come clean about, even if you know it’s a victory for your father.

“I quit, okay,” you admit.

His shoulders loosen in relief. His gaze raises heavenward while his hands rest on his hips.

“Thank God,” he says. But then, he concentrates back on you. “This mean you’re finally moving back home?”

“I didn’t say that,” you snap. “I’m gonna stay here with Mamá for a little while until I figure out what I’m gonna do. But I’m going to find something in New York. I have time now. Maybe I can finally start my own graphic design business.”

For the past year that you hadn’t been able to find other work to leave Vought, you’d begun to spin the idea in your mind. You have friends in the Marketing department who could help you build a website, run some ads across socials. You know how to create your own content, do your own marketing, even reach out to potential clients. All you need at this point is some time and money. You have one, and you can use some of what you have in savings to invest in the idea—to build something of your own. Something honest.

Victor’s jaw clenches. He swipes a hand of frustration over his face, his gait shifting with the effort of keeping his anger contained in his mother’s house.

“Why do you always have to be so damn stubborn?” he grits out.

“Why’re you always trying to control my life?” you counter, just at hotly. “I’m not a little girl. I’ve been doing what I have to do on my own—”

“But that’s it. You don’t have to,” he says. “You wanna get blown up in one of those buildings? Or run through in the street by one of those fucking supes, like that girl two years ago? You’re smart, mija. Use that brain for something besides selfish little ideas that don’t go anywhere.”

Your mouth falls open, but nothing else escapes. Your heart is in your throat, a painful lump as tears cling to your lashes.

“You went to NYU because the schools here somehow weren’t good enough. Now you’re in debt,” he continues, raising his hand up to his brows. “Hasta los ojitos. ¿Verdad? You tried to make it in that city because you wanted to be an artist. And where did you end up? At a corrupt fucking company that worked you like a dog, and nearly got you buried under a pile of rubble like it was 9/11 all over again.”

His words cut into you like so many knives. A familiar well of acid had been churning in your stomach; now it reaches up into the base of your throat where you’re already choked by embarrassment, resentment, shame.

“Okay, dessert!” your mom calls from the kitchen, this time unaware of her husband. She brings out the large pan of flan she made last night and sets it on the table while Ben begrudgingly brings out the smaller plates and spoons. The smell of Café Bustelo reaches you as the cafetera begins to steam and boil on the stove. Sofia lifts the top of it and nods when she finds that the espresso is done percolating.

“Quién quiere café?” she asks.

Heaving a sigh through his nose, Victor raises a finger. Ben notices you, sees whatever he sees in your face, no matter how you try to bury it down. You can tell that he’s heard every word, just by that look on his face. Ben approaches you and your dad, once again sliding a hand across the small of your back, but you speak before he has a chance to say anything.

“You want coffee, right?”

Ben nods slightly, letting you leave him to escape into the kitchen. He shifts his attention to your father. The man is shorter than Ben, but still a presence that commands respect in the house.

“You still work for Vought after everything that’s happened?” Victor asks him.

Ben’s brow turns wry. “Oh, I’ve got an exit strategy.”

Victor nods. That seems to mollify him a bit, even as he watches his daughter. Ruefulness enters his gaze, even if it’s still hard with his convictions. It just reminds Ben of his father’s blue-eyed stare—the kind that always pierced straight through his skin and saw every scrap of weakness underneath.

“She’d rather live in that fucking cesspool than listen to me,” Victor says. “Young, stubborn, thinks she knows it all.”

Ben’s lips tug at a smile. Yeah, that’s fucking you.

“She thinks she can handle it out there by herself, but take away all that attitude, and what?” Victor shakes his head. “She’s fucking soft.”

Ben glances over at him, then at the silver medals framed in glass on the wall. There’s a picture of a younger version of the man in front him, leaner, just as stoic, wearing an army green uniform and a captain’s insignia. If Victor looked to be in his mid-fifties now, that would’ve put him in his early 20s during the Vietnam War.

Other than a few photo ops after the Tet Offensive and a movie he did in the late ‘60s, Ben spent most of his time snorting coke and fucking the female cast of Bewitched. (Elizabeth Montgomery blamed her failed marriage on him, but that shit was wrecked long before he came into her picture. Literally.)

Ben’s gaze drifts away from the shiny wall of accomplishment, and back over to you across the room. You’re helping your mom set out the plates of flan after she cuts each slice. He sees how hard you try to bury everything you have boiling inside behind the task, swiping a stray curl out of your eyes as you go. He’s come to recognize that look, and the things you do to keep moving forward.

“She can be,” Ben nods at your father. “But maybe she’s stronger than you think.”

Victor’s brows furrow, but Ben doesn’t stick around for more. He joins you back at the dinner table and takes a small white espresso cup you offer him. Your fingers brush with his on the pass, but its his hand casually curling wily strands of your hair behind your ear that earns your attention, your slightly widening eyes.

He smirks down at you before taking a seat. Despite yourself, your lips tug at a smile, and you join him.

After dessert, your parents finally head back home. You finally allow yourself to confess to your grandmother that you quit your job. It’s easier to be honest with her than with your parents sometimes.

She’s sorry to hear the news, knowing you enjoyed your independence in New York. While you didn’t necessarily love your job, up until now it had allowed you to have the life you wanted.

Since she has more room to spare in her house, she’s graciously agreed to have you stay with her for a little while. You know what you told your dad, but you wonder if you can even go back to New York after this. He might just win after all.

But of course, there’s also Ben.

“I still don’t know what the big fucking deal is,” he says, somewhat grumpily.

You sigh and shove an extra blanket into his hands from the hallway closet.

“Look, my grandma is fun, even a little mischievous, but she’s not actually going to let me share a bedroom with my ‘boyfriend’ under her roof. Conservative Catholics, remember?”

You also hand him a towel to take a shower. “Besides, it’s not like I’d let you into my bed anyway. Can you please just remember our deal?”

He nods, albeit reluctantly. “Don’t you fucking worry. I’ll be out in the morning before God and everyone wakes up.”

You hesitate, leaning your back against the doorway to your room. Ben will be staying in the second guest room down the hall.

“Well, you can still knock on my door before you leave,” you say, with a slight smile. “You know, if you wanna say goodbye.”

Ben eyes you, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Might as well get that outta the way now,” he says.

Your smile fades in confusion, but before you can react, he slips an arm around your waist and guides you in close. After a beat to gauge the look on your face—surprised, but not angry, by the way your eyes roam his face—he bows his head to claim your lips.

It’s a thorough kiss, and a little demanding as his lips move over yours, but it makes a tendril of heat lick down your spine as your fingers curl around his biceps.

You find yourself at a loss when he breaks away. His eyes open to meet yours, smiling when he finds you breathless.

“Goodbye, sweetheart,” he says.

And he lets you go, allowing your hair to slip through his fingers.

You’re tempted to smack that self-satisfied look off his face, but you shake your head with a smile. You guess you can give him one for the road.

Butcher, Hughie, and the rest of the boys are tearing apart Webweaver’s disgusting apartment. Considering the supe’s phone is dead, and he hasn’t been seen in over 24 hours, Butcher is willing to bet that Soldier Boy killed the little prick.

Unfortunately for Butcher, Webweaver was feeding him information.

“There’s nothing here,” M.M. says in disgust, wiping his hands of a sticky substance. He’d rather not know what it is.

“He had to know something in order to pick up the cunt’s trail,” Butcher says. He points to Webweaver’s laptop, where Hughie is trying to hack the password.

Butcher’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Fishing it out and peering at the ID, he smiles slightly at the text.

I’m close to your apartment. Can we talk?

Ryan. Finally, the kid is coming around. Butcher types out a reply.

Give me half an hour.

Butcher considers his next words carefully, and he adds…

There are things we needa talk about.

There was too much shit he hadn’t told the kid, for fear of pushing him away. (Already done.)

Or fearing the kid wouldn’t believe him. (Ain’t got nothing left to lose now.)

Butcher only half suppresses a wheezing cough.

Oh, yeah, he’s still fucking dying. But if there’s one thing he’s going to do, it’s find Soldier Boy, so he can make good on their deal on snuffing Homelander.

He knows he’ll have to be even more creative with how he gets the supe to agree, seeing as Butcher double-crossed him once before. But this time, he has M.M. and Annie actually on board with the plan. Homelander plans to get V24 in the military with Victoria Neuman’s help.

So all the fucking Spice Girls finally agree: right now, Homelander’s the bigger threat. Then, they’ll somehow deal with Soldier Boy.

Or better yet, the two will kill each other.

“Got it!” Hughie fist pumps the air. He’s been able to crack into Webweaver’s laptop, even though he balks at having to sort through a tremendous amount of disturbing pornography.

He finally finds a file labeled: Parking Lot, June 3, 5:34 p.m.

He presses play. The first thing he sees is your scared face come into frame, followed by Soldier Boy.

“Oh my God,” you breathe. “Soldier Boy?” He glances up at you through furrowed brows. He looks ragged and soot-stained, his breathing labored as he leans against the wall. He focuses on you. “Uh, a-are you okay?” you ask shakily, clutching your messenger bag.

“All right,” Butcher drawls. “Who the fuck is that?”

In the morning, you wake to the sun in your eyes through the windows. You get up and check the room across the hall. The door is open, and the bed is made, clear of Ben’s things. You feel disappointed that he didn’t wake you up before he left.

I guess the one goodbye was good enough for him, you think, not willing to wonder why that kind of upsets you.

Whatever. It’s for the best. Soldier Boy is finally out of your life, and you can focus on what you need to do to pick up the threads of your life.

With that decision made, you go about starting your day. You don’t bother to change out of your pajamas. You just fluff out your curls and venture out to the kitchen, where the smell of Cuban coffee once again wafts stronger in the air. Your grandma might be Dominican, but she’s embraced her daughter-in-law’s Cuban-centric community with the little things, like espresso and pastries in the morning.

There you find something unexpected. You find Ben sipping coffee, chatting with your grandmother at the kitchen island while she makes breakfast. Her favorite radio station plays on the counter and masks the contents of their conversation, but they’re smiling and laughing, having a good ol’ fucking time.

Until Ben notices you standing there with your mouth hanging open. He grins.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee. Sofia smiles over at you too.

“Ben,” you say. Your voice strikes a higher pitch than usual. “What happened to your flight?”

“It got cancelled,” he claims, though he beckons you over. You remember then that this little play is still going on—meaning you force yourself to smile and go to him as if you’re so very happy to see him.

Why the hell did I ever think this was a good fucking idea?!

He takes full advantage of the boyfriend charade, laying a heavy hand on the small of your back. It travels around your waist and comes to rest on your hip. He brushes his thumb back and forth over the thin fabric of your pajama top, and even has the gall to eye you with a grin, likely noticing that you aren’t wearing a bra.

“I invited him to stay for a couple more days, get to know the family,” Sofia says while stirring some scrambled eggs. Bacon is also sizzling on another pan on the stove.

While her back is turned, you shoot Ben a knowing glare.

To think you were a little disappointed about being rid of him. Now, you’re just angry and irritated as good sense hits you upside the head. The longer he stays with you, the better chance of Homelander or the government finding him.

You’re quiet throughout breakfast while Sofia asks Ben more questions about himself.

“Do you go to church?” she asks, with a raised brow.

You snort into your coffee, but Ben just rubs the back of his neck.

“I’ll admit, I’ve skipped a few Sundays,” he says, somewhat dismissively.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. His skin would probably burn if he took one step inside of a sanctuary.

“Well, what about kids. Do you like children?” Sofia asks.

Your eyes widen. “Mamá, seriously?”

“I always thought I’d have a few,” Ben replies. You turn to look at him, and the sincerity of his tone and the sudden thoughtful gleam in his eyes surprises you even more.

“Guess I’ve been waiting for the right time to settle down,” he says, glancing at you. It’s hard for you to read that look, but it makes you wonder what the fuck he’s thinking.

He goes back to eating.

After breakfast, you get up to help Sofia clear the table. While she’s putting the pastries away, you grab Ben’s arm and lead him closer to the living room.

“You really need to go,” you whisper-hiss. “You promised me—”

He rolls his eyes. “All right, keep your fucking panties on. Just one more night of R&R and I’ll get gone.”

“You better be for real, because I can’t—”

“Ay, mi canción,” Sofia says. She comes over and tugs on your hand. “You remember this one, right?”

The song that plays on the radio is “Mi Muchachita” by Luis Segura, the song your mom would always wake you up with on Saturday mornings to get you up to help her clean the house. It was a tradition your grandma started when your dad and his brothers were kids. She later got your mom hooked on it when she came to stay with your family for a few years, shortly after you were born. Gloria had needed the help, and her parents had already passed away a few years back.

Now, Sofia leads you away from Ben so that you can dance with her. She pulls into the bachata—ironically, the dance that began in the bars and brothels of Santo Domingo. In the 1960s, it was the dance of the lower class, the degenerates, and the campesinos. Bolero rhythm was its heart, but the spirit of the common people was its soul.

You protest at first at being uprooted from your grumpy mood, but your grandma has a way of hooking you into almost anything. Eventually your tense shoulders relax, and you’re laughing and twirling under her hand while you let your body inhabit the song.

Ben watches the scene in amusement, becoming transfixed by the sway of your hips, to the quick and natural steps of your feet…until Sofia grabs his hand too.

“Hey, no. I’m good,” he says. “I don’t dance…whatever this is.”

“So I teach you,” she insists, beckoning him closer. “Come, come! Watch me. Es fácil. Real easy.”

You step off to the side to give them room, and you giggle while watching Ben try to follow her instructions. Sofia is persistent though. She teaches him how to step in counts of two, how to lead her back and forth, then turn her around. She even sends you a cheeky look while she has the man’s hands trapped either in her hand, or on her waist.

You hide your laughter behind your espresso cup. Damn. She’s still got game.

After a few minutes, Sofia leads him over to join Ben’s hand with yours, claiming she needs a rest. She guides you into his arms, and you step in with a good-natured smile.

“This is a bit fucking much,” he mutters to you. “It’s too complicated.”

“You’re actually doing well. Just feel it though. Don’t watch your feet,” you continue to instruct him, amused by his hesitance.

He seems to be into this though, and he begins to gain some confidence the more he learns the flow of the steps. He holds your hand more assured as he moves from side to side in time with the beat. For a white boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he has some decent rhythm.

Ben throws in a spin that’s not quite bachata-like. It feels more like the swing of the ‘40s, the stuff you’ve only seen in movies. Still, it thrills you when you end up even closer in his arms, his warm chest pressed to yours. He looks down on you with hooded eyes that slowly roam your face, stopping on your lips.

He begins to bow his head toward yours, but you clear your throat and smile, a little nervously. You place a hand on his chest and push him back subtly as the song comes to an end.

“Oh! Before I forget,” Sofia says.

You almost forgot she was there. Instinctively you freeze where you stand, still catching your breath all too close to Ben.

“Can you pick up some things from the store for later? I’m making arroz con pollo,” she says. “But you know what, I’ll give you a list, ‘cause I’m out of some other things too.”

Glancing up at Ben once more, you take the excuse to step away from him. You agree to take your grandma’s list, and you head to your room to get changed.

The man not only follows you to the car, but insists on “getting out of the house” and going with you to the local Cuban-owned grocery store and café.

“Christ on a Cross, is this the price of steak nowadays?” he mutters, eying all the cuts behind the cold glass. “Used to be cheaper to order it at a fucking restaurant.”

You’ve stopped here to pick up a couple packages of ground beef. You shoot him a glance, wondering why he cares when he had enough money to buy the restaurant, once upon a time. Maybe it’s the principle of the matter with him.

“Welcome to the modern world,” you drawl. “It’s getting too expensive to live, and jobs don’t want to pay for shit.”

He raises a brow, but he follows you down the aisle.

Ben is kind of the worst to go shopping with. He sneaks things into the cart when he thinks you’re not looking. You tell him you’re not buying him three different cakes and a dirty magazine. Where the hell did he even find that?

You stuff it all back on a shelf, behind some boxed novelty cakes imported from Mexico. Though you agree to buy him one dessert, after you throw in some peaches.

“You may be a super soldier, but you should eat more fruits and veggies,” you quip. Stuffing himself full of takeout, booze, and weed all the time can’t be good for him.

Ben raises a wry brow at you. He sidles up close while you’re putting goods on the checkout counter. His hand molds to the curve of your waist as he speaks lowly in your ear.

“I’ve got all the peaches I need, sweetheart.”

You blush hotly and send him a wide-eyed look over your shoulder. His hand means to drift lower on your ass, but your lips purse, and you smack his hand away.

“Do you have no shame?” you whisper-hiss. Giving him one kiss was like feeding a stray dog. Now he thinks he can keep sniffing your ass for more.

“Come on, Chiquita. Would it kill you to lighten the fuck up?” he teases.

You roll your eyes heavenward, praying for strength. You manage to get through the rest of the transaction of the checkout line mostly in peace, and Ben does all the heavy lifting of putting the bags in the car. However, you’re giving him a bit of a cold shoulder as you get back into the car.

“All right, what’s the matter now?” he asks. “For Christ’s sake, you don’t have to be so fucking frigid.”

“Why did you come anyway?” you ask, slamming the trunk closed. “Just to cop another feel? What, did you think I was gonna blow you in the alley behind the bodega?”

Ben hesitates with a frown. There’s a moment where you think he might give you an earnest answer, but ultimately, he just shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

You scoff, both incredulous and disgusted as you rip the driver’s side door open and get inside the car. You barely wait for Ben to do the same on the passenger side, before you’re turning the ignition and angrily shifting the car into reverse.

You back out with more force than Ben would’ve recommended, but he flexes his fingers on his thigh. He doesn’t want to tell you that he hadn’t liked the idea of you going out alone. Not without a weapon, some protection.

But he also didn’t think you’d still be cockblocking him so much after last night. And this morning, he thought you were actually warming up to him…

Guess not, he thinks sardonically, with a roll of his eyes. Whatever. It’s not like he’ll be wanting for pussy when he gets to South America. Pretty soon, it’s going to be him fucking bitches on nude beaches, drowning himself in margaritas, blow, and pussy all day long.

He doesn’t know what it is about you though. He knows you’re into him, even if you won’t admit it…

It’s that challenge, that Latina fire that stokes his blood every time he looks at you. Gotta be.

He also knows that the moment he leaves, one of two things will happen. Either Vought finds you, or the CIA does. If it’s the latter, they’ll question you. Even if they don’t get the information they want, they could try to protect you and your family.

Regardless, Ben knows he can’t stay. That’ll just make things worse, for himself, and for you. All he can do is take advantage of the hours he has left here.

“Look, what’s your problem, huh?” he tries again. “Think I can’t show you a good time?”

You heave a sigh without looking at him. “It’s not about that, Ben.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“You’re leaving. You’re not going to stay and fight the deranged prick who’s on the verge of taking over the whole damn country,” you say sharply. “You’re gonna fuck off to who knows where, bury your head in the sand, and numb yourself for the rest of your life. So there’s no point in exploring you and me. I’m not gonna be some quick fuck and ‘Sayonara, sweetheart. Been a good time.’ No! None of that shit.”

That falls heavily between you two, even with the radio playing at a moderate volume.

Ben simmers in the near silence while you drive through the heavy traffic in Miami. You curse when you get stuck at an intersection.

“This is taking fucking forever,” he grumbles.

You whip your head over at him again. “Okay, and? Should I part the Red Sea of Miami for you?”

“All right, Christ. Enough,” he says. He rubs at his forehead like you’re giving him a headache.

Good, you think. The feeling’s mutual.

Ben crosses his arms in his seat and stares out ahead. Traffic is starting to easy up, allowing you to inch closer to the righthand turn.

You blow out a sigh, contemplating the man riding shotgun. You’re not sure why he’s still here with you. Why he doesn’t want to just leave his old life behind and make new somewhere else. It’s obvious that he wants you, but does he care about you?

There’s no point in exploring you and me.

You hadn’t meant to say that, but it left you with a sinking feeling in your chest afterward. You still feel its hold on you now, steely fingers gripping your heart.

It’s fucking crazy. You must be crazy…to want him to care.

But before you can let your mind devolve any further, Ben breaks you out of your thoughts when he points out a McDonald’s up ahead.

“How about you pull over into the drive-thru there,” he says.

You raise a brow at him. “You’re hungry again? Already?”

He shrugs. You shake your head, but your lips begin to tug at a smile. This fucking bottomless pit.

“All right, I’ve got this.”

You take him to a hole-in-the-wall Cuban bakery. The sign is half-scratched off, but you know it from memory. This place has been here for over 50 years, since waves of Cubans fled the iron fist of Fidel Castro’s communism in anything that would float those 90 miles—from pristine sands, and the home of guava fruit, plantains, and pure sugar cane, to the rough shores of the Florida Keys.

Ben polishes off a Cuban sandwich and three guava and cheese pastries, washing it all down with three beers and a cigar he got by talking shop with the locals playing dominoes in the dining area. The men are old enough to remember him as Soldier Boy. Even though they watch the news all day long, they have a healthy mistrust of everything they see.

They're more inclined to trust the supe they watched and admired when they were young men, the supe that (they thought) represented the ideals of the American dream; the same dream they themselves had fought for when they arrived in this country.

“Don’t worry, we’re not gonna out you to the press,” says the only one of them who speaks English. “I’ll just get to tell the wife that I shared a cigar with Soldier Boy. She don’t gotta know when.”

The other men laugh, Ben included. You roll your eyes.

They talk him into playing around of dominoes with them, offering to “teach” him how to play, as long as he bets $5 to start with. You lean over his shoulder and help him make the right moves. Your dad and your uncles taught you how to play when you were a kid.

With your help, he ends up winning $200 dollars off of the old men. They don't get mad about it, all too happy just to spend time with one of the only superheroes they respect. You realize then why Ben is getting along so well with these guys; the man himself is at least twenty years older than them. This is essentially a group of his peers.

And what does that make me? you wonder, not knowing whether to laugh or be icked out. The longer you stare at Ben's profile, the line of his jaw, the cut of his beard, the roguish sweep of his hair and the shape and broadness of his form all too casually sitting in a metal chair, the more that thought fades to the back of your mind.

You focus more on Ben, specifically the way he's all too smirky and cocky and proud of his winnings. You’re amused at the way he counts the bills to himself later in the car. You’d think he won the lotto at Atlantic City or something.

“Hey,” he says, earning your attention. “Let me take you out before I go. Call it a thank you.”

You give him an incredulous look. “You haven’t tested fate enough today? You should be lying low. Me too for that matter.”

“Relax, Chiquita. Nobody fucking knows we’re here,” Ben says, continuing to count his bills. He glances over at you though. “Besides, you’ll be fine, long as you’re with me.”

You consider him with a tilt of your head. Long as you’re with me, huh?

He wants to actually do something for you. More than that, he wants to protect you.

You fight the small swell of butterflies in your stomach. Matter of fact, you hate those little shits. A small sigh escapes your lips.

This guy is fucking exhausting.

“How many goodbyes are we going to have, Ben?” you ask.

He quirks a smile.

“Just humor me.”

AN: Did you like the little scene change? I had to give things a more tropical vibe for Miami. 😉 Plus, we got a bit of the fake dating trope sliding in there, meeting the parents, some disappointed father syndrome -- checking some rom-com boxes right? 😂

Next Time:

You lead him away from the tight crowd on the dance floor and around the bar, and into a dark hall near the bathrooms. It’s still loud though, that baseline dropping as the DJ’s sirens go off in the club.

Ben stumbles, his left hand shooting out to smack heavily against the wall. He dents the plaster. You quickly move in front of him and rest your hands against his chest.

“Ben, you with me?” you say in a measured tone. “Hey, you okay? You hearing me?”

His brows furrow in answer, but you can tell he’s not all there. His breathing is growing ragged. You feel his chest getting warm, and then hot.

Oh, fuck, your blood runs cold. Is this the strange new explosive power that nearly crumbled Vought Tower? Is this club about to get wiped off the map, like that building in Midtown? Are you about to get blown sky high along with it?

Fuck that.

You grab his face in your hands. “Ben, you focus on me, okay? Before you blow your cover. Before you hurt someone.”

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hearts4hughes · 11 hours ago

Text

DUE DILIGENCE ~ CHAPTER SEVEN

wallstreet!rafe x assistant!reader | warnings: power imbalance, implied past violence, toxic romantic undertones, obsessive behavior, themes of fear, paranoia, and control

you don’t sleep after the message. not deeply or soundly. you lie in rafe’s bed with his arms around you, the scent of cedar and sweat and sex tangled in the sheets, and all you can hear is the phantom buzz of your phone. the words burned into the screen like a warning label you didn’t know you were carrying.

you’re not safe.

it was just a text. no name and no number and no hint of where it came from. but it stuck in your spine and under your skin like smoke you couldn’t cough out.

rafe didn’t see it—you made sure of that. he’d fallen asleep with his face buried in your shoulder, hands curled like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. he hadn’t spoken much after. honestly, he hadn’t needed to. the way he touched you said enough—desperate, reverent, like he was apologizing for something he hadn’t confessed yet. you watched him sleep until the sky turned gray. then you slipped out as quietly as you can like a secret.

the next morning, the office feels colder than usual. you brush it off at first. convince yourself it’s nothing. residual tension, maybe a late start. but the silence hums differently. the air feels pressurized as your heels click the cold tile. that’s when you see them. they are tall, brooding, and intimidating. although, that’s not what makes your stomach twist. it’s the shiny badge on their lapels that makes that ugly feeling.

they don’t stop you nor do they speak, but one of them watches you too long. like he already knows your name and everything about you.

you keep walking, keeping your head high and your gaze forward. sweat beads on your forehead as you pretend your pulse isn’t going ballistic. you try not to think about the message again. but again, it slips into your mind like a snake.

you’re not safe.

the contents of your breakfast dare to come back up at the mere thought. you make it to your desk just in time to hear the tail end of rafe’s voice—low, firm, threaded with a tension he usually keeps hidden under expensive tailoring and a cut glass tone. he’s speaking to someone in his office, door cracked open just enough for you to see the outline of a fed flipping through a folder like he’s already made up his mind.

you pretend not to look. pretend you don’t see the set of rafe’s jaw. the way he straightens his spine like someone’s about to swing. ten minutes later, the door opens. rafe steps out and he finds you instantly.

his tie is perfect, his face unreadable, but you know him now. enough to sense that something is off. he crosses the floor with sharp purpose, stopping just in front of your desk. “go home,” he says, arms crossed in front of his chest like he wasn’t inside of you last night.

you scoff out a laugh. “what?”

“take the day off. get your nails done. sleep. do whatever you want.” he rambles off. it’s increasingly hard to keep his gaze on yours. guilt coils in his gut, cold and mean and quiet.

your fingers pull away from the keyboard. you look around to see if anyone else hears this—they don’t. most of them have trained their ears to filter out mr. cameron’s private conversations. “why?” your tone is hesitant.

he glances once toward the lobby, then back at you. “it’s nothing. just standard. they’re not here for you.” he’s lying. the three glooming men aren’t there for you, but this definitely isn’t routine. you know the shape of his truth by now, and this one’s too smooth to be clean.

you tilt your head. “rafe-”

“it’s mr. cameron in here, y/n.” he snaps before taking a breath and softening his gaze. “please.”

your breath catches. he doesn’t say that word often. it’s not a part of his vocabulary. not unless something’s wrong. “fine,” you say quietly. “i’ll go.”

you last maybe forty minutes. just long enough to sit in a coffee shop across the street and stare at your phone. no new messages. just the last one, still bolded at the top of your screen like it’s mocking you.

you’re not safe.

you try to ignore it. try to convince yourself it’s nothing more than a bad prank. a scare tactic or a coincidence. though, the chill in your gut says otherwise.

bringing the cup to your lips, you take a sip. it doesn’t taste right. like even the coffee is telling you to go back. you slam the cup down onto the wooden table and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“fuck it,” you mumble before collecting your things and making that familiar walk towards the office.

the building is quiet when you return. low lights, mostly empty. it’s not usual for everyone to have filtered out this early. maybe rafe let them off early as well.

you drift into his office with the ease of someone who knows all his passwords. you don’t touch anything sensitive, just tidy his desktop, check the decks, update the upcoming pitch timelines. something to ground you, something to make you feel useful.

you’re closing out a spreadsheet when the door clicks. your hands freeze on his keyboard like a teenager caught with porn. his silhouette cuts clean through the dim light. stubble of a beard ghosting his cheeks, hair slightly mussed. he looks at you like he’s not sure if you’re real. “you’re still here,” he sighs, running a hand through his dirty-blonde hair.

you close the laptop, lips in a tight line. “so are you.”

rafe steps inside and shuts the door behind him. “i told you to go home.”

“and i ignored you.”

his mouth tightens. “you can’t be in this room right now.”

“why? because it makes me a liability?” you sit back, crossing your arms over your chest.

he exhales before crosses to you in three strides. “because they’re watching,” he says tightly. “and it’s more dangerous than you think to be seen with me.”

something in you snaps. “you don’t get to decide how safe i am.” you shove him, hands hitting his toned chest. “you don’t get to decide what i know or what i see or what i sign.” you mutter. “just because we have this,” you motion to the confusing relationship dynamic the two of you have. “doesn’t mean you can control me.”

he grabs your wrist—not hard just fast. it’s a reflex by now. your skin turns to ice beneath his clutch. his grip isn’t bruising, it’s grounding. “you think i want to keep you in the dark?” his voice breaks low. “i’m doing this because i have to because if i don’t, they will come for you, and i won’t be able to stop them.”

you meet his eyes. they’re bloodshot with dark circles underneath to match. he looks wrecked. something breaks open between you. he pulls you in. not rough like usual, just close. his mouth brushes yours like a question, a prayer, a warning. then he kisses you—slow and captivating, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you.

you melt against him. not because it’s safe but because it’s true. he pulls away eventually. rests his forehead against yours. “i didn’t have anyone,” he says quietly. “growing up. ward, my father,” he squeezes his eyes shut like the memories hurt him. “he didn’t raise kids, he built soldiers. i used to sit in meetings with him when i was eight. listen to him gut men with his voice alone. he’d look at me after like i was supposed to clap.” your throat bobs at his words. “and you?” he says, voice rough now. “you walked in here and looked me in the eye like i was just a man. not a monster. just…me.”

you press your palm to his chest. feel the thud of something dangerous and tender beneath your hand. “you’re not a monster,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his nose.

he doesn’t respond. but his hands slide down your arms, slow and aching. “i’ve never trusted anyone like this.” it’s not a confession. it’s a collapse. you hold him anyway.

you leave late and he doesn’t try to stop you this time. the city feels different on the walk home. it’s too quiet and too dark. when you open the door, your apartment’s colder than usual. you flick on one lamp and shrug out of your coat. you kick your heels off somewhere near the door. you grab the first hair tie you find and throw your hair into a messy bun.

when you click on the kitchen light, there’s an envelope on your counter. your breath catches in your throat. your skin tingles and you look around, expecting someone behind you that isn’t there.

there’s no stamp. no address. just scribbled writing addresses to your name. your fingers brush over the rough paper before you open it slowly. you hold it open and peak inside. there lies a flash drive. no other note or writing. it’s small and appears harmless, but the word written across in thick sharpie is a tell-tale sign that it’s not.

CAMERON

your breath catches. you think of the text again.

you’re not safe.

the small device clatters against the marble of your counter as you drop it. a flash of plastic, sharp edges, too light for the weight it carries. you stare at it. your body doesn’t move right away. fear doesn’t slam into you, it seeps—slow, cold, and precise. it curls up your spine like an intruder who already knows the way around your house. your breath comes shallow. not fast, not frantic, just thin. like your lungs suddenly forgot how to trust the air. you want to step back, but you don’t. instead, you reach for the counter to steady yourself. the marble is cool beneath your palm, but your skin is hot—flushed with knowing.

you cross the room without thinking. on instinct, or adrenaline, or maybe that hollow momentum that only shows up when something irreversible is about to happen.

your laptop is already open on the kitchen table, half-full coffee mug beside it, unread emails glowing like nothing’s wrong. but something is and it’s in your hand.

you slot the flash drive into the port. it clicks in with a quiet little sound. as if it’s not about to shatter whatever thin barrier of safety you have left. your screen goes black for a second. then flashes white. a folder appears. there’s no title, no metadata, no timestamp. just one file. your finger pauses before you drag the cursor over the file and you click. the screen flickers once and you wait. something is loading. you can feel it not only in your mind, but in your stomach and in your heart.

then, a frame appears. it’s blurry, shaky, and handheld. almost like surveillance or blackmail. something that wasn’t meant to be seen. and there, in the center of the screen stands a familiar silhouette. your stomach drops and your fingers curl into the table because you already know who it is—rafe—and he’s not alone.

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hwangjoanna · 3 days ago

Text

'Red Light, Green Light.'

SKZ Squid Game AU

Hyunjin X Reader

Enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers

Dom/Hyunjin, Sub/Reader

Possessive & jealous Hyunjin

Hyunjin, Seungmin & Minho are all mean (sorry)

Felix and Jisung Besties (Soft boys)

Warnings - MDNI 18+, Gore, Violence, Mentions of death, Mass death, Threatening behaviour, Possessive Behaviour, Angst, Jealousy, Fluff, Hurt/comfort, Smut, Possessive sex, Pet-names, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Unprotected Sex, Hyunjin has Dacryphilia, Hyunjin is a yapper.

A/N - Once again thank you so much for supporting this series and sorry about how long it took for me to get this one out! I’ll try to be more regular with my posts! I wanted to have the series finished the day the new series releases (I’M SO EXCITED) but there’s so much left to go that it’s not happening 🤣 however the series will give me some more inspiration so that’s good!

Word Count - 7,448

Part 11

[Series Masterlist]

Chapter 12

One…

Two…

Three…

Hyunjin leans over you and grabs your wrist pulling you towards him, like a rag-doll in his grasp. His grip is bruising but he has no time to be soft in this moment, he pulls you flush to him with your feet planted between his on the path.

He saves you, like you did him during tug-of-war, but you have no time to thank him. You’re trembling against him; his body is warm, but your heart is racing. He makes eye contact with you, and it feels like time stops.

“If you die, thirteen. I’ll never forgive you.” He says with conviction. Fear floods his irises, mixed with longing that neither of you comments on as the light darkens.

Then you feel his lips against your ear, “Don’t worry, Sweetheart. He’s next.” He whispers, with malice. Not aimed at you but at the man who pushed you. “Ignore everything I’m about to say to you,” he adds. You’re disoriented when the path glows orange under your feet but you take in his words.

The player in front has a maniacal smirk and tuts realising he wasn’t successful in his efforts.

Hyunjin pulls you back to your place in line, in front of him. Tapping you on the left shoulder to follow the path, you can hear him counting the seconds under his breath. He’s clearly worked out how long it is till the lights go out again.

You continue following the path but you’re still shaking, The man in front keeps pausing to look back at you but Hyunjin nudges you to keep going. “Trust me,” he whispers behind you.

He continues to count then suddenly just before the lights go out he calls out to you, the player in front isn’t looking at the path, just at you. “The path changed go right, thirteen.” You stop, and the lights go out. You don’t go right.

Suddenly you hear player 145 scream, then a single gunshot rings out and you sob, holding your hand over your mouth trying not to move.

Seconds feel like hours as you wait to be able to see again.

And then, you can. The path returns and you see player 145 to the right of the path. His face is turned towards you, and blood spurts from his gunshot wound on his neck. His stare, lifeless and cold like his dead body. You shudder at the sight, tears streaming down your face. Hyunjin had done it on purpose, knowing he’d listen to his instructions for you.

You felt grateful but also sick at the thought, Hyunjin nudged you again, “Come on, baby.” He whispered gently. “We need to keep going.”

The lady behind him, her eyes like daggers looking at you but you pressed on. Hyunjin glances at the timer, “We have 4 minutes, we’re nearly there.”

You follow the path trying to clear your mind of what had just happened. You feel like his blood is on your hands, but he had pushed you first. Hyunjin was just protecting you, like he always did. The guilt you felt about the man slowly shifted to guilt for how you had treated Hyunjin. Yes, you were right for being mad at him for his actions but they also came from a place of insecurity, jealousy or maybe even a fear of losing you. You definitely wanted to bring it up to him if you make it through the game.

The room goes black and you pause. Trying to calm your crying, but you jump at the sound of another gunshot.

Fear strikes you, and you didn’t hear a scream to confirm who it was.

What if it’s him?

You almost begged for the light to never return, you didn’t want to see whether it was him or not.

But then, it comes back on anyway.

You slowly turn and there he is. He turns back to you after looking at the girl behind him off the path, dead.

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes, The three of you that are left are really close to the end so you start to walk faster, weaving through the path with focus and precision.

The light gets thinner as you move but you’re so determined to get to the other side that it doesn’t affect you.

You’re just about to reach the gate, and you look up.

30 seconds left.

The light goes out, you reach back and grab Hyunjin’s hand, and he laces his fingers through yours.

The five seconds pass, and you sprint through the gate. The other player follows you and you’re all safe.

You breathe a sigh of relief, and the dried tears on your face are covered by fresh ones.

A guard with a square mask guides you back to the game room but it all happens in a blur.

TRIANGLE 156 POV

I was livid.

I had asked that fucking player to push him. Player 320.

But he pushed player 013 instead, luckily that cunt saved her but it was grating on me that now she’d be in his debt. I didn’t like that.

She was mine to save.

I need to find a way to get her to trust me, sure I wasn’t being nice, far from it but I enjoyed getting a reaction out of her. I enjoyed hearing the hitch in her breath, the stutter in her soft voice and watching the tears falling down her beautiful face.

As I watched the next players go through the light maze I barely paid attention. I was too busy thinking about the next time I’d see her.

I was sweating underneath this stupid fucking uniform I had to wear, I liked the fact she feared me, not knowing who I was.

I needed to get her alone again so those men she involved herself with weren’t around to back her up or stop me.

She was going to feel my hands on her again.

That was a promise I kept for myself.

AUTHOR POV

Seungmin is pacing while Minho and Felix sit together. All their eyes were trained on the entrance to the main room.

“I hate waiting,” Minho comments, his voice strained.

Felix leans onto his shoulder, “I know, I’m so fucking scared Min, what if she doesn’t make-“

“Don’t say things like that,” Minho interrupts him. His voice cold, Felix can tell it’s his pain coming through from Jisung’s death so he doesn’t take it personally.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He whispers. Minho surprises him when he puts his arm around Felix’s shoulder. But he doesn’t comment on it.

Seungmin’s head bows, “FUCK!” He screams out, and Felix and Minho jump from the sound. “She better not die, he better not die.” He speaks as if to himself while he continues pacing.

“They won’t, they have each other I’m sure,” Minho responds.

Felix can’t help but hate the thought of it, the game driving them closer. But there’s nothing he can do about it. He doesn’t hate Hyunjin but he really isn’t a fan of how he acts around you. His pulse spikes as he hears the creak of the door opening.

Then, you’re there.

Walking hand in hand with Hyunjin. He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to run and hold you but instead stands as you both cross the room to the group.

Y/N POV

As you make your way to the group you catch the way they all look at you. All of them glowing, relief flooding their features.

You remove your hand from Hyunjin’s grasp as Seungmin rushes to you.

He pulls you to him, his arms around your waist, lifting you slightly as he does it.

“Hey,” you whisper to him. You can feel his smile in the crook of your neck.

He pulls back to get a better look at you. “You scared me for a second there.” He says, his hand finding your wet cheek, “You’re okay?” He asks.

You nod, “Yes, Seungmin I’m okay. Are you?” You say softly.

“I am now that you two are back.” He grins like a puppy and you can’t help but giggle.

Hyunjin stands awkwardly, his eyes dancing between the two of you. His face, unreadable.

He steps beside you again and puts his hand possessively around your hip. He squeezes, firmly but not enough to hurt. You softly smile at him, “Can you give me a sec?” You say pulling away and making your way to Felix and Minho.

Hyunjin watches for a moment, “I’m just gonna go clean up.” He mutters, to himself. He walks to the bathroom but Seungmin catches up and hugs him, Hyunjin’s body goes stiff for a moment before he relaxes and taps Seungmin lightly on the back.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Seungmin says honestly.

Hyunjin’s mouth pulls into a line, and he nods. “You too.” Then he turns on his heel.

You walk up to the others and Felix looks at you like you’re some kind of goddess, his eyes all over your form.

“Thank god,” he mutters before stepping into your space and hugging you tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Minho comes around both of you and slots himself into the space. Forming a group hug that makes your heart jump, the intimacy of it is not wasted on you. You feel grateful to have these men who care for you and each other.

“I said you’d be fine,” he says as you all step back from the hug. Seungmin comes over and you all stand in a circle. “I knew Hyunjin would take care of you,” Minho adds with a wink.

You scoff a laugh, “Didn’t think I could take care of myself, hmm?” You add.

Minho rolls his eyes but you know it’s in jest, “Oh, I know you can kitten. But it just felt better knowing he was with you.”

You nod, understanding him completely. You felt the same knowing he and Felix had each other.

You look around realising Hyunjin hadn’t returned yet. “He saved me.” You say absentmindedly as your eyes search the room for him.

“Well, he owed you one.” Seungmin chuckles.

You all laugh then, “Yeah, I guess.” You reply but your mind is elsewhere. You need to speak to him, to make sure you’re both okay after the game, the argument, and all the tension. You need to get it over with.

“I’m just gonna check on him,” you say out loud but not looking back at the others as you walk quickly towards the bathroom.

When you push the door open he’s leaning over the sink his hands cupped with water that he splashes onto his beautiful face. It drips down making his honeyed skin look delicious. You pause taking him in. His long limbs, his buzzcut that’s a little longer than the day you met, his roots black under the blonde.

His eyes are dark, full of unspoken thoughts. He glances at you through the mirror and stops running his hands over his face. He looks at you like he’s sad but also hungry.

None of you says anything for a moment.

Then, you walk to him, unwavering. Your steps are sure. He remains still, his eyes still locked on you.

As you come closer he turns to you, he looks down at your lips for a moment before making eye contact that burns through you.

“I’m sorry-“ he begins but you silence him. Your lips crash onto his, you pull on his numbered t-shirt, the fabric soft under your touch.

His hands move to your cheeks, cupping them with a brutal grip, The kiss is messy, wet from him washing his face and all-consuming.

You open your mouth and Hyunjin’s tongue claims yours. He’s relentless, groaning as he kisses you like he’ll stop breathing if he can’t have you. Everything you want to say to him is spoken through the kiss.

You feel yourself heating up from the intensity of it so you pull your jacket off and he notices. He grabs you by the waist and lifts you onto the bathroom counter in one swoop. Your jacket, left on the floor, forgotten. His mouth starts to trail down your jaw and your breath hitches from the contrast of the cold counter under you and the heat of his mouth.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says against your neck, but it’s muffled because he’s still nipping and kissing your skin. His body is slotted between your legs and his hands run down your thighs, needing the skin through your track pants.

Neither of you cares about the fact that someone could walk in at any moment. You only care about the way he’s making you feel, the way you want to make him feel. You know you need to talk, you want to apologise, to thank him but his tongue gliding over your skin is so addictive.

In a moment of clarity you push him back, just enough to look at him. His brow furrows and he almost pouts, it’s adorable.

“I’m sorry,” you mirror his words. “I-You-“ you sigh, pausing to think of what to say. But he speaks for you instead.

“I’m sorry, my… jealousy, it wasn’t fair to blame it on you. Not after Jisung.” He says, his eyes glassy with lust but you know he’s being honest, vulnerable. He’s never spoken to you with that voice. Delicate and nervous.

“That game, it-“ Hyunjin continues when you don’t respond. “It scared me when he pushed you, I don’t want to lose you.”

You can’t help but well up at his words. Your jaw hangs open in disbelief that he would open up to you. His feelings are on full display for you to do what you want with them.

His eyes follow a tear that falls down your cheek and his pupils dilate. He leans towards your face, looking back into your gaze through his lashes and his tongue darts out.

Then, he licks the tear away and kisses the corner of your mouth. “You know what that does to me thirteen,” his voice is low, laced with sin.

He grabs your jaw, his grip possessive. “You’re such a pretty crier.” He whispers against your lips.

You mirror his lustful eyes and whisper back to him. “Do you know what you do to me?” You smirk.

He kisses you again, his pillowy lips brushing yours sensually like he’s trying to ground himself. His hand still holds your jaw whilst the other squeezes your waist.

As you lose yourself in the kiss, the door creaks open and the two of you stop but he doesn’t step away.

Another player walks in and looks at both of you and you flush with embarrassment. It’s very obvious what you’ve been doing but Hyunjin just looks at him nonchalantly, like he hasn’t just licked your face.

The man walks into the stall and both of you start giggling like school kids who got caught behind the bleachers.

The man finishes but doesn’t bother washing his hands, he rushes out not glancing back. You’re grateful but cringe at the thought.

Hyunjin looks up at you with a huge smile on his face and you coo at him. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just wish we had somewhere a little more private,” he chuckles, looking down at your form. He licks his lips absentmindedly.

“I was scared too,” you decide to return the sentiment, he was open with you so you might as well be too.

He looks back up at you, his face turning more serious.

“When that guard-“ you began but Hyunjin took your hands, lightly running his thumbs over them.

“Don’t think about him, sweetheart.” He says, softly.

You sigh, trying to get your words out, “The game today, I was scared that you would die and the last thing I said to you was to fuck off.” You look down at your joined hands. “The whole time I was thinking how stupid our argument was compared to the risk that I wouldn’t get to speak to you again.” You say, tears still falling, you couldn’t believe you were being so open with your feelings, especially towards Hyunjin. Felix is easy to open up to, so was Jisung but trusting Hyunjin enough in this moment was freeing and suffocating at the same time.

You didn’t trust very easily. Not after him.

But Hyunjin had saved you. He had said ‘If you die thirteen, I’ll never forgive you.’

That spoke volumes.

Hyunjin leaned into you slowly, moving his hands to stroke your wet cheeks. He gazes into your eyes with a look you can’t place. Desire, devotion, sadness?

“Can I have you?” He asks, his voice dropping. “Please, baby.”

You wanted him to have you, so badly. At the moment you had no care for the fact that you were there, in a bathroom, in the game.

You nod and he smirks. His hands are moving underneath your t-shirt. His touch is pure fire, his fingers graze your skin possessively. They soon find your nipples and he strokes them through your lace bra as his mouth returns to yours.

His kisses are maddening, he pinches at your buds whilst licking your lips like a man starved. You feel his erection rubbing up against your inner thigh. He bucks his hips impatiently and groans into your mouth.

His hands trail down to the waistband of your track pants and he pulls at them as he leaves open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. You lift your hips to help him remove them and he chuckles against your neck.

“Good girl, always so pliant for me,” Hyunjin says, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

Your teal track pants and lace panties join your hoodie on the floor and he pulls you to the edge of the countertop.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart. Let me see that pretty pussy.” He whispers.

You do as he asks, your heartbeat races in your chest as you watch him look down at your dripping cunt.

His eyelids grow heavy as he brings his fingers to where you want them most. Hyunjin gently caresses your folds and you gasp at the contact.

“So wet for me already, fuck.” He says with a contented sigh. His fingers dip into your hole shallowly collecting your arousal then he circles your clit slowly.

You moan and his smile grows wider. “H- Hyunjin,” you stutter, breathlessly. Already feeling overwhelmed. His forehead rests against yours as he continues to tease your opening. “Say my name again.” He commands.

“Hyunjin, ahh.” You moan as he pushes two fingers inside of you curling them upwards finding your g-spot with ease. Your legs tremble as he starts to finger fuck you.

“Mmm, there she is.” He says in response to your pussy clenching around his fingers. You feel your orgasm building as he pushes into you with precision. He’s only done this once before and yet he knows exactly how to work you open.

His thumb rubs against your clit as he continues his ministrations. You’re panting now, the sensation flooding your lower abdomen. Your pussy starts to quiver, your legs practically vibrate against his hips that are keeping you spread for him.

“I think she missed me,” he says with mouth against your neck as he starts to suck on the hollow of your throat.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.” You beg, and he licks at the purple mark he’s left on you.

“That’s right, baby. Beg for it.” He says.

You feel yourself on the edge of ecstasy, his fingers don’t stop. “Please, I’m gonna come.” You whimper.

“Fuck, come for me. I wanna feel you baby.” He responds, his fingers driving into your hole faster now and you melt into your orgasm. You cry out as it washes over you. He works you through it and slows as you come down.

He removes his fingers gently and brings them to his lips, his eyes boring into yours as he sucks on them. “Mmm, just as sweet as I remember.” He says when he pulls them out with a pop.

You reach to pull his track pants and boxers down and he watches in awe. His thick cock springs free and his pink tip leaks with precum.

You salivate at the memory of it against your tongue. You run your thumb over the head of his cock and he hisses at the sensation. You pump it a few times and spread your legs wider, inviting him in.

He takes over and rubs it against your folds, his heavy length feels heavenly against your sensitive pussy.

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you every day since I laid eyes on you, thirteen.” He says glancing up at you. He starts to push his cock into your entrance, inch by inch and it causes you to whimper at the intrusion. He groans as he shallowly pumps in and out a few times before pushing all the way in.

You gasp and he kisses you, driving his dick deeper still. You moan into his mouth and he hums in response. Your arms engulf him and you scratch against his back, the fabric of his t-shirt stopping you from drawing blood. He groans at the feeling. His hand holds one of your thighs keeping you spread open whilst the other glides up to your throat, he rests his palm against it and starts to fuck you harder, his pace building.

He pulls his mouth away, your faces close as his half-lidded eyes meet yours. “So fucking tight, so fucking perfect,” Hyunjin says, his breath fanning against your skin.

“Fuck, Hyunjin.” You moan.

His hips snap into yours at a ruthless pace, his cock bullying your hole deliciously. “That’s my girl, take it. Take everything I give you.” He grunts.

Your pussy clenches at the pet name and he stutters a breath. “Fuck, you like that. Don’t you?” He chuckles, breathlessly.

You nod frantically, your voice gone. He’s fucking you so good that you can barely form a sentence at this moment. His cock edges you and you choke out a sob.

“Fuck, ahh.” He calls out, as he watches tears start to fall down your features. His pupils are blown out and his hand now starts to grip your throat possessively.

You cry from the sheer amount of pleasure he’s giving you. It’s so intense you can’t help it. His cock twitches inside of you, pushing into your sopping cunt.

“My girl, my fucking pussy,” he says through gritted teeth. “Say it, tell me you’re mine.” He demands. His hand still round your throat, his cock driving into you at a relentless pace. Your eyes roll back and you can feel yourself coming closer to another orgasm.

“I’m yours,” you scream out. “Only yours, Hyunjin.”

“Fuck, god you’re so perfect.” He moves his hand to grip your hair and pulls your head down to see where you meet. “Look at that, baby. Look how well you’re taking me.”

His long thick cock is soaked in your arousal, glistening in the low light of the bathroom. His breath is staggered now. Your cunt sucks him in and you feel his hand that’s not in your hair move to your clit.

“Can you give me one more, sweetheart?” He pulls your head up again to meet his gaze.

“Please, I’m so close.” You whimper and he flicks at your clit perfectly. His mouth kisses your tears on your cheeks, your lips, your jaw, and your neck. Like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you more.

“Ahh, Hyunjin. Yes- please. FUCK!” You scream out as you come on his cock. The lewd sounds of your wet cunt bounce off the bathroom tiles but in the moment you don’t care how loud you’re being.

“Good girl, mmm. Now I’m gonna fill you up.” He grunts. His hand moves to your throat again, and you gasp as his thrusts pick up. His forehead presses against yours for a moment, you can feel his cock pulsing in your pussy, the drag of it is so intoxicating. He starts babbling, saying how you’re a good girl, how perfect you feel, how you’re his. Your pussy clenches around his length again at the praise and he groans. “Fuck I’m gonna come, fuck- Y/N!” He spills into you and kisses you as he does. He pushes into you deep and his body shudders as his cock throbs with his release. Then, he starts laughing against your mouth, breathlessly.

Hyunjin leans his full weight onto you, still buried inside your heat. His arm circles your waist and the other wraps around the back of your neck gently. Your hands find their way to his buzzed hair, holding him against you.

He starts softly kissing your throat where his fingers dug in. “Did I hurt you?” He whispers.

You scoff a laugh at how sweetly he asks after roughly handling you. “No, I think I’ve had worse in here. Don’t you?” You say.

You feel him smile against your skin and he chuckles, “mmhmm,” he hums after.

He pulls your hair to the side, continuously kissing under your ear. The contrast between the sex you just had to the delicate way he’s treating you now isn’t lost on you.

It’s like he wants to show you what it meant for him, for you to give yourself fully to him.

After a moment you begin to pull back and your eyes meet. He looks completely fucked out, his irises dance blissfully. A lazy smile graces his swollen lips.

He leans over you grabs a paper towel and runs it under the faucet. All whilst still buried inside you. You watch him as he does admiring the afterglow that makes him look even more ethereal than he normally does.

He pulls out halfway, the wet paper towel in hand. Then he slowly drags out his dick, you can tell he’s thinking about your comfort as he does so. He presses the towel to your aching cunt and you whine at the cool sensation.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay, just cold.” You say, quietly.

You take over wiping yourself down and he grabs another one. Cleaning your mixed juices off of himself. He pulls his boxers and track pants up, then grabs your clothes and starts dressing you. His hands glide over you like you’re made of glass. You wordlessly lift your hips while he does so.

When he’s done he glances at you, almost timidly.

But then his eyes light up as they flicker over your features. “You okay, pretty?” He asks.

You flush at the attention, mentally praising whatever god made him so good at aftercare.

“I’m alive, so there’s that.” You joke and both of you laugh together. He steps towards you and his palm cups your cheek.

“You know what I meant.” He comments, feigning annoyance, rolling his eyes at you.

“I’m good- really good.” You say, sweetly smiling at him and he grins back, cocky.

Then he kisses you again, his lips slide over yours effortlessly, like the two of you are meant to fit together.

“We should head back,” Hyunjin says after a few minutes. “The others might be worried, or-“ then he smirks. “Suspicious.”

You both giggle and then he sighs contentedly as he stretches up his arms exposing his lean stomach and you internally curse yourself for staring.

He holds his hand out to you but you don’t take it.

“I’m just gonna freshen up in the girls' bathroom then I’ll see you out there.” You say and he nods.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, sweetheart.” He jokes.

You roll your eyes walking towards the opposite bathroom. “Don’t miss me too much, lover boy.” You jest sarcastically and he belts out a short laugh and walks into the main room.

AUTHOR POV

Triangle 156 was exhausted after the game, he had eliminated a few players today. It felt rewarding knowing that he was further along in his plans to have Player 013 win.

Another guard entered the room, “Triangle 156, 024 and 009, you’re done here. You can head back to your rooms.” Square 311 instructed.

Triangle 156 gave a nod, put the safety back on his AR and proceeded through a staff corridor.

His anger for player 320 was still living under his skin, he’d need to get rid of him sooner or later and stop player 013 from getting too close.

Though he also knew she’d have more men to run to, the little bitch was like that. Easy to love, easy to manipulate but so fucking beautiful. The kind of woman any man would want. He cursed himself for thinking about her so much, he remembered the feeling of her trembling lip under his thumb during the game. How he wanted to do it again, to have her begging on her knees for him. His cock twitched in his pants but he paid it no mind.

He decided to take the long route back to his room, he needed to walk the anger and arousal off. He couldn’t go to the main hub CCTV room to watch her like he wanted to. He couldn’t continue to break rules, he had been instructed to go to his room but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a peek at the bathrooms on his way.

As he walked into the viewing room for the women’s bathroom, he heard two ladies speaking but when he reached the double mirror it was players 002 and 199 gossiping. He turned on his heel and made his way to the men’s viewing room.

When he walked in the first thing he heard was a man and woman moaning. He paused, should he look? He decided he wanted to. He didn’t have his phone so he couldn’t watch porn here and he hadn’t been able to masterbate out of fear there were cameras in his room.

He turned the corner and then he saw you.

Your legs spread open, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks and him.

Player 320, fucking into you roughly, his hips between your silky legs with his hand squeezing your throat. There were bruises on you, you looked beautiful, all fucked out. Gasping and moaning.

Sweat was dripping down player 320’s face. He was looking into your eyes like a man starved. “My girl, my fucking pussy,” he said, his pupils blown.

Triangle 156 felt the anger growing in his stomach, low and raw. His dick was hard watching you but he was seething at player 320’s claim over you.

“Say it, tell me you’re mine.” He continued. Triangle 156 could tell you were close from the way your eyes rolled into your skull. He knew you were going to say it for him but he didn’t want to hear the words leave your swollen lips so he walked out abruptly.

Slamming open the door as he rushed down the corridor to his room. His cock strained against pants, but his blood boiled with rage.

He had gone for a walk to let go of the anger.

Now he was in his room, aroused and even more livid, with your name on his tongue.

Y/N POV

After having your post-sex pee and wash you head back to the main room. An anxious feeling fills your stomach. What if Hyunjin told the boys? You’re not sure why it would bother you if he did. It wasn’t a secret you were into each other but what would Felix think?

You weren’t stupid enough to know there wasn’t something between the two of you, although neither of you had spoken about it.

You approached the group cautiously. Hyunjin was speaking with Minho, his hands waving animatedly as he did. Minho's smile was apparent as he listened to him and you feel your chest get tighter.

Seungmin and Felix were laughing about something. Their voices a higher pitch than normal trying to contain themselves.

You were grateful, and the boys seemed happy. Well as happy as one could be in here. It made you wonder whether they’d be friends in the outside world. Maybe Felix and Hyunjin would even get on if you weren’t a factor in their lives.

However, you couldn’t let yourself feel negative right now. Not when things seemed to be a little better since Jisung’s death. You thought about him, his playful laugh, his sweet smile, and how he was always there to bring you back from those bad moments.

Minho’s voice broke through, “Ahh, there she is. You okay kitten?” He asks, but his tone is teasing.

You glance at Hyunjin, and he winks at you, his tongue pressed into his cheek. His eyes sparkle under the lights of the room.

“Yeah, fine.” You respond, almost too bluntly.

Minho beckoned you to them with a wave of his hand. You step forward and he moves away from Hyunjin, patting the seat for you to join them. You reluctantly oblige, still a little hesitant.

The bed feels soft under you, having spent so much time sitting on the bathroom counter you welcome the comfort of the mattress.

“We were just talking about you,” Hyunjin said, but it came out like a loaded statement.

“Oh?” You say, your eyes meet and you can tell he’s enjoying watching the fear on your face.

Instead Minho responds, “yeah we were trying to guess what everyone did for a living outside of this shit hole.” He says with a chuckle.

Hyunjin scoffs a laugh as your shoulders drop with relief, and you let out a sigh. “And what was your guess, hmm?” You say, leaning back onto your palms so you could see both of them.

“Well, I said a lawyer.” Minho replies, a teasing smirk on his lips. You quirk an eyebrow in disbelief and he continues. “You’re diplomatic, fiery, powerful. You’d be a perfect lawyer.”

You scoff, a slight blush on your cheeks from the compliment, “You really think I’m a lawyer!” You exclaim, you start laughing and so do they. “Why would a lawyer need money and be in here. I’m not a lawyer, no.” You say, with a shake of your head.

“I don’t know, you could have a gambling addiction, like me,” Minho says but his face falls into a slight frown at the end of his sentence.

You and Hyunjin stop laughing and both observe him.

“That’s why you’re in here?” Hyunjin asks, gently.

Minho hums, “Yeah, I’m not proud of it.” He looks down at his hands which are fidgeting in his lap. “I kinda lost everything because of it, I even lost my parents’ house because of it… I’m a terrible son.” His eyes are glassy as he speaks.

You and Hyunjin glance at each other, you reach Minho's hand and clasp it in yours, bringing it to your lap. “You’re not a bad son Minho. You’ve just made a mistake. You’re here now to make up for it. I’m sure your parents still love you very much.”

Minho meets your gaze. His eyes dance over your features for a moment, as if he’s figuring out what to say and then he speaks. “Do you think your parents would still love you?” The question comes out as a mumble but you flinch at the mention of them, taking your hands away from Minho.

Both of them look at each other, and you can tell they noticed the change in your demeanour.

“Urm, well I don’t know if they would. They were very distant when I was growing up.” You say, quietly.

“And now?” Hyunjin asks.

“They passed a few years ago.” You reply, you’re hunched over now, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry y/n,” Minho says. “I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“Don’t be silly, you didn’t know.” You interrupt. “It’s okay, I’m okay,” he looks at you with pity and you can’t help but hate it. “Really.” You want him to stop looking at you like that but he doesn’t, he stays fixed in that way. Instead, you turn to Hyunjin but his expression is unreadable.

After a few moments of silence, Hyunjin speaks. “Mine were distant too.” His gaze isn’t on you anymore, it’s like he’s trying to look anywhere but you and Minho. You can tell there’s something in the way he’s said it that it’s an uncomfortable subject for him, and yet he’s offering the information freely. Again, being open and honest with you. Like he wanted to steer the conversation to himself, saving you from having to speak about your parents’ death. You wondered what had been the turning point for him. Was it the game today? He had said to you that he was scared of losing you.

“Well I mean, distant emotionally but if anything they were suffocating.” He continues. “My mother was cold, my father, strict. I didn’t do anything right growing up, I was scolded constantly.” He paused, then, he met your gaze. His eyes locked on yours, his look is almost pleading. As if he’s saying this is hard for me.

You take his hand in yours. He takes a breath.

“My father was… abusive.” He states, hesitantly.

“Fuck.” Minho says under his breath.

You bring your hand to his cheek, you don’t care that Minho’s there. You don’t care about anyone else in the room at that moment. You stroke his soft skin with your thumb to comfort him, but he’s still watching you. His eyes longing, he leans into your touch and you can’t help but kiss his temple. The gesture is so tender that he closes his eyes and sighs.

Minho gets up and walks away, giving you both privacy. Like he’s read into the moment, he doesn’t say anything. You and Hyunjin observe him as he does then you look at each other again. Hyunjin moves towards you, and his knee presses against yours.

“I don’t like that,” you say. He just waits for you to continue. “He hurt you?”

He nods.

“How could he do that to someone so beautiful. So innocent. You were just a child.” You whisper.

Hyunjin moves again, taking your face in his palms. “I’ve never told anyone that before.” He whispers back against your lips, then he presses them onto yours. The kiss is gentle and sweet, nothing like how he usually kisses you. You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck, and the connection you feel becomes emotional. Like you understand him deeper than before. The room and everyone in it melt away and it’s just him that matters.

The kiss is brief but holds so much. He pulls away resting his forehead against yours but then reality hits you like a slap in the face because Seungmin calls over to both of you. “Ew, get a room!”

You both snap your necks turning to him. He laughs at your reaction, along with Minho.

You hide your embarrassment by laughing with them. “Someone jealous?” Hyunjin chuckles, pulling you by the waist. You swat him, playfully. “Ow.” He jests.

“Please, of a kiss?” Seungmin scoffs, “I don’t kiss,” he’s looking directly at you as he speaks. You can practically feel his hands on you again the way he’s looking at you. Hyunjin squeezes your waist possessively and you internally roll your eyes at how they’re both behaving. The sweet moment between you and Hyunjin feels like it happened in an alternate universe. Minho is still laughing at the exchange but when you look at Felix, he is not. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t engage. He’s almost cold in his demeanour, very different to how he usually is with you and it makes your heart sink. He must have seen you and Hyunjin. You almost feel guilty, but you think if he wanted you he could have said something, he could have made a move.

Seungmin breaks you out of the staring contest you’re having with Felix when he speaks again. “But jealous of whatever you two were up to in the bathroom?” You shoot daggers then, and Seungmin smirks, like he’s enjoying getting a rise out of teasing you. “Very.” He winks at you and you wish in that moment the ground would swallow you whole. Minho then folds over squeaking when he laughs, Seungmin chuckles, his eyes still on your annoyed expression. Hyunjin pulls you onto his lap, “Guess our little secret is out, sweetheart.” He whispers against your neck and you shiver. Goosebumps trail over your skin, your face is red and that’s when you actually roll your eyes. You look back to where Felix was sitting but he’s gone, already walking towards the bathroom. Seungmin follows your gaze, then looks back at you shaking his head. “Such a pretty little brat.” He mutters, referring to your eye roll and pissed off face. “Why don’t you follow him in, thirteen. Come on, give the poor boy a taste.”

Hyunjin’s grip on your waist tightens, it’s almost bruising. These men were gonna be the fucking death of you before any game has the chance. Two can play at that game, you think to yourself. You pull away from Hyunjin and stand, You walk slowly towards Seungmin and his smirk deepens, he thinks he has you right where he wants you but then you grab his jaw, you lean in so close to him that your lips are centimetres away from his.

“Thirteen,” Hyunjin says, like a warning. You ignore him completely. You focus strictly on making Seungmin embarrassed. Seungmin looks thoroughly entertained. He gives you elevator eyes.

“And make you even more jealous, puppy.” You hold him there for a beat, you feel his pulse spike under your fingertips. Then, you lean in again your lips ghost over his and you push him away, his back hits your bed that he’s been sitting on and you laugh.

Hyunjin sighs, in relief and cackles. He claps loudly and dramatically and you turn back to him and plonk yourself back onto his lap. Minho is sitting on the floor now, his back again the bed frame, he’s breathless with laughter.

Felix returns but he doesn’t even look at you. He just mutters under his breath, “I’m gonna take a nap.” He climbs up to his bed without another word and you all exchange glances but no one says anything.

Seungmin sits up a little, still leaning back on his elbows. “You’re trouble, thirteen.” He scoffs.

“I know.” You reply, simply.

AUTHOR POV

Triangle 156 stood in the main hub, watching the CCTV in the main room. He saw you sitting on player 320’s lap, you both speaking and laughing together like you weren’t locked in here. Player 320’s hand ran up your thigh as Player 143 spoke to the two of you. There was sound but Triangle 156 wasn’t listening, his gaze was fixed on the way Player 320’s fingers ran across your teal track pants.

He was clenching his jaw, his hands balled into fits at his side.

The masked leader unbeknownst to him was watching. A light chuckle escaped his lips. He approached Triangle 156 from behind, his steps heavy on the floor. “Your obsession with her hasn’t gone unnoticed by other workers.” He said ominously through his angler mask.

Triangle 156 turned to him, his gloved hands relaxed slightly at his side, willing himself not to give away his frustration. He didn’t answer, not verbally. He couldn’t bring himself to, so instead he nods.

The masked leader’s head tilts slightly to the side as if he’s reading him behind the mask. “You have permission to intervene when necessary,” he began. Triangle 156’s mouth dropped open in shock at his words, but of course, the masked leader couldn’t see his reaction, so he continued. “I’ll repeat myself, only when necessary, the viewers are enjoying seeing her unravel. They are pleased to see the fear on her face when you’re near her. They want her challenged, tested. You, however, do not have permission from me personally, to touch her inappropriately. Do I make myself clear?”

Triangle 156 paused as if waiting for a moment to speak. Did he know how he felt about you?

“Yes sir,” he replied with a bow.

“You may go to her now, scare her if you wish. I’ll be watching. Do not cause any disorder.” The masked leader’s voice sounded out above the hum of the CCTV.

“Yes sir,” another bow, with that Triangle 156 briskly walked out of the room. One person is set in his sights.

You.

Chapter 13 - Coming Soon!

Please do not copy my work!

Images in banner are not mine!

Dividers by - @sisterlucifergraphics

Taglist - @eridanuswave @astro-des @ot8girlfie @fairylix @estellan0vella @nightmarenyxx @missygore @mysterysold @chloe-elise-2000

@minhosglasses @akindaflora @minniesverse @riri53 @hhwangsmoon

#hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #18+ mdni #hyunjin x reader #skz au #lee felix #han jisung #kim seungmin #lee minho #squid game imagine #squid game au #skz ff #skz fanfic #skz smut #hyunjin smut

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angel06babysworld · 6 hours ago

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I Blame the 6 Year Old

singledad!rafe x babysitter!reader

Chapter Twelve

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It was the kind of afternoon where nothing really needed to happen.

Rafe had stepped out for a while—something about a hardware store run that would “only take twenty minutes” and had clearly turned into an hour. Ellie didn’t seem to mind.

She’d claimed the living room floor with all the authority of a tiny queen, laying out her blanket, two throw pillows, a tray of snacks, and an entire nail polish caddy she dragged down from upstairs.

“You’re getting sparkles,” she declared, uncapping a glittery bottle with purpose. “No arguing.”

She laughed, wiggling her fingers. “I wouldn’t dare.”

They were both cross-legged on the floor, leaning over each other’s hands like a secret ceremony, Disney playing softly in the background and a bowl of peanut butter pretzels slowly disappearing between them.

Ellie was focused, tongue peeking out slightly as she painted. “You always let me pick the colors,” she said thoughtfully.

“I like your taste.”

“You don’t even like pink,” Ellie said. “But you let me do it anyway.

“I like how you like pink.”

That made Ellie smile. Just a little. She ducked her head, brushing polish across her pinky.

They didn’t talk much for a while after that.

The movie kept playing. The polish started to dry. Ellie scooted closer, half in her lap by the time they hit the third coat.

Then, very softly: “Do you think I’m allowed to have two moms?”

The question stopped her completely.

She looked down. Ellie wasn’t looking up. She was fidgeting with the bottle cap now, fingers twitching in nervous patterns.

“I know I have a real one,” she added quickly. “Even if she’s far away. Even if she doesn’t call a lot. I know she still counts.”

“She does,” she said softly.

“But…” Ellie glanced up. “If I wanted to feel like I had two, is that bad?”

She swallowed, heart tugging tight in her chest. “No, baby. That’s not bad at all.”

Ellie nodded like she already knew. But her voice cracked a little anyway. “You do mom stuff. You brush my hair and check my closet for monsters and fix my glitter pens when they dry out. And you know the song I like before bed. The real one. Not the fake version Dad sings.”

She smiled. “His version is pretty bad.”

“It’s terrible.”

Ellie leaned closer, pressing her cheek to her shoulder. “You make it feel like our house.”

She blinked quickly, trying not to cry.

“I don’t wanna make Dad feel weird,” Ellie added. “Or her either. I just… I didn’t know if it was okay.”

She wrapped an arm around the little girl, holding her steady and safe. “You get to decide what people mean to you, El. You don’t need permission for that.”

Ellie whispered, “You feel like mine.”

She held her tighter. “You feel like mine too.”

For a while, they just sat like that—knees touching, polish drying, movie playing faintly in the background.

Ellie reached for her hand again. “I don’t have to call you anything different. But if I say it by accident again, can you not go away?”

She kissed the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ellie’s shoulders finally relaxed. “Good. Because we haven’t even done glitter toes yet.”

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @sc04 @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @icversvoid @honeyinthesummer @dolli333 @lolabunnyworldss @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @rafessbaby

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wedriftlikelonelyplanets · 1 day ago

Note

19– your choice if you’re taking prompts

19 - when the teasing in the dressing room gets a little too hot (we're changing this to the garage and driver's room)

from this prompt list

(and also HILARIOUS because i have three fics in the works right now with this EXACT premise)

Anyhow, have some Where's My Pride Oscarmark, bonus points if you figure out what scene this is from. Regular content warning for this verse that includes orgasm denial, cock cages, long term chastity, and implied power imbalances.

Mark's been doing it all day, gentle touches to the small of Oscar's back, lips pressed against the shell of Oscar's ear as he murmurs praise. Making it known that he's there, in every corner of Oscar's periphery.

It's maddening. He's been squirming since it started, pressing himself back against Mark, trying to cling closer.

He feels pathetic like this, when Mark's playing with him. Left him trapped in his cage, trapped in the car, trapped in media obligations. He feels hazy at the edges, needy, weak in the knees. He can barely glance in Mark's direction without flushing pink.

Mark just smiles back knowingly.

He doesn't know how he manages pole, when it feels like his hands are shaking non-stop, when he feels like he wants to vibrate out of his skin.

When he finally gets out of the car, it's not soon enough. He doesn't know how he's going to make it through the team debrief like this. Not with Lando's curious eyes on him. Not when Mark's done it on purpose. He'd told Oscar the purpose of the cage had been to help him focus.

But when he's acting like this, riling Oscar up, putting him on the edge, it doesn't feel like it is.

It feels like it's a trap, and Oscar's caught in the centre of it. It feels like a distraction. It feels cruel.

"Mark," Oscar whines lowly, as Mark wraps an arm around his waist, thumb brushing against his abdomen through too many layers of fabric. "Please." He's not above begging. Never has been.

Mark has him like this, Mark likes him like this, needy and pathetic and begging. Though he usually doesn't push the boundaries like this. Usually saves it for when they're in private, when Oscar can go down, and Mark can drag him back up when they're done. When Mark can take care of him proper.

Not when they're in the garage, not when they're relegated to the thin walls of his driver's room.

"We'll get there in time, pet. Take a breath for me, yeah?" Mark's voice has a thread of warmth woven in, and it's enough to at least allow Oscar to feel a little more normal, a little more grounded.

But Oscar's neediness is hardly enough to stop Mark.

He still brushes his fingers over the curve of Oscar's waist as he herds him into his driver's room. Hauls him close and drags his fingers through Oscar's hair, before cupping Oscar's jaw in one broad palm, tilting Oscar's gaze up to meet his.

"Look so good when you're out there in first," Mark murmurs, brushes his thumb over the curve of Oscar's lip. Oscar moves forward to suck it into his mouth, but Mark tugs it back, tsk-ing when Oscar lets out a disappointed sound. "You'll be distracted for your debrief, can't have you like that. Need your set-up ready for the race, pet."

Oscar knows how he sounds when Mark finally pulls away, after kissing him, just a gentle press of his lips against Oscar's. Knows that he sounds pathetic, a little devastated. He wants to beg, but he knows that it won't do him any favours. Mark will just look at him, impassive, corners of his mouth tilting down.

Sometimes, Oscar worries that Mark's going to tell him that he made a mistake when he locked Oscar up. Sometimes Oscar worries that Mark's going to tell him that the cage has made him too distracted, too needy. But he likes it. Likes the way it makes him feel. Likes that it makes him Mark's.

Sometimes, he thinks losing it would be more devastating than never getting to come again.

"Reckon I won't be able to focus anyways," Oscar murmurs, and Mark snorts in response.

"Make it worth your while if you do, pet." Mark murmurs, when Oscar drags himself out of Mark's hold.

The promise of something almost makes it worse. Makes Oscar feel like he needs to crawl out his own skin.

He thinks he barely hears anyone talk. It's just a rushing sound in his ears, focus on his cock where it's trapped and leaking in his boxers, on the way Lando's staring at him curiously. He nods where the need him to nod, attempts to put together a coherent sentence when it's needed, but he feels brainless with need.

Mark's waiting for him in his driver's room when the debrief is over. Takes one look at Oscar's face and smirks, the edge of it so sharp that Oscar thinks he feels it slice through him. "You sent me in there like this," his voice is a low hiss, and Mark raises a brow. "Swear they all fucking know." There's no true ire in Oscar's tone, only a lilt of mortification.

"What do they all know, pet?" Mark asks, "They know that I have their star driver under control with lock and key? Have him begging and desperate for me, even though he knows I won't let him come?"

The tone of Mark's voice has Oscar swallowing hard, glancing away when he can't meet the intensity of Mark's gaze.

"Has the teasing been too much for you, sweetheart?" Mark moves, then. Pushes himself off of the bench and walks towards Oscar. Oscar keeps his gaze trained on the floor, even as he feels the warmth of Mark's breath against the back of his neck, the brush of Mark's fingers under the hem of his McLaren polo. "Or do I know exactly how much you can take?"

It's not a rhetorical question.

"You know, sir." Oscar forces the words out of his dry mouth, feels the curve of Mark's smile against the crown of his head.

"Good boy."

Mark makes him bend over, brace himself against the wall as he fingers Oscar open, and it's so humiliating Oscar wants to cry about it. Wants to cry about the way he tries to force himself back onto Mark's fingers, about the way his cock leaks non-stop, twitching against the unforgiving bars of his cage. It's so much. Almost too much.

He's lost track of how many days it's been since Mark last let him come. Thinks it's been an eternity. And even when he feels it, close, creeping up on him, a tug in his guts, swirling need, he knows Mark won't let it happen anyways.

He knows that he sounds pathetic, the pained whimpers falling from his mouth are mortifying. He can't allow himself to think about the fact that the walls are paper thin, that his trainer could hear them.

That Lando could hear them.

"That's enough, I think." Mark murmurs, when he's three fingers deep, stretching Oscar open, brushing across his prostate. He pulls them out, and Oscar almost sobs at the emptiness. "You can ride me here," Mark murmurs in his ears, patting Oscar's bare ass gently, before he pulls away, moves to sit on the bench, brow raised expectantly.

It takes some effort, figuring out exactly where Mark wants him. Eventually they end up with Mark's chest pressed against Oscar's back, Oscar's thighs spread wide over Mark's, sinking down on to Mark's thick cock.

The drag of it from the angle feels like Mark's rearranging him, repainting the stars in the sky, creating new galaxies. Oscar's eyes flutter closed, head lolling back against Mark's shoulder, as Mark's fingers dig into his hips hard enough to bruise. It's less fucking, and more a slow, steady grind. Deep enough that it has Oscar gasping for air.

"Mark, please, please, can I?" He begs, when it gets to be too much, when he's sticky with sweat, can feel it rolling down the back of his neck. Grounded only where Mark's pressing into him, where Mark's hand rests, heavy in the hollow of his throat.

“Good girls only take what they’re given, Oscar. If you can’t come from this, you don’t get to come at all."

Oscar can feel his cock jerk in his cage at the words, knows that a desperate, needy sound escapes him, as Mark grinds into him, just a little deeper, a little harder.

"Mark," he's breathless, pathetic. "Mark I can't."

He feels overstimulated despite the fact he hasn't come, jerks in Mark's grip, tries to escape, fingernails scrabbling against Mark's arms, like he can gain any purchase. Mark's grip just tightens on him, fingernails biting into Oscar's hips, fingers squeezing around the curve of his neck, and then Mark's coming, deep inside of him.

"Guess you missed your chance, pet," Mark's tone is smooth, soft, gentle almost, as he stops his movements.

Oscar sobs, the sound of it ripped from his throat. He wants to sob that it's not fair. But he's the one who asked for this. He'd never asked for fair.

#my writing #prompt games #oscarmark #where's my pride verse #as typical #usfw #whoops sorry if this is bad <3 #this also got longer than i expected it to

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sadlynotthevoid · 2 days ago

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Okay, but in retrospective, that moment where All Might reads a script on his first class that's used for comedic purposes and his kinda clumsy personality actually says good things of him as a teacher:

1. He planned and scheduled the class: all teachers should do that. You can't just show up without a planned class to, well, classes. You have to plan the topic, how to teach it, strategies, activities an all that. I know that because I'm studying to be a teacher and we get told that at least once in every teaching-related subject.

2. He knew he could have trouble remembering the explanation for the dynamic from the top of his head and brought a script in case he needed it: he's aware of his own shortcomings and not only not so prideful as to be ashamed of them, but will also search ways to compensate them. This is just common sense but no one wants a teacher who puts their pride over acknowledging their flaws/limits. That's how teachers who think they're always right are.

3. His plan wasn't that bad and could have been more useful if there was more reflection afterwards or theory to back up the experience: There are learning theories that are based on having the students experience things and then reflect on what they just went through. The theory side was weak but he did asked the students their own thoughts on the matches. He should have inquired more and ask to other students too (you know, not only have Momo answer everything). The exercise itself could have worked well as a diagnostic activity. Also, estimulating the students to think is a good thing.

Now, on his fails:

1. He should have set better limits at the start of the activity. I don't remember if he didn't, but if he did, he should have put his foot down on not letting the very dangerous lethal attack go on. Not just tell Bakugou not to use it, but also stop the activity and, well, physically stop him. Not "but Izuku could learn from this". He is his highschool teacher, the physical well-being should be prioritized about a dubioud dangerous "learning" opportunity. Not "but he is just a teacher. Stopping a student with a bomb isn't his job". It's a fictional world with heroes and he is a hero. He is the hero. He could and he should. "But he can't use violence against his students, right?" No, he can't. But he could just, you know, pull Bakugou from the collar take off his guantlet, for example.

2. Again, a better reflection/theory afterwards. I mean, yeah, time limit, but he could have just told them to come up with three things well done and badly done from the overall matches for the next class. Would have make them to think more on strategies and procedures for future activities/hero work.

3. He should have informed that one of his students tried to kill another. Not if he dodges, my ass. That's like, a crime. That's at least assault, sir. They have permission to spare with quirks, not to try to kill or maim each other.

That's about it, I think? I haven't watched BNHA in ages but he's not as bad of a teacher as I remembered. He's just a rookie teacher who should learn to give better advice.

In general, tho, UA is just shady as hell. I mean, if a teacher had told me that they're allowed to do whatever they want, I would walk off the class and switch schools immediately.

And why does Aizawa sleep in class? I don't care if there's no actual class scheduled, you are the only adult supervision. You can't just sleep there. I don't care if you're overworked because you have two jobs, jobs that require supervising other people's well-being are not the kind that you can take without at least some commitment. You wouldn't let a medic sleep through a surgery, right? Then you shouldn't let a teacher come ready to sleep while he should be seeing a group of, may I remember you, superpowered teenagers. I don't care if it's a "logical ruse", it's still rude and a waste of their money and time.

And don't get me started with the "potential" bullshit. You know how much of bullshit that is? I mean, if your math teacher just went and tell you to don't keep coming to their class at the start of the year because he can't teach you because "you don't have potential" for maths, wouldn't you think they're full of crap? First, a teacher is not a psychic, they can't know the extent of your capacities on the first day of classes. Second, a teacher's job is not to discard those who doesn't fit their own standards, it's to try to motivate the students to learn and try to pass the knowledge and skills for that. Third, Aizawa is not the head authority on pro-hero-ing nor has he the right to set the standards for what the profession recquires. Fourth, "potential" is too abstract and not a valid reason to expell or grade someone. He's like that one literature or art teacher who fails students because they don't agree or don't like their work when they should be passing or failing them based on whether or not they learned the skills and theory needed.

Lastly, saying you fail/expell a student because they don't have potential is such an easy excuse to be lazy and don't try to teach them or admit you failed to teach them.

Anyways, this post was not about him or UA being shady af. It was about All Might being actually not such a bad teacher as people think, just an inexperienced rookie teacher.

...At least on the first few seasons, I stopped reading the manga after Eri's rescue arc. I think the last I read was when Izuku fought Gentle and The Brava? I didn't like where it was going so I dropped it.

#all might gets too much critics for that one exercise and reading a script #he should be criticized for other things. not that #losing ofa time when he knew he had a compromise before hand? yep #maybe not letting inko into his offer to izuku? she should have been informed afterwards just in case #I'm not going into afo bc he thought the guy was dead so *shrugs*#aizawa on the other hand #can you tell I have a bone to pick with him?#people compare him to kakashi and call him a good teacher #as if kakashi wasn't a bad teacher himself #just. you know. kakashi didn't choose to be a teacher #he's still a bad teacher #i like kakashi but that's the truth #anti aizawa #not tagging him bc i don't want to ruin his fans dashboards #anyways #bnha #all might #yagi toshinori

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uniquethingtastemaker · 2 days ago

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*confused screaming*

I just did the math. I had a mental break while replying to a comment on one of my posts.

Riddle's Dreaming of You is 32k words atm (I'll update the Masterpost)

*stunned silence. rapidly blinks, unable to process. tilts head, staring at the screen*

...It isn't 100% done either. Intense progress has been made since I last mentioned it in a comment. Instead of 10 or 7 scenes that I need to work on, I only have 3! We're getting somewhere. I have a majority... or at least a good chunk of every scene, so that's good.

It’s improvement!! Deuce reminds me every day that even small progress is progress (that's a line in the fanfic btw lol. Riddle thinks it)

I knew it increased to 29k, but going over 30k is unexpected

...How long were these supposed to be?? I think I said 20k-ish. Well... that's about 10k over...

For context, the one work I consider to be one of the biggest is Rook x Observant Reader. I just ran the calculations (there's a lot of content in the scrap pile of my Google Doc, 15k for this one). It's currently 46k words. However, I haven't written a lot of the "3rd Act." So... idk how much that's going to add... I originally estimated it to be 40k.

Maybe whatever I estimate it to be, I should add 10k. So... this one might be over 50k. That seems like a lot, though...

Update: It’s not a lot. Honestly, it’s probably going to be like 55k+ or something. Apparently, I wrote 2k words last night for Riddle. It’s 34k now. I changed the ending and added a scene. I swear I’m not delaying it on purpose. I just have no sense of time or how much I write. I’ll make an actual to-do list both for myself and you all lol. I have…

(Short) Describe Riddle’s Overblot Form

(Medium?) “After Overblot” Section Rewrite

(Small) Finish Card Exchange

(Small Fill… probably) [Undisclosed Unbirthday Party Event]

(Medium) Sidebar

(Long Long…ohhh, i forgot about this one) Rose Bushes

(Medium) Tactile Grounding

(Long… also forgot about this) Finish/Rewrite Reactions to Deuce’s Idea

(……Medium) Clean up modified version and execution of Deuce’s Idea

(Medium Small?) Clean up Riddle’s POV

(Long... Long?) Finish the aftermath of Grim's Stunt and Last Gift Exchange

(Monster) Ending scene(s?)… the Monster is back, and I’m not just talking about the word count…

Oooooh, scary~ *wiggles fingers*

Character growth is beautiful and I take it seriously.

Obviously, I don’t make to-do lists that often. I should. I underestimate how much I actually have. I swear that the changes are worth it! I haven’t touched the first half of the fanfic because it’s completely fine. It’s going to come out. I promise. Anyone can come to the conclusion I don’t have a great grasp on my work load based on the evidence above. So, yeah, I just have terrible estimations lol

…I’m not going to even explain the ordering for this. I don’t even know

I hope people are excited! I am. Comment and interact. Curious to see what you all think about my summary section hints lol. You know the drill. Now, I’m going to go write. Wish me luck. Feel free to guess how many words I gain. Although I might hop to a different fanfic because sometimes that happens

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #fanfic update #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts #twst riddle #word count #rook x reader #rook hunt #twst rook #dreaming of you #dreaming of you series #to do lists

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lara635kookie · 17 hours ago

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My Personal Kpop Demon Hunters Song Ranking:

That was so hard because all the songs are SO GOOD, but I'll try, maybe my opinion will change with time.

7. Takedown:

Okay, don't throw stones as me. I love this song. But the other songs are just too SUPERB, that this one becomes... Less superb. Like Rumi, I think the song is... A little exaggerated at times. Something I like about this movie is that every part of the soundtrack is essential. It tells a story. At first, I thought this was going to be just a badass TWICE song, which I wouldn't have minded, but I'm glad they made it a part of the story, showing Rumi, ironically the one to ask for a diss track on the Saja Boys, can't sing it because it's too hateful on her demon side. It's a really great song overall, the other ones just stand out more.

6. How It's Done:

You realize how good the HUNTR/X's songs are when this MASTERPIECE is ranked so low. I love How It's Done, it's a song to introduce us to the girls and what they do, highlight their unique personality traits and show us how successful they are, both as k-pop stars and demon hunters. And it reaches its goal perfectly. You hear it and you already know a little about the girls and it makes you want to know more. It's a song that 100% excels at their purpose. However, the other songs on that list also excel on their purpose way too much (and also fit my personal tastes even better lol), sadly leaving How It's Done on this position.

5. Golden:

It almost feels like a crime putting Golden so low. But I just can't put it any higher because what's coming is EVEN BETTER. The song is a bop, and it just represents each of the girls so well. Their story, their struggles. As they said, it's a song about who they are, where they are, and where they are going next. The outfits are everything, the MV, the lines, and it all is just executed so perfectly. I have nothing but compliments to Golden, I tried to make it higher because I refused to accept it would end up so low, but there wasn't any other way. That's Golden's place on that list, for now, at least.

4. Soda Pop:

Don't judge me!!! Come on, it is CATCHY. The boys kill it!!! And just like How It's Done does with the girls, Soda Pop introduces us to the boys so well. I love it how, at first, it sounds like just a little innocent song about having a crush, but the deeper meaning behind it is demons saying they want to drink the fan's souls in a very sweet and sugarcoating way. It's something you have to listen a few times to catch on. It just truly fascinates me how a song called Soda freaking Pop, can have such a dark message in between the lines, like come on, look at those lines: "Don't want you, need you, Yeah, I need you to fill me up", "Every sip makes me want more, yeah", "Lookin like snacks 'cause you got it like that", "Take a big bite, want another bite", "'Cause I need you to need me", "I'm empty, you feed me so refreshing", "Come and fill me up, Just can't get enough", "You're my Soda Pop, gotta drink every drop". AND THAT CHORUS???

"You're all I can think of

Every drop I drink up

You're my soda pop

My little soda pop

Cool me down, you're so hot

Pour me up, I won't stop

You're my soda pop

My little soda pop"

Like, there's so much in this song that you need to hear it more than once (which is not a problem, you will because it's addictive). How do you even make a seemingly silly song about soda to be this filled with hidden meanings??? Whoever wrote Soda Pop, you're a genius, you're an icon, you're a legend, you're the moment, and I fear you own my life, I wish I had your brain. I just love this genre of Kpop where Idols use food/drinks to make an innuendo. Ice Cream by BLACKPINK feat. Selena Gomez, Cookie by New Jeans. Whatever that's called, I hope it becomes a trend. Give me more of this, K-pop idols. I need it. I need you to serve me colorful aesthetic with cute lyrics with a double meaning behind it(but please make sure you're all legal adults first okay?). Because somehow, a song about soda popping can have this much ways of interpretation. A cutesy one, a sexier one, and a darker one. It's just so mind-blowing what they did with this song. The fans will probably notice it's about sex with a cute aesthetic, like the songs I mentioned before, because it can also be interpreted like that to hide the actual meaning only the HUNTR/X catches on:They're demons trying to steal their fans souls. The intelligence level is just off the charts with this one. Whoever came up with this was allowed to COOK and cooked even harder that I thought it was possible. Before making this list, I was sure Soda Pop would make it to the podium, and it almost did, but the other ones are just too superior.

🥉 What It Sounds Like:

The perfect finale. This was so emotional in so many ways. Just talking about it makes me want to cry. It's so beautiful and so heart-wrenching at the same time. I don't think I have enough words to describe it. All the songs in the podium were almost in first place, because they are just THAT good, I love myself a grand ending with with a lot of magic, and color, and glitter, and the power of friendship (the girl obsessed with Equestria Girls Rainbow Rocks within me will never die). The lyrics are so poetic, and they are just everything to me. It also kinda reminded me a little bit of some of The Greatest Show, This is Me and Come Alive from "The Greatest Showman", it was just THAT EPIC. The girls acknowledging they made mistakes, and they can't come back, but they can still make it through together and defeating Gwi-ma was just so POWERFUL. Cliche? Yes, very. But I wouldn't have it any other way. It's a trope that WORKS.

🥈Your Idol:

I'm sorry, but always that the movie has a villains vs heroes final musical showdown battle, the villains are defeated, but in terms of MUSIC, we all know who the real winners are. Like, I'm sorry, Saja Boys, who gave you permission to SLAY SO HARD??? I think it's obvious that by now, they're all WAY hotter in their demon forms. I'm sorry, but if they presented themselves as demons since the start, no plot would have made me believe the HUNTR/X would be able to defeat them. If they were demons since the beginning of their careers, the HUNTR/X would have been defeated. Way sooner, in fact. And all the boys shined EQUALLY. Like, I feel like the boys were more balanced than the girls in this aspect. Like, Rumi always starts and ends the song. Yes, Mira and Zoey have very memorable parts, but still Rumi always ends up standing out more. Which I think might be a reflection of external bias. Rumi's younger version is played by Maggie's Kang daughter(and she's the only one we know more about as a kid), Rumi was a character that was created a long time ago for a project her husband was part of and even the movie itselfs say "Celine built HUNTR/X around her" (Rumi). And with the Saja Boys, don't get me wrong, Jinu is the one that sings more and is on the center more, but he leaves more space to the other members than Rumi does. I'm gonna make it clear I don't think that's Rumi's fault and I don't hate her character for it, but the way Kpop Stans are, I just know in real life Rumi would get lots of hate for "stealing all the lines" like many other idols received before. And I don't think the Saja Boys would have that problem because specially here in Your Idol, Abby is the one that starts the song, than Mystery and Romance and just then Jinu. Rumi always comes earlier into the song. There were times I felt like Mira and Zoey's parts were too short just for her to come in. Which is not exactly a bad thing, it would explain why her losing her voice affects not just her but the others so much, because she's the very foundation of HUNTR/X. Which I get why, she's a nepo baby (a very talented one may I add). Her mom was a Sunlight Sister and her adoptive mom is another one of them. But still, the balance of the Saja Boys attracts me more. Because even though Jinu sings more, all the lines from all the members are equally iconic (well almost, some are a little bit more than others). Let's count:

Abby: "Keeping you in check, keeping you obsessed", "Anytime it hurts, play another verse", "I can be your sanctuary", the part of the first chorus he sings, "Don't let it show, keep it all inside", "The pain and the shame, keep it outta sight".

Mystery: "More than power, more than gold", "Yeah you gave me your heart now I'm here for your soul" (Love it how the camera focus on Zoey smiling when he sings)

Romance: "Know I'm the only one right now", "I'ma love you more when it all burns down", "Your obsession feeds our connection", "give me all your attention" he also sings a part of the second chorus.

Jinu: His whole entire pre-chorus and Chorus to be honest, his vocals at the end are pure and sheer PERFECTION, "I will make you free, when you're all a part of me", "Watch me set your world on fire", "No one is coming to save you" (love the foreshadowing), "You're down on your knees, I'm be your idol".

Baby Saja: His whole entire rap that mind you is the very best part and dare I say the very CORE of this song. He was owning this era for real and that's what I'm trying to say, I think it seems like Rumi owns every era, from what they showcased to us, so I like how the Saja Boys divide the spotlight between all the members better.

And I'm sorry but Your Idol's bridge ALONE is bigger than the HUNTR/X's entire carreer. I said what I said. It's genuinely one of the best bridges I've ever heard in a song, I'm not even kidding.

I understand why they only had two songs and then disappeared, if they had more, no other Kpop artist, group or soloist, in this universe would stand a fricking chance.

I genuinely love how just like Soda Pop, Your Idol has so many meanings. The situation with Rumi, the message to the fans, the control Gwi-ma has over all the demons including the Saja Boys themselves and it even gives a little more of depth to the other members of Saja Boys, just so we can say they are not completely shallow. And they do it in a way that makes you want to learn more about them. Apparently all demons of this species, were humans who sold their souls to Gwi-ma.

So it makes you wonder, what happened to them? Both Abby and Baby mention pain, Abby mentions shame. Mystery talks about power and gold so maybe he wanted those things when he gave his soul to Gwi-ma. Romance talks about obsession, connection, attention, being the only one, so what if he gave his soul to Gwi-ma for love?

I also just love the parallels of a song being named Your Idol, in a movie about Kpop Idols, which they sing in a big show after they just won basically everything in the Idol Awards. Brilliant!

Speaking of the Idol Awards, we needed to see the Saja Boys performing there. I know it was a part of the plan for them not to, but I feel like they did the transition from Human to Demon too quickly. It was good, but it would have been better if they first had Soda Pop, when they're in their human forms with a cute concept, then after that had their dark performance as humans but with their marks showing on their black outfits at the Idol Awards, something kinda like this post I made before the movie came out:

And then they would have their even darker performance at the end at the final show at Namsan Tower.

That being said, I loved the way Your Idol was executed. Nearly flawless in every single possible way. No aspect to criticize. I love How they shift to "Don't you know I'm here to save you?" from "No one is coming to save you". Jinu and Rumi proving they are made for each other because just like Rumi, Jinu's highnotes give me goosebumps, and that latin part roughly at the start roughly translates to:"That day of wrath eill dissolve you into ashes, the accursed master into eternal flames." Which is so cool, every detail in Your Idol is so thought out with the utmost care, nothing feels wrong or out of place, it's almost unreal.

One would think that it's my favorite song at first glance, since I yapped about it so much, and I admit, it was close to making it into first place, but the last song just had the final word.

🥇Free:

There is not a single individual in the world that loves this song more than I do. Do you think you love Free more than me??? You fucking don't!!!

The heavenly ethereal vocals that make you float to paradise and ascend high to the sky??? The aesthetics??? The lyrics??? The melody??? Free couldn't be more perfect even if it tried. Because it's already PEAK. There's nothing higher to reach than this. The standard is already set. Free sets an unreachable bar for every other song in this movie. Gotta admit that What It Sounds Like and especially Your Idol got pretty close, to the point I almost reconsidered my choice, but Free still rises above and wins at the end. Because no other song in this soundtrack can compare to the IMPACT of this one. The truth's gotta be said.

Why do I like Free so much, you ask? I could give you a whole PowerPoint presentation on that, but let's keep it simple, shall we?

I'm a sucker for romance. I don't know if you all have watched Julie and The Phantoms (also on Netflix, one of the many very good series they canceled) but Free just reminded me so much of "Perfect Harmony". Tell me those lines don't scream Rujinu (you can't because it's impossible):

"Life can be so mean, But when he goes, I know he doesn't leave"

"The truth is finally breaking through, Two worlds collide when I'm with you, Our voices rise and soar so high, We come to life when we're in perfect harmony"

"You set me free, You and me together is more than chemistry, Love me as I am, I'll hold your music here inside my hands"

"We say we're friends, we play pretend, You're more to me, we're everything"

"I never knew a love so real (so real), We're heaven on earth, Melody and words, When we're together we're in perfect harmony"

And Julie and Luke (the ones who sing this song) they're not even forbidden love like Rumi and Jinu, they're impossible love, because Julie is still alive and Luke is a ghost. I can see some similarities between the two pairings and I love them so much, so Free hit me right in the feels, giving me everything I like.

Every line just hits different and even better than the last one. It felt to me like the song that was sang with the most emotions, and the most intense ones too. EJAE and Andrew Choi made a PHENOMENAL SPECTACULAR SHOW-STOPPING GAME-CHANGER JOB.

But if it was just a romantic song, it wouldn't have made it to first place. But there's more to Free than what meets the eye on the surface.

There's more to Free than just romance.

It deepens and gives us a better understanding of Rumi and Jinu as individual characters as well, with Rumi having lines such as:

"I tried to hide but something broke

I tried to sing, couldn't hit the notes

The words kept catching in my throat

I tried to smile, I was suffocating though"

"All the secrets that keep me in chains and

All the damage that might make me dangerous"

And Jinu having lines like:

"Time goes by, and I lose perspective

Yeah, hope only hurts, so I just forget it"

"Between imposter and this monster

I been lost inside my head

Ain't no choice when all these voices

Keep me pointing towards no end"

And also Free talks about a lot of the themes of the movie, especially something that pretty much all the characters want:Freedom. From what's holding them back: The past. Like Mira and Zoey with their families. Jinu also wants to break free from Gwi-ma.

It also talks about stop hiding and fight what they're running from. Because they can't fix it if they never face it.

It also talks about Rumi wanting to change and believing she can change, but she won't change if Jinu is not by her side. And in the end she changes and that motivates Jinu to change for the better too. They both change for good.

And change is the key word in this movie:They wanted the Honmoon to change to gold, but instead it changes to a new one they still have to make gold.

Rumi learns how to accept herself, and Jinu redeems himself. Their bond goes deeper than just romantic love. It involves mutual understanding, acceptance without judgment, etc.

For most of the movie Celine (person who knew all her life about Rumi's marks) and Jinu (first outsider to find out about them) were the only ones that knew about Rumi's patterns. Celine feared it, thought it was a mistake that should be erased with the Honmoon turning gold. But Jinu sees it, and he likes what he sees. He falls in love with it. They were the first people who saw each other for who they truly were and fell in love with the good and bad parts.

They save each other. In all the ways a person can be saved. Jinu, a musician in his former human life (Ahn Hyo-seop crushed Jinu's Lament with his voice, Gwi-ma deserved the hit) helped Rumi to be able to sing without struggling again and Rumi helped Jinu see that is still hope for him, it wasn't too late and he gave his soul to her in order for her to win Gwi-ma's fire and then the final battle with the girls (he's coming back people, he's gonna leave that sword, I know it).

Oh I remember a lot of people before the movie came out and we had the confirmation there was a romance, going like:"I don't want romance, just badass ladies kicking butts (because apparently you can't kick butts and be with a man, you can only have one not both) and that a romance sub-plot would ruin the story, that Jinu was too plain, basic and generic-looking for Rumi (when he's the literal walking LIVING male beauty standards in Korea and guess what? Is a movie about South Korea!!! Shocking, isn't it? Guess the title "Kpop Demon Hunters" didn't make that clear enough) and that people wouldn't fall for straight propaganda on pride month (which is ironic because I think almost everyone in this movie is bisexual, including Rumi and Jinu)." And where are those people now??? Exactly. Gone. That's the power of Free. And a well written and well developed couple, of course. Rujinu is like Ferrari in F1. Everyone is a Ferrari/Rujinu fan. Even if they say they are not, they are Ferrari/Rujinu fans. Even if they root for another team/ship, they also root for Ferrari/Rujinu. It's inevitable.

Rumi, Jinu, Mira, Zoey. They all face what they have to face and their past starts to feel weightless, like Free says. Rumi is free from having to hide her true self. Jinu is also a free soul (who will come back to the sequel, don't tell me otherwise), all the remaining demons I suppose are still in the underworld are free from Gwi-ma, etc. And that is why Free is supreme.

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