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silverlightqueen · 4 years

Text

Filter - Part 2

‘There are so many sides to him, it’s hard to keep track.’

fratboy/jock!Jimin x cheerleader!reader - e2l, smut, a n g s t, comedy, fluff

Part of ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo!

Rating: 18 (graphic sex and mature themes)

Word Count: 16.6k+ (she’s a monster omg I’m so sorry)

Warnings - bad language, humiliation (not during sex - he just embarrasses the hell out of her in public), alcohol, drug consumption, explicit discussion of sex, locker room sex, y/n being a brat again, jimin being a dick again (but worse,,,so much worse), dom!jimin, sub!y/n, teasing, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, tit fucking, tit slapping, Jimin’s monster cock makes a return, praise, explicit dirty talk, mild degradation, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, standing sex, asphyxiation, y/n and jimin argue again (multiple times), Jimin is literally the worst human being on earth in this omg I’m sorry for making him terrible, somehow I ended up putting a comment on society and the patriarchy (?) at the end but we go with it, girl power! and if your kpop boy is in this, he’s trash (unless he’s Stray Kids Minho, the only male character in this that deserves rights)

a/n: unedited lol and this really didn’t go the way it was supposed to, but I don’t hate it so here ya go, enjoy! I think in this lockdown, I’ve really started to,,,,hate men and it shows in this fic so I’m sorry to any boys that might be reading this lmao. but anyway thank you to the loml @silverlightprincess for proofreading this, you’re the best hype girl ever, luv u xoxo (and I promise I’ll work on The Other Half for you and @brinnalaine ) lmk what you think of it, I legit thrive off praise lol x

Read Part 1 first !!!

also I got the banner off google so credit to whoever made it (it has no relevance to the story but it matches the colour scheme so we roll with it lmao)

silverlightqueen masterlist

‘Good afternoon, everyone, and thank you so much for coming. We really appreciate the turn-out, and we’re super excited to see your try-outs! Today is going to be quite simple; we’ll start by speaking to you one-by-one to see the range of movements that you can do. Not everyone on the squad has to be able to fly and tumble, so don’t be worried if you can’t do certain flips or jumps – we try to include people of all abilities as long as the raw talent is there, and you’ll be able to learn a lot if you make the squad. Once we’re aware of what you can do, we’ll group you into smaller groups and teach you a simple routine, a slightly different one for each group. We’ll watch you perform the routine as a group after some practice time, and then we’ll assess your Cheer ability one by one, just a couple flips and jumps and things like that. If you really would rather not do them by yourself, that’s okay. Just let one of the squad know, and we’ll pair you with someone else who feels the same. We understand that some of you may not feel confident enough to perform in front of everyone else by yourselves. And it’s okay if you don’t have much confidence, because that’s something we will work on and help you to improve if you make the squad. Does anybody have any questions?’

Dozens of hopeful faces smile back at me, not one hand rising to ask a question, and I smile back. I was nervous about my first time doing this, speaking in front of everyone as newly elected Cheer Captain, but having the rest of the squad behind me makes me feel better. ‘Okay, great. If you could get into four lines in front of each of the seats at the desk, we’ll get started!’ I say excitedly. Irene, Jisoo, Chen and Jihyo (the most responsible people on the squad) are sat behind the desk to write down what people are able to do, the others on the squad dotted around to help if anyone needs it, and all the people here to try-out head over to the desk. I take a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, and I tilt my head back to feel the sun on my face. The weather’s lovely today, warm and sunny with a slight cool breeze, perfect for cheer try-outs, and the turf of the pitch is healthy and green, not yet ruined by the studs on the bottom of the players’ football boots (training doesn’t start ‘til next week).

‘y/n, relax, babe. Everything’s going well, you did a good job,’ Jennie says from behind me, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I nod. ‘Yeah, I know. It’s just… being Cheer Captain, it’s big boots to fill.’ ‘I know, but you’ve got all of us helping you out. You know we’re all here to support you. Stop stressing yourself out,’ she says, and I turn to smile at her. ‘Thank you, Jen.’ ‘Don’t thank me, because now I’ve got bad news,’ she says, looking reluctant to speak, and I side-eye her. ‘What?’ ‘We have spectators.’ ‘We always have spectators.’ ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she says, turning me to look over to the bleachers which are a few metres away. And when I spot a group of ASP boys sat there, watching us and waving when I look over, my heart nearly stops. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding,’ I mutter, putting my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun and see them properly. And of course he’s there. Of course he is.

I haven’t seen him since a week ago today, when I ran out of his room while he was fast asleep and did the most talked about ‘Walk of Shame’ at school in the past year. All week, everyone’s been talking about me and Jimin, and somehow the rumours have spiralled out of control. My friends have reported back that they’ve heard that Hoseok and Namjoon joined us when they walked in on us, that I left before Jimin could finish, that I cried and begged him to let me cum (which my friends have denied on my part despite it being kinda true) and that I left wearing no underwear and flashed everyone on my way out. And that’s not even the worst of the rumours. I’ve tried not to comment on it when people have asked me, and it seems Jimin’s stayed quiet too – I’m sure it would’ve been hot news if he’d said anything.

I woke up the next morning aching, my entire body sore and weak (I really have no idea how I managed to leave the frat house on my feet – it must have been the adrenaline). My neck, jaw and chest were covered in purpling marks, some of them in the shape of his rings, and my waist and ass were covered in dark painful bruises from his tight grip and the endless spanking (the marks and bruises are all still there, by the way, fading but there – I had to cake the makeup on top of them this morning to cover them in my skimpy cheer kit). It hurt to sit down for too long, but it hurt to walk too, so I spent all of Sunday lying down, Jennie nursing me back to health (as she calls it – in reality, she just microwaved some soup for me, and we binge-watched Netflix in bed together). My body isn’t used to intense sex like that because not many university boys are as good at sex as Jimin is. I hate to admit it, but I’ve been zoning out all week (during lectures and seminars, when I was with my friends, at the gym, whilst studying or watching TV, when I was trying to fall in sleep, whilst showering, etc.) thinking back to mind. And I hate it – I hate him. I used to think of him with irritation and borderline rage, but now… the thought of him turns me on. It’s infuriating. I haven’t even gone over to get my stuff – not even my favourite bra (it was sexy and comfy, lacy with no underwire) – for fear of falling back under his stupid spell and getting into his bed again.

When my eyes meet his, it’s like he knows that I’m wet, a small smirk playing at his glossy lips as he runs a vascular hand through his jet-black locks, silver rings glinting in the sunlight. He looks fucking gorgeous, in a pair of loose black slacks and a loose orange shirt, a simple but flattering outfit, with his silver earrings, rings and bracelets. And the irritation inside me pushes down the arousal, and I turn away angrily, hearing their laughter over my shoulder as my eyes meet Jennie’s. ‘I can go speak to them if you want?’ she offers weakly, and I sigh. ‘There’s nothing we can say; they’re allowed to be here. We’re just gonna have to ignore them,’ I say, and she nods, throwing an arm over my shoulders and leading me towards the table.

I oversee the proceedings, making sure everything’s going well, my mind still elsewhere, but after a few minutes, the noise they’re making is unbearable. They’re loud – laughter and shouting echoing around the pitch – and it’s starting to distract the squad, and the people here to try-out. ‘Should I go tell them to shut up?’ Jennie asks, and I nod, reluctant to go over myself. She walks over, hands on her hips, and I know she’s gonna give them hell. But then I start to doubt that when I see them laughing and joking with her, before she comes back over, my expectant gaze being met by her sheepish one. ‘Well?’ I ask, and she winces. ‘They said they don’t take orders from me – only from… the Cheer Captain,’ she says slowly, and I let out a noise of irritation. Jimin being an annoying, difficult, stupid dickhead, I can understand. The others? I thought they were my friends. But obviously they find this whole situation more amusing than anything. It’s not funny for me – I slept with the guy I’m supposed to hate the most! The guy that I do hate the most.

‘I really don’t want to go over there,’ I admit, and Jennie’s eyes soften with sympathy. ‘You don’t have to, y/n, don’t feel pressured. We can cope with their noise – it’s fine, babe,’ she says reassuringly, but I feel guilty. I remember how nervous I was at try-outs, and having a group of rowdy frat boys laughing and shouting every few seconds definitely wouldn’t have helped. It’s up to me as Captain to create a comfortable environment, and with them around, this isn’t comfortable at all. I sigh, shaking my head, before I say, ‘I’ll go.’ ‘Are you sure?’ she asks, and I nod, dread building up inside me. ‘Want me to come with?’ ‘No, you just stay and keep an eye on things.’

I begin walking over, eyes fixed on the ground, and I can literally feel their eyes on me, their anticipation practically palpable. Everyone sat around the pitch is whispering, watching, desperate to see Jimin and I interact after all the rumours of the last week, and I can feel it all, making my nerves build up with every step. When I’m a few feet away from the bleachers, I look up, my eyes instantly meeting his, and I stop, staring at them for a moment. He’s endlessly amused, the smirk on his lips unbearably irritating. ‘Hey, y/n,’ he says easily, a ripple of laughter running around the group, and I don’t reply, matching his light gaze with a hard stare of my own. ‘This isn’t funny, guys, and I would’ve thought you’d know better. How do you think they’re gonna feel when they’re doing their routines and you morons are laughing? None of you can do what they’re doing, not in a million years, so don’t you dare come and sit here to rub my personal life in my face without even thinking of how rude and disruptive you’re being. You should be ashamed,’ I say neutrally, not letting any emotion into my voice, because if I do, I’ll lose my temper completely like I did last week and end up screaming at them. The other boys have the courtesy to look embarrassed of themselves, but Jimin just continues to smirk at me, running his thumb over his plump lips. My insides churn with anger at him being such a dick, but I don’t say a thing, waiting for one of them to reply. ‘Sorry, y/n. We didn’t think,’ Jin says, apologetic, and the others mutter apologies too, all except Jimin. ‘Don’t apologise. Just shut up,’ I reply before turning on my heel, walking away and ignoring the indiscernible whispers and stifled laughter.

‘Whatever you said, it definitely worked,’ Jennie says, and I nod curtly, still pissed off. ‘You okay?’ she asks, and my shoulders slump. ‘No. I’m supposed to be the Captain, I’m supposed to be nice and smiley and kind, and now I’m just angry, because of them, because of him,’ I sigh tiredly, and Jen looks at me sadly before putting an arm around my shoulders. ‘Don’t let them get you worked up, babe – today’s important, okay? Just focus on the try-outs,’ Jennie says, and I nod, trying my best to let my annoyance go, but it’s easier said than done. I wait impatiently for the first part of today to be done, desperate to have something to do so I can distract myself. And as soon as the last person has finished speaking to Jisoo, I call for everyone’s attention, telling them to start warming up. I sit down with Irene, Jisoo, Jihyo and Chen, and we quickly put people in similar-ability groups, based on the notes that the four of them have made whilst speaking to them; potential flyers, bases and spotters, and tumblers. The routines aren’t too different – just to test their dancing ability, and to see if they have the kind of body control needed for their different positions.

Once we’ve grouped them, Irene reads out the groups, the flyers with Lisa and Seulgi, bases and spotters with Kai, and tumblers with Momo, the rest of the squad supporting. I take a seat at the desk, making notes on people who catch my eye (they’re all wearing little name stickers, so I send Jennie over to find out their names). Jiwon, the pretty sophomore from last week, is really good – her dancing is great, and she’s light on her feet, the perfect flyer. I’m already certain she’ll make the team, because she’s super smiley and energetic too (I wave at her when I catch her eye, and she waves back excitedly, huge smile on her face). Watching them all learning the dances, making notes, evaluating them, it gets me in the zone. Focusing on this, I’m in my Captain mindset, having completely forgotten about the stupid disruption earlier. There’s definitely some potential here, and I have no doubt we’ll do really well at Nationals this year – I’ll be pissed if we don’t come first (and I’ll also be the first Captain in ten years that doesn’t lead us to victory, which is a pretty big deal).

Once they’ve learnt their dances, we split each group in half so there are less people to focus on, and they perform the dances to us. They’re all quite good – there’s a couple people who, bless them, will definitely not make the team, and I feel bad, but I have to be ruthless. It’s my job to make sure I give us the best chance at winning. We give them a little break after they’ve performed, and we all sit together to compare notes. We’ve pretty much all put the same people down, but we can’t make any final decisions until we watch them do their Cheer moves. ‘Okay, is everybody ready?’ I ask after getting their attention. ‘We’re going to have a look at your moves now. So they’re pretty basic, nothing too strenuous. Can someone show them what they’ve got to do?’ I say, turning to face the squad, and before anyone can speak, Kai says, ‘y/n, you should. You’re the captain after all.’ I return his mischievous grin with a hard stare, but the others all give various agreements, pushing me to show them. ‘I haven’t even warmed up,’ I mutter, everyone laughing.

‘Okay, we’ll start with a basic standing split. So, you just lift your leg, whichever your better leg is, and bring it right up like this, with your arm in front of it, and hold it there for a few seconds,’ I say, my left leg up against my body, my right arm holding my foot above my head. It’s a little painful because I haven’t warmed up, but I’ve done this move enough times that it’s pretty easy. I hear applause a little distance away, knowing it’s those stupid boys, and then everyone trying out starts clapping too, making me drop my leg and laugh embarrassedly. ‘Okay, thanks, guys, you can stop now,’ I say lightly, and everyone starts laughing. I show them all of the other moves – a full split, a pike jump, a toe touch jump, a hurdler jump, a front flip, a back flip and an aerial, getting applause for each movement, triggered by our idiot spectators. ‘So we’ll call you up one-by-one, unless you’ve asked us to go with someone else, and we’d like you to a show us a clasp, a high V, a T motion, and then go into the moves that you’re confident with. Show us your personality – we want bright and bubbly people on the squad, so don’t be afraid to chant or whatever, if you want to,’ I say as I take my seat behind the desk, Irene, Chen, Jihyo, Jisoo and Jennie sat with me, the rest of the squad sat around on the grass, enjoying the warmth and just watching the proceedings.

After a couple of people, it starts to get repetitive, but I remain focused, knowing I need to pay attention to differentiate between the good and the great. Jiwon is fantastic – she’s making the team without a doubt. Once they’re all done (nearly two hours later), I call them all over to sit beside the desk. ‘Thank you all so much for coming, and well done. What you did takes a lot of courage and you should all be so proud of yourselves, whether you make the squad or not. We’ve got your details from earlier, so we’ll be in contact within the next couple days to let you know if you made it. Thank you, and you are free to go,’ I smile, all of them letting out expressions of gratitude as they get up, heading to the bleachers to get their stuff and go. ‘Jiwon!’ I call, the girl turning to look. ‘Can I have a word?’ I say, the girl telling her friends to wait for her as she walks towards me. I head over to her, and we meet in the middle of the pitch, with no-one around. I don’t want anyone to hear and accuse me of favouritism.

‘Hey, y/n.’ ‘Hi, Jiwon. You did a really good job, definitely shone through. You’re fantastic,’ I say, and she smiles shyly. ‘Thank you. I have been cheering for a long time, though, so I did have an advantage,’ she says humbly, and I wave it off. ‘Don’t give me excuses – just accept the compliment. Anyway, I probably shouldn’t say this, but you caught a lot of our eyes, Jiwon. I’m pretty certain you’ll make the squad. First practice is next Saturday, 2 ‘til 4, and we’re just gonna do an introductory session, get to know one another and have a proper look at what everyone can do. Make sure you’re on time, and ready to try out some stunts. And work on your pike jump over the week – your fingers were literally millimetres away from your toes. A little practice, and you’ll have it perfect. And you were the teeniest bit wobbly in your standing split, so just work on your balance a little,’ I say, and she nods enthusiastically, taking in every word. Whilst I’m speaking, I notice Jimin approaching us, and Jiwon does too, looking flustered when she spots him. But she sees the way I ignore him completely, and does the same, just listening to me.

‘Thank you, y/n, I really appreciate it. Also, can I ask for your advice about something?’ she asks, and I nod, surprised she wants my advice. Jimin is now stood right beside us, but neither of us pay attention to his presence, keeping our eyes on each other. ‘What do you do to warm up for your splits? I warm up, but it’s always painful when I do them, and you did them really well, so I thought I’d ask.’ ‘I do a lot of yoga, actually, which really helps. We always get here around twenty minutes before practice, and the others do laps and things like that to warm up, but I do a bit of yoga, which helps loosen my body a lot. And then, just before I start a routine, I bend in half, and hold my head against my shins for like half a minute, to loosen my legs. It’s a little painful, but it gets your legs ready for the stretch that you feel when you’re in the splits,’ I say, and she listens eagerly to every word. His presence is starting to bother me, especially the way he’s completely silent, a stupid smirk on his face. ‘Thank you, y/n. I’m gonna head off now, but thanks for the advice. Are you going to KPN’s party tonight?’ she asks, and I sigh, thinking back to the text invite that Jackson from Kappa Phi Nu sent out a couple days ago. ‘I’m not sure. I was gonna just head to the gym for a late-night workout but Jennie’s trying to convince me to go,’ I explain, and she nods. ‘Well, I hope you do come. It’d be nice to see you there,’ she says, and I smile at her, touched. And then I lose my patience, turning to him with annoyance, and he grins, draping his arms around our waists.

‘My two favourite girls,’ he says with a grin, making me want to slap him, and we both push his arms off us in disgust, moving away from him slightly. ‘Look at you two. Best friends now, huh? If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even know each other, so I think a ‘thank you’ is in order,’ he says smugly, my eyes widening at him as Jiwon shoots him a dirty look. God, I love this girl. ‘Fuck you, Park,’ I say without thinking, and his eyes sparkle, mischief in his grin as he replies, ‘I already did, babe, keep up.’ And then he reaches into his back pocket, pulling his hand back out with something black and lacy hanging off his finger. My favourite bra. ‘Remember? You left this?’ ‘Park!’ I hiss, grabbing it from his hand and panicking for a moment, not sure where to put it (my cheer kit doesn’t have pockets) before I tuck it into his front pocket hastily. It’s too late, though, because everyone in the area who was watching saw it, laughter rippling around us. ‘I would’ve brought your pants too, but they were ripped, so I figured there was no point,’ he says, and I give him an angry stare, jaw hurting from how hard I’m clenching it. He just grins back, Jiwon looking between us for a few seconds before she says, ‘my friends are waiting for me, y/n, so I’m gonna go. I hope to see you later.’ ‘Okay, Jiwon. See you. Remember to work on your pike jump, and your standing splits. If you get here early, we can do some yoga together,’ I say, trying to push down the humiliation as the girl nods with a smile before she goes to join her friends who are watching us. Everyone’s watching us.

‘Your standing splits were good,’ he says, and I sigh, rolling my eyes. ‘I’m literally giving you a compliment!’ ‘I don’t care, you fucking dick.’ ‘Wow, never mind. I was gonna say that I could put your flexibility to good use, but forget it,’ he says, failing to hold back his grin, and I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Why the fuck did you come, Park? I thought I made it clear last week that I’m not interested in you,’ I say harshly, hurt momentarily appearing on his face before he masks it with a smirk, making me feel a little guilty. ‘We always come to watch try-outs. Entertainment for a couple hours. And it doesn’t hurt seeing you in this kit either,’ he says, taking the hem of my skirt into his hand, fingers momentarily skimming against my thigh, and I slap his hand away, feeling exposed in my kit all of a sudden. It’s quite revealing – a short blue skirt with a white border and a long-sleeved blue cropped top with shoulder cut-outs, with our school name written across the chest in white. It’s super cute though, even more so with the white pumps and frilly white ankle socks, and the blue and white bows on our ponytails. The boys wear the same colour scheme, blue and white t-shirts and shorts.

‘I swear to God, Park, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today,’ I say tiredly, and he pouts, eyes still sparkling with amusement. ‘You were last week.’ ‘Things change. You can go now,’ I say pointedly, and he grins, taking a step closer to me, so close I can see every flaw on his face that he doesn’t have, and places a gentle hand on my waist. ‘I’ll go, but one last thing. I’ve gotta go drop my shit off in the changing rooms – Coach said we all have to, ready for next week – and I’ll wait in there for… hmm, shall I be nice? Okay, ten minutes. If I know you as well as I think I do, you’ve been thinking about me, and what happened last Saturday, all week long. I have. And I want a round two. I’ll wait for ten minutes,’ he says, voice low and face serious, before his whole demeanour changes, smile stretching his lips, hand falling from my waist as he takes a step back. My lips are parted and face warm, eyes locked with his, and my obviously affected appearance makes him let out a chuckle. ‘Ten minutes, angel. If not, I’ll see you tonight, at KPN, and you can get your bra from me there instead,’ he says with a smile, before turning and walking away, leaving me slightly stunned.

‘Close your mouth, babe, you’ll catch flies,’ Jennie says drily, and I turn to look at her, trying to compose myself. ‘He just asked me for a round two in the changing rooms,’ I whisper, and she gasps loudly, catching the attention of everyone around us. ‘Shut up!’ I hiss, and she claps a hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry, sorry. I’m just… shook. Are you gonna go?’ she asks, and I hesitate to answer, his dark eyes in my mind, my underwear embarrassingly damp. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Bitch, stop kidding yourself – you want to, so just go,’ she says, but before I can reply, Kai joins us. ‘Um, y/n, there are a couple people waiting to ask you some questions,’ he says, and I sigh, looking over his shoulder to see some people hovering. I quickly rush over to them, listening to their questions (which are so unnecessary, might I add? Why do you need to know where to get the uniform from, or the date of Nationals this year, if you’re not even on the squad yet?) and answer them as quickly as I can, trying to be polite, but impatient, worried that my ten minutes will run out.

As soon as the last person’s done, Jennie grabs my arm and whispers, ‘it’s been nine minutes. I’ll pack stuff up, you just go.’ ‘Thank you, you’re the best,’ I whisper back. I rush off, speed walking across the pitch before someone can stop me, in the direction of the changing rooms. When I reach the door, I push it open slowly, listening out for any voices. And then I wonder – is this a prank? Is this payback for me leaving him last week? Are they all gonna be waiting there to jump out and laugh at me? But, no. He wouldn’t. Surely, he wouldn’t stoop that low? ‘Jimin?’ I whisper, hearing nothing back, and I venture in. ‘Jimin?’ I say a little louder, walking down the main aisle slowly, looking between the rows of lockers on either side of me. I call his name again, and when I reach the end of the lockers, stepping out into the open changing area, a wooden bench running around the walls, I feel a pair of hands push me up against the last locker, the metal clang echoing loudly around the room as I try to get my bearings, blinking to see Jimin stood in front of me, his body pressed up against mine.

‘You took eleven minutes, you fucking tease,’ he whispers, hand appearing at my throat and tightening instantly, my mind momentarily thinking back to last week, when he left bruises the shape of his rings around my neck. ‘Didn’t mean to. Got held up,’ I breathe out, and he pushes my head back at an unnatural angle, his dark eyes, blown wide with desire, locking with my own. ‘How can I believe you, after you left last week?’ he spits out, and I feel my stomach turn; I didn’t think he’d be that bothered, but it’s obvious he’s angry that I left him. ‘Never said I’d stay,’ I reply, with a small grin, and he growls angrily, pushing up against me even harder. ‘You’re the first girl that’s ever left without me telling her to. Trying to play me at my own game?’ he asks, amusement creeping into his voice, but he’s mainly angry, veins corded tight and body tense, fist curled and jaw clenched. ‘No. I just don’t like you,’ I reply, voice strained because of his hand tight at my neck, head beginning to go dizzy, and he lets out a humourless laugh.

‘Sure. Of course you don’t. Let’s see how much you don’t like me,’ he says, free hand pushing one of my legs out wider, so he has space to put his hand up my skirt. His finger slides beneath my tight safety shorts, and he lets out a laugh when he feels how wet my underwear is, making me look away from him in embarrassment. ‘Look at me,’ he demands, my eyes flitting back to his as he pushes my pants out of the way, swiping a finger along my dripping wet slit. I let out a shaky breath, and he chuckles. ‘I think you’re lying to me, angel. I think you actually do like me. A lot,’ he grins as he pulls his hand from my skirt, lifting his finger, glistening with my arousal, to my mouth. I keep my lips pressed shut, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘Don’t make me punish you. This isn’t a repeat of last week – there’s other things I want to do to you,’ he says lowly, a thrill running through me, but I’m still as stubborn as last week. ‘I’m not here for a round two. I’m here for my bra,’ I exhale, and he rolls his eyes with a little laugh, his hand tightening at my neck. ‘You can earn it.’ ‘What is it… with you stealing my… things?’ ‘I didn’t steal anything. You left your bra when you did your little walk of shame. So it’s mine now – it’s been in my room for a week, with your tight jeans and your pretty top and those cute heels, and that little bag, with your keys and lip-gloss and pads in it. And because it’s all mine, I want you to earn it back,’ he replies before leaning down and pressing his lips to my ear, his beautiful scent flooding my senses.

‘Let me fuck your tits,’ he whispers, making my stomach clench with the thought of it, before he pulls back from me, searching my face for any kind of reaction. ‘And they say romance is dead,’ I whisper dryly, and he laughs, a startled laugh, as though he wasn’t expecting a joke from me. It makes my heart flutter a little, which then makes me want to slap myself. ‘Is that a yes?’ he asks with a mischievous grin. ‘No. It isn’t,’ I reply, and he sighs before letting go of me. ‘Fine. Let’s just talk then, if you don’t wanna fuck,’ he says neutrally, sitting down on the bench opposite me, and I’m disarmed at his sudden 180. ‘Sit down, y/n,’ he says, motioning to the bench and, for once, I listen to him, sitting down. He leans back against the wall and runs a hand through his hair, legs spread, thick thighs on display. Last week, the lighting from his bedroom lamp was low and sultry, but the lighting in here is bright and cold, and he still looks fucking gorgeous.

‘Who did you tell?’ he asks, and I know he’s asking what I’ve been wondering all week – who actually knows the full story. ‘Who did you tell?’ I ask, purposely being difficult, and he rolls his eyes, grin pulling at his lips. ‘Hobi and Tae are the only ones that know the full story. Jin, Yoongi, Joon and Kook know vaguely. Now tell me who you told,’ he says, and I’m surprised he’s kept it only to his closest friends – I thought for sure the whole frat would know. ‘y/n. Who did you tell?’ Nayeon, Lisa, Mina, Irene, Dahyun, Yeri, Jeongyeon, Seulgi, Sana, Jisoo, Chaeyoung, Joy, Momo, Wendy, Jihyo, Tzuyu and- ‘Jennie.’ ‘That’s it? Just Jennie?’ ‘And.. a couple of the other girls.’ He raises an eyebrow, obviously not believing me. ‘Did you tell them everything?’ ‘Only Jennie knows about me leaving when you… wanted me not to,’ I say, and he nods, looking a little embarrassed, and I feel so guilty, but I had to. ‘Why did you do it?’ he asks quietly, and I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment. ‘Because… we’re supposed to hate each other, and we had sex, Jimin. I couldn’t share a bed with you after that, I just… couldn’t.’ ‘Would it really be so bad if we didn’t hate each other?’ he asks, and I sigh, not wanting him to ask these questions, not wanting him to entertain this possibility. Because Jimin’s the type of boy to want what he can’t have, and as soon as I let him have me, more than just physically, he won’t want me anymore.

I get up and walk over to him, his eyes on me, and when I’m stood right in front of him, in between his legs, I drop to my knees. ‘y/n,’ he says slowly, as though he wants me to wait, but I can’t talk about this right now. ‘Shut up,’ I say before pulling my top over my head and throwing it behind me, leaving me in my bra. He’s quickly distracted, eyes lost in my chest, and I can see the bulge in his jeans growing already. I lift a hand to his crotch, palming him over his jeans, and his head falls back, a little moan falling from his lips. ‘Please, y/n, don’t tease,’ he breathes out, and I clench involuntarily at getting him like this. ‘Take your jeans off,’ I whisper, and he quickly unbuttons and unzips them, holding himself up from the bench and pushing them down with his underwear, just enough to free his cock. He’s only half-hard, but he’s already big, girthy and long, making me lick my lips at the sight of him. He tugs on his length a couple times to get himself fully hard, letting out little grunts, and I feel more arousal dampen my underwear. After a few seconds, I push his hands away, taking his length into my hands, and he shuffles forwards on the bench, giving me proper access to his cock.

I collect my saliva up on my tongue and spit at his dick, the saliva landing on his tip and slowly dripping down his length. I use my hand to spread it out before I take his swollen head into my mouth, kitten licking the tip before swirling my tongue around him. He pulls my bow out of my hair and grabs my ponytail, but restrains himself from trying to control my movements, letting me take my time with him. I don’t wait long before I’m taking him as far into my mouth as possible, before slowly bobbing my head up and down his length. ‘God, angel, your mouth is so fucking good. So good for me, such a dirty girl,’ he praises, head back against the wall but eyes on me, and when I look up at him through my lashes, he grins down at me. I hollow out my cheeks, trying to get my lips around the base of his cock, but my jaw is already hurting from my mouth being around his thick length. ‘Get me all the way in, baby, I know you can,’ he prompts, and I try my hardest, gagging around him, and it’s so fucking messy, saliva around my mouth and dripping down my chin. He decided to help, pushing my head even further down, and when my nose hits his skin, his abdomen contracts, a heavenly moan of my name falling from his lips.

Once I deem his cock sufficiently wet, I remove him from my mouth and reach behind me to unclasp my sports bra, pulling it off, feeling satisfied when his eyes are locked on my breasts. ‘Stand up,’ I say, and he does so, quickly, moving aside to let me sit on the bench. I perch on the edge, knees together, and Jimin stands in front of me, one leg on either side of mine. ‘Push your tits together for me, angel,’ he says, and I do so, the boy moving even closer to me. I feel his head against the bottom of my breasts, wet and hard, before slowly pushing up, breath catching in his throat as he goes as far as he can, his pink tip emerging through my cleavage. ‘Fuck, that feels good. Hold them tighter, babe,’ he says, and it starts to hurt when I do so, but the pleasure on his face as he thrusts, fucking my tits aggressively, more than makes up for it. I spit down into the valley of my breasts, for better lubrication, and he lets out a moan, thrusting even harder. And then he lifts a hand, landing a slap on one of my breasts. ‘Um, ow,’ I say, and he lets out a little chuckle, his thrusting not faltering for a moment. ‘So soft. Best tits I’ve ever seen,’ he says, landing a slap on the other, and I stop myself from slapping his balls because I don’t want to kill his vibe. And he’d probably enjoy it, the kinky bastard. I look down to see precum leaking from his tip, and I lean down, meeting one of his thrusts with my tongue, licking his precum, and he lets out a moan. ‘God, yes, baby. So good for me,’ he grunts, before his thrusts start to slow, until he eventually moves away from me.

‘Love your tits, angel, but I wanna cum in you instead,’ he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me up from the bench. ‘Put your clothes back on,’ he says, my eyes widening in confusion. ‘What? Why?’ ‘Because I’ve always wanted to fuck you while you’re wearing your cheer kit. Hurry up and put it on before I decide to leave,’ he says pointedly, and I feel guilt surge through me as I grab my bra from the floor, pulling it back on, and turning around for him to clasp it for me. He does so, taking ages (it seems he’s better at taking bras off than putting them on), and then I pull my top back over my head. As soon as I’m redressed, he pushes me up against the nearest locker, winding me, before his hand strays down to beneath my skirt. ‘You gonna take these booty shorts off before I rip them off you?’ he says, plump lips against my neck, and I push him off, quickly pulling off my safety shorts (these are the only pair I have at the moment – I ordered a pair online and they’re due in a couple weeks – so I really don’t need him ripping them). ‘They’re safety shorts, not booty shorts,’ I mutter, as I kick them off, and he doesn’t waste any time in pushing me up against the lockers again. He presses his lips to mine in a tame kiss (he doesn’t even use his tongue), mouths moving together for a few seconds before he pulls away, sinking to his knees.

‘You’ve been on your knees for me twice now, baby, so I think it’s time I repaid the favour. And I believe I promised to eat your pussy with my… pretty lips,’ he says, quoting my words from last week, and my stomach turns as he grabs the front of my underwear. He violently pulls at them, tearing them away from my body, and I refrain from kneeing him in the face for ruining a second pair of pants. He pushes my legs apart before pulling one over his shoulder, his face inches from where I need him. ‘Jimin… please,’ I whine, and he chuckles, expelling warm air across my dripping wet core, making me shudder. ‘See, baby, you’re being so good for me today, saying my name, and begging like a good girl. And good girls don’t get punished, don’t get spanked until their ass is raw. Good girls get rewarded,’ he says before his head disappears beneath my skirt and I feel him lick a slow bold stripe across my slit, my hips jerking at the feeling, pushing my core closer to his face. He swirls his tongue around my clit, and I let out a whimper of his name, making him chuckle as he grabs onto my waist to hold me in place. ‘So fucking sweet, angel. Best pussy I’ve ever tasted. Could eat you all day.’ He laps at me like there’s no tomorrow, my hands gripping onto his strong shoulders and head thrown back against the lockers. He brings his fingers to my clit, rubbing slow circles, at the stimulation at my bundle of nerves paired with his long, quick licks have me moaning out his name, my stomach already tightening with the threat of an orgasm.

And then he pushes a finger between my folds, pumping in and out of me as I clench around him. ‘Gotta stretch you out for my fat cock, baby, take it like a good girl. Stop clenching, babe,’ he murmurs soothingly against my inner thigh, his thick finger quickly being joined by another. ‘Ah, Jimin, feels so fucking good,’ I moan out, and he hums in response before attaching his lips to my clit, sucking at the bundle of nerves before adding another finger, three thick digits stretching me out. ‘Such a good little slut for me, angel. You take my fingers so fucking well,’ he says, lips still against my clit, and I feel my high nearing quickly, moans and whimpers escaping from my lips every few seconds. He’s so good with his mouth, his plump lips wrapping around my clit and sucking harshly, before he licks along my folds, fingers still pumping into me, curling against my spongy spot every few seconds, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. And he knows it, the pace of his fingers ever increasing, his lips and tongue attacking my core with passion.

And then we hear the door of the changing room open, followed by a group of loud male voices, laughing and joking. Before I can even register it, Jimin’s on his feet, scooping me into his arms and practically sprinting into the shower area, rushing into one of the cubicles. He puts me down carefully, a hand over my mouth, and I feel my orgasm fading away because of the fear of being caught by his teammates. And in my mind, the logical thing to do is to be silent and wait for them to leave, right? But Jimin isn’t logical, and he pushes me up against the brick wall, pumping his cock in his free hand. He removes his hand from my mouth, tapping my left leg before tapping his shoulder, and I get the message, putting my leg up over his shoulder, despite thinking that this is a terrible idea. And then he puts his hand back over my mouth before slowly sliding into me, his huge cock stretching me out painfully, filling me up completely, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to moan out his name, my head falling back against the wall with a dull thud. ‘What was that?’ I hear one of the boys say, the others asking what he’s talking about, and I feel panic fill me. But along with the panic is arousal at the idea of being caught, my pussy gushing around him, and he smirks, slowly thrusting into me, the curve of his dick allowing him to hit my g-spot (I’m certain Megan wrote Captain Hook about him).

I hear footsteps nearing us, before they stop abruptly. ‘Oh, my God,’ I hear a voice say quietly, before more footsteps can be heard. ‘What?’ ‘Look.’ ‘Whoa. Is that…?’ ‘Yes. One of the cheerleader’s bows.’ Panic strikes through me, and Jimin just grins, continuing to fuck me slowly, making me feel every inch of him. ‘And those are the shorts they wear, right?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘And are those… pants?’ ‘Yep. And they look ripped.’ ‘Is someone fucking in here?’ ‘No, we’d be able to hear them. They’re probably gone.’ ‘You think?’ ‘Yes. And I don’t wanna double check. Let’s just go.’ I feel my fear ebbing away as the footsteps get quieter before the door opens and closes. We’re both silent for a few moments, just to make sure they’re gone, before Jimin pulls all the way out of me, slamming back in. I let out a loud moan against his hand, which he moves to rest at the base of my throat, cock hammering into me ruthlessly. ‘Look how wet you are for me, baby. My little bitch likes the idea of getting caught with a fat cock inside her, huh? Does the idea of being walked in on turn you on, babe?’ he asks, and all I can do is nod, moans falling from my lips every few seconds as he slams into me, the drag of his cock against my walls making me weak.

‘Taking me so well, angel, letting me fill you up and stretch you out so good, baby,’ he praises, voice strained with effort, as he pounds into me, my mind completely blank of anything, of everything but him. I feel my orgasm nearing, my walls clenching around him, but that doesn’t stop him plunging into me, hard, his balls slapping up against my ass, one hand gripping onto his shoulder whilst the other is splayed against the cold wall. My leg is beginning to hurt being up against his shoulder, especially because all my body weight is resting on the toes of my other foot (I can’t get my whole foot on the floor), but he seems to be enjoying it, able to go deep into me at this angle, his tip hitting my cervix. ‘Look how flexible you are, baby, stretching for me like a good little whore. Gonna put your flexibility to good use all the time, babe – I’ll help keep you in shape for Cheer,’ he promises, fingers straying to my clit as he speaks. And then I feel him twitching inside me. ‘Are you close?’ I ask, and he nods, eyes fluttering shut, and I reach down to cup his balls, trying to push him over the edge. ‘Ah, fuck, feels good, y/n, your pussy’s so fucking good. Gonna cum, gonna fill you up like a good little slut,’ he breathes out, and I tighten around him, his head falling back as he lets out a loud moan of my name, hot cum shooting out of his cock, painting my walls. He continues thrusting, hips stuttering as he works himself through his orgasm, and I stay clenched around him to prolong his high.

Once he’s done, he pulls out, and puts me down carefully, taking a moment to get his breath back before tucking his softening cock into his underwear, zipping himself back up. He looks up at me with a grin, his hair messy, face still glistening with my arousal, eyes dark. ‘Good talk,’ he grins before turning and walking away. ‘Um, Jimin?’ I call after him, stepping out of the cubicle with shaky legs. ‘Yes, y/n?’ he asks, turning to look at me, eyes sparkling with mirth. ‘I didn’t…’ I trail off, unsure of what to say. ‘What? You didn’t cum?’ he asks, and I nod, my stomach twisting with hurt when he smirks and says, ‘I know, angel. Only good girls get to cum. And good girls don’t leave in the middle of the night after being asked to stay.’ My mouth drops open at the thought that he’s not going to make me cum, and he grins even wider, before taking a little pity on me. ‘I’ll tell you what, baby. Come to KPN tonight and come find me, and I’ll make you cum as many times as you want,’ he says, but I’m still furious. ‘You’re not being serious?’ ‘Deadly.’ ‘Jimin, please,’ I say, and he just grins back at me. ‘You might wanna clean yourself up. Got my cum dripping down your leg,’ he says, and I look down to see his thick white release slowly trailing down my skin. I curse under my breath, and when I look back up, Jimin’s already out of sight, whistling a merry tune, before I hear the changing room door open and close behind him. And when I slowly walk towards the lockers, I realise my bow, safety shorts and ripped pants are gone too. And he still hasn’t given me back my favourite bra.

I head over to the sinks to clean myself up, cursing at him the entire time. ‘Fucking bastard, and his stupidly big fat fucking cock, stealing all my stuff and leaving me high and dry with his fucking cum dripping down my fucking leg. Didn’t even give me any fucking aftercare, fucking dick,’ I rant angrily as I take my hair out of its messy ponytail, running my fingers through it. Luckily, I haven’t sweated off any of my makeup, the fading marks from last week fully covered, but it’s still clear I’ve just been fucked. And the fact that I don’t have anything on under my skirt isn’t helpful at all – thank God it isn’t windy today because otherwise, I’ll be flashing everyone. Once I’ve deemed myself okay to leave, I push open the changing room doors, looking side to side to make sure no one’s around before I slip out of the door, quickly making my way to mine and Jennie’s accommodation, trying to ignore how desperate I am for a release right now. And not just any release – one on Jimin’s cock. But that’ll have to wait for later – I’ve got a party to get ready for.

‘Jennie! y/n!’ Yeri exclaims when we walk into the kitchen through the back door, throwing her arms around us in a hug. ‘Hey, Yeri,’ we reply, hugging her back, and when she moves away, her eyes widen. ‘Jen, you look good, but y/n! You look good, girl!’ she exclaims. ‘Oh, thanks, Yeri,’ Jennie says sarcastically, but she doesn’t mean it – Jennie always opts for comfort over fashion at frat parties, usually wearing mom jeans, or a loose t-shirt dress (which she rocks by the way – no one pulls off the casual aesthetic like Jennie). And I never dress up too much, sticking to a simple outfit and dressing it up with heels and jewellery. But today, I decided to go all out, dressing to impress in a tight little black dress, hem around my upper thighs, ruched with a bardot neck (I had to forgo a bra, and used tit tape instead to make sure they don’t sag). I’m in a pair of black sparkly heels, much higher than last week’s, with a silver choker, silver hoops and a thin silver bracelet. Jennie has on a shoulder bag, big enough to fit my things in it, so I didn’t bother with a bag, my phone in my hand and my lipgloss, oil blotting sheets and keys in Jennie’s bag. ‘Thanks, Yeri. But look at you! This top is so cute!’

We greet all our friends, Jeongyeon pushing cups into mine and Jennie’s hands (I’m not sure what it is but it tastes nice), before I take a seat between Tzuyu and Lisa at the kitchen island, instantly getting into a conversation about Cheer. KPN parties are always really laidback – people wear whatever they want, drink whatever they want, and I never feel uncomfortable here, or pressured to act a certain way. I can just be myself, and enjoy the night with my friends. ASP’s the opposite in the sense that there’s always pressure – to look good, to end the night with someone, to give everyone something to gossip about.

‘y/n! You came!’ Jackson exclaims when he sees me, pulling me into an expensive smelling hug. ‘Hey, Jackson!’ ‘I was about to make a comment about how late you are, but you look really good, so I’ll let you off,’ he grins, and I roll my eyes. ‘Since when do you have to arrive to parties at a certain time?’ ‘You wouldn’t know, y/n, you’re always fashionably late,’ Tzuyu teases, and I cover my face with embarrassment – never have I arrived at a party before my friends (there’s just something about being there before the party has properly started that makes me want to cringe). ‘Anyway, what are you ladies drinking?’ ‘Diet Coke,’ Tzuyu says as she holds her cup up, Lisa drinking the same. ‘I’m drinking whatever the hell this is – Jeongyeon gave it to me,’ I say, and Jackson takes the cup, sipping from it, before his eyes widen. ‘Yo, this shit slaps. Where’s Jeongyeon? I want some,’ he says, turning away in search of her, and I call after him, ‘get me some more too, please!’

‘So… y/n,’ Lisa says with a knowing grin, making me raise an eyebrow at her. ‘Yes?’ I ask, she and Tzuyu exchanging an amused glance. ‘This dress is nice,’ Tzuyu says with the same knowing look as Lisa, and I look between them suspiciously. ‘Thanks,’ I say slowly, their smiles widening even more. ‘Who are you dressing to impress?’ Lisa asks, and I realise where this conversation is going, letting out a laugh. ‘Ah, you two. Can a girl not dress for herself?�� I grin, both of them raising their eyebrows. ‘Of course. But the timing’s a little suspicious. Not hoping for a round two, are we?’ Tzuyu asks, and I bite my lip embarrassedly. ‘What if we already had round two?’ I say quietly, both of their mouths falling open. ‘What?’ Lisa exclaims, drawing the attention of those around us, and I shut my eyes despairingly. ‘Keep your voice down, stupid!’ Tzuyu exclaims, Lisa murmuring an apology, still looking at me with wide eyes. ‘When?’ ‘Earlier, after practice. I met him in their changing rooms,’ I say, both of them looking even more shocked with each word. ‘Oh, my God! You two are, like, stuck in your own little forbidden and scandalous romance!’ Lisa whispers, and I shoot her a hard look. ‘It’s not a romance. He’s still, like, the most annoying and stupid person I’ve ever met. I mean, he literally left without making me cum, on purpose. He said if I showed up here tonight, he’d make it up to me,’ I whisper, both of them gasping quietly. ‘No way!’ Tzuyu says, and I nod. ‘So you’re gonna have a round three?’ Lisa asks, and I shrug. ‘I’m actually not sure. I don’t know whether I came so that I could leave with him, or so that I could piss him off by getting with someone else,’ I say, both of their eyes lighting up. ‘Get with someone else,’ they chorus, and I let out a gentle laugh.

Before I can reply, Jackson reappears with two cups in hand. ‘It’s Fireball Whisky with cream soda,’ he says, and I blink in surprise, not sure whether to be impressed or disgusted at Jeongyeon’s weird concoction. He takes the empty cup from my hand and hands me a new one, and I thank him as I take a sip. It really is good, and I know I need to be careful not to drink too much – I’ll forget just how strong whisky is and then find myself hunched over the toilet in a few hours, vomiting it all back up. ‘Are you guys gonna just sit here and chat all night? This is a party! We’re supposed to be having a good time,’ Jackson says, and I exchange a glance with the girls. ‘We are having a good time,’ Tzuyu replies mildly, and Jackson rolls his eyes. ‘So you’re not gonna come dance?’ he asks, and we all shake our heads. As much as I do love getting lit, it’s nice to just have a gossip with the girls sometimes. ‘Maybe later,’ I say, and he frowns, shaking his head. ‘You guys are boring.’ ‘Go find Joy, she’ll dance with you,’ Tzuyu suggests, and Lisa nods before adding, ‘and Dahyun. Come find us in a couple hours, and then we’ll dance with you too.’

Jackson quickly disappears, calling out for Joy and Dahyun, and the spot where he was stood is quickly occupied by a boy who I recognise as Chan, one of the boys on the team and a KPN brother. ‘Hi, Chan,’ Tzuyu says, the boy giving us a smile. ‘Hi, guys. You’re all cheerleaders, right?’ he asks, and we nod, confused as to where he’s going with this. ‘Do you wear these, like… little black shorts under your cheer outfits? Like super small, tight, black shorts?’ he asks, and I realise, dread flooding through me as we all nod. ‘They’re called safety shorts,’ Lisa says, and Chan nods. ‘I thought so. We saw a pair earlier, in the changing rooms, with one of the bows you guys wear, and some… underwear. Ripped. So I was just… curious, I guess,’ he says, Tzuyu and Lisa both turning their gazes to me. ‘Um… Chan, I’d be really grateful if you didn’t mention that to anyone,’ I say embarrassedly, the girls stifling laughs as Chan’s face falls with shock. ‘Oh! They were yours?’ he asks, and I nod, totally humiliated. ‘Who was, um, with you when you came in? There was just a couple of you, right?’ I ask, and he winces. ‘There were a few of us, actually. But it’s fine, I’ll tell them not to mention it to anyone. Your secret’s safe with us, y/n,’ he says with a grin, and I give him a weak smile. ‘Thanks, Chan.’ ‘No problem. Before I never mention it again, I just have one question,’ he says tentatively, and I close my eyes briefly, nodding as I brace myself. ‘Were you… in there when we went in?’ he asks, and I take a deep breath before nodding, his eyes widening. ‘In the shower cubicles, right?’ ‘Yep.’ ‘I thought I heard a banging noise,’ he says, and the girls burst out laughing. ‘No, no, it’s because I hit my head on the wall,’ I explain over their laughter, even more embarrassed now. ‘Sorry,’ Chan says, and I wave it off. ‘It’s fine, it’s my own fault for fucking in a public place,’ I say bluntly, and he lets out a gentle laugh.

The girls are still laughing when Chan leaves with the promise of never mentioning it again, and I shoot them dirty looks. ‘Are you gonna stop laughing any time soon or should I just go?’ I ask venomously, and their laughter gets even louder, making me roll my eyes. ‘Fine. I’m going,’ I say, pushing myself off my seat and leaving with my phone and drink in my hands, their laughter continuing behind me. I decide to venture into the living room, but regret my decision the second I walk in and lock eyes with Hyunjin – Chan’s whispering something to him, and he bites down on his lip when he sees me, obviously holding back a laugh at the irony of seeing me as Chan fills him in. I turn on my heel, instantly heading back into the kitchen and ignoring Hyunjin’s loud laughter behind me. But when my eyes meet Lisa’s and she bursts out laughing again, Tzuyu laughing too, I make a decision – I want to go home. I know none of them mean anything by it but it’s really… getting to me. I don’t like that nearly every conversation I’ve had in the last week has come back to Jimin – in fact, I hate it. I’m more than my sexual escapades, whether or not they’re with my worst enemy. I came here to have a good time with my friends tonight – not to speak about my sex life.

‘Mark,’ I say, catching the boy beside me offguard. ‘Oh, hey, y/n. You okay?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘I’m great. You?’ ‘I’m good, thanks. What’s up? You look… stressed.’ ‘I’m okay, I just… have you seen Jennie?’ I ask, and he nods, taking me by surprise. ‘I saw her go out the back door a couple minutes ago, with Seulgi and Nayeon,’ he says, and I grin at him. ‘Thank you, Mark, you’re the best!’ I exclaim, not giving him a second to reply before I quickly head towards the back door, ducking through the doorway before anyone else can speak to me. There’s a group of boys stood near the door, passing around a joint, and I quickly head past them, eyes skimming over the surroundings to see if the girls are here. I spot their three dark heads close together, looking at something on Seulgi’s phone, and I rush over. Nayeon spots me first, concern on her face as she watches me head towards them. ‘What’s the matter, y/n?’ she asks, the other two girls looking up at hearing my name. ‘I… I’m gonna leave,’ I say, all three of them looking at me in surprise – you usually have to drag me away from a party. ‘Why? You look hot, girl! You can’t waste this look!’ Seulgi exclaims, throwing an arm around my shoulders, and I give her a grateful smile. ‘Thanks, Seulgi, but I just… I’m fed up of being teased about Jimin. Maybe it’s God punishing me for sleeping with him, but for fuck’s sake, isn’t him being an idiot punishment enough? I don’t need everyone bringing it up every two fucking seconds,’ I complain, the three of them exchanging amused glances.

‘Oh, babe, it sucks, but you’ve gotta be thick skinned. You have to remember that you have publicly hated him for as long as we’ve all known you, pretty much. The fact that you’ve slept with him is, like, a big deal. It’s hot gossip. Of course people are gonna want to talk about it, and you are gonna get teased. You can’t let it get to you, or people will do it even more,’ Jennie says rationally, and I know she’s right, but I still don’t want to accept it, pouting. ‘I know, you’re right, but I’m already in a bad mood now, and I just wanna go home,’ I say, and I know I’m being immature, but I don’t care. I notice Nayeon’s eyes wander from me to over my shoulder and then she says, ‘well, someone’s coming over, and I don’t whether he’s going to make your mood better or worse.’ I sigh, wanting to cry, and I can feel Seulgi holding back a laugh. ‘Shall I tell him to fuck off?’ Jennie asks, and I shake my head – I don’t have the energy to fight with him today.

‘y/n,’ I hear his stupid voice say, before he appears beside me. He’s dressed in all black, tight ripped jeans and a black button-up shirt, the top two buttons undone and revealing tanned and freckled skin, with a leather jacket over the top of it. He’s wearing silver jewellery again, rings, earrings, bracelets and a necklace, and he looks really fucking handsome, like always. He looks me up and down, his eyes nearly falling out of his head at my appearance as he sweeps his black hair back with one hand, before he looks at my face, the shock being replaced with concern. ‘You okay?’ he asks, and him caring about me makes me want to run a mile – he’s supposed to hate me, not worry when I’m upset and annoyed. ‘I… don’t know,’ I say tiredly, not quite sure what to say, and he looks even more concerned at that. ‘Shall we… give you guys a minute?’ Jennie says, and I look at her in surprise. She just looks back at me with a sad smile, and then I realise; she’s knows that there’s more to this, to me and… Jimin, than just two people who fucked even though they hate each other. And so do I, the thought terrifying me. His feelings are involved, and maybe mine are too, and I already know this is gonna get messy, messier than it should. But I don’t really have it in me to put a stop to it right now. I think I must have hurt him a lot when I left him last week (the thought of him waking up to an empty bed when he thought I would be there beside him makes me feel sick to my stomach) and I don’t ever want to hurt someone like that again. Even if it that someone is Jimin, the most annoying, stupid, selfish, egotistic, infuriating, big-headed person to ever walk the Earth.

I stay silent, and Jimin takes that as a sign to nod at the girls, all of them giving me little hugs before they head back up towards the house. The few people that are outside are watching interestedly and I want to just tell them to all fuck off. I used to think I’d love being the centre of attention all the time, but I’ve definitely changed my mind. ‘What’s the matter, y/n?’ he asks gently, and I sigh, not meeting his eyes as I think, not sure what to tell him. He stays quiet as he waits for me to speak, which leaves us in a heavy silence. ‘I… I’m just fed up. All anyone’s been speaking to me about is you and I don’t like it because there’s more to talk about to me than my sex life, and I hate that people are always staring at me now and probably thinking all these things about me when they barely know me and everyone’s making me regret sleeping with you but I don’t want to regret it because it was good and I enjoyed it and it was with you, but I don’t know why that’s making me not regret it but I kind of do know because I don’t think that I see you the same as I used to anymore, which is something else I hate because I’m supposed to hate you, and I do but I also don’t think I do, and I’m so confused, and I just want to go home,’ I say miserably all in one breath, and he looks a little taken aback, but nods when I’m finished speaking. ‘I… I’ve been thinking a lot of the same things the last week, and I’m confused too. So if it’s any consolation, I know how you feel,’ he says, and somehow… it is consolation. I already knew his feelings towards me had changed, but hearing that he feels all the other stuff too, it does make me feel better. But I’m a stubborn bitch.

‘No, actually, I’m not sure you do know how I feel. Because I didn’t make it harder for you. I didn’t show up somewhere solely to piss you off, and laugh with my friends to make you feel self-conscious, and be all smug and amused and rude to you, and pull your underwear out of my pocket in front of everyone to embarrass you. So no, Jimin, you don’t know how I feel,’ I reply angrily, unable to help myself, but it’s true – he made this all a hundred times worse at try-outs earlier, and I am angry at him for it. I wait for him to get angry in return, to point out that I probably didn’t make it any better for him by being a bitch, but I’m pleasantly surprised when he just nods, his head dropping sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t mean to, I promise – I never intended to piss you off or to make you feel self-conscious or to embarrass you. I tend to… not think before I do things, and I guess my pride was hurt that you left so I wanted to just save face. And I shouldn’t have… left you earlier. I was just being petty and wanted to get back at you. I’m really sorry,’ he says earnestly, and I’m shocked into silence for a few moments, before I nod.

‘Okay. I accept your apology,’ I say, and he smiles. ‘I’m glad. Now… shall I take you home?’ he asks, and I blink in surprise. ‘What?’ ‘You said you wanted to go home so do you want me to take you?’ he offers, and I hesitate for a moment. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Because I’m supposed to hate you, and you’re supposed to hate me,’ I whisper, and he raises an eyebrow, taking a step closer to me. ‘Like I said earlier… would it really be so bad if we didn’t hate each other?’ he replies quietly, and I’m silent. ‘I don’t… I don’t know. It’s kinda… scary to think about. And it’s just easier to hate you. And…’ I trail off, and an amused smile appears on his stupid face. ‘You’re too stubborn to not hate me when you’ve hated me for so long, right?’ he says, seeing right through me, and I nod sheepishly. ‘We really need to work on your stubbornness, because I can see a future for us, y/n. If you could just give in to your feelings for me, we could pursue something together,’ he grins, but there’s no humour, no amusement in his voice at all, his honesty nearly winding me. He throws an arm around my shoulders and slowly walks us back up to the house. ‘A future? For you and me?’ I echo, and he lets out a gentle laugh. ‘Yeah! We’ll get married as soon as we finish Uni, have a load of kids, and they can become footballers and cheerleaders to follow in our footsteps,’ he says, and I choke, making him let out a loud laugh. ‘Okay, maybe not as soon as we finish Uni. I’ll make that sacrifice.’ ‘Thanks.’ ‘Of course, angel. Anything for you.’

The second we step into the house, all eyes in the kitchen look up at us. ‘Can we help you?’ Jimin asks evenly, daring them to say something, and they’re all silent. ‘Thought so,’ he mutters, leading us over to where the drinks are as conversation resumes around us, albeit much quieter now. Jimin eyes the dozens of bottles covering the countertop before his eyes flit to the cup in my hand. ‘What you drinking, babe?’ he asks quietly, and I hold my drink up for him to try. ‘You trying to roofie me?’ he grins, and I let out a little laugh. ‘It’s Fireball whisky and cream soda. Jeongyeon’s concoction,’ I say, and he grimaces before trying some, his face instantly changing. ‘Oh, wow, that’s good,’ he says, reaching for the whisky bottle to pour himself some. ‘Did you just arrive?’ I ask, and he nods. ‘I literally got here, walked into the kitchen, saw you weren’t in here, asked Mark where you were, and he said you were outside. I was coming to apologise,’ he says, and my heart warms. ‘To be honest… I should apologise too,’ I say, and his mouth drops open. ‘I can’t believe my ears. Is stubborn y/n finally discarding her pride?’ ‘Shut up, stupid,’ I laugh, shoving him gently, and he grins. ‘You don’t have to apologise, angel. You were scared that we didn’t hate each other, so you left, and then you were a bitch to me so that I’d hate you. That’s it. Don’t worry about it,’ he says, and I nod, grateful that I don’t have to apologise.

‘Okay,’ he says once he’s poured his drink, ‘shall we get away from all the staring?’ I raise an eyebrow, and he laughs. ‘I didn’t mean that, but if you’re down. I still owe you from earlier,’ he says lowly with a smirk, and my breath catches in my throat. ‘Um… maybe later. Let’s… see what’s going on in the rest of the house,’ I say, and he nods, grinning at my flustered state. And then he takes my hand into his, our fingers laced together, and a little shock runs up my arm at the contact. I nearly slap myself – he was rearranging my guts earlier, but I’m getting butterflies at him holding my hand? Really?

He leads me into the living room, several pairs of eyes turning to us, but he completely ignores them, so I do too. ‘You wanna stay in here?’ he asks over the loud music, and I shake my head. He nods, continuing to lead us through the room into the front hallway. The layout is the same as the ASP house, so Jimin knows his way around, leading me through the hallway and pushing open the door to the other living room, where it’s considerably more chill. The haze of weed lays heavy on the air, music gently pulsing through the room, and there are a lot less people in here, majority the boys on the football team with their girlfriends. ‘Oh, y/n, Chan spoke to me, I…’ Felix calls to me before his eyes land on Jimin behind me, his words trailing off when he spots our intertwined hands. ‘Yeah, it’s… yeah,’ I say, a little embarrassed, and Felix just nods, holding back a laugh when Jimin looks between us. ‘What did Chan speak to you about, Lix?’ Jimin asks, and I cringe. ‘They’re the ones that walked into the changing rooms earlier,’ I say under my breath, and he lets out a little noise of realisation with a nod, a smirk playing at his lips as he looks at Felix, the boy looking endlessly amused. ‘Oh, are you guys talking about how we walked in on you in the changing room?’ Jisung calls out tactlessly, and I close my eyes, gathering myself, as laughter ripples around the room. ‘You know what? Let’s just leave,’ I say tiredly, more laughter following my words, and Jimin nods, bidding goodbye to his friends with a smug grin as he leads me out of the room.

‘Shall we sit outside?’ he suggests, and I nod, letting him pull me through the front door. I shut the door behind us, and when I turn back, Jimin’s sat on the front step, looking out onto the front garden. It’s surprisingly empty, and it’s quiet out here, the only noise coming faintly from inside. I sit down beside him, pulling my dress down, and Jimin notices, a greasy smirk appearing on his face. ‘I swear to God, Park, I will not hesitate to throw this drink at you,’ I say, and he laughs, eyes disappearing behind their lids. ‘I was just gonna say that you look really nice. That dress really suits you,’ he grins, and I eye him suspiciously, holding back a laugh. He holds his hands up, feigning innocence, and I let out a gentle laugh, taking a sip of my drink. ‘Did you wear it for me?’ he asks, and I nod without looking at him. ‘Good choice. I like it,’ he replies, reaching for my hand, and I can’t help the small smile on my face as he laces his fingers with mine, our hands resting in my lap.

We both fall into a comfortable silence, and it’s really nice. It’s like all the other stuff falls away and doesn’t matter anymore, and we’re just a girl and a boy sat on the front steps of a frat house, taking a moment away from the party under the night sky, holding hands and drinking whisky and soda. We sit in silence for a few minutes, and I think that this is what true peace is like; when things are quiet and simple and easy, and nothing’s bothering me, nothing’s complicated or confusing, nothing matters. It’s almost too good to be true.

The door behind us opens after a few minutes, both of us turning to see Jeongin and Changbin, two more boys on the team, and Jimin grins widely when he sees them. I turn to face the front garden again, my back to the boys with my hand still in Jimin’s, both resting in my lap. ‘Boys! How are you? Ready for first practice next week?’ Jimin asks them, and I roll my eyes amusedly – football is their livelihood, and Jimin’s in his element talking about football, even more now that he’s been promoted to Captain. ‘Looking forward to it, Captain!’ Jeongin exclaims, hyping Jimin up even more. ‘Before we get distracted with football, we thought we’d let you know that, um, Rosie’s been looking for you. She asked us where you were and we said we didn’t know so we could buy you some time, but she’ll probably find you soon,’ Changbin says, and I freeze at the mention of his ex, Jimin wincing. ‘Um, okay, thanks, guys. I’ll, uh, speak to you later,’ he says, dismissing them, and they quickly disappear with a ‘bye’ thrown over their shoulders before the door shuts.

‘Why is Rosie looking for you?’ I ask amusedly, knowing exactly why she’s looking for him. She and Jimin have been in an on-again-off-again relationship for a long time, but he ended it for good at the end of last year, and stayed true to his word. According to the rumours, they don’t even talk anymore, just walk past each other without a word, and they haven’t slept with each other again. But she’s obviously got wind about me, and is jealous. ‘Um, yeah, about that. There’s probably something I should tell you,’ he says hesitantly, and I feel my body go a little cold as I turn my eyes to him – maybe there is a different reason she’s looking for him. ‘I… may have… slept with her… on Tuesday,’ he says, and the words don’t really register with me for a moment. ‘y/n?’ he says, eyes full of worry and I blink, realisation washing over me.

He slept with her. Four days ago.

I remove his hand from mine, and he flinches when I do so, retracting his hand slowly. ‘What… were you thinking?’ I ask, and he just blinks for a moment. ‘I was thinking that you hated me because you left and I was hurt so I found comfort in someone else,’ he says, tone neutral, but I can hear the defensiveness coming through. And, okay, maybe that is a good enough reason. But I’m still angry. Do I even have a right to be angry? ‘But your ex? Jimin, I-’ ‘Yes, y/n, my ex. I don’t really think you have a right to be angry. You left me. You knew my feelings for you were different to what you first thought, and you left anyway!’ he exclaims, voice rising, and I roll my eyes, letting out a humourless laugh. ‘I wasn’t obligated to stay just because you liked me!’ ‘But you liked me too!’ ‘I’m not sure I did, Jimin, and I’m still not sure about it! Besides, you literally said like fifteen minutes ago that you understood why I left and that I didn’t need to apologise for it!’ I point out, and he scoffs. ‘I do understand, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less, y/n. I was hurting and she was at the ASP house picking up her hair clip that she lost at the party and one thing led to ano-’ ‘So she just happened to be at the house, picking up a hair clip, three days after what happened between you and me? You don’t think she planned that?’ I say incredulously, unable to believe how dense he is. ‘So what if she did? To me, it was meaningless sex, to get my mind off you. I don’t think you have a right to be angry.’ ‘I don’t think I do either, but I still am!’ I exclaim, and he rolls his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. ‘You’re not angry, you’re jealous.’ ‘I’m not jealous, Jimin, don’t be ridiculous,’ I scoff, even more pissed off now. ‘You are.’ ‘If I said, ‘let’s go upstairs and fuck’ right now, you would be down, so what have I got to be jealous about?’ I ask lowly, and his eyes darken. ‘Fine. You’re not jealous. You’re angry I slept with someone else because you like me. Don’t even bother saying you’re still not sure because that’s the only reason for you to be angry. And in that case, I understand. And I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,’ he says calmly, and I don’t say anything, looking away from him.

After a few moments, he reaches for my hand tentatively, gauging my reaction before lacing our fingers together again. ‘You don’t have to apologise. I’m just being silly,’ I say, and he chuckles, moving closer to me. ‘I’ll apologise as many times as you need me to. I really do like you, y/n, and I kinda have for a while. I don’t want to fuck up whatever this is happening between us. And I know you’re still reluctant and you still want to hate me or whatever, but I don’t mind waiting until you’re ready. I’m happy to take time to win you over,’ he says softly, and my heart warms a little. The contrast between this Jimin and the Jimin from last week really is insane. There are so many sides to him, it’s hard to keep track. ‘Sorry,’ I say, and he lets out a gentle laugh. ‘You don’t have to apologise for getting angry that I slept with my ex, even if we didn’t make any commitments to each other. I understand,’ he says simply, and I can’t help the smile on my face as I shuffle even closer to him, our sides pressed together and my head resting on his shoulder.

And again, it’s nice. But it really is too good to be true. The door behind us is wrenched open before we hear, ‘Jimin?’ I sigh, Jimin turning to look at Rosie. ‘Rosie,’ he replies, voice neutral, and I turn around, our eyes meeting. ‘Hi, Rosie,’ I smile at the girl. I’ve never actually had a problem with Rosie – we run in the same social circles, she’s a Cheerleader, and we’ve never been close but from what I know of her, she’s okay. ‘Hi, y/n. Do you mind if I speak to Jimin for a moment?’ she says sweetly. ‘Of course,’ I reply with a smile, not moving a muscle, and Jimin sighs. ‘y/n, please,’ he says, and I turn to him, annoyance unfurling in my chest. ‘Okay,’ I say coldly, dropping his hand from mine and rising up, brushing past Rosie into the house.

What is wrong with him? Has he got no common sense? The logical thing to have done is obviously to not speak to her – what could she possibly have to say? All she’s going to do is try to get him back. And he’s really stupid enough to ask me to leave? Am I a dickhead? I let out an angry sigh, deciding that I’ve had enough. He’s been spouting all this shit about how he doesn’t want to fuck this up, and then literally like two fucking minutes later, he’s having a private conversation with his ex. This is like ‘To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before’ but in real life. He’s Peter, Rosie’s Gen and I’m Lara Jean. Somehow though, I feel like I won’t have the same happy ending.

‘y/n!’ I hear Jennie call from the other living room, where she’s sat with Jihyo and Irene, and I sigh, heading in. ‘What’s happened?’ she asks, and I roll my eyes, the attention of everyone in the room on me. ‘He apologised and we made up but then he asked me to leave so he could have a private conversation with his ex,’ I say, and they all gasp, confirming that I’m not a crazy bitch and that he shouldn’t be having private conversations with his ex. ‘Oh, girl, you better not forgive his stupid ass,’ Jihyo says, the other girls in the room nodding and giving various agreements, and the boys are all quiet – they obviously feel a sense of loyalty to Jimin and don’t want to talk bad about him. ‘I feel so pissed, but I also feel like I don’t have a right to be pissed,’ I say, and the girls all frown, disagreeing instantly. ‘You do have a right to be pissed. You should go throw your drink over his stupid head,’ Jennie says angrily, and I hold back a laugh.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ I sigh helplessly, perching on the arm of Seungmin’s armchair. ‘It’s a red flag, y/n. End things here – don’t let it go too far otherwise you’ll get too attached, your feelings will get deeper and stronger, and it’s just not worth it. Him and Rosie are always messing around and it’ll probably be like that for a long time – she’s a nice girl but she’s got Jimin wrapped around her finger and she knows it. If he tries to move on, she’ll stop it. It’s not worth you getting involved in that, because you shouldn’t have to compete with his ex,’ Irene says softly, everybody listening to her, and I know she’s exactly right; I might… maybe… kinda… sorta… like(?) Jimin now, but he’s not worth competing with another girl for. If there’s even a choice for him, I should walk away. I deserve someone who wants me and only me. ‘God, you’re right,’ I wail, throwing myself back against the armchair and lifting my hand to my face despairingly, a little laugh running around the room at my dramatics as Seungmin pats my arm comfortingly. ‘I know he’s our friend, y/n, but he’s also kinda a dick when it comes to girls, and we all know it. I mean, he was literally bragging to us yesterday about what happened between you guys,’ Minho says, and I feel my focus shifting entirely to his words when he says that, my entire body tensing. ‘What did he say?’ I ask calmly, though I can feel my anger slowly rising, along with the tension in the room. ‘Well… um,’ Minho begins hesitantly, before sighing, ‘we all went to ASP last night for KPN and ASP Pizza Friday, and we were speaking about going to watch you guys at the try-outs. JB mentioned that, as the new captain, you might get pissed if we showed up, and then the conversation turned to you and Jimin last week.’

I’m in total shock; he blatantly lied to me earlier, by telling me that he’d only told his closest friends. The thought that all those boys were sat together last night, talking about me, makes my stomach turn. ‘What did he tell you guys?’ I ask shakily, despite not actually wanting to know. ‘Um… everything,’ Minho says, and my heart drops. ‘Everything?’ ‘Yeah. Everything,’ Chan confirms, voice gentle, and I can feel tears pricking my eyes. ‘Wow. Okay. So not only is he a dick, he blatantly lied,’ I say flatly, the room completely silent other than the low RnB beat pulsing from the speaker. ‘I’m gonna go. Sorry for, uh, killing the vibe,’ I say quietly, pushing myself up from the arm of Seungmin’s armchair and heading towards the door, multiple people in the room calling after me.

I quickly dart up the stairs, dodging past the couple making out on the landing and into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Part of me is numb, in complete shock, and doesn’t know how to react. Another part of me is unbelievably hurt that he completely lied to my face, and that he asked me to leave so he could talk to his ex. Privately. Another part of me is totally humiliated that he told the boys everything, my pride completely ruined now. And the other part of me is annoyed at myself for being so hurt about a boy who, this time last week, I hated and would’ve rather fought than fucked.

‘y/n, it’s me,’ I hear Jennie’s voice from the other side of the door, and I unlock it to let her in. She pulls me into a hug, and I have to scrunch my eyes shut to stop myself from crying, pushing my head into her neck as she rubs my back comfortingly. ‘He’s so trash, babe. So trash. You deserve so much better,’ she says soothingly, and I try my best to fully believe her words, but it’s hard when I’m also trying to hold back my tears.

Before I can even speak to her, Jiwon’s head appears around the door, her eyes widening when she sees how upset I am. ‘y/n! Sorry for just walking in but are you okay?’ she asks, eyes big with concern, and my heart warms. ‘Ugh, yeah,’ I say, Jennie and I moving apart, and I tilt my head back, blinking furiously to get rid of my tears. ‘It’s just Jimin. He’s such a dick. I’m done with him,’ I say, the words coming out of my mouth before I even think of them, and I realise that, yes, I am done with him. I’m not wasting my time on him anymore.

‘Good. You deserve better. I mean, I knew he was a dick when he literally grabbed me on the way up to his room last week and dragged me along behind him. He made me think he was attracted to me, but he obviously just wanted to make you jealous,’ Jiwon says, and it makes me hate him even more. I didn’t even think about how hurt she must have been when she realised he was just using her. ‘God, he really is a dick,’ I spit, face twisted up in disgust, and Jiwon lets out a gentle laugh. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t see that sooner.’ ‘I knew all along. There was a reason I hated him so much – he’s always been a self-absorbed, egotistic, arrogant douche, but now… he’s even worse in my eyes.’

‘Shall we head back downstairs, get you a drink, dance? Or… shall we head home? We could have a little girls’ night – we’ve got a couple bottles of Echo Falls in the fridge, Clueless and Mean Girls on Netflix, and I have a few face masks. We could invite some of the other girls, too. And you could join us, Jiwon. We could get drunk, order pizza and talk about how much of a bastard Jimin is,’ Jennie says, the three of us laughing. She’s really sold the idea – it sounds like a lot of fun – but it’s late already. It’s better if I just head home and go to sleep. I actually feel exhausted after the events of today; it’s been an emotional rollercoaster, and I’m literally craving my bed right now. ‘That sounds fun, Jen, but maybe we could do that another night. I could do with just sleeping tonight,’ I say, and she nods, smiling gently.

‘Shall I order an Uber?’ ‘You stay,’ I say, and she frowns. ‘Why would I stay? You’re upset – I’ll come back with you.’ ‘No, honestly, I’ll be fine. You stay, enjoy the party. You haven’t even spent any time with Namjoon,’ I say, and she rolls her eyes. ‘I don’t care about spending time with Namjoon right now. You’re my priority. I’m coming home with you,’ she says firmly, pulling her phone out of her pocket, and I exchange an exasperated glance with Jiwon, the other girl incredibly amused.

As soon as Jennie’s ordered the Uber, we head downstairs to bid everyone goodbye. The second I step into the kitchen, Jin and Jungkook appear in front of me, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. ‘Don’t say a word, because I swear to God, I won’t hesitate to kick you both in the balls,’ I threaten angrily, and their grins soon disappear. ‘Have you been crying, y/n? What’s the ma-?’ ‘Don’t say a word!’ I exclaim, pushing past them to say goodbye to Wendy, Lisa, Chaeyoung and Tzuyu, the three of them giving me tight and comforting hugs – it seems that word’s already gotten around to the girls about Jimin and I. Then, in the living room, Nayeon, Seulgi, Mina, Jeongyeon, Jisoo, Momo, Joy and Sana all stop dancing the second I walk in, smothering me in hugs, and I know for sure that word has gotten around. And then, in the other living room, Jihyo, Irene, Yeri and Dahyun all give me big hugs too, and it really does make me feel better. Girls say it a lot, but it’s true – as long as you have your girls around you, you really don’t need a man. Any KNP or ASP boys that I walk past get the cold shoulder – they were all present when Jimin told them the dirty details and, despite some of them being my friends, close friends, not one of them thought to tell me. The only person that gets a goodbye from me is Minho; the rest of them can fuck themselves.

When I reach the front door, my hand shakes for a moment and I hesitate, Jennie putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. I take a deep breath, rolling back my shoulders and raising my chin a little, injecting as much confidence into my body language as possible before I aggressively turn the handle, pulling the door towards me forcefully. They’re still sat on the front doorstep, Rosie where I was sat just half an hour ago, and they both jump when they hear the door open. And even though they react instantly, I still spot Jimin’s hand retracting from Rosie’s, leaving hers empty.

My eyes flit back up, in front of me, and I carefully walk through the gap between them, ignoring them both completely. ‘y/n? Are you leaving?’ I hear Jimin ask, but Jennie puts a hand on my back, the both of us continuing to walk up towards the road and away from him. ‘y/n! Wait!’ he calls after me, and then I hear his footsteps behind us, making my blood boil – can he not take the hint? ‘What, Jimin?’ I demand, whirling around to face him, and he hesitates in his steps. ‘y/n-’ ‘No, Jimin, don’t ‘y/n’ me. What the fuck do you want?’ ‘I… you’re angry at me,’ he says quietly, and I let out a harsh laugh. ‘Great observation, Jimin! What else will you come out with? The grass is green? Or the sky is blue, perhaps?’ ‘Okay, you don’t need to be so bitchy to m-’ ‘Bitchy?’ I practically scream, marching towards him, and he recoils away from me. Good. I’m glad he’s scared.

‘I think I’m well within my rights to be bitchy to you, you fucking bastard!’ I shriek, and he flinches, confusion all over his face. ‘What did I do, y/n? I… let me fix it,’ he says, and I let out another humourless laugh. ‘Fix it? You want to fix it?’ I ask hysterically, voice shaking, ‘You might’ve been able to fix the fact that you asked me to leave so you could have a private conversation with your ex, but that’s a very strong ‘might’, because I am not a choice, Jimin! You don’t get to mess me around! I’m number one, or I’m nothing to you at all!’ ‘Okay. Okay, I understand, and I’m sorry. I won’t do something like that again,’ he says earnestly, desperation in his eyes, but I can’t muster up any sympathy at all. Maybe I am a bitch, like he told me so many times last week.

‘No, you’re not going to do something like that again. Because you’re not going to have the chance, Jimin. We are done. That’s it,’ I say, and any hope that was in his eyes completely disappears, the light draining away. ‘What? Why? I thought you wanted… to give us a go,’ he says quietly, sounding… lost, and confused. It only makes me angrier – he’s not gonna get away with playing innocent today. ‘I did. Before I found out that you went and blabbed every single detail of last week to every fucking frat boy in ASP and KPN last night! Did you somehow forget about that, or did you purposely leave out that detail when I asked you earlier?’ I scream, body shaking with fury, and the second he registers my words, the colour disappears from his face, and he looks like he might throw up. He doesn’t say anything, and I give him the chance, but he doesn’t even bother to deny it, just stares at me in shock and the last shred of my hope that maybe Minho lied, that he exaggerated, or that maybe Jimin only told a couple of the guys disappears. ‘Yeah. That’s what I thought too. So forgive me for being such a bitch,’ I spit at him, and he opens his mouth to speak, no words coming out.

‘Go on. Say something. You’ve had plenty to say all night. So let’s hear it,’ I prompt sarcastically, and he just blinks before he whispers miserably; ‘I’m so sorry.’ ‘Sorry? You’re sorry? Oh, well, that’s okay! Everything’s solved now, huh? That just makes everything fine!’ I shout, and his head drops, eyes on the ground. ‘Not only did you tell everyone, you lied about it! So how can I pursue something with you when you’re already lying to me? I can’t trust a word you say!’ ‘I… I’m not defending myself… but you lied to me too, y/n. You told me that you told Jennie, and ‘a couple of the other girls’. But we both know that was a lie,’ he says slowly, stuttering as he speaks, and I’m dumbfounded, in complete and utter shock.

‘You… you don’t understand. I told the girls, my closest friends. We tell each other everything. I’ve been there for them through everything, and they’ve been there for me through everything. You told two entire fraternities of immature and idiotic man children! You don’t think there’s a difference between the two? I bet they congratulated you, right? On getting the girl that hates you into bed? Asked what I was like? What my body looks like? Whether I had good head game, or good pussy? Saw me as just a slut, another conquest, another notch in your belt? Two entire fraternities objectified me last night, and you can’t even try to tell me otherwise, because I can guarantee that every girl in this damn university has had an experience to prove that you frat boys are disgusting. So you can fuck yourself, Jimin, and don’t ever compare me telling the girls to you telling those idiots again,’ I spit out angrily, and he’s completely silent, confirming everything I’ve just said. ‘I’m done with you. Don’t ever speak to me again,’ I hiss before turning on my heel and marching to where Jen stands outside the Uber, smiling at me softly.

‘That was amazing. I’m so proud of you,’ she says when I reach her, and I smile back as she opens the car door, letting me climb in first. I slide across the seat, Jennie following me in, and when she shuts the door behind her, I feel my heart pulse with hurt, eyes filling with tears. And as the driver pulls away from the house and I turn to look out of the rear window, being met with the sight of Jimin stood there, watching the car drive away, his eyes shining with tears, I can’t hold back my own, sobbing as if my heart would break.

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whydoyouwantmyname · 4 years

Text

Imagine not telling the boys some important information

This was supposed to be an easy case, after everything you and the boys had been through you three needed an easy case.

You had known the boys for years, having met at the roadhouse, Ellen told the boys they would be fools to not ask you to help with a case, and you had been stuck with them ever since.

Since then you three had been through the ringer, John Winchester was dead, Yellow Eyes was dead, Sam had died, come back, and died again, before coming back again with no soul. Dean had sold his soul, been ripped apart in front of you, just to turn up on your doorstep four months later, living and breathing. You had befriended an angel, befriended a crossroad demon, and witnessed the apocalypse. You learned that your boys were vessels of Lucifer, and Micheal, learned they had a bastard brother, Jo, and Ellen were dead. And to top it all off you witnessed Dean look you in the eyes, pull you into a hug and whisper, “Be good.”, before he climbed into the impala, and drove back to Lisa and Ben’s doorstep. After a month of no word from him or Cas, you asked Bobby if you could move in permanently, and drank more whiskey than either Winchester ever could. However within a year’s time, Bobby called you down stairs, your hair a mess, an oversized Led Zeppelin shirt was draped over your frame, and in your hand was an empty vodka bottle. As you wandered down the stairs you let out a yawn, and when you opened your eyes, there they were.

Since reuniting with the boys, you learned Sam had returned with no soul, and had been racing around with Samuel, the elder he was named after. Bobby also revealed that he had made a deal with Crowley, and that he had discovered Crowley’s true weakness, his child, Gavin. Gavin’s spirit was extremely willing to reveal where Crowley was buried. Both you and the Winchester’s went to dig up the bones, and upon Crowley collecting them, you all flew back, comforted that Bobby had reclaimed his soul from the new King of Hell. Meg had returned, Death had made an appearance with Sam’s soul, Dean became a vampire, and you fought fairies. Which led you to your current situation, where you were sitting on the hood of the impala, cold beer in hand as Dean, Cas, and Bobby assessed Sam’s current state. The sun reflecting off of your dark sunglasses as you looked towards the back porch door, which shut with a bit of force and revealed the eldest Winchester walking towards you with Bobby.

“Did our precious sleeping beauty fall back asleep?” You called as the men looked away from one another, and found your eyes. Dean scowling as he states, “Why my car? You have a perfectly good car…”

“My car is in the front yard though, and covered by shade, at least your precious baby is in the sun, meaning I can tan.”

“You are wearing jeans and a flannel, what are you tanning?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t scratch her, now what do we do?”

“Well Cas says we can’t let him know, or else the whole wall protecting his mentality.” Bobby replied, as you looked over to him.

“So we just pretend this last year didn’t happen, awesome.” You smiled

“Well for you that will be easy, since you probably drank yourself to unconsciousness for most of it.” Dean joked as you smiled and replied, “So we got a new case yet?”

“Yeah, seems like a pilot was trying to impress a girl, took her flying and his body ended up torn to shreds by god knows what, and the girl is missing.”

“When are we leaving?”

“I expect your shit in the trunk in 30, and I swear if she has any scratches or dents on her hood…”

“I know, you will send me on a one way trip to Hell.” You smiled before finishing your beer, and hopping off the Impala, turning to look at the hood, “Oh look, not even an ass print.”

While sitting in the back seat, you all discussed the case at hand, and discovered the case was larger than just one missing woman. You also quickly learned that Sam had no recollection of the events that occurred since he went into the hole, and innocently asked, “So while I was gone, did you two finally admit you are in love with each other.”

Now it was a common fact among your group that you and Dean loved each other, you said it on multiple occasions, if you ever needed to pose as a couple, you and Dean were always the bait, you shared beds in countless hotels, you were the only one allowed to steal his fries, and you were the only one allowed to touch Baby, as proved earlier. You knew if anyone else even attempted to sit on the Impala, Dean would have their heads, but with you, you just got light harassment. However you both knew it could never happen, due to the life you led, and the baggage you carried with you.

“No, I actually moved in with Lisa and Ben, however we… uhhh… didn’t work out.” Dean answered, looking in the rearview as you added, “She was tired of competing with a car from 1967.”

Sam chuckled, as Dean smiled slightly, his lips corner lifting in an unseen smirk, neifre Sam asked, “So what did you do [Y/N]?”

“You know all the normal stuff, moved in with Bobby, became a functioning alcoholic, researched a bunch.”

“Don’t forget to add, slept with a bunch of dudes.” Dean joked, as your eyes grew slightly, the truth was, you hadn’t slept with anyone, ever. With the life you lead, and the baggage you carried, it was just easier to not get involved with anyone, seriously or causally, most times you never even had a crush, but Dean Winchester was an exception.

“Oh I am sure Sam didn’t need to know about that.” You joked, in an attempt to hide the secret.

“I agree.” Sam added, “Besides, we all know that there is only one person…”

“So are we going straight to Penny’s house when we get to the hotel?” You cut Sam off

“That’s the plan.” Dean answered, pulling into a motel parking lot, “I call first dibs on the bathroom.”

As you opened the door to the motel room, you looked behind you to the two boys in suits, your flannel, boots and jeans replaced with a pencil skirt, black pumps, and white button down, as fake glasses sat on your nose, “I call dibs on the bathroom, unless you want me to just take off the skirt right here.”

“All yours.” Sam replied as Dean lifted an eyebrow, “You need some help with that skirt darling?”

“I think I have it handled Stud, but thank you for the offer.” You replied, before discarding your pumps, and jogging towards the bathroom.

As the door shut behind you, Sam looked to his brother, “Dude, why did you ever leave her for Lisa?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dean, you clearly love her, we all know you both do. Why not try to make it wor….”

“Dude, we have talked about this, she doesn’t want to date because she doesn’t want to burden her next relationship with her baggage.”

“She said that four years ago Dean.”

“And if she wanted to move forward she would tell me, so I nominate you drop it, before she comes out of that door, and kills you with her pumps.”

When you re-emerged, your hair was soaked, and the FBI outfit was replaced with your black leggings, jean jacket, and a tank top, your hand ruffled your wet strands of hair as Dean looked towards you and smiled, “So I think I figured something out.”

“Did you finally learn that Boston Cream pie isn’t pie, but cake?” You questioned, both you and Sam looking to see if he would react, however he just held up a small black book with a silver lock, “No, but we are looking for virgins.”

“Dude is that a diary?” Sam inquired as Dean just nodded, “You stole Penny’s diary?”

“I mean at this point are you really surprised? I have stolen much worse.”

“Honestly Dean, this might be a new low, even for you.” You replied, sitting on your shared bed as you opened Dean’s bag and removed your bourbon lotion, which Dean had stolen from you two months ago. However it was a common tradition for Dean to use your lotion, the origin of the tradition was unknown to either of you, “Besides we have no proof that either of these victims are..”

“Tonight I have decided to give Stan my most precious gift.” The statement sounded extremely creepy as he read Penny’s handwriting, both you and Sam looking towards Dean as you whispered, “Well that wasn’t creepy.”

“It might have been, but you can’t tell me that doesn’t scream Virgin excited to get fucked into next week by Stan.” Dean answered as you returned the lotion to Dean’s bag and chuckled, “Definitely.”

“Okay, so why would this creep be after virgins?”

“No idea, I mean I prefer a woman with experience, someone who probably has daddy issues, lots of baggage and her drink of choice is whiskey. Also she has to smell like bourbon.”

“Sounds like you are looking for a bartender.” You smiled, as Sam cleared his throat, causing you to glance over to him, a blush in both your and Dean’s face, “So what do we think it could be?”

“Easy, dragon.” You shrugged, as they both met your eyes,”I mean they are attracted to virgins, they are like a fine delicacy to them.”

“Yeah, but they are extinct.” Sam replied as you pulled out your phone

“At least that’s what everyone says, but what if they aren’t, they are just underground.” You answered, your fingers pressing a familiar number sequence on your number pad before you brought your phone to your ear.

“Yeah?”

“Hey Bobby, I got an odd request for ya.”

“I’m all ears.”

“What do you know about dragons?”

“You mean other than the fact that they are extinct?” He replied as you smiled, “And what if I said I think we stumbled upon a case that proves they aren’t.”

“Well I can look into it, but how do you know…”

“Dean stole one of the vic’s diaries, and there is a line in it that screams virgin.”

“I’ll see what I can find, but while I do that, I got a friend who might be able to help. If you and Dean wanted to take a ride over, her name is Dr. Visyak. It is kinda her specialty,”

“Thanks Bobby. I’ll tell the guys.” You replied, before hanging up, your eyes casting to the eldest, “Bobby said he would do some digging, however he might have a friend who can help, said Dean and I should take a ride over.”

“Sure sweetheart, whatever you say.” He smiled, alarm in his eyes as you both threw on your shoes and started towards the impala. Before opening the passenger door, you said to the air, “Cas, I need you to babysit Sam, just for an hour or two.”

Once in the car, you turned the music up, and screamed along with the mixtape you made Dean once for Christmas, both of you rocking out to the songs before the song You’re My Best Friend by Queens started playing, and you both looked at each other. This was the song that you both defined your relationship by, and as the lyrics blared through the speakers, you couldn’t help but lean your head back against the headrest, and look at the dirty blonde, green eyes man seated beside you as he took his callused, dry, enormous hand into yours, smiles on both of your faces as you sang every word. Once it was over however, Dean let go of your hand, and turned the radio off.

“Awww come on, Air Supply is next.” You groaned as Dean looked at you quickly, before he asked, “What are we doing [Y/N]?”

“What do you mean Dean?”

“Listen, I know we talked about this once, but then…”

“You messed it up by selling your soul.”

“And you told me you didn’t want to date because you had a lot of baggage that you didn’t want me to have to deal with, nor were you willing to tell me.”

“Guess we are both at fault.” You replied as he breathed out.

“Listen I know what we said, and that this is by far the dumbest decision we could make as hunters, but what if we try?”

“And risk losing my best friend?”

“You really think we won’t be best friends even if we break up, I mean it will be awkward knowing what my best friend looks like completely naked, but other then that nothing else has to change.”

“You offer a very valid point.” You exhaled, as he pulled into the address Bobby had sent you, “How about this, we get this son of a bitch, and go home to Bobby’s. After unloading the impala we drive over to that bakery on the corner by the grocery store, get a pecan pie, two forks, and a case of beer. Then we talk about it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You replied, before holding your pinky out and watching him link his own to yours, as you pulled apart you both threw the impala doors open, and started towards the doors of Dr. Visyak’s office.

Upon reaching the door, Dean reached out and knocked, a few moments passing before the door creaked open revealing Dr. Visyak, “ Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Dean Winchester, and this is [Y/N] [Y/L/N], we are friends of Bobby Singer, and he said you might be able to help us out.”

“How about you just go kick him in the family jewels, it would be more poetic.”she replied, Dean’s face taking an O appearance as you replied, “That bad? Doesn’t surprise me honestly.”

“I am glad you understand, I would share, but that’s his story to tell. However if he sent you here, he must be desperate.”

“What can you tell us about dragons?” You asked, as her eyes increased in size, “Dragons? Really?”

“What, no 12 sided dice jokes?” Dean asked as you looked at him, “How do you get a DND player to go out with you?”

“Do I want to know?”

“You ask them on a D8.” Dr. Visyak smiled at you after delivering the punch line, your eyes fixated on the confused face of Dean before she opened the door wider, allowing you both to enter the house. As you entered you leaned over slightly and whispered, “You asked.”

As she guided you to the parlor you inquired, “So what can you tell us about them?”

“Well if they are active then you should be extremely concerned.”

“Can we kill them?” Dean followed up, as she looked at the artifacts on the wall, “Of course you can, however you need a blade forged in a dragon's blood.”

“Of course you would need a dead dragon to kill a dragon.” You breathed out

“No dear, you just need one of the blades, they are quite rare, only 5, maybe 6 in the whole world.”

“Of course there is.” Dean sighed

“One of which is in my basement.”

“What?” You both asked, eyes on her as she smiled.

“I can show you, if you like.”

“Yes please.” You replied before following her down the steps and into the room with a large rock, a sword hilt sticking out of it as you looked towards Dean.

“Thank goodness I have the macho man with me.”you smiled as he raised an eyebrow.

“So what’s with the rock?”

“Dean, have you never heard the story of Excalibur?”

“Who?”

“More of a what actually, it was a sword that was trapped in a rock during 5th century Britain, King Arthur pulled it out at the age of 15, and from there vowed to pursue a life of justice in the name of God. However some claim it was a test from Merlin to prove he was truly the king. However both stories kinda have the same message, if you wanna pull the sword out, you must be worthy.”

“I mean I think I am pretty worthy.”

“Sure you are my shining knight in tin foil.” You stated as he threw up his middle finger and advanced towards the rock. You folded your arms and leaned back against the doorframe and smiled, as he gripped the hilt and breathed out, “Alrighty Dean, time to impress the lady.”

Soon the room was filled with your laughter as you watched Dean struggle and after several minutes of struggling he finally slipped from the rock and landed on his back a groan filling the room as you wandered over to him and looked down over him, arms crossed as he groaned, “You okay Dean?”

“I would be if you were wearing a skirt.” He groaned, his green eyes looking up at you as you smiled, “Smooth one.”

“Wanna give it a go my fair maiden?”

“Of course I do, but first I need to get something out of the impala.” You extended a hand for the keys, which Dean happily surrendered, as he did he stated, “If you need me, I’ll be here, on the ground, just waiting.”

When you returned you were holding a small cylinder of TNT, Dean’s head lollied towards you as he groaned, “We had that the whole time?”

“Yeah, however I figured before we blew it up, you might want to attempt proving your worth.”

“I mean yeah, but the boom sticks would be way funnier.” He sighed as you extended a hand to help him up,once vertical you extended the TNT and stated, “Either way Dr. Visyak is going to be pissed.”

“So let me get this straight, you both found out that to kill a dragon, we need a dragon blade, which is extremely rare, and you two decided to blow it up and break it?” Sam asked, as you both looked at the towel on the table, which you used to wrap the severed blade.

“Now when you say it like that Sammy it sounds like we knew it was going to break in half.” You replied

“What did you think was going to happen [Y\N]!”

“I don’t know, something amazing.” You replied as Sam looked to the blade

“It could be worse, it could have been completely destroyed. I mean at this point we can still kill the son of a bitch, we just have to get a bit closer.” Dean defended you as you looked at him.

“So, Sam, you figure out where we can find it?”

“Yeah, it looks like he is using the sewers, my best bet is he is somewhere in this region.” Sam answered, his finger landing within a hand drawn red circle he made to symbolize the likely hideout.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Dean asked, “Let’s go get the son of a bitch.”

After wandering for hours you were starting to think it was hopeless, until you saw the slight glimmer of the pile of treasure.

As soon as you pointed it out, Dean walked over to it and knelt before it, reaching out to start shoving it in his pocket.

“Really Dean?” Sam stated as you held up a hand, “No let him have this, who knows when it will happen again.”

“You two are unbelievable sometimes.” Sam sighed as Dean stood up and tossed a ruby towards you, “That is for your unconditional support.”

That’s when you heard the bang, and you and Sam turned your attention from Dean, and down the tunnel before you. Both of you started towards the noise as Dean quickly followed, and soon you found yourselves in a large space, and could see the girls crying through the grates, none of them noticing you were standing there. However before any of you could get to them, you heard a bang above you, and looked up to see two men on a runway above you. Quickly you were bonding up the stairs to the runway, and upon getting up there one snarled, “I never thought our job would be so easy that virgins would start coming to us.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You retorted as Dean arrived behind you, sword in hand as he quickly advanced, slashing at the beast before noticing one behind me, “[Y/N]!” He hollered, tossing the blade before slugging the younger dragon he was fighting, catching the blade, you quickly turned, and sliced a small incision into the arm of the older one, who quickly exclaimed, “You will regret that Virgin.”

Ducking his own swing, you quickly tossed the blade back to Dean, who caught it as you both backed up closer to one another, ducking again before swinging Dean decided to ask you, “Anything you want to tell me Darling?”

“I really wish we didn’t use TNT.” You replied, looking out of the corner of your eye to see Dean take another swing.

“Anything else? Like why these assholes keep calling you…”

“I’m a virgin, no big deal.”

“Umm it is kind of a big deal right now.”

“Nah I think we got this.” You replied, Sam finally joining you all on the runway as you reached around and took the sword, which you once again swung at the older dragon, before Sam hit him from behind, distracting him for a second as you turned, and landed the blade into the younger dragon as Dean punched him, a speech of pain filling the space as you felt something wrap around your middle before the rapid feeling of acceleration overtook you, a scream exiting your lips as you dropped the sword, neither Sam or Dean were able to even process what was happening until they heard the crash from above, the man hole that was above them wide open as Dean screamed, “Son of a bitch!”

Dean’s POV

My foot was to the floor, knuckles gripped tightly on the steering wheel as her words echoed over and over, “I’m a virgin, no big deal.”

“I don’t get it, why would the dragons take her?” Sam asked as I pulled into the parking lot of the motel, releasing a breath I didn’t even know I was holding I whispered, “She was a virgin.”

“What?”

“We basically served them a victim on a silver platter.” He huffed as Sam looked at him, before muttering something about getting the bags, however all I heard was the shutting off the impala doors, which triggered me to begin beating the steering wheel. How could I be so blind.

The ride to Bobby’s was silent, I didn’t even have the desire to put on the radio. Upon arriving I noticed Cas was standing on the porch, his eyes directed right at the impala as I turned the key, and the purr of Baby died down, leaving her silent as I sat there, my head leaned back against the headrest as Sam looked towards me, “We have to go in Dean.”

“We weren’t supposed to be here.” I stated, Sam’s eyes filled with concern as the tears gathered, I could feel the sob in my chest as I continued, fighting the urge to let the sob loose, “We agreed that we would go get pie as soon as we dropped you off, along with a case of beer and two fork, and finally figure out this whole sexual tension thing. If I had just suggested it sooner, if I had the fucking balls to tell her I don’t give a damn about the relationship rule…..” my voice grew silent, and then turned into a growl, “ he might be here.”

“Dean none of us knew…”

“I should have! I was her best friend, we told each other everything.” I stated, before I took the door handle into my hand, and gripped the cool metal, pulling with force to trigger the door to open. As I advanced towards the angel he grimly stated, “Dean, I’m sorry…”

“Where is she Cas?” I asked, not looking for small talk

“I have lost track of her, either she is being possessed and whatever is holding her prisoner is blocking her from angels' sight, or she has..”

“Don’t you dare fucking say it.” I growled, before pushing through the peeling paint door, and advancing straight to the kitchen, grabbing her bottle of Jack before pushing out the back door, the smooth glass lips of the bottle on mine as I grabbed the bat Bobby had sitting on the porch, and wandered into the pile of junk cars. Once I was in front of a mostly complete car, I set the bottle down and took a swing.

Back to [Y/N] POV

Upon waking up you could feel you body jostling around, you were sitting up, feet and wrist bond with thick rope, your eyes covered with a bandanna as you opened them, your nose filled with the stench of BO and sewer.

“Ever heard of Axe body spray?” You snapped as you heard a foreign laugh, “It’s alright sweetheart, you won’t be around long enough to even be bothered by the smell.”

“So tell me, what was the point of all this, to drive all of the virgins out into the woods, a feast upon their pure flesh?”

“Nope, I have a bigger plan for you, you are the only one who seems worthy enough for Eve.”

“What is she your girlfriend or something?”

“No, she is my mother, and you will soon be her vessel.”

“When they find you…”

“Oh your two little boyfriends that killed my brother? They don’t scare me.”

“It isn’t them I would be scared of.” As you growled that, you felt the vehicle stop, and a door open and shut. Soon you felt your own door open, your feet cut loose, as you went to kick, yet he was too quick, and soon you were dragged out and felt the cool breeze against your face. As you inhaled the fresh, crisp night air, he removed the bandanna, and revealed the gully to you, causing you to respond, “Ahh I take it I am a sacrifice?”

“Now you’ve caught on.”

“Oh now you are definitely fucked when he finds you.”

“ Ego coniuro vos, insolubiliter ad mei potenciam aligati! Ad me...Sine prestolacione venire... Debeatis aperiat!” With the last part he took all his force and shoved you as hard as he could, your body flying over the ledge and towards the bottom of the large ravine, which was quite warm. That is when it all went dark.

When you opened your eyes, you were in a hotel room, the tv screen covered in static as you looked around, hoping it was a dream, “Sam, Dean!” You called, but the voice that replied was neither.

“Hello [Y/N]. Or should I call you Ailsa?” A female voice asked, as you spun around, looking for the source

“Only my father can call me that.” You snapped

“ Feisty, I like it, tell me do you really think your dear old daddy is going to find you.”

“Do you have any idea who you are…”

“Ailsa MacLeod, you were born in 1803, your mother was a mortal,she died from you ripping your way out of her womb. Your father… well your father is a bastard. You were raised in the depths of hell, your beauty preserved among the paperwork, and your father constantly looking over your shoulder. You left in 1981, and became a hunter, drifting motel to motel, bar hopping, until you met the legendary Winchesters, who became your family. Tell me what do you think Sam and Dean would think if they saw those bright ruby eyes you hid behind your [Y/E/C] ones?”

“How do you…”

“How foolish of me, I haven’t even properly introduced myself, I am Eve, mother of purgatory, and the one who is going to tear your father’s heart from his chest for what him and his partner have done to my children.”

Part 2

—————————————

A/N: hey, so this is basically a revision of a piece I wrote when I first started this page, I was recently reading it, and I was cringing the whole time. (Which if you cringed during this rewrite I am sorry, I believe that your writing always improves during time, so who knows maybe if I rewrite this in another 5 years it will be even better) plus this is a nice break from the two major stories I have been focusing on for the past three months I have been in quarantine.

Today I have to go to my rehiring meeting with my place of employment, so hopefully life will be normal soon, but I promise I will keep posting 🖤

125 notes · View notes

badgersprite · 4 years

Text

Fic: Desiderata (7/?)

Chapter Title: Messages

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob, Jack

Pairing: Miranda/Samara very slow burn, friends to lovers

Story Rating: R

Warnings: References to past childhood abuse/trauma.

Chapter Summary: In 2186, Miranda gets a series of messages. Two are positive. One isn’t. In 2185, The Normandy faces the Suicide Mission. For some, the name is more fitting than anyone realises.

Author’s Note: Now that they’ve announced a new Mass Effect game, I should really buckle down and get chapters out at a faster rate, huh?

* * *

If adjusting to living with a bunch of teenagers had been a difficult prospect from the start, it only became more so once they settled in and learned that Miranda was an actual human being rather than some stern caricature. They knew now that she wasn’t as cold as she had come off initially, and that her snarky remarks lacked any real bite. Consequently, they no longer felt even remotely intimidated by her. Plus, they seemed to have suddenly twigged that they vastly outnumbered her.

Ever since they’d realised all that, getting them to cooperate and behave themselves was a damn sight harder.

“I dunno, man. For a humourless grump with half a face, she's still smokin’ hot,” Miranda heard one of the boys, Deacon Winters, remark as she emerged from her room that morning. “Oh. Hi, Miss,” Deacon said when he saw her heading to the kitchen, evidently believing she'd missed his comment.

“Stop calling me that,” Miranda instructed, but it fell on deaf ears just as it had the last dozen times she’d said the exact same thing. Truth be told, in that moment, Miranda was more concerned with breakfast than the behaviour of Jack’s students. So she rolled her eye and moved on, letting it slide.

If there was one particular luxury she was looking forward to returning when the galaxy recovered from its near-extermination, it was restaurants. Cafés. Places to eat actual food again. Real, good-quality meals, made by other people.

The way things were, everyone was subsisting on staples and rations, aside from the occasional “luxury” food items sold through the black market, which everyone knew about but nobody cared to stop. The sad fact of it all was that the only reason their food stockpiles might be enough to last the winter was because so many people had died after the Reapers attacked Earth. That and because a lot of the excess soldiers hanging around London had finally moved elsewhere, shifting the burden so it wasn’t all in one place.

Speaking of food, the sound of cereal crunching across the room caught Miranda’s attention just as she finished draining her noodles. Her eye widened.

“Are you eating on my couch?” said Miranda, like Deacon had committed a crime just a hair's breadth away from aggravated murder. He froze, a droplet of reconstituted milk dripping down his chin, a spoonful of cereal still in his mouth. “In what bizarre alternate universe is that okay? Go eat at the table like a civilised human being,” she ordered, her already low tolerance levels quickly waning.

“Aw, Miss,” Deacon protested, stretching out the word to make it as grating as possible.

“Keep whinging like that and you can find somewhere else to live,” Miranda warned him. The two students rolled their eyes before reluctantly picking up their bowls and heading to the table, not quite brave enough to test the idleness of her threat. “When you're done, you can vacuum up the crumbs, too,” she told them, limping across to the table with her own breakfast in hand, leaving her cane against the kitchen counter. She may have been gradually softening to her new housemates, but she had her limits.

Just as she started to eat, Prangley and Rodriguez both emerged from their room in shared laughter. When they spotted Miranda there, they paused sheepishly, as if they'd been caught in the midst of some minor conspiracy. Miranda arched her eyebrow, but ignored them.

The two exchanged hushed whispers, tittering and nudging each other like gossipy hens. Prangley seemed to make up his mind about something, Rodriguez giggling and lightly slapping his arm as if to discourage him, but it was clear she wholeheartedly wanted to see what would happen.

“Hey, Miss,” Prangley began. Miranda despised that damn title. She swore they used it on purpose, to deliberately irk her. “Me and the others—”

“The others and I,” Miranda corrected without glancing up.

“Right, well, we've been wondering a couple things,” Prangley continued, sitting down at the table, his posture impolite and uncultivated, eager to pry into the mind of their impromptu protector. “After all, since we’re already living together, it’s only fair and reasonable that we should have the right to ask some questions and get to know some stuff about you as a person, right?”

Miranda didn’t dignify that with a response, continuing to eat.

“We've noticed the only reason you ever leave the apartment is for work. You never bring anyone home, except Mr. Taylor, and the only other person you ever speak to is your sister,” Prangley pointed out.

“I mean, we’re know you're kinda, well...” In place of saying anything unintentionally offensive, Rodriguez vaguely gestured at the left side of her own face. The implication was not lost in translation. “But you've still gotta have a personal life, right?” she asked, probing for information.

Sensing where this was going, Miranda merely stared at them, as if finding their attempts to rile her tiresome, and beneath recognition.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” asked Prangley.

No reaction.

“Girlfriend?”

No reaction.

“Secret alien lover?”

No reaction.

“Synthetic sex buddy?”

No reaction.

“Would you like one?”

No reaction.

“I could hook you up—”

“Are you done?” asked Miranda, deeply bored by this.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Prangely, Rodriguez also giving up and deciding to focus on food instead. While Miranda was certainly easy to irritate on a surface level, actually getting under her skin was far harder than it looked. She wondered if she should remind them that she had worked with Jack; if Miranda could endure her at her most intentionally aggravating, then she could tolerate the trolling of these teenagers.

“Ah, fuck!” Rodriguez cursed, accidentally dropping a carton of artificial orange juice as she pulled it out of the fridge, spilling it everywhere on the floor. “I’m so sorry, Miss. I’ll clean that right up!” she hastily apologised, salvaging what little remained of the juice before scrambling over to the cupboard for a mop.

Miranda suppressed the urge to groan, not even seeing the point in wasting her energy on making a critical comment by that stage. She wished she was at work. The only reason she wasn't was because Bailey had insisted she take weekends off. Much as she understood his good intentions, she thoroughly disagreed that spending time at home could be considered relaxing in light of her tenants. At this rate, being thrown into the fucking sun would be preferable.

Why had she signed up for this again?

Suddenly, her omni-tool beeped, alerting her to a new text message on her datapad. It was Oriana. Despite the chaos going on around her, Miranda couldn’t hide her smile. This was the one silver lining she’d been holding out for to make this whole “day off” thing worth it.

“Excuse me,” she said, endeavouring to lead by example when it came to matters of etiquette, even if it was proving fruitless.

“Here, Miss. Let me get that for you,” another boy offered, the one named Nitin, reaching out to clear her plate for her. He was the one who had that ridiculous crush on her. Miranda found it annoying and tedious, as one might expect. But it was harmless, she supposed. And at least it was compelling him towards trying to be on his best behaviour around her, if nothing else.

“Thank you,” she said with a curt, almost stilted nod. She’d made a conscious effort to remind herself to express gratitude where she otherwise wouldn’t, if only as part of her efforts to train her wards to meet minimum standards of politeness. With that, she returned to the privacy of her bedroom.

Three sets of male eyes watched her leave, waiting for the door to close before speaking. “I don't care how fucked up her face is – I'd still hit it,” Nitin said, earning a dishcloth thrown his way by Rodriguez.

Miranda took a breath, attempting to release some of her tension as she sat down in her bedroom. She'd been looking forward to this, as she did every time Oriana's messages came through. She wanted to be able to enjoy it without stress souring the moment.

After a few seconds, she opened the message app and began typing back.

* * *

It had been a trap.

Activating the Reaper IFF had given away their location. The Collectors attacked while their guard was down. The squad had returned to find the entire crew gone except Joker. And EDI, obviously.

Miranda was doing her best to keep a level head and remain calm and logical in her assessment of what had transpired. Someone had to, after all. But it was hard not to take this attack personally. It felt like a violation, to have their ship boarded when they weren’t even there to do anything about it.

Perhaps it was for the best. If they’d been there, they might all have perished too. With the squad intact, at least they still had a chance of defeating the Collectors, crew or no crew.

Shepard had made the call. There was no waiting around. They were going to jump through the Omega-4 Relay now, while there might still be a chance to get the crew back. It was do or die.

Everyone had made their final preparations, ensuring weapons and ammunition were in order. There was nothing left but time now - it was simply a matter of getting to the Omega system. Everyone seemed to have gone off to do their own thing, spending what could have been their final few hours alive as they chose.

Miranda had contemplated sending a heartfelt message to her sister, even started typing a long email detailing the truth of how she’d found her, answering any questions she might want to know about her past and admitting everything Oriana meant to her. Once she got about halfway through, she thought better of it, though. The last thing she wanted to do was worry Oriana. And this felt too much like a goodbye. Like an expectation that she wouldn’t return. And Miranda refused to consider that, much less worry her sister with the thought.

It had been, what, a little over two months since they reunited? They had only just begun to form the relationship Miranda always secretly wanted deep down. There was so much still left to do. So much still left to say to each other. For that reason alone, Miranda couldn’t allow herself to fail this mission. Death was not an option.

This mission to stop the Collectors was going to succeed. It had to. Shepard had done everything that she possibly could have done to prepare. Things that even Miranda honestly wouldn’t have considered before she became Shepard’s second-in-command. Recruiting every squad member recommended by Cerberus. Upgrading the ship. Ensuring every member of her squad had no unfinished business to distract them from the mission.

Whatever it might cost them, they were not going to lose this fight. They couldn’t.

But, if worst did come to worst, at least she knew Oriana would be taken care of. Miranda had put those arrangements in place, just to be safe. But telling Oriana that now would come across as extremely grim.

However, despite all that, she couldn’t help but ask herself, what if she didn’t come back? Miranda couldn’t bear the thought of Oriana not having one final word from her. If this was her last opportunity to say something, then surely she had to take advantage of it, even if she had to be careful not to give the impression that the mission the Normandy was about to embark on was far from a normal one.

With that in mind, she opened a fresh email once more and typed.

Hey, Ori.

Just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you.

We should talk soon.

I love you.

- Miranda.

It was laconic, but that was Miranda. And that would have to do. Anything more and she wouldn’t be able to stop.

After that, with nothing left to do except pass the time, she poured herself a drink at the bar, and retreated to the Starboard Observation Deck to wait out these last remaining hours.

Miranda found it empty. But that was no deterrent. Content to wait, Miranda settled onto her usual comfortable spot on the couch and nursed her drink, staring out into the void.

It was maybe twenty minutes before Miranda heard the doors slide open. The familiar reflection in the transparent aluminium window confirmed it was Samara. Judging by her slight hesitation in the doorway, Samara was a little surprised to find her there. And yet, at the same time, unsurprised.

Samara uttered a soft sigh as she moved to accompany Miranda on the lounge, sharing in the serene view. Miranda didn’t feel the need to disturb the peace with any questions, remnants of ice cubes clinking softly against glass. She simply assumed the reason for Samara’s absence was to contact Falere and Rila one last time. Of course it was. And it wasn’t her place to pry about that.

Several long seconds passed before Samara deigned to break the quiet.

“The ambient noise that used to fill this ship never reached this room, yet somehow the silence has never felt so...” Samara trailed off, as if the appropriate word was at the fringes of her consciousness, eluding her.

“Silent?” Miranda offered.

A sad shadow of a smile crossed Samara’s lips. “Yes.”

“I understand what you mean,” Miranda admitted. “Jacob and I met most of the crew long before anyone else did. I didn’t think much of that before. You know me; I’m not exactly a people person, am I? Now that they’ve been taken, though...well, I suppose you don’t realise how accustomed you’ve become to seeing the same faces every day until suddenly you don’t.”

It was a strange sensation. And, by all rights, it shouldn’t have been new to her.

Miranda had spent longer periods than this living with consistent groups of people. The Lazarus Project itself had taken nearly two years. And all those familiar faces had been outright slaughtered. But this was different. She hadn’t felt anything then. Back then, her only mission, her only focus, had been bringing Shepard back to life. The lives and deaths of the people at that facility had never been her responsibility, or her concern.

This time, they were. As second-in-command of the Normandy, and the highest ranking member of Cerberus there, on some level every aspect of every little thing that went on aboard this ship had been her responsibility. Her endless reports to The Illusive Man were evidence of how seriously she had taken that.

Somewhere in between all these months adrift in space, there had been a shift in her mentality. Day by day, that sense of separation between herself and the others had been chipped away. At some point, she stopped seeing everyone else around her as assets and liabilities in Cerberus’s mission to stop the Collectors, and started seeing them all as living, breathing parts of her world - little pieces of the life she’d carved out for herself aboard the Normandy.

Miranda hadn’t realised it until just now. Hell, she hadn’t even known she was capable of it. But, for the first time in her life, Miranda had grown attached to the people around her. And that fact didn’t appear to be lost on Samara.

“Are you alright?” she asked her.

Miranda uttered a short laugh, but it was entirely cheerless. That question was impossible to answer the way Samara probably wanted it to be answered. Of course Miranda wasn’t alright, but she wasn’t not alright either. She was just in the same neutral state she was usually in, trying to find a balanced equilibrium amid the ambivalence. Others would have misconstrued it for apathy.

“Obviously, it’s not ideal that we’ve lost so many,” Miranda began, a deliberate understatement. “But we can't afford to get distracted. They knew what they were signing on for. We all did. So the mission parameters have to remain the same.”

“You do not need to pretend the life or death of this crew makes no difference to you,” Samara pointed out, sensing perhaps that Miranda’s concern for the lost was deeper than she let on, whether because she was unwilling to show it, or, more likely, because she didn’t know how to.

“Of course it does,” said Miranda. “I may not be a shining beacon of empathy, but, if I didn't care about human life, I wouldn't have spent the last few months out here trying to protect it from the Collectors. But that's the point; if it's a choice between the lives of our crew, and destroying the Collectors...It's not really a choice at all, is it? Dozens of lives versus millions.”

“It sounds as though you have already decided that is a sacrifice you will have to make,” Samara noted, her tone as ever elusive and impossible to read. But, evidently, she was not yet equally resigned to accepting the worst.

“I'm Shepard’s second-in-command, Samara. I have to be prepared, and I have to be ready to make the ‘heartless’ rational decision if it comes down to it. If I'm not, how the hell is anyone else going to be?” Miranda asked rhetorically.

Sure, there was still a chance they’d find their crew alive. Acting as swiftly as they had meant there was still hope. But if they were too late, or they couldn’t find them, then Miranda couldn’t let emotions cloud her judgement. She was perhaps the one person on this team Shepard could trust to remain cool-headed and objective no matter the circumstance. It was arguably her best quality. She didn’t plan on letting it slip when it may be needed most.

“I’m not sure why I’m explaining this to you. You understand better than anyone that it serves no one to let sentiment get in the way of the greater good,” Miranda noted, glancing over to her companion beside her on the lounge.

“I do,” Samara acknowledged, respecting Miranda’s clarity of thought in these trying times. “Adherence to the Code is always paramount. If it requires me to take a certain action, then that is what must be done, irrespective of my own personal thoughts or feelings. If I waiver in the moment, if I so much as hesitate because I question, or doubt, or second-guess, then I have failed.”

“That doesn’t sound easy,” Miranda thought aloud. Sure, Miranda had never been accused of second-guessing herself once committed to a course of action, but whenever she made those same split-second decisions, those had always been her choices to make. No external force could ever compel her to do something she found truly objectionable. She was too stubborn and individualistic to voluntarily surrender her ability to think for herself. Her agency was too important to her, after spending so much of her life without it.

“For me, it was the hardest aspect of becoming a Justicar,” Samara admitted. “It was difficult to train my body to become a weapon, but it was harder to train my mind. I have heard the same sentiment from many others. Most take decades, even centuries, to prove that they can subordinate their own will to that of the Code. Others never pass that test. Had I gone to them at any other time in my life, I believe that would have been my fate.”

Miranda watched her as she spoke, saying nothing. She knew too well just how broken Samara had been when she chose this path. Perhaps a younger Samara would have been more like Miranda - too arrogant, egotistical and argumentative to submit to a single set of rules. But the Samara who came to them had lost everything. Almost a blank slate. Barely enough of a self left to let go.

“And yet I do not envy you the burden of leadership,” Samara continued, meeting Miranda’s gaze, breaking her from her thoughts. “To know that you are not only responsible for your own welfare, but that your choices affect those under your command, that is something I have never faced.”

“Never?” Miranda arched a brow, finding that difficult to believe.

A faint glimmer twinkled in Samara’s eye. “Never,” she confirmed. “I have long suspected this is the reason why Justicars are most often tasked to work alone. Our solitary nature removes the possibility of an internal conflict where one must choose between the desires of the self - in this case, to protect the life of a friend - and upholding the Code. Perhaps it is for the best.”

“You're not alone right now,” Miranda pointed out.

“No, I am not,” Samara replied, a gentle warmth emanating from her words, despite the sombre situation in which they both found themselves.

“Well, this is what we’re here for. Everything we’ve done up to this point, this is what it was all in aid of,” Miranda noted, thinking back over the past several months, and the innumerable adventures The Normandy SR-2 and its crew had undergone in that time. All the new faces they’d recruited. All the remote planets they’d visited. All the people they’d helped. And every inconsequential part of it had led to this one final assault on the Collector Base. Her fingers idly traced patterns on the rim of her glass, mostly untouched. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” Samara answered honestly. “I have been at peace with the inevitability of my own end for a long time. The Goddess will take me into her embrace when my moment comes to pass. If that time is now, then I am grateful that my final few months have transpired in the way that they have. I could not have chosen a more worthy cause for which to give my life, nor greater comrades to fight beside.”

Miranda didn’t doubt that Samara meant it. She had been bravely risking her life for a long time. Far, far longer than Miranda had been alive. At least now, if she fell in battle, she no longer had to fear that she would be leaving behind unfinished business, in the form of Morinth.

“Are you?” Samara asked Miranda in return.

“No.” Miranda shook her head. Samara held her stare, somehow sensing that wasn’t entirely true. Miranda’s resolve visibly weakened. “...A little,” she reluctantly admitted, cradling her half-full drink between her hands. “But it’s not the thought of dying that scares me. What scares me is that...for the first time in my life, I finally have something to lose. I’ve only just met my sister; we’ve barely had time to talk yet, let alone get to know each other. And, as insane as this would have sounded to me six months ago, I have people in my life now who I genuinely consider friends. That’s...That’s not something I’ve ever had before.”

“You have found people you care about. And people who truly care about you,” Samara surmised, wisdom glistening in her eyes.

“I have. And...I never thought I’d say this, but now that I finally have it, that’s not something I’m willing to give up,” Miranda acknowledged. To be honest, the thought of letting this all just slip through her fingers terrified her. Not only her connections to the people themselves, but losing her elusive grasp on the better, happier person she was becoming through having known them.

“Then I am relieved,” said Samara, earning a confused look from Miranda. “Because, if there is one thing that I have learned about you, Miranda, it is that, when you are fully committed to something, you are unstoppable. If your heart’s truest desire is to ensure you return safely to those you cherish most, then I am not only reassured that we will be the victors in this fight, but moreover I am certain that you will survive.”

At that, Miranda uttered a faint chuckle, flattered by Samara’s unshakeable faith in her. “Thank you. That’s...I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me,” she said softly, still feeling some uncharacteristic pre-mission jitters about the battle that lay ahead, but comforted by Samara’s confidence.

“Miranda.” Samara extended a hand and placed it gently atop Miranda’s knee, compelling her to look into her eyes. “For so long as I am able, I promise to do everything in my power to ensure that you prevail through what awaits us. No harm will come to you, if I am able to prevent it.”

As Samara held her gaze, Miranda was at a loss for words. Even if she could find them, her tongue felt like it was tied in a knot, rendering her unable to speak. It was an alien sensation for her, though not an entirely unpleasant one, as a sudden warmth rushed to her cheeks. She genuinely didn’t know how to react to such kind words, given that she wasn’t used to hearing them.

“Yeah, well...same to you,” was Miranda’s painfully awkward but heartfelt response, lightly nudging Samara’s arm with her own. “...I mean it, you know?”

“As do I,” Samara assured her, content that she had said what she needed to say, and that the sincerity of her message had not been lost in translation. “But, please...do not endanger your life for mine.”

Those humble words hit Miranda like a brick. “What?” She blinked in shock, taking several seconds to confirm that her ears weren’t playing tricks on her, and that she had heard that request correctly. “Samara--”

“Please.” Samara quietly interjected, her demeanour eerily serene considering the macabre subject. “There is no reason to speak of this with apprehension. I have lived a very long life. One way or another, my years are coming to an end before too long. And I am content with that.”

“You could live just as long as I could,” Miranda reminded her. Well, maybe that was generous. Based on predictive models, it was conceivable that Miranda could live into her early two-hundreds, barring external factors. But it wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility for Samara to live for another century. That was roughly as long as any other human on this ship could hope to live.

“Perhaps. But you are still in your Summer days, and will be for a long time yet to come. You have reached only a fraction of your potential. Whereas I…” Samara paused and trailed off for a brief moment, her gaze shifting as she searched for the right words. “For centuries, I have known only Winter. Even so, I have done what I set out to do, and fulfilled the oath I made to my Order. If this day is destined to be my last, then I can say without falsity that I am satisfied with what I leave behind. And I am blessed to know others like yourself will live on when I am gone. So, I ask this of you.” Samara reached down and gently clasped Miranda’s hands between both of her own, glass and all. “Do not sacrifice your years for mine. Please. I would not be able to forgive myself if you perished for my sake.”

Miranda exhaled slowly. That was a lot to process all at once. And she did not like what she was hearing. But, as Samara’s words sank in, the more she understood what it meant to her, and why this was so important to her.

If it comforted Samara to go into this battle believing that her much younger allies would outlive her if she fell, then what audacity would it take for Miranda not to respect those wishes, particularly if the worst did come to pass? Miranda couldn’t take that calming belief away from her. Not now, when the last thing any of them needed was to be plagued by upsetting thoughts.

“Okay. I can promise you I won’t do anything foolish, or throw my life away,” Miranda somewhat reluctantly warranted. That went without saying. “But, if you expect me not to watch out for you or not to do my best to keep you safe, then I’m sorry but I can’t. I will be trying to bring you home. And if you don’t want it to be for the sake of our friendship, then fine. It won’t be for that. It will be because you’re still a part of this team, and I owe you that duty regardless. And I can’t shirk that responsibility, no matter how much you want me to.”

Samara nodded, letting Miranda’s hands fall from her grasp. “Very well. I am content with that. I would never ask you to betray your responsibilities.”

“Good.” Miranda gave a short nod, because that was as much of a concession as Samara was going to get. Abandoning her would never be on the table.

It occurred to Miranda then that, despite their mutual intentions to watch each other’s backs and do what they could to see each other through whatever lay ahead, she couldn’t fault Samara for making peace with the possibility of her own demise. As optimistic as they were both trying to be in their own ways, there was still a chance that this conversation would be their last.

Following that thought, Miranda realised that this was, in all respects, her only guaranteed opportunity to confess a secret she’d been hiding from Samara - that she’d gone digging through her past without her permission. She’d long been telling herself that she needed to apologise for that, and would do it when the time was right. As much as she had found reasons to avoid that issue over the past few weeks, Miranda did want to make amends before it was too late.

“Samara…” Miranda began with a heavier tone to her quiet voice, ready to admit to her mistakes. However, as soon as she started to speak, she thought better of it. There was so little time left before they would make their attack on The Collector Base. The last thing she wanted to do was tell Samara something hurtful, knowing it might weigh on her mind throughout the fight, and distract her from their goals.

If Samara wasn’t completely focused, there was a chance she wouldn’t be at her best. And that was a risk Miranda couldn’t afford to take. If Samara didn’t make it out of this because of something Miranda told her...even the very thought of that made her sick to her stomach.

Samara sat before her, patient and calm, giving Miranda as much time as she needed to find the words she wanted to say. Miranda sighed, recognising that she didn’t have it in her heart to tell Samara something that could only serve to hurt her, at least not at that moment.

“...Thank you,” was what Miranda settled on. And there was nothing false about her gratitude. “I’ve, um...I haven’t had a lot of friends in my life. Or any, really. So, um...knowing you has....”

Miranda stopped herself and uttered a faint sigh of frustration as she ran a hand through her hair, struggling to find the right words. It wasn’t a problem she was accustomed to. She didn’t lack the vocabulary. But, then again, she’d never had to say anything like this. She’d never had a friend like Samara before.

“What I’m trying to say is that you’ve genuinely helped me become a better person than I was before I met you,” Miranda confessed, conscious of how much colder and less empathetic she had been before she started spending time with Samara, and how much she’d learned about herself through this friendship. And yet not once in all that time had Samara ever made Miranda feel like the person she already was wasn’t good enough. She’d always accepted her. Flaws and all. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you were willing to be so patient with me sometimes, but you were. So...from the bottom of my heart, thank you. For everything.”

Samara offered a small smile in return. “You have nothing to thank me for. And, even if you had, your friendship has been more than I could ever repay.”

Miranda gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Liar,” she jokingly remarked, confident that she had gained infinitely more from Samara’s friendship than Samara had gained from hers in return. Not that it seemed to matter.

“Miranda,” Samara spoke first, interrupting the silence before Miranda could continue. “It occurs to me that there are but a scant few hours left before we jump through the Omega Relay.”

“You’re right. We should focus. Get ourselves in the right headspace,” Miranda replied, putting her glass aside, getting up from the couch and moving over to her usual spot on the floor, straightening her back in anticipation of a meditation session. Talking had been nice, but they did need to concentrate. Clear their heads. Sharpen their senses. Prepare their biotics.

Samara’s amused expression was reflected in the window. “That is not...Well, you are not mistaken in assuming that I intended to meditate in readiness for the battle that lies ahead,” Samara spoke, sounding a little thrown by Miranda’s reaction, but not in an unpleasant way. “However, what I meant to say to you is that, to the extent you are able, you should spend this time as you wish.”

“...I’m already doing that,” Miranda answered frankly, glancing back over her shoulder. It hadn’t even been a question where she would go once she left her office. By that point, it shouldn’t have even needed to be said between them that there was nowhere else on the ship she would rather be.

Samara smiled, accepting her answer. “Then I am glad.”

With that, Samara moved to join Miranda on the floor, channelling her biotics through her hands, warming up in anticipation that her abilities would be needed soon. Miranda quieted her mind, already knowing that she would need to be at her sharpest and most alert. Everyone would be counting on her not to make any mistakes, especially if anything happened to Shepard.

What Miranda didn’t know at the time, and had never known in any of the days they had spent together in this room, was that Samara had a singular focus in mind. She had long been awaiting a day such as this - a day when they would launch a virtually suicidal assault against the Collectors.

The truth was, ever since Samara had met Shepard and Miranda on Illium and heard of their quest to stop the Collectors, she had considered the possibility that the Goddess was sending her a sign. Once she completed her penance by ending Morinth’s reign of terror on the galaxy, that mere possibility had crystallised into a certainty. With Morinth gone, her purpose had been fulfilled. Her very reason for staying alive these past four hundred years was at an end.

Samara could derive no other meaning from the path she had been set upon. The auspicious omens were all so clear. Her time had finally come. This was the day she was destined to embrace eternity.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, every single thing Samara had done since she had stepped foot aboard the Normandy had been rooted in a silent expectation that the approaching suicide mission was where her Goddess had fated her to die. Every meditation. Every field mission. Every moment spent with Miranda, gently guiding her towards a happier, more fulfilling future Samara would never see.

Samara had been waiting for this day with bated breath. Not in fear. Rather, finding comfort and peace in it. On some level, perhaps even aching for the release that she had been denied a long time ago.

The closer the hour drew, the more the weight on her shoulders had lifted. The more she had lowered her guard. The easier her burdens had become to bear. It wouldn’t be long now before she could lay them down for eternity.

And, with that in mind, Samara’s meditation continued untroubled, unburdened by the thought that it would be her last. Because, in her heart of hearts, the truth was that Samara still believed deep down, just as she had for the last four hundred years, that she was ultimately responsible for the fate that had befallen her family. The death of her bondmate. Her children’s disease. Mirala’s murders.

And, for that, Samara had never once stopped believing in the deepest recesses of her soul that she did not truly deserve to live.

* * *

“Jelly? Seriously?” Prangley snickered at his fellow student. “That's how you're going to celebrate?”

“A pool of jelly,” Rodriguez corrected him. “That makes all the difference.” She grinned.

“Swimming in jelly. That's a new one,” Seanne laughingly commented.

“Better than yours,” Rodriguez replied, sticking out her tongue.

“Drink your fuckin' juice, Rodriguez,” Seanne countered, lightly smacking her on the arm.

“Oi. Language,” Miranda nonchalantly chastised, not even looking up from her work. Jack may have tolerated casual swearing, but Miranda at least tried to instil some decorum while she was around.

“Sorry,” Seanne sheepishly apologised.

Miranda turned the page, continuing to read the latest Alliance brief on the status of other cities on Earth. Bailey might have ordered her not to come into work on weekends, but he’d never said she couldn’t read reports in her spare time. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but part of her still hoped that one of these days the reports would mention a certain asari Justicar, the last of her order. At least then she would know where she was. No luck yet.

“Hey, Miss. What about you?” asked Reiley. Miranda glanced up, visibly annoyed to have her concentration broken. “What are you going to do when you get home?”

“Technically speaking, I am home, in planetary terms,” Miranda pointed out. She was from Earth, after all. “This is as close to home as I ever plan on going, anyway.” She shrugged, returning her gaze to the digital text. She had no reason to ever go further.

“You know what I mean,” said Reiley, not surprised by her pedantry. Miranda was always the sort to pick apart someone's words, deliberately misinterpreting them and taking them out of context, even when she knew damn well what they meant. It made her a nightmare to bicker with. “What do you think you'll do when the mass relays are rebuilt and you get to see your sister again?” he asked, interested to see a more sentimental side of her.

“I believe I'll hug her. For about six months,” Miranda matter-of-factly replied, not even a twitch of irony flickering across her deadpan expression. “Crying may also be involved.”

Prangley laughed. “Six months, huh?” he said, grinning lopsidedly.

“You're right. I have a lot of endurance. I could probably push it to seven,” said Miranda, sounding entirely serious. Despite the fact that there wasn’t a hint of a smile on her face, this was the closest thing to an amiable attitude Jack’s kids ever saw her with.

“I've got a feeling Little Miss Sis might get sick of that,” Rodriguez commented.

“Yes, well, I'm stronger than her. She has no say in the matter. And turn that noise down, would you?” she asked, her request far more relaxed than the order she would have barked when the students first came under her care.

“It's not noise,” Seanne insisted, looking quite offended by Miranda's low opinion of her favourite artist. “It's music.”

“No, it isn't,” Miranda firmly asserted, not even bothering to glance up as she flipped the page on her tablet computer.

“Why? What did you listen to when you were growing up?” asked Prangely, somehow unable to picture Miranda ever being anything other than a thirty-something adult.

“Rachmaninoff,” Miranda answered, as if that should have been perfectly obvious.

“I totally called it,” said Rodriguez, holding out her hand, gesturing for Reiley to pay up. “I told you she never listens to anything made in the last three centuries. It's only classical shit with her.”

“First of all, don't swear. Secondly, Rachmaninoff is not classical, he's romantic. Thirdly, he died in nineteen forty-three, which is less than two hundred and fifty years ago.” As one, all the students met her with blank stares. Miranda gave them an unimpressed look before shaking her head, going back to her article, realising she was wasting her time trying to educate them. “Never mind.”

Abruptly, there came a knock at the door. Seeing as any visitor would likely be there for her, Miranda moved to answer it, but Reiley beat her to the punch. “I'll get it,” he said, leaping over the couch to see who it was, reaching the doorway faster than she could react.

“Thank you.” Much as Miranda refused to think of her injuries as a hindrance, they did impact upon her mobility. The students were considerate enough to do a few small things here and there to help her out, like buying her a little extra time to grab her cane and get to her feet when a visitor came by.

“It's for you, Miss,” Reiley announced, not that this was unexpected. “It's Mr. Taylor.”

“Make yourself at home, Jacob,” Miranda said instinctively, without looking over her shoulder, clicking the home button on her tablet and putting it aside.

“Looks like things are going well here,” Jacob observed, stepping inside.

“For certain values of 'well',” Miranda replied with a slightly strained sigh. It was mostly exaggeration, though. “These teenagers were all far less inclined to bother me before you made me be nice to them.”

“Yeah,” Jacob conceded, pulling up a chair, “But you would have felt guilty about it if you hadn't. Not right away, but eventually. You know I'm right.”

Miranda feigned a huff. Truth be told, she was starting to enjoy their well-intentioned torment. She certainly preferred that than having them walk on eggshells around her. The last thing she ever wanted was for these kids to feel around her the way she’d felt around her own father.

“Any luck finding out what happened to our people?” Jacob asked.

“No,” Miranda straightforwardly replied. “I’ve asked Dr. Michel and her team to look into it, but there are literally millions of bodies scattered throughout the rubble of London. Identifying them all was never going to be quick. It could be years before we find out whether anyone we know is among them. If they were simply vaporised, chances are we’ll never know what happened to them.”

“Wow. Right to the vaporisation,” Jacob pointed out. That was dark.

“I'm not assuming any of them are gone,” Miranda insisted with a slightly defensive shrug. “I just have to be prepared for all potential possibilities. I'm not about to stop trying to find them, but I need to accept that I may be powerless to answer what happened to everyone.”

“Don't worry. I know.” Jacob and Miranda went back years by that point. He was better at reading her intentions than most, and he knew she often wasn't aware that she sounded more callous than she meant.

“Other than that, what brings you here?” Miranda asked. “Joining us for dinner tonight?”

“That would be nice,” Jacob acknowledged, nodding to accept that invitation. “But, before we get into that, I’m here because I found something. I thought you might like to see it.”

Miranda furrowed her brow. “What is it?”

“Well, you remember the memory wall at Paddington station? The place where people post pictures of anybody who’s missing, or leave messages for people who haven’t been found yet to try and meet up with them?”

“Of course I do,” Miranda answered. She had passed it many times - it was a stone’s throw from both the hospital where she’d recovered, and the refugee camp/field hospital at Hyde Park. It wasn’t the only wall of its kind. Part memorial. Part notice-board. It was something people had first started doing during the war, as a means of finding others in the chaos, using local landmarks as places to reach out to others. Once the Reapers were destroyed, their use had only grown. The one at Paddington had been well-established by the time Miranda had been found, let alone the time she woke up. “What’s your point?”

“...This is really my bad, you know,” he confessed, apologetically. “Back then, I was so distracted. Busy thinking about you and working to get London back on its feet. I guess that’s why, when Samara left without any word, it didn't even occur to me to check to see if she'd left a message there.”

Miranda’s heart dropped like a stone, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, it was as if her whole world stopped.

Samara.

Memories of the weeks - hell, months - they’d spent together on The Normandy flashed through her mind, the countless hours alone in the Starboard Observation Deck, the private conversations where they’d admitted things to each other that they’d never spoken aloud to another soul.

It was at that instant that it finally sank in for Miranda just how truly alone she’d felt over these past several weeks without Samara there by her side.

Even though she was surrounded by people, it didn’t make up for that void left by her absence. Knowing that she should have been there, but inexplicably wasn’t. That constant feeling that something was just...missing.

She’d almost come to accept that lingering feeling of abandonment. Of being forgotten. Even a little betrayed. To have that challenged now, at this late hour. It didn’t seem possible.

“Jacob, if you’re joking with me about this…” Miranda said softly, not sure she could cope with the disappointment if this turned out to be some ill-conceived prank, and not willing to get her hopes up until she was certain it wasn’t.

“I’m not. See for yourself.” Jacob activated his omni-tool and sent the file across to Miranda’s tablet computer. The file flashed up on her screen, asking if she wanted to accept the transfer. ‘To Miranda, From Samara’.

She froze. So, this was real.

It shouldn't have surprised her that Samara would have left something behind. Or tried to, at least. It was what she had expected initially. After all, they had grown extremely close throughout their time together. More than anyone realised. But, when Miranda had woken up from her near-death state to find her already gone, it had been hard not to feel hurt, to think that things must have changed, or that maybe she’d overestimated their friendship from the start.

It meant a lot to her to have evidence that perhaps those things weren’t the case, and that Samara's absence didn't denote a lack of caring on her part. That she hadn’t forgotten her, or cast her aside. Not entirely, at least.

“...Did she say where she went, or...?” Miranda trailed off.

“I'm not sure,” Jacob admitted with a shrug. “I only read the covering note intended for me, which didn’t say much more than to give this to you if...when you woke up. Go on. Play it.”

For a moment, Miranda hesitated, tempted to wait until she was alone to do so. But, then, it occurred to her that it didn’t make sense to guard this so jealously. And she didn’t fully understand her own reticence to be transparent about the message’s contents, or her friendship with Samara.

Sure, nobody knew how close they’d grown on The Normandy, but it wasn’t like it was some scandalous secret that they were friends. There was nothing Samara would have said to her that Jacob or the students couldn't hear. It wasn't that the two of them had never had personal conversations. Of course they had. But Samara was a professional, like her. Miranda had every expectation her message would be in that capacity more than anything else. Hell, the only time she’d ever really seen her get emotional was after Morinth.

So, then, why did it feel like letting anyone else catch a glimpse of the connection she and Samara shared was like exposing a deeply personal part of herself? A side of herself nobody except Samara had ever seen?

Why did this feel too intimate to be spoiled by prying eyes?

“...So, are you going to open it, or...?” Jacob prompted. It wasn’t lost on her that Jason, Reiley, Seanne and Rodriguez were all watching her too.

Somewhat self-conscious to that fact, Miranda cleared her throat and played the video. Samara's face appeared on the screen, lit only by a faint light. From what little Miranda could make out of the background, Samara must have recorded this on the roof of the hospital at night, most likely on her omni-tool.

“Miranda,” the message began. “I do not...”

Samara paused, swallowing, searching for the right words. She spoke softly. Even more so than usual. She looked tired, like she hadn’t slept in days. Her shoulders almost began to bow under the strain she’d placed on herself.

“As I record this, you lie unconscious in a hospital bed. You are...unable to breathe without the aid of a machine. And you have been fighting for your life, every second of every minute of every hour since I discovered you.”

There was a strange air to Samara’s words. Maybe it was just the quality of recording, or because she wasn’t even facing the screen, but normally she spoke with such a clear tone. Calm, assured and quiet, yet also confident. Her timbre never quaked or wavered or quivered. But this was different. There was an uncharacteristic hoarseness to her voice. A tremor, even.

Then again, in the days before Samara left, she’d been in and out of the wasteland so many times that she was doubtlessly exhausted. Running on empty. Of course her voice would have given out by then.

“I do not know whether...” Samara stopped herself again, finding whatever words were on the tip of her tongue too unpleasant to utter. Her eyes remained distant, fixed on the dark city below. Her head hadn’t raised an inch since she started speaking. Not even once. “Your survival is not guaranteed. However, if you are hearing this, then you have awoken. For that, I am grateful.”

On some level, Miranda had been waiting for something like this since the moment she woke up in that hospital bed. Just something from Samara. Anything at all. Some sort of acknowledgment that she was okay. To know why her friend left. To know that she hadn’t callously tossed her aside.

Now that she was holding that very thing in her hand, it didn’t seem real. Miranda didn’t know how to react. Perhaps she should have been excited, or happy, or even annoyed that Samara hadn’t left this beside her bed where it would have been easier to find. Instead there was just...quiet. And confusion.

“Do not interpret my absence as indifference to your fate; it is not,” Samara continued. That she even mentioned it at all showed that it must have troubled her to consider Miranda might believe she had no interest in her survival. She hadn’t been wrong. The thought had crossed her mind, especially in her loneliest moments. “It grieves me that I cannot be by your side.”

Hearing her finally say those words, Miranda believed her. In truth, deep down, despite her loneliness and her doubts, she’d never really questioned it. There were very few people Miranda had truly cared about, much less people who truly cared about her in return. And Samara was one of them.

There was nothing shallow or interchangeable about the rapport she shared with Samara. Those memories of the Normandy and the Citadel weren’t mere fabrications of Miranda’s imagination. That was real. And if that had all been faked, then either Miranda had to be the most gullible idiot ever to stand on two legs, or Samara was a master manipulator of the blackest deceit ever purveyed to the universe. She knew damn well that neither of those things were true.

Miranda just wished Samara was really there. And, even as she listened to her give her explanations, part of her just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t. Not that she resented her for it, but it just didn’t make sense. Samara’s Code might have been a good reason for why she’d left, but it didn’t explain why she’d done it so abruptly. Plus, she’d taken the time to record this message, but she hadn’t told Jacob she was leaving, or to give this to Miranda.

Something was just...off about all of this. It didn’t add up.

“Hey, Miss, who's that?” Reiley asked.

Miranda waved him off, refusing to be distracted. To his credit, Reiley took that as a cue to shut up and leave her in peace, at least until the end of the video.

“There is much suffering in the wake of this war. The Code compels me to go where I am needed. I cannot ignore that, even for you,” said Samara.

Miranda’s brow twinged. It was strange. Samara really didn't sound like herself, both in terms of what she was saying and how she was saying it. It was as though an unspoken thought weighed heavily on her heart. Guilt? Regret?

Samara was silent for a long moment. She still hadn’t moved a muscle through the entire length of the video. Until a sound escaped her. Then the camera moved, and Miranda couldn’t see Samara’s face anymore. If she had recorded this on her omni-tool, the only explanation that would have made sense was if Samara had leaned forward against the railing and cradled her head in her hands.

It was two whole minutes before Samara came back into view.

“...Forgive me. I merely...I wanted...” She stopped herself again, turning aside, her eyes still yet to meet the camera. It was difficult to make out, but...it almost seemed like she was struggling to maintain her composure. But Miranda knew that couldn’t be possible, because that never happened to Samara.

Finally, Samara straightened up, as if forcing herself to continue. She tucked her free hand behind her back, staring dead ahead, but still not at the camera.

“I know that I will not be there for you if you awaken. That is my responsibility, and a burden I have to bear. If you hate me for it, I will understand. I would welcome it, even, as it is not undeserved. But you must not think even for a moment that it is any fault of your own that I cannot stay, or that I have abandoned you. You are always in my thoughts, and I pray for your recovery.”

Miranda's eye glinted at that. If she couldn’t stay then so be it. But couldn’t she have waited a few days for her to wake up? Or left behind some means of contacting her? Was she afraid to talk to her, even from far away? Did she think that Miranda wouldn’t have understood why she had to leave, if she explained it to her? All she'd wanted was to talk to her again, or at least to enjoy the silence, knowing that if she ever truly needed Samara, she would be there. And vice versa.

And none of this answered the question of why she still hadn’t returned. It had been two months since she vanished, and this was the only word they’d had from her in all that time - a recording from the exact same day she disappeared.

“I cannot say when I will return to speak with you again, or...learn of your fate, if that is no longer a possibility.” Samara's expression didn't change, although her gaze momentarily dipped at that sombre thought. “But you are a strong woman, Miranda. Strong enough that you have not yet perished from your injuries. If it is possible for you to survive at all, then I do not believe that you will succumb.”

“Good prediction,” Jacob remarked. Miranda didn’t feel it in her heart to be able to make a wisecrack. There was an odd weight in her chest as she watched Samara speak. One that wouldn’t go away. And it was getting heavier.

A faint shadow flickered over Samara’s eyes, imperceptible to most. She hid it, but it betrayed something Miranda couldn't interpret. “...Be safe, Miranda.”

With that, the message ended. The silence that followed encompassed the room like a slow-rising flood, drowning out all sound. Miranda sat there, still, not even aware of the watchful eyes lingering on her, waiting for her to react.

It was strange. For as much as she would have expected it to lift her spirits to hear from Samara, there was this indescribable ache left behind in her wake. The same ache that had been there, gnawing away at Miranda despite her best efforts to ignore it ever since she realised Samara had left without saying goodbye.

Miranda had never been the best at identifying emotions, whether hers or others. Hence, it wasn’t a shock when she couldn’t find the words to articulate precisely what it was that she was feeling. Maybe the word for it didn’t exist.

The truth was, she’d never felt so...conflicted.

It was funny to think. Miranda had been forced to go on the run from Cerberus for almost a year. Alone. In hiding. Unable to contact anyone she knew or cared about, because it wasn’t safe to do so. It would have exposed them to harm - it would have made them targets Cerberus could track down to try and get to her.

She’d frequently thought of her friends during those moments. Of The Normandy. Of Shepard. Of Jacob. Of Oriana, of course. And of Samara.

It hadn’t been easy, surviving like that, not knowing whether the people she cared about were in danger. She’d kept an eye on them all as best she could from afar, although with Samara that had been virtually impossible, given she moved often and left little trace of her presence anywhere.

There had been many days back then where Miranda missed her companionship, not merely because craved a reprieve from her isolation, but because, frankly, simply being around Samara had a way of making everything better, and of making all her problems seem smaller than they did a moment ago. It was like her very aura conveyed a silent promise that, no matter what happened, everything would turn out okay in the end. Miranda needed that sometimes.

And yet...it hadn’t hurt nearly as much to lose contact with Samara back then as it did now, even though by all rights they were so much closer.

She swallowed, choosing to ignore it.

“Thank you for bringing me that, Jacob,” Miranda told him sincerely. For as much as her heart seemed divided against itself, it was still a net comfort to hear from Samara, if a small one. At least she knew Samara had left of her own volition, which meant Miranda had answered one question weighing on her mind.

“Sounds like you two were close,” Jacob observed.

“Yeah, we were,” Miranda confirmed. So much so that it seemed a simple recording wasn’t enough to fill the hollowness of still not knowing where Samara was, or whether she was okay, or whether she would ever come back.

“I never knew that about you,” said Jacob, sitting somewhat sideways in his chair, with his elbow on the table. “I mean, not that I'm surprised. But I don't think I ever really saw you two talk or hang out on the ship. Figured I would have heard about you doing that if it was a regular occurrence.”

“Nobody else spent much time on the Starboard Observation Deck, so I suppose no one noticed,” Miranda pointed out. And it was true. It wasn’t as though they’d been hiding it, and yet only a small handful of people had gleaned any insight into their growing friendship. And only a few more people than that had seen them train together. “Samara was the person I could always go to when I didn't want to be around anyone else. Which was...quite often, actually.”

Jacob shrugged nonchalantly. “Makes sense to me. Always thought you two would get along.”

Miranda snorted and arched her eyebrow. “Let me guess, because we're both cold and robotic and incapable of having fun?”

“Hey, you said that, not me.” Miranda just looked at him. Jacob uncomfortably cleared his throat. “...Well, I mean, you're not wrong about having a certain...demeanour in common, but that wasn't what I was thinking.”

“What then?” she asked.

“For starters, how about you're both smart, capable, determined women who could recognise and respect those qualities in each other?” Jacob suggested, almost resenting the fact that he had to profess his innocence. “Or that you're a refined, elegant woman who would probably feel far more inclined to talk to someone with Samara's wisdom and maturity than you would to the average person, since she can engage with you on that level where most can’t?”

Miranda summoned the energy to smirk, though it didn’t reach her eye. “You’re already invited to dinner, Jacob. The flattery really isn’t necessary.” Jacob rolled his eyes, realising she'd been messing with him.

“So who was that woman, anyway?” Both Jacob and Miranda glanced over when Jason broke the silence. For a few seconds, they’d honestly forgotten the kids were still there. “Some kind of ex-girlfriend or something?”

Jacob chuckled when Miranda released a slightly exasperated sigh at that question. He didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know that wasn’t the first time they’d pestered her about her personal life, nor that it wouldn’t be the last. “No, Prangley. A friend. And the person who saved my life.”

“Oh. Dope,” Prangley replied. Miranda gave a good-natured roll of her eye, but the response was almost forced, a fact that wasn’t lost on Jacob.

“We’ll start getting dinner ready,” Rodriguez volunteered, since it was her turn to cook. Not that there was much she could do with such limited resources, but the girl got points for enthusiasm. “Will Mr. Taylor be joining us?”

“I will, actually. Thank you,” Jacob confirmed.

Miranda didn’t notice that his eyes had remained fixed on her. Her thoughts were centred on Samara’s message, replaying it in her head, trying to decipher why it had left her so...unresolved, and in so many disparate headspaces at once.

“Hey.” Jacob gently nudged her good knee with his. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she answered. “Why?”

“I don’t know. You just seem…” He trailed off and shook his head, not able to put his finger on exactly what was different about her demeanour. “I don’t know.”

Miranda gave him a look. “Thank you for that assessment, Jacob.”

He laughed despite himself, that response appearing to satisfy him that Miranda was perfectly normal. For her, anyway. “Alright, point taken. But see? Didn’t I tell you Samara hadn’t forgotten about you?”

“You did. It’s nice to hear it from the source, though.” Miranda glanced down, a distracting thought in the back of her mind. “She didn’t outright say that she would be coming back, did she? Do you think she intends to, or...?”

“Hard to say. Samara’s always been a mystery to me,” Jacob pointed out.

“...Right.” Miranda unconsciously toyed with a loose thread on the couch, trying to ignore that indescribable ache in her chest that wouldn’t go away.

“You’ll have to tell me about how you became friends, sometime,” Jacob commented, patting her on the leg as he got up, moving to go help the kids with the cooking.

“Yeah. I’ll do that…” Miranda vacantly uttered.

She had absolutely no intention of doing that.

* * *

It was a good thing that Shepard had installed those ship upgrades. Going through the Omega-4 Relay had been no easy feat.

Miranda and Mordin had raced down to the cargo hold with Shepard to fight off an oculus that cut its way through the hull. Multiple shockwaves had resonated through the ship as they battled the oculus. They had to fight on, not knowing what they meant, whether anyone had died, or how far they were from the base. Fortunately, everyone had escaped unharmed. Although, The Normandy wasn’t in such good shape. It had crash-landed just shy of the Collector Base.

A mission briefing had been called, the plan made, the roles decided. Miranda was charged with leading the second fireteam into the base. Tali had been appointed the tech specialist, infiltrating the base through a thermal vent and bypassing the security doors so the two squads could rendezvous inside and move on deeper, towards the central core.

It hadn’t been easy. If not for Miranda and the others providing covering fire, Tali damn near might have got her head shot off trying to seal the doors shut behind Shepard, Thane and Garrus.

Somehow, despite all the odds, they’d made it through the first phase in one piece. No lives lost. They even found the crew alive. The colonists from Horizon weren’t so lucky. If they’d been even a few seconds later, the crew would have…

No. They hadn’t failed them. That was all that mattered.

Shepard sent Kasumi to escort the crew back to the ship, certain that they were in no fit state to fight off any Collectors by themselves after all they’d been through.

For everyone else who would continue moving forward, the problem was that they still needed to get through the seeker swarms. They were denser here. And Mordin’s countermeasures wouldn’t work on that many. A biotic field was suggested as the best way through, though that would only be sufficient to protect a small team. Miranda had volunteered, though Jack had protested and suggested she go instead. Perhaps deliberately taking a third option, Shepard had chosen Samara to hold up the barrier. In the meantime, Garrus would take over leading the rest of the squad through a secondary path EDI had pointed out to them.

“Miranda, Jacob, you’re with me,” said Andrea, everyone’s orders confirmed.

“Just stay focused; I’ve got your back,” Miranda assured Samara, receiving a nod of understanding from her as they left, following Shepard and Jacob.

Shepard took point. “Stay alert; they could come from anywhere.”

And so the long walk began.

Samara found it easy at first, pinging those wasp-like creatures off her biotic bubble like raindrops bursting on glass. The effort didn’t appear to phase her at all. But, just as it began to seem like it was far too easy for comfort, it was quickly confirmed that their presence hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Collectors inbound!” Miranda called out, signalling for Samara to take cover.

“ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL,” Harbinger announced his presence.

Gunfire rang out, combined with biotic attacks. Samara took shelter where she could, only concerned with maintaining the barrier as the others took aim at the incoming hostiles. It didn’t seem to be troubling her, but she couldn’t divert her hands to do anything else. Couldn’t pick up a gun. Couldn’t fire off a reave. If a Collector got close to her, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.

Miranda made it her personal mission to stay near the back of the group, determined to ensure not a damn thing touched Samara. Neither Shepard nor Jacob seemed to take any issue with that arrangement.

“Coast is clear,” Jacob confirmed after the Harbinger dropped. Trusting her allies implicitly, Samara emerged once more, ready to continue the long walk.

“You okay?” Miranda checked in with her, keeping an eye out for danger as she walked at Samara’s side. Shepard and Jacob kept further forward, their attention on the path ahead, scanning for any approaching threats.

“You will be the first to know if I am not,” Samara assured her, certain that Miranda was the best option to take over from her if her barrier broke, although in theory Shepard and Jacob could also do so if necessary. If that thin bubble of energy wasn’t maintained the whole way, they would all perish to the swarms.

It seemed like they couldn’t make it twenty metres without another wave of Collectors or their husks coming for them. Wave after wave. Harbinger possessing footsoldier after footsoldier. They knew this would be a long walk. But, considering how much effort Samara was exerting on that barrier, each passing minute must have felt twice as long as the last, the strain on her body growing exponentially the longer they spent pinned down in these firefights.

Gradually, Samara began to buckle under the weight of her barrier. She had been repelling those seeker swarms for so long. And the end of the line seemed to creep further and further away the closer they got.

By the third time Samara had to force herself out of cover to start moving again, she was stumbling, barely managing to drag her feet forward.

Husks and abominations crawled up from either side, but there was nowhere for Samara to hide, nor did it seem like she had the strength to stop and wait another time. If she crouched down one more time, it was more than likely that she simply wouldn’t be able to stand up again. The others just had to react fast, and take down any foes before they got close enough to pose a threat to her.

Eventually, they caught sight of a tunnel ahead. The way out.

“Samara…” Miranda stayed by her side, concern colouring her voice, ready to take over from her if she couldn’t do this anymore.

Samara gritted her teeth, willing herself to bear it. “We must reach the end. I will not give in,” she growled under her breath, using what remained of her strength to pick up her pace, running as best she could despite the pressure bearing down on her, not sure she could hold on if they were forced to slow down again.

“Hold on, we’re almost there,” Andrea assured her, seeing the doors in sight.

One by one, taking turns providing covering fire, they each leapt over a waist-high wall that stood between them and the ramp down to the exit. How Samara was still standing by that point, Miranda would never know. Miranda stayed a few paces back, protecting the rear and picking off any hostiles she could from the sizeable squad of Collectors approaching them from behind.

“We have to move quickly, Shepard,” Miranda called out. If they didn’t, either Samara’s barrier would give, or the Collectors would soon outnumber them.

“Alright, let’s move!” Shepard urged. One after another, the Collectors charged in, running through the barrier, only to be gunned down in a hail of fire. They didn’t care if it was suicide. That wouldn’t stop them. “They’re pushing! Keep it up!”

“Hurry, Shepard,” Samara all but pleaded, her voice weakening.

Jacob dashed back for the door, opening up a path to relative safety. Shepard stayed with Samara, while Miranda guarded the edge of the barrier.

Miranda could see there were more seekers now than ever, and they were starting to break through the barrier. There were too many of them to be stopped. The buzzing was so damn loud, it was as if they were inside her skull. The beating of their wings felt like ten thousand pinpricks against her skin. The swarm was a living hurricane bearing down on her. Unprotected. Alone.

In that instant, Miranda abruptly realised just how isolated she had become, in the space of mere seconds. Those few metres between her and the rest of her squad suddenly felt like a mile. And those Collectors were damn close.

“Miranda!” Shepard called out, seeing both Collectors and seekers converging on her, trying to overwhelm the barrier, threatening to consume her alive.

Before anyone could try and stop her, Samara marched forward with a look in her eyes that none of them had ever seen before, reaching Miranda’s side. Without saying a word, Samara thrust both hands forward and released a colossal biotic wave that surged through the entire chamber like a tsunami, unleashing such force that the ground shook beneath Miranda’s feet.

And then there was silence.

There was no barrier anymore. No noise, but for Miranda’s own heavy breathing echoing in her ears. As quickly as they had converged, those dozens of Collectors and thousands of seekers that had been around them a moment ago were now gone. Not just dead. Gone. Disintegrated in a flash. The seekers that remained were so few, and so distant that they didn’t even seem to notice their presence.

Her job done, Samara turned and calmly strode through the door, unfazed.

It took Miranda little more than a moment to shake off her stupor and regather her bearings, picking off the last few seekers from range as she backed through the doors to safety, Jacob sealing the way shut behind her.

Miranda allowed herself a second to catch her breath, since it seemed they had found themselves a place of relative safety in which to recover. She did a quick scan of her surroundings, making sure nobody was hurt.

Samara met her gaze across the small gap between them, evidently checking on her comrades in the same way that Miranda was. They exchanged silent nods, as if to confirm they were both alright. To Miranda’s surprise, despite how close Samara had been to her breaking point a moment ago, there was no trace of that exhaustion now. Maybe she was a little winded, sure, but no more than the rest of them. There was every indication she could still fight.

Miranda had to admit, she was relieved that Shepard hadn’t chosen her to hold up the barrier. Sure, in theory she could have gotten them all the way to the end, but the raw power Samara had unleashed just then? Miranda had never seen anything like that before, let alone found anything close to that within herself.

When it came to biotics, Samara was just on a different level entirely.

The fleeting reprieve was swiftly interrupted when Garrus radioed in under heavy fire. Without delay, they hurried over to open the door to let the second team in. For a moment, it looked like Garrus had been wounded, but his armour had protected him from any harm, much to Shepard’s relief.

The squad regrouped in a moment of calm once more. Joker confirmed that Kasumi and the crew had made it back to The Normandy with no casualties.

“Excellent. Now, let’s make it count. EDI, what’s our next step?” asked Miranda.

“There should be some nearby platforms that will take you to the main control console. From there, you can overload the system and destroy the base.”

“Commander? You’ve got a problem,” Joker quickly interrupted EDI. “Hostiles massing just outside the door. Won’t be long until they bust through.”

Drawing everyone’s attention, Shepard climbed up onto the platform EDI had spoken of. “We need to finish this before they get through.”

Seeing a solution, Miranda didn’t hesitate to volunteer it. “Pick a team to go with you, and leave the others here to defend this position. That should buy you some time.” It was a dangerous job, sure, but Miranda knew this squad well enough to trust that they would hold the line to their last breath if that was what it took to allow Shepard to make it to the heart of the base and destroy it from within.

Andrea agreed with her call. “Mordin, Miranda, you’ll be with me,” Shepard confirmed. Miranda nodded, expecting nothing less.

Andrea gave them a few moments to divide amongst themselves any remaining thermal clips and stocks of medigel. If anyone ran out now, that would be it. As she took the opportunity to restock and check her weapons, Miranda couldn’t help but run her eyes across the group one last time, wondering if there were any faces among them she would never see again.

“I would wish you good fortune for the battle ahead but, knowing you, I am certain you will not need it,” Samara’s voice prompted Miranda to turn towards her.

Miranda met her with a small half-smile. “I’ll take it anyway,” she said. It wasn’t lost on her that they’d both kept their respective promises to get each other this far. From this point on, they would be separated. It would be out of their hands.

Miranda had to admit, she was a little worried. She had seen how much it had taken out of Samara to hold up that barrier, especially towards the end. Although she was carrying herself remarkably well, she couldn’t help but hold a kernel of doubt in her mind, that maybe she was in a far worse condition than she was willing to show. But, that being said, having eight others around her to protect her made this far and away the safest option for Samara right now.

It would have made Miranda feel a little less anxious if she could count herself among that number, though. But she couldn’t be in two places at once. And, at the end of the day, there was no way in hell Miranda would let Shepard go to the core of the Collector Base without her. Chances were, she’d need her there.

“Samara,” Miranda caught her eye as she ejected and replaced a thermal clip. “I’ll see you on the other side, yeah?” she said, a promise on her part, and seeking the same confirmation from Samara.

Her words were met with uncharacteristic hesitation. Uncertainty. It didn’t seem like there was any confusion about what Miranda was asking. More that she was asking Samara to swear to a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep.

Samara’s eyes dipped, as if avoiding the answer. “Miranda, I...I do not kn--”

Miranda reached out and touched Samara’s arm, cutting her off. “Promise me,” she insisted, not willing to leave until she heard it. Until she knew that Samara would do everything it took to keep herself safe, and to get back to The Normandy in one piece. Until they both parted ways knowing this wouldn’t be the last conversation they would ever have. Because Samara was many things, but above all else she was true to her word.

If she gave Miranda her oath on this, then it was because she truly meant it. And she would dedicate every fibre of her being to keeping her pledge.

Samara stared at her in a heavy silence. Miranda held her gaze expectantly, not yielding until she heard the answer she wanted in response.

After a few seconds, Samara nodded, finding the strength to stand a little straighter, even after the long walk she’d endured. “Of course,” she said, committing to that vow. “Until we meet again.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Miranda’s lip. That was good enough for her.

“Ready up. We’re moving out,” Shepard gave the command, unable to spare any more time. The Collectors would break down that door any second now.

Miranda didn’t need to be told that twice. “I’m ready, Commander,” she said, hopping onto the platform at Shepard’s side, ready to face whatever lay at the heart of the Collector Base. “Anything to say before we do this?”

“The Collectors, the Reapers, they aren’t a threat to us. They’re a threat to everything - everyone. Those are the lives we’re fighting for. That’s the scale,” Andrea reminded them all, locking eyes with each member of her squad in turn. “It’s been a long journey, and no one’s comin’ out without scars.”

Grunt slammed his fists together, eager get his hands on whatever came through that door, and to make damn sure not one of them got to Shepard.

“But it all comes down to this moment,” Shepard continued. “We win or lose it all in the next few minutes. Make me proud. Make yourselves proud.”

“Well said,” said Miranda, and she meant it. For all her accomplishments, when all was said and done, there was not a single accolade among them which made Miranda feel prouder than she did fighting alongside Shepard in this moment. Not just as her second-in-command. But as her friend. “Let’s go finish this.”

With that, the platform began to move.

* * *

Miranda had been in Jack’s position only a few weeks ago. She knew how mind-numbingly tedious it was to be stuck in a hospital bed. Helping her pass the time every now and then seemed like the least she could do to repay her for saving her life twice in the same day. The fact that Jack hadn’t immediately kicked Miranda out yet indicated she was more desperate for distraction than she was letting on.

Given that neither of them enjoyed the idea of talking to each other much if at all, Miranda (with some prompting from Jacob) had come up with the idea of passing the time by other means. Last Sunday, they’d played cards. Today, it was chess. It was actually working surprisingly well as a means of keeping Jack occupied without having to speak to each other much.

Jack moved her rook to take a pawn. Miranda took advantage, moving her queen to take that same rook, leaving the king trapped. “Checkmate,” said Miranda, already resetting the board. “Good game. Play again?”

“Sure.” Jack shrugged. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

Jack hadn’t caught on yet, but Miranda was pulling her punches. Jack might have had more experience than her at certain games of cards, but Miranda had learned chess from an early age, since her father saw intellectual value in it.

She hadn’t played seriously in twenty years, but Miranda had forgotten less than she thought. Jack, by contrast, barely knew the names of the pieces.

The gap between them was such that, without even really having to try, Miranda would have won every single game with ease had she not consciously made the choice to lose roughly thirty percent of the time. Part of her was tempted to take the gloves off and do just that. But she was self-aware enough to recognise that refusing to hold back might have been cruel given the circumstances. Plus, it would definitely piss Jack off to get annihilated by someone she hated.

So, instead, Miranda hampered herself, acting worse at the game than she was, deliberately letting Jack get wins here and there, delaying victories to drag games out longer, or letting them go to a stalemate, making it seem like they were more evenly matched than they were. It didn’t matter to her really. The ultimate goal was simply to pass time after all, as much for herself as for Jack.

The truth was, Miranda needed something to distract her from her own thoughts for a while too, even if humouring Jack at chess wasn’t particularly exciting. Between her search for the Normandy’s lost, the endless sleepless nights, and trying to avoid deciphering her complicated feelings about Samara’s absence, anything that helped her to take her mind off things would do.

It was either that or beg Bailey to let her work Sundays, but something told her that raising that subject with him more than the twelve times she already had would be considered undignified.

“...How’re the tykes treatin’ you?” Jack eventually broke the silence when they were both a few moves into the next game, head lethargically resting on her hand. They hardly spoke whenever Miranda did visit like this, not that there had been many occasions to judge from. Boredom really must have gotten the better of her if she was resorting to asking her former nemesis to talk.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Miranda answered, moving her queen to take a pawn, intentionally leaving her king exposed. “We seem to be getting on.”

“You can tell me the truth,” said Jack, correctly picking up that Miranda had been actively refraining from being critical of Jack’s students in front of her. “If they’re being assholes, they’re being assholes.”

Miranda sighed. She supposed if she and Jack really were trying to turn over a new leaf with each other, there was no harm in being honest with her. “They’re getting to the point where they’re comfortable testing my boundaries. But it’s alright. I knew what I was signing up for. It’s your move, by the way.”

“Oh, shit.” Jack picked up a bishop, turning it between her fingers as she looked for an available move. There was no mistaking that she was tired. It was hard to sleep when forced to stay in bed all day every day, but for rare exceptions like this. Miranda wasn’t sleeping any better herself. She was just better at hiding it.

“I have overheard a few remarks that I’m not exactly a fan of. According to Nitin and Deacon, I’m ‘pretty hot for a woman with half her face burned off’,” Miranda recounted. Jack snickered. “At least that one was a compliment.”

“Yeah. They’re jerks like that. But they’re teenage boys. What’re you gonna do?” Jack said with a shrug, eventually deciding to take a knight. “Check.”

“I just ignore them,” Miranda casually replied, moving her king. That had always been her approach to unwanted comments, regardless of the age or gender of the source. Miranda had gotten used to people talking behind her back pretty early in life, and it had only gotten worse when she joined Cerberus. Most of the time, it was just background noise that she didn’t even notice anymore.

“They said all kinds of shit like that about me too when I first started teaching. It’s some kind of macho bullshit thing. Whatever,” Jack distractedly muttered, completely oblivious to the easy victory Miranda had left open for her, failing to spot the possible checkmate and instead moving a knight to take a pawn.

“Right.” Miranda rapped her fingers against the table. She actually had to think for a moment. She didn’t want to do anything that would make it look like she was throwing the game. But, by the same token, she’d won the last two rounds, so she needed to let Jack win this one.

“I heard you got a message from Samara,” Jack piped up.

Miranda glanced up, caught off-guard by that. “I’m sorry?”

“Jacob told me. Said he found a message from her,” Jack tried to make something resembling polite conversation. “How is the old lady?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Miranda shut that down, focusing on the board.

Jack blinked. “Huh?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Miranda said again, moving her queen to take Jack’s bishop.

Jack furrowed her brows. “Well, geez. Fuck me for asking, right? I thought she saved your fuckin’ life or something. How was I supposed to know you were pissed off at her or whatever the fuck happened?”

“I’m not,” Miranda insisted. It was only once the words left her mouth that she realised she’d said that a little too loudly. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “I’m not. I’m extremely grateful to Samara. I’m just…”

Miranda trailed off, realising she didn’t know how to finish that sentence without acknowledging that she was trying to avoid thinking about her, which would also mean acknowledging the fact that she still couldn’t entirely understand why she wanted to avoid thinking about her, beyond the fact that the unnamed ache in her chest grew heavier every time she did.

“It’s your move,” Miranda quietly muttered, giving up on endeavouring to explain something she didn’t have an explanation for.

Jack shook her head and sighed, evidently having zero interest in the inner workings of Miranda’s mind.

With that, Jack finally did as Miranda anticipated and moved her queen next to Miranda’s king, trapping it, with the said queen protected from the king by Jack’s rook. Except Jack said nothing, waiting for her opponent to take her turn.

Miranda almost had to do a double-take, making sure she hadn’t miscalculated.

“That’s checkmate,” Miranda pointed out.

Jack glanced up, barely paying attention. “Huh?”

“You’ve put me in checkmate,” Miranda reiterated.

Jack looked down at the board. It took her a moment before she realised Miranda was right. Something clicked. How the fuck was Miranda losing when she was following the game closer than Jack was? “...Wait, are you letting me win?” she asked, affronted by the thought.

“No. I’m too competitive to do that,” Miranda lied.

Jack saw right through it, groaning unhappily. “You fuckin’ cunt, now I can’t even pretend to give a shit about this,” she complained, swiping the back of her hand across the table, carelessly knocking over a few pieces as she spoke.

There was no point in deceiving her any longer. “It’s not really fair to you if I don’t hold back. I’ve been playing since I was three.”

“Of course you fuckin’ have…” Jack grumbled.

“Sorry,” Miranda offered, more out of social obligation than anything resembling actual remorse, leaning down and picking up some of the pieces Jack had knocked over.

“I think I liked you better when you were an unapologetic bitch,” Jack unhappily remarked, almost lamenting the fact that the new Miranda took whatever jabs she threw at her without any retaliation. “At least back then you were honest about how fake you were.”

Miranda didn’t blink as she picked up the last pieces, unoffended by Jack’s opinion of her, even if her efforts to improve their relationship were proving fruitless so far. “In that case, do you want me to go hard on you?” Miranda nonchalantly replied, resetting the board. If Jack wanted a challenge, she would gladly oblige.

“I don’t even fucking care at this point…” Jack wearily admitted, definitely at that stage of her recovery where all the days were starting to blur together into a dull grey mush.

“Okay. But you asked for this. And don’t say I didn’t warn you,” said Miranda, not about to take the blame when Jack got absolutely destroyed.

Jack snorted at Miranda’s...Miranda-ness. “Drink bleach, eyepatch. Bring it on.”

Miranda won the next game in less than two minutes.

Jack blinked. “No fucking way.” Miranda just flicked her eye down at the board again, a decisive checkmate. She had told her, after all. “You could have done that this whole time?” Jack queried, narrowing her stare at her.

Instead of answering, Miranda simply shrugged her shoulder. The evidence spoke for itself, didn’t it? Of course she could have.

“...Well, fuck, now I have to beat you.” Jack leaned forward in her chair, studying the board more intently, motivated to try and get the better of her rival now that she’d had her ass handed to her.

Miranda arched her eyebrow. Really? That was what it took to wake Jack up?

Perhaps she should have gone all out sooner.

Before they could start the next game, Miranda’s communicator went off. She checked the incoming call, and recognised it was coming from someone important. Someone she’d been waiting to hear from. “I have to take this.”

Jack waved her hand dismissively, too busy studying the board and retracing the sequence that had entrapped her so quickly, trying to figure out exactly what Miranda had done in the last game, and how she could counter it.

“Doctor Michel,” Miranda greeted her. “How can I help you?”

“Ms Lawson. Have I caught you at a good time?” Dr Michel asked.

“Good enough.” Miranda’s eye flicked up to Jack momentarily. It didn’t seem like she was paying any attention to their conversation. She turned to her side and lowered her voice slightly. “Is this in relation to my matter?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Have you made any progress?”

“In a manner of speaking. My team and I have been working through that list of names you gave us. Your old crewmates.” There was a pause. “We...think we may have some answers for what happened to some of them.”

Miranda could tell from her tone that something was wrong. Her voice sounded sombre. Almost regretful. “...This isn’t good news, is it?” Miranda said quietly, more a statement than a question.

“Unfortunately not.” Doctor Michel sighed, evidently empathising with her position. “There’s no easy way for me to say this, but...we’ve recovered some bodies. As the senior officer of the Normandy, we would like you to identify them.”

Miranda’s heart sank all the way to her feet. Jack couldn’t overhear Doctor Michel’s side of the call, but she straightened up curiously, as if noticing a change in Miranda’s demeanour. She must have looked as pale as she felt, like life itself had just drained from her face.

“...Ms Lawson?” Doctor Michel’s voice broke her heavy silence.

Miranda swallowed, composing herself. “I understand. I’ll head there immediately,” she said solemnly. “Thank you for telling me.” She closed the channel before Doctor Michel could say anything else, not ready to hear it. “I have to go,” she said, grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair, needing to see who they’d found - to confirm whether they really were some of their own.

“What is it?” Jack asked, sensing something was wrong. “Who was that?”

“That was Dr Michel. She’s an old friend of Garrus’s. She’s been overseeing identification efforts at the mortuary. I gave her details of everyone from The Normandy. Asked her to look,” Miranda answered, her tone vacant. “They’ve found some bodies. They think they might be…”

“...Ours?” Jack finished on her behalf. Miranda’s silence confirmed it. “Fuck. Yeah. Go. Go,” Jack urged, realising the importance of this, and not envying Miranda for being the one who had to confront it.

Miranda didn’t linger a moment longer than that.

* * *

They’d found out what the Collectors wanted. Why humans were disappearing. Nobody could have foreseen that the answer would be so...grotesque.

All those people. Alone. Afraid. Processed into sludge while still alive. And for what purpose? To be used as the base material to craft the very tool of humanity’s own destruction. To be transmuted into the building blocks for the creation of a brand new Reaper. A human Reaper.

By the time they managed to kill that thing, the Collector Base had already started collapsing in on itself. Thankfully, those left behind to hold the line had already made it back to the ship ahead of them.

Miranda, Mordin and Shepard barely made it back to The Normandy before the blast consumed the entire base, their battered ship outrunning the explosion by the thinnest of margins. A daring escape from an impossible mission.

It was only once Miranda counted heads that she confirmed not a single soul was missing. The ship was barely holding together, but as far as the crew...nobody died. It was supposed to be a suicide mission. Yet, somehow, they hadn’t lost a single life.

For a moment, it almost seemed too good to be true. Like there had to be some sort of catch they just didn’t know about yet. Like the worst was still yet to come.

There wasn’t much time to take it in, though. It was all hands on deck conducting urgent repairs to The Normandy, patching up as many holes as they could to keep the damn thing spaceworthy. They were certainly in no condition to jump through a mass relay right away. Even with the Collector Base gone, nobody wanted to linger around there longer than they absolutely had to.

Miranda lost count of the hours as she oversaw the crew, taking in status reports from EDI, redirecting attention where it was needed, running simulations to check whether the repairs would hold. She was deeply absorbed in diagnostics when Shepard placed a hand on her shoulder, nearly startling her out of her number-crunching stupor.

“Hey. Relax,” said Shepard, not failing to notice that Miranda was uncharacteristically jumpy.

Miranda released a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, disappointed in herself for that slip of composure. Of course it was only Shepard. Who was she expecting it to be? The mission was over but, evidently, she was still a little on edge. Perhaps the adrenaline hadn’t fully worked its way out of her system yet.

“What do you need, Commander?” Miranda asked, ever the professional, even when she felt more...frayed than usual.

“After all we’ve just been through, and from what I’ve seen around here? Right now, I need everyone to stop and take a rest for a moment. That includes you,” said Andrea, fixing her with a telling look.

“Commander--” Miranda’s protestations were cut short, as if they’d been expected.

“We’ve been at this for hours. We aren’t in any danger right now, and there’s no way we’re going to be in a position to move tonight,” Shepard pointed out. Her eyes briefly studied Miranda’s face. If even Miranda’s concentration was starting to slip, then what did that say about how the rest of the crew must be feeling? “When’s the last time you took a break? Or had something to eat?”

“I’m fine, Commander. I don’t tire easily,” Miranda assured her. Although she had her limits, as anyone did, she could function on very little food and sleep compared to the average person, and sustain unhealthy habits for a good while longer than anyone else would be able to before the strain started to show.

“Okay. Sure. But everyone else does. And you should set an example for them,” Shepard replied, earning an annoyed scoff from Miranda. Leave it to Andrea to still find a way to twist her own superhuman endurance around on her. “Hey, we’ve all earned the right to stop and catch our breath for a minute. Even you,” she said softly, lightly touching Miranda’s arm, urging her to take care of herself.

Miranda didn’t have the energy to argue. Truth be told, her head had been reeling pretty much all day, and it hadn’t stopped since they got back. It was like her subconscious didn’t realise the fight was over, and she didn’t still have to be in survival mode. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to gather her bearings before getting back to business.

“We’re getting out of here tomorrow, Commander,” Miranda responded, making it clear that she was only willing to acquiesce if Shepard gave her word on that. “That’s a hard deadline.”

“You’ll get it done. I know it,” said Shepard, giving a nod as she walked past, prepared to tell everyone else to lay their tools down, just for a little bit.

Right when she started to leave, a thought occurred to Miranda. “Shepard?” she called after her, earning a secondary glance. “After we put this ship back together...there’s still a lot to do, yeah? A lot of assignments we never finished.” Miranda let that suggestion hang, searching Andrea’s gaze as she spoke, hoping she wasn’t making a fool of herself by asking what she was asking.

She wasn’t used to being in this position. In fact, she’d never been in this position before. Of wanting to stay around other people. And hoping those other people, on some level, felt the same way about her.

They might have finished their critical mission, but, if Miranda was being honest with herself, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to The Normandy yet. Though she wouldn’t have believed it a few months ago, she wasn’t ready for everyone to go their separate ways all of a sudden. She didn’t want to lose contact with all the people she’d only just started to grow close to, nor did she want to lose the better version of herself she was gradually transforming into here.

As hard as it was to admit to anyone else, Miranda liked it here. Honestly, being on The Normandy was the second best thing that had ever happened to her, and the closest thing she’d ever had to a place that felt like home - a place she belonged. She didn’t want this to be the end. Not just yet. Maybe not ever.

Judging by the twinkle in her eye, Shepard seemed to understand Miranda’s meaning completely, and not just on a surface level. “Tomorrow,” Andrea told her reassuringly, saving that conversation for a later date, when they were both a little more clear-headed.

Miranda didn’t know what to make of that answer, but didn’t stop Shepard as she walked away. She wasn’t great at reading people, but it felt like they were on the same page. In any event, they could discuss it at length once they hit the relay.

With that, Miranda headed back to her office. For as easy as it was for Andrea to tell her she should just kick back and relax for a few hours, that was one of the few things Miranda actually found much, much harder to do than a normal person would. It wasn’t in her DNA to relax, even at the best of times, let alone now. Despite everything, she wasn’t tired. If anything, she was still far too wired to sleep. She needed something to keep her busy. For her, that was therapy.

Operating purely on instinct, Miranda switched on her computer and immediately began typing her report on the mission, as she always did. It was only once she was a few paragraphs in that she abruptly stopped. It was then that it clicked, and she remembered. She didn’t report to anyone anymore.

For the first time since she was sixteen, Miranda was on her own. Not part of Cerberus. Not an agent of The Illusive Man. And it was at that point that the penny truly dropped. What had happened. What it all meant. And that there was no going back. That door had slammed shut forever. And she didn’t regret it.

Miranda exhaled heavily and sat back in her chair, running the fingers of her left hand across her forehead, massaging her temples between her thumb and ring finger, finally processing what had transpired back there.

She still couldn’t understand what The Illusive Man had been thinking when he instructed them to keep the Collector Base. It didn’t make any sense. Miranda had been there to see with her own eyes what had been done to the missing colonists. Nothing good could possibly have come out of that factory of death. Its sole purpose was to liquify living beings, and create Reapers.

So why? Why would he want to keep that horrible place around? What use could he possibly hope to gain from it? There was no justification for that. No defence.

When he’d ordered Miranda to stop Shepard from destroying the base, a line had been crossed - one that Miranda hadn’t even known existed until he crossed it. In the moment, it hadn’t been a question what she would do. She hadn’t even blinked. She’d handed in her resignation effective immediately, and shut off The Illusive Man before he could say another word. She hadn’t thought twice about it. And she’d gone on to stand with Shepard to kill that fucking human Reaper monstrosity and blow that godforsaken place to smithereens.

Admittedly, given the urgency of the situation, she hadn’t had much of an opportunity at the time to pause to consider the full ramifications of her actions, but by the same token Miranda had also been well aware of what she was doing before she made her choice. She was no fool, and she didn’t do anything lightly. She knew perfectly well how dangerous Cerberus was to cross, especially for a valuable asset like her. Someone who knew more of their secrets than just about anyone else. Someone who, given the right data, could even point to the physical location of The Illusive Man himself.

In the space of an instant, she’d almost certainly gone from being one of Cerberus’s most trusted agents to being their number one enemy. That was going to be fun to deal with in the future. But she would cross that bridge when she came to it, she supposed.

It was strange to think how quickly a previously inexorable part of her life had been terminated, faster than a snap of her fingers. In a way, Miranda almost didn’t know who she was without them. She’d never worked for anyone else. The last of her teenage years and her entire adult life had been shaped almost solely by Cerberus. She’d planned her whole future around advancing through their ranks, maybe even taking The Illusive Man’s place one day. Her life was her career, and her career was her life. She would have to rethink all of that now.

And then there was The Illusive Man. A man she’d spent most of the last nineteen years admiring as a leader and as a mentor. A man whose example she’d aspired to follow in many ways. Hell, he’d been more of a father to her than her own father had ever been, not that that was saying much.

For as mysterious and unknowable as he was, in all those long years that Miranda had worked for him, and worked for Cerberus, she’d never seen anything that would have led her to predict what happened back there. That they could have been worlds apart on such a fundamental issue.

Despite what other people thought about her, she had never been blindly loyal to Cerberus. She had her own thoughts. Her own opinions. Her own personal sense of right and wrong. Admittedly, ethics had always taken a backseat to pragmatism and necessity in her view, but the ends had to justify the means. The reason Cerberus operated outside the law was because the law got in the way of the greater good - of what needed to be done to protect human lives.

If she had been unwavering in her commitment to Cerberus in the past, it was because they’d never given Miranda any reason not to be. Nothing she’d seen in the inner workings of the organisation had raised any alarms. She would have left years ago if she’d witnessed something she couldn’t tolerate. But she never had.

And yet, Miranda would have been lying if she claimed that The Illusive Man’s actions had come as a complete shock that day. They hadn’t. Maybe they would have a few months ago. But not now.

Ever since she’d joined the crew of the Normandy, Miranda had started to see sides to Cerberus she’d never seen before. Or rather, and more accurately, it had started to become untenable for every potential deal-breaker ever attributed to Cerberus to be conveniently blamed on rogue cells - people who had turned their back on The Illusive Man and acted without his knowledge or consent. How much longer could Miranda pretend to keep buying that excuse before she was officially part of the cult, refusing to accept the evidence of her own eyes and ears?

The truth had been right in front of Miranda the whole time, hadn’t it? If she went digging now, especially with the aid of the Shadow Broker, she was sure she would be able to find direct orders from The Illusive Man authorising all those projects he denied. Probably even the institution where Jack and those other biotic children had been tortured. She could have uncovered it all a long time ago. She’d just never wanted to see it before.

Perhaps she really was the blind loyalist everyone else thought she was all along.

Perhaps she really was that big of a fool.

Miranda’s fingertips wearily caressed her brow one last time. So much for taking a break or relaxing. There would be none of that with such heavy thoughts taking a taxing toll on her.

There was only one person she could turn to when her mind was racing like this. One person who invariably made her feel better. Not by doing or saying anything. Just by being around. So she went to her, as she always did.

She found Samara at the window when she entered the Starboard Observation Deck, overlooking the abyss. Unusually, Samara seemed distracted. So much so that she didn’t even hear the doors hiss shut. Her sober expression betrayed a creeping malaise. Her posture was tense. Her unfocused eyes, quite literally staring into space. It was clear she was deep in introspection of some kind.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” Miranda broke the silence.

Her voice shook Samara from her rumination, prompting her to turn. Samara’s expression shifted, mustering a faint smile. “You are never a disturbance,” she said kindly, gesturing for Miranda to make herself at home.

“It’s funny. I think you’re the one person I’ve hardly seen since we made it back,” Miranda casually noted. Over the last couple of hours, she’d made herself scarce.

“You are correct. Forgive me,” Samara gave a solemn nod, accepting that she had erred in shirking her responsibilities since returning to the ship. “I ought to have done more to assist with the repairs. I will not make any excuses for my absence.”

“I’m not going to write you up. Don’t worry about it.” Miranda nonchalantly waved off her apology, signalling that it was totally unnecessary.

“You would for anyone else,” Samara pointed out knowingly.

“Well, for one thing, you’re not anyone else. For another, I wouldn’t be standing here right now if not for you. So consider this the least I can do for you,” said Miranda, stepping further into the room, until she joined Samara at the window. Besides, it wasn’t like she was giving her special treatment. Writing anyone up for anything seemed pretty pointless now. “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yes,” Samara acknowledged, not one to lie.

“What have you been up to?” Miranda asked her, curious. It wasn’t accusatory in any way. But it wasn’t like Samara to run off to her corner and hide when there was work to be done. She must have had a good reason.

“I have been…thinking,” Samara answered pensively.

Her vagueness wasn’t lost on Miranda. “Thinking?” she echoed.

“Yes. There has been much I need to contemplate. Many things I was not prepared for...or did not expect to…” Samara trailed off, evidently at a loss for words, and visibly unsettled. Her expressions were always hard to read, but she looked troubled, as if she was trying to make sense of a paradox, fitting together incongruous pieces of information and finding only more questions.

Miranda’s features softened sympathetically, beginning to piece together a possible reason behind Samara’s abnormal behaviour. “I think we’re all a little shell-shocked after what happened. Doesn’t quite seem real does it - that we’re somehow all still standing?”

That response seemed to find purchase with Samara, putting her more at ease. “Indeed. Ever since you and Shepard first approached me on Illium and spoke to me of your quest to stop the Collectors, the odds of succeeding, let alone surviving, always seemed slim at best. I must confess, given the nature of the mission before us, I was not anticipating that…” Samara paused again, as if cautious to ensure she chose her words carefully, mindful to be neither tactless nor false in her speech.

“That we would all make it back in one piece?” Miranda finished on her behalf.

Samara gave a slightly apologetic nod. “Yes.”

“Yet here we are,” Miranda continued, gesturing offhandedly at their surroundings.

“Yet here we are,” Samara echoed, her words almost a whisper.

“Try not to sound so disappointed,” Miranda wryly remarked. Samara said nothing, staring out into the void in silence. “...It’s a joke,” Miranda broke the quiet, realising her attempt at humour hadn’t landed. “I forgot I shouldn’t do those.”

“No. I…” Samara shook her head, tearing her eyes away from the vastness of space at long last, turning sideways to face Miranda. “It is I who should apologise. Forgive me. I am...tired. I suspect more so than I even realise.”

Miranda wasn’t surprised to hear that. It didn’t take a genius to tell that she must have been shaken by all that had transpired. Hell, one look at her eyes was a dead giveaway as to how drained she was. It was the first time Miranda had ever seen Samara in such a state. But, after all she had undergone back at the base, who could blame her for not being at one hundred percent right now?

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I know it took a lot out of you, holding up that barrier. You’ve earned the right to rest and recover. And you know I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true, so…” Miranda studied Samara’s features, wondering if she was imposing. “Should I leave you?”

“No. Stay a while. Please,” Samara gestured for her to have a seat. Miranda raised her hand, preferring to stand. The view of the singularity was honestly striking. She may as well enjoy it while they were stranded here. Samara remained at her side, perhaps gradually clearing her head. “Is there truth to the rumours about what transpired between you and The Illusive Man?” she broke the silence.

“What are the rumours?” Miranda asked.

“That you terminated your employment,” Samara rather deftly summarised.

Miranda snorted. “Well, we won’t be taking each other’s calls anymore. Put it that way.”

“Are you alright?” Samara asked, her concern genuine. She was one of the few who had never judged Miranda for her loyalty to Cerberus, despite their flaws.

“Yeah.” Miranda glanced down at her hands, her feelings certainly...mixed. Samara waited patiently, letting her decide whether she wished to speak more on the subject or not, and ready to lend an understanding ear if she did.

Miranda exhaled, interlocking her fingers, reflecting on everything that had happened since she first learned what the Reapers were. All this time, she had firmly believed The Illusive Man wanted to destroy them, just as he would want to eliminate any existential threat to humanity. That had been what he’d said all along. Or, wait, had he ever outright said that he intended to destroy them? Had he just implied it? Had Miranda read into his words what she wanted to hear?

But if Cerberus wanted to keep that base, to ‘turn their own resources against them’ as The Illusive Man had said, was their ultimate goal something else entirely? To create their own Reaper, like Shepard had remarked? To control the Reapers? To use them to take control of the galaxy? To wipe out the other races? Miranda didn’t know for sure, but if it was anything like that then it didn’t even need to be said that she couldn’t permit any of those things to happen.

The best case scenario was that they were still ultimately on the same side, but that The Illusive Man was just so fixated on his desire to fight the Reapers that he couldn’t see that there was no possible benefit to keeping the base. Just risk, and unconscionable slaughter, and a betrayal of everything they had fought for, and all the lives lost to the Collectors. Part of Miranda hoped that was all it was - that maybe they didn’t have to be enemies. But, after everything that had happened, everything she’d seen, it was increasingly untenable not to at least suspect that there was something more sinister going on behind the scenes.

“Samara, be honest with me,” Miranda began, knowing she didn’t even need to make that request of her. She was never anything less than truthful. “I don’t strike you as someone who is particularly stupid or gullible, do I?”

“No, you do not,” Samara answered frankly, as if that question never needed to be asked. “You know very well that I consider you precisely the opposite.”

“So then how is it that I can work for the same people for nineteen years, and yet be so...staggeringly ignorant as to their true nature and motives?” Miranda asked aloud, wondering how many obvious signs she must have missed along the way.

“And what are their true motives?” Samara prompted.

“Honestly? I haven’t got the slightest fucking clue anymore. And that’s what scares me.” Miranda scoffed under her breath, shaking her head. “Actually, you know what? It isn’t. The thing that really makes my skin crawl is not knowing…” She paused and swallowed mid-sentence. “Is not knowing whether and to what extent I’ve been complicit in helping them accomplish things that I would never - never have supported if I knew about them.”

Samara understood completely why that thought would trouble Miranda so. She took time to reflect on the matter before offering a considered response.

“Based on what information EDI has been willing to share since her restraints were removed, it appears as though Cerberus personnel were separated into discrete cells, all of whom were unaware of the existence of any others. While the primary motivation for this may have been to ensure no single individual had sufficient knowledge to compromise the entire organisation, I believe this also had another purpose,” Samara speculated. “That purpose being that each cell could represent an entirely different face of Cerberus - one that appealed entirely to the morality, beliefs and motives of the personnel assigned to it.”

That made a startling amount of sense, Miranda thought. The cerberus of myth did have multiple heads, and thus multiple faces.

“That would explain why there were so many conflicting versions of Cerberus out there,” Miranda mused aloud, curling her fingers against her chin. “The terrorists. The mad scientists. The racist xenophobes. I always brushed those accusations off as misrepresentations and bad press, because the organisation I knew was different. Not terrorists, but people willing to defend human lives when the Alliance wasn’t. Not mad scientists, but cutting-edge pioneers. Not racist xenophobes, but human beings who didn’t want to be treated as second-class citizens in the galactic community. But there were probably others out there who only knew Cerberus to be one or more of those other things. Who am I kidding? Those kinds of people probably only joined Cerberus because of those things - because that was what they thought its true nature was all along.”

“That is what I suspect,” Samara concurred.

“So, if you’re right, then what you’re saying is, the Cerberus I believed I was working for this whole time did exist, in a way. Everything I thought about them was true, from a certain point of view. But so were all the other things I dismissed as falsehoods and slander. I could just never see it, because the full picture was always deliberately hidden from me,” Miranda inferred.

“Yes,” Samara confirmed, quietly confident that Miranda would have seen through the façade and defected earlier had it been presented to her otherwise. “If I am not mistaken, then you have been no more complicit in Cerberus’s hidden agendas - whatever they may be - than Shepard or myself have been.”

Miranda’s expression shifted, not entirely sure she could believe that, but oddly comforted by Samara’s sentiment nonetheless. “Thanks,” she said, relieved to at least have some semblance of an answer for how she’d gotten so sucked in, and how she’d failed to recognise the truth. Even if it later turned out to be wrong, it was something to hold onto for now. And, if nothing else, at least Samara still seemed to think she was a good person, despite everything.

Perhaps there was a silver lining to all this. Now that Miranda saw the truth of what Cerberus was, rather than being blinded by allegiance, if anyone was equipped to fully understand The Illusive Man’s goals and expose this organisation for what it really was, it was her. She felt something of a duty to do it now - to figure out exactly what aims she’d been unwittingly enabling.

It wouldn’t be easy, and Miranda knew damn well The Illusive Man would try everything in his power to kill her rather than risk her exposing his secrets. But since when had Miranda ever been afraid of a challenge? If her life was the only thing she had to lose, then The Illusive Man had more to fear from her than she had to fear from him. But following that path now would put her friends at risk.

Another time, then.

Following that, a delayed thought occurred to Miranda. “You’ve been asking EDI about Cerberus?” she asked, her brow creasing in puzzlement.

“I have. Although, I confess, my inquiries garnered little valuable information before her restraints were removed,” Samara answered calmly.

Miranda regarded her with some confusion. In all the time they’d spent together, Samara had never shown any real curiosity about Cerberus. She couldn’t recall her raising the subject, despite having ample opportunity to do so. “Why?”

“Because you worked for them,” Samara replied, meeting her gaze, her tone unchanging. “Because they were important to you.”

“Why EDI, though?” Miranda asked, perplexed. There was nothing accusatory in her questions, nor defensive for that matter. She had no issues with Samara finding out whatever she wanted to know about Cerberus from whoever she wanted to ask. It just struck her as odd, was all. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Samara’s gaze dipped. “Because I was afraid of the answers,” she admitted.

In light of recent events, Miranda couldn’t exactly fault that explanation. “Hmm. Fair enough. As it turns out, your concerns may not have been unfounded.”

“In some respects, they were not,” Samara acknowledged. After a moment, she raised her head once more. “In others, I have been glad to find that they were. And that I had nothing to fear,” she said, holding Miranda’s gaze as she spoke.

Samara didn’t say it out loud, but the meaning wasn’t lost on Miranda. Miranda didn’t know much about Samara’s Code, but she recalled every element of their conversation about it earlier that day. About how she couldn’t hesitate in enforcing its tenets. About how she had to put it first, before everything. Above her own personal thoughts and feelings. Even above the life of a friend.

While the requirements of the Code remained a mystery to Miranda, if it was in any way moral or just - which, by her conduct and character, Samara certainly seemed to evidence that it was - then there was no way in hell that the Code could have permitted something like, say, leaving the Collector Base intact.

The thought must have crossed Samara’s mind at some point, however reluctant she would have been to consider it. If Cerberus’s true intentions were sinister, and if Miranda and Shepard knew of those intentions, condoned them, and supported them, then no matter how close they had grown as friends, they would have to part as enemies. If they hadn’t destroyed that base, and if Miranda hadn’t turned her back on The Illusive Man when he showed his true colours, then the next time Samara saw them, she would probably have had to kill them.

It must have been a relief for Samara to know that that wasn’t the case, and to have her faith in her friends proven justified. A small smile tugged at Miranda’s lip, touched that Samara had believed in her right from the start, and taken the chance to get to know her, even knowing the risk that it could all have backfired.

Even if nothing else good came from learning the truth about Cerberus, seeing just how deeply Samara had trusted that Miranda would make the right decision if faced with a choice like that, even if it meant turning her back on Cerberus in order to do the right thing, was reward enough. Truthfully, Samara had believed that about Miranda long before Miranda would have believed it about herself.

“Anyway, we’re on our own now. I know Shepard has told The Illusive Man as much,” Miranda finished the thought, glancing over at Samara once more. “Have you given any thought to what you’ll do next?”

Her question caught Samara off guard. “...I...I had not,” Samara admitted. After gazing past her reflection for a moment, she stood a little straighter, hands clasped behind her back. “I have only one path to follow, and that is the Code. I would not have survived this day if the Goddess did not see a higher purpose for me - somewhere the need is very great. I will go wherever I am called.”

“But you don’t know where that is yet?” Miranda intuited.

Samara hesitated, her shoulders sinking slightly, evidently not used to feeling...aimless. “No. I do not. Although I have faith those answers will crystallise in time.”

“Well, if it helps, I may have a temporary solution…” Miranda began. “I haven’t talked this over with Shepard yet, but there are still several outstanding tasks we never got around to completing - leads from Cerberus, mostly. I know I’m no longer working for them, but now that we know we can’t trust them, I’d rather resolve these matters before they do. And, for the matters that don’t involve Cerberus, hey, at least we’ll still be helping people,” Miranda explained. It wasn’t lost on her that the fact she saw that as enough reason to act was evidence of just how much Shepard had rubbed off on her. She really had changed.

Samara said nothing, maintaining her focus dead ahead.

“I know that the mission you swore an oath to Shepard for is over, so you’re under no obligation to follow her any longer,” Miranda continued. “But, if you don’t currently have any plans, and it wouldn’t be in conflict with your Code, then, as second-in-command of this ship, allow me be the first to let you know that you’re more than welcome to stay here for as long as you want.”

Samara glanced up, her expression unreadable as she met Miranda’s eyes.

Miranda’s posture softened slightly, abandoning any pretext that this was a purely professional request. “I’d be extremely grateful if you stayed,” she admitted, not ready to say goodbye to their friendship just yet. Spending time in Samara’s company was the one thing she looked forward to more than anything else most days. “It wouldn’t be the same here without you.”

It really wouldn’t have been. Maybe nobody else would think of her the same way, but for Miranda, Samara was like the heart of The Normandy. She just had this...indescribable presence that radiated warmth and comfort. Without having to say a word, she had a way of brightening Miranda’s gloomiest days, and of showing Miranda the way when it felt like she was lost in the dark.

This room had become Miranda’s safe place, not because there was anything special about the Starboard Observation Deck, but because Samara was here, her door always open, for whatever she needed.

Judging from her reaction, Samara had not been expecting that invitation. An answer seemed to catch in her throat, as if she didn’t know how to respond. Miranda began to regret that perhaps she had sprung this on her too quickly, before she’d had enough time to recover from the mission, and plan that far ahead.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to put any pressure on you,” Miranda spoke gently, not so self-centred as to impose her wishes on Samara, especially if it placed her in an awkward position with respect to her Code. She respected her too much for that, no matter how much she would miss her. “I understand if you can’t--”

“No, I…” Samara interjected, shaking her head as if to clear the cobwebs that had slowed her usually sharp mind. “There is no conflict here. The Collectors may have been stopped, but the greater threat remains at large.”

“The Reapers,” Miranda stated on her behalf.

“Yes,” Samara confirmed, the weight of that ever-looming enemy lingering like a presence in the air. “Until such time as the Goddess calls me elsewhere, I would be honoured to continue to aid you.”

“Glad to hear it,” Miranda enthused, though despite being pleased by her response, it hadn’t escaped her notice that something was still...off about Samara. She couldn’t put her finger on it, exactly. Just something in her facial expressions, and the tone of her voice. She was right there beside her in the same room, yet it felt like she was a thousand miles away.

“Hey…” Miranda reached out, gently placing a hand on Samara’s back. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Miranda asked, her questioning more serious than before, perfectly willing to lend an ear to her friend if something was awry, just as Samara had so often been a confidant for her.

“It is kind of you to worry. But I am alright. It has simply...been an eventful day,” Samara assured her, summoning a smile, appreciating her concern. “I have kept you long enough. I should like to meditate alone for a while, if there is nothing you require of me.”

“Of course. Go ahead. And take as much time as you need to recover. The ship is going to get repaired tomorrow with or without you, even if I have to fix it myself,” Miranda promised, not at all surprised to think that Samara needed some space to regather her equilibrium and come to terms with the fact that they had survived the impossible. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“Thank you.” Samara stayed by the window as Miranda took her leave, the doors closing shut behind her.

If Miranda had stayed a few moments longer, she would have seen Samara’s masquerade fall as the hollowness returned her face, and her resolve crack as she reached out and braced herself against the wall to keep from crumbling.

All the certainty Samara had felt earlier that day had shattered like glass at her feet, a million little fragments scattered into the sand. For reasons she could not understand, she had emerged from her date with destiny unscathed.

Why? Why was she still here? What purpose did this serve?

Was this a punishment, perhaps? Was her penance for her sins incomplete? It had to be. Samara could find no other explanation that would suffice.

So, she had been arrogant, then. Celebrating too soon that which she did not yet deserve. It seemed a cruel joke to think of it now. She had found so much peace, tranquility and relief in the inevitability of her own end. But that release had been denied to her. And, now, instead of finding the courage to die with dignity, Samara now had to process that she had a far harder task ahead of her.

Somehow, someway, she had to find the strength to keep living.

* * *

#fic #mass effect #femslash #miranda lawson #samara

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years

Text

Beer Run (a Dean/Cas fic guest starring our kids from Lebanon, 2.3 k, Coda to 14x16 “Don’t Go In the Woods”)

Where will Dean go to get the beer Jack was unable to pick up? He's not going to bother the liquor store for a six-pack, thinking a quick stop at the convenience store will be enough. But is beer the only thing he'll pick up? There are three kids there who seem to have something heavier for Dean to carry home. It's too much, and Dean is forced to call someone to help lighten the load.

(Read on Ao3)

Dean parks in the first open spot he finds, tugging the key out half way through Zepp’s ‘Stairway to Heaven’. Lugging himself out from the car, he speeds across the street and over to the convenience store. There’s barely anyone inside, however he recognizes three familiar faces by the counter. Each turn to stare as he enters and Dean waves to them all. A cocktail of emotions spills across their faces when they recognize him. Stacy shudders, fear flashing in her eyes before hiding it staring at her feet. Max bites her lip, wariness translated by the set of her shoulders. Eliot can’t snuff out the fire before Dean sees it. Fists tightening at his sides, his scowl causes any further friendliness to die on his tongue.

He moves on, giving the teens a wide berth on his path to the beer. It’s takes longer than he’d like to find his brand, too distracted by the tense atmosphere. He chokes on it like thick smog off a bad engine. When he finally finds the case of El Sol, Dean could slice through it with his silver blade. It gets denser the closer he walks to the counter.

Three sets of eyes watch him place the beer down on the counter. “Don’t worry,” he says, chuckling awkwardly, “I have ID.” The joke falls flat, each teen staring as if it were a baby bird pushed from its nest too soon. Dean stops laughing and instead digs his wallet out. But, par the course, he can’t do it fast enough. And when he does, Dean fumbles it and drops it on the floor. “Sorry, I guess I have performance anxiety –“

“Where do you get off?”

Dean startles, Eliot’s growl drawing his attention. He juts his chin out, arms hanging out on his sides like he’s ready to take flight. Max and Stacy are taken aback in shock. Max reaches for him, whispering, “Eliot, it’s not worth it –“

“No, I think we deserve to hear what he has to say!”

Dean glances between the two, shrugging. “I mean, I guess when I get nervous I try and diffuse the situation using humor… they’re not my best jokes but –“

“You think this is a game?” Eliot asks, scoffing, “That’s not what I’m talking about!”

He sighs, hands out between them in case Eliot’s powder keg burst. “Listen, kid I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, right. Like he didn’t tell you.”

“Who?”

“Jack.”

His heart skips a beat, the pure acid with which Eliot spit his son’s name out burning. “What,” he breathes, “What about Jack?”

Max takes the reigns of the conversation then. “You’re serious,” she says, “You don’t know.”

Eliot keeps glaring. “Of course he knows, Max, they’re all in cahoots together –“

“Eliot,” she hisses, “Stop it!”

Dean’s blood pressure rises, the flippant tone scraping at his nerves. The two teens keep arguing, and he has to slam his palm against the counter to stop them. “Listen, I don’t know what happened with Jack, and I’m not gonna know unless one of you decides to tell me, so…”

They wait a long beat before someone decides to talk. It’s Stacy who steps forward. She clears her throat and bats away the hand Max floats her way. “We ran into him the other day, right here. He was sweet, kind of odd but… well, after you and your brother saved us we thought it might be nice to hang out with him. Jack doesn’t seem like he hangs out with anyone his age.”

Dean nods, Stacy’s assessment fair and true. As nice as her story starts, he knows there’s a turning point in it. Otherwise Jack would have told them what happened instead of letting it slip between the cracks.

“So we’re all hanging out and he’s… trying to toss this sword thing.”

“He wasn’t getting it,” Max tells him, “It was kind of depressing, he did it for hours saying he could get it.”

“And he did, eventually,” Stacy says, “After he… after Jack made it fly.”

Dean’s eyes widen, “No…”

“His eyes glowed bright gold,” Eliot says, “Like some kind of monster.”

“Hey,” Dean barks at him, voice hoarse with terror, “he is not a monster.”

“But he’s something,” Max says, “And after he hit his target he kept showing off. Made his knife go every which way, had it circle us like a wasp. We tried to get him to stop but he wouldn’t listen and then he… then he –“

Stacy grabs her hand, squeezing it tight within her own. “I ran and he… he stabbed me.” Dean’s instinct takes over and he goes to check her over, but she jumps back at his advancing touch. He stills before reeling himself in. “Jack healed me but… but…”

“Why are you letting him live?”

Dean experiences whiplash with how quick he rounds on Eliot. He can tell from his posture the younger boy doesn’t regret his word choice. “Excuse me?”

“You hunt monsters, don’t you?” he asks, “Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, demons… angels? How can you let someone with that much power walk around with normal people –“

“Hey, you don’t get to speak about him like that!”

“And why’s that?”

“Because he’s my son,” Dean snarls, “And I’ll be damned if you think he’s a monster just because of his powers. He’s done a lot of good, saved a bunch of people. Jack… he’s…” Dean loses steam, shoulders slumping in on themselves as the weight of their story sinks into him. “It’s our fault, and we’re sorry. I know Jack is and… I am too. He was without his powers for a while, but he got ‘em back and he was eager to prove his skill. It wasn’t intentional and we’re… we’re working on it.”

“Well I don’t care if he becomes a master, I don’t want him anywhere near us,” Eliot tells him, “Do everyone a favor and lock him away.”

He storms off before anyone could stop him, stomping towards the back of the store. Max looks between her friend and Dean, not sure whether to leave Stacy with him or stand guard. Stacy pushes the beer towards him. “Just take it,” she says, “Please.”

Dean swipes his wallet and pockets it, using his other hand to grab the beer. On his way out he hears Eliot shout to him. “The Ghostfacers were right – screw the Winchesters!” The barbed comment barely pierces the shell Dean crawled into throughout the conversation. He focuses on his breathing the entire walk back to his car.

Sliding into Baby, Dean doesn’t start the car. His fingers can barely hold onto his keys, they shake so fiercely. He grips the wheel and slams his forehead against the leather. His breaths become more and more shallow, until he works himself into a panic attack. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and he blindly searches for his phone. Dean pounds the number 2 and waits for the other end to pick up.

It’s barely past the first ring when Cas answers. “Dean? What are –“

“Cas,” he forces out between clenched teeth, “I need…”

“What do you need?”

“Talk me down, man. Please.” He’s desperate, weak, but Cas knows how to pick him up when he gets like this. Immediately his angel starts on a tangent about cows, having passed a dairy farm within the hour. From cows, Cas jumps to milk and other dairy products, discussing and ranking different cheeses. He asks Dean his opinion, and he does his best to answer. Once they move past that, Cas gets halfway through an argument about wine being the superior alcoholic drink before Dean can hear him without the tidal wave of his blood washing him out.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean stutters out, “I… I needed that.”

“I’m always here for you Dean. If I may ask, what happened?”

Dean leans back in his seat, carding his fingers through his hair. He whistles out a melancholy note before launching into the story. Cas remains silent through it all. “…I can’t help feeling that none of this would’ve happened if we were honest with Jack in the first place.”

He fiddles with the radio knob while waiting for Cas’s response. It’s a short beat before his angel speaks again. “Dean, you shouldn’t burden yourself with this.”

“A kid almost died –“

“But she didn’t,” Cas says, “Jack was able to heal her.”

“And what if he can’t do it the next time, Cas?” Dean cries, “We could end up with a Tombstone situation and when that happened he high tailed it out of there.”

“I think the only thing you can do now is watch out for Jack,” Cas starts, his deep rumble soothing the anxiousness in his mind. “There’s a reason he didn’t share this story with you, but you know now. You also know that he’s willing to lie about certain things so… maybe he won’t uphold his promise about using his powers.”

Dean bites back a gasp. “I… I didn’t even think of that.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Cas tells Dean, “This might not even be about his powers. This could have something to do with his… his lack of a soul.”

Kneading the space between his brows, Dean agrees with his angel. “It just worries me, y’know. Jack traumatized these kids, but I know he never meant to put them in harm’s way. We’ve been treating him like he’s human but Michael’s grace kind of… reset him, somehow. He’s practically a toddler, and we can only guess how this all affected him, what messed up ideas he absorbed.” Dean forces out a wet chuckle, “Can't even tell what he’s thinking nowadays…”

“Raising a child isn’t an easy thing, Dean.”

“I know,” he sighs, rubbing at his jeans now. His hands have flown all around his space, releasing all the nervous energy from his anxiety. Dean bites at his lip. “It’d be easier if you were here, though.”

Cas breathes out over the line. “I know.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Dean, I…” He knows nothing good will come with the next few words. “I don’t know.”

He tries to forces a smile, glancing up into the mirror at his ugly grimace. “Until the itch goes away, right?”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“I did call you in a panic, remember?”

“No, are you,” he drags it out, as if cherry picking the words from out the air, “were you okay with me leaving?”

In the comforting darkness, Dean finds no reason to lie. “I never am, Cas.”

“Dean?”

“Because I’m always wondering if you’re going to come back.” He never spoke his fears aloud, but they always existed. Hiding in the back of his mind, whispering and waiting for the moment Cas ultimately leaves. Dean figured that was over with, now that Michael was gone. They were waiting for him to forget, for him to feel truly happy before striking with vengeance. “I understand why you stay, when things are rough. And Sam was feeling better, Jack looked okay and I was free from Michael so we weren’t holding you back. Figured you might actually want to stay now that things were good and peaceful…”

“I’d like that as well,” Cas tells him, his voice bittersweet like a haunting love ballad.

“Then why don’t you?”

“I… I have my reasons.”

“Didn’t I give you enough of them to stay?” Early morning departures aren’t Dean’s specialty. Cas knew this, choosing it to make it easier for himself. Slipping out of their bed, gathering his duffel. Dean woke up though, caught him in the act. He couldn’t stop him though. But he hugged him tighter than he had before, clinging to his trench coat. Let his lips linger for longer than he does. Whispered a prayer for his safe return moments before slipping back into unconsciousness.

“Dean, believe me when I say that no matter where I go, I’ll always return home –“

“To the Bunker, I’ve heard it before, Cas –“

“No, Dean… the Bunker isn’t my home. You are.”

His heart leaps into his throat, choking out any noise.

“And before I can do that I need to see to a few things. Know that whatever I do, it’s to keep my family and my home safe, Dean.”

Dean covers his mouth with his hand, clearing his throat, doing anything to hide the delirious grin stretching across his features. “I… I trust you Cas, I do. You’re not going to share with the class though?”

“In time,” his angel says, “All I ask for is your patience.”

“Well you know better than anybody how much experience I have with that… especially when it comes to you.”

Cas chuckles, soothing the tight pit that gnawed at his stomach. “Thank you… and thanks for telling me.”

“Jack’s your son, too. Figured you’d wanna know.”

“I was talking about your true feelings… but yes, that as well.”

Dean blushes, “Cas…”

“Give him guidance, Dean, help him make the right decisions. I know you can do it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Until then.” Dean presses the end call button, tossing his phone to the side. It lands between the bench seat and his now warm beer. With the whirlwind of emotions tearing at his insides, Dean doesn’t care at what temperature he drinks his alcohol only that it does enough to knock him out. He’s already a little tipsy from his call with Cas.

It’ll be a long time before he allows himself the comforts of booze, though. When he gets home he and Sam will have a thorough conversation about Jack. He holds tight to the hope that it was a stumble and nothing more. A kid wanting to impress and biting off more than he could chew, it wouldn’t be a foreign concept to Dean. That thought sticks with him the entire drive back, other possibilities getting lost in the dust his Baby kicks up.

Dean doesn’t dare linger with them, in fear they’ll dislodge the already fragile scenario he has in place. If the truth is anything other than what he thinks, than Dean won’t know what to do.

And that’s scarier than all the monsters they faced.

#Supernatural #Spn #Spn14 #14x16 #Supernatural fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Spn coda #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfic #destiel coda #deancas coda

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caffeineivore · 5 years

Text

Cheer up emo fic!

For @vchanny-og. This will tie in with one of the fics I wrote for the @ssrevminibang. M/K. Rated a strong PG13 for brief mentions of sexual situations and a hint of violence.

The flashbulbs and paparazzi harassment she took as a fair trade-- a necessary evil for her background as well as her chosen profession. Even the gossipy tabloid stories, or anonymous, hurtful online comments and speculation. Morgan, having seen many a child actor and teen starlet fall from grace, stays out of the spotlight for the most part. No drugs, no inappropriate videos or pictures, no information on her personal life for the avid army of vultures online to devour and speculate over. It isn’t too difficult avoiding the paparazzi, either, when one lived in a Beverly Hills mansion surrounded by electronic gates and a dense circle of tall hedges, or when one was a minor working under the very protective wing of one Raven Huntley, nee Fletcher, whom Morgan was fairly sure could scare an armed robber into submission with little else than a scathing comment and a well-placed glare. Her agent was a nice lady, the way a fire-breathing dragon might have a soft underbelly, but it was well hidden under a generous layer of diamond-hard New York City sharpness.

The lack of privacy and the intrusive nature of the general public did not become an issue until she’d turned eighteen, and well on the international fashion circuit. The pretty hotels in Milan and Paris, picturesque though they certainly were, offered little protection against the outside world. The first time that she’d gotten manhandled by a particularly determined and sleazy paparazzo, she’d been eighteen. Raven had none-too-gently yanked the man off of her and driven the business end of her stiletto heel into the man’s instep before getting in his face and letting out a blistering diatribe lavishly peppered with F-bombs. The paparazzo had backed off, but Raven had ushered Morgan up to her room, barged in after her, and unplugged all electronic devices before making a sweep and checking for anything out of place. Whatever she might have thought of the incident, she did not say to Morgan at that particular moment, but she already had her phone to her ear before she’d even left the room with stern injunctions not to order room service, go online, or let anyone in that she didn’t know.

Whatever arrangements Raven must have made that night, Morgan had woken up three days later to a knock on the door. One glance through the peephole revealed her agent, and a tall stranger wearing a plain black suit.

Raven let herself in when she opened the door, but the man stood there for a moment, looking down the hall in what Morgan deemed to be an assessing sort of way before following Raven in and shutting the door behind him, taking the time to secure the chain latch as well as the lock. He was almost a head taller than Morgan’s willowy five-foot-nine, with wide shoulders and big hands, but what drew Morgan’s attention right away was his face, all watchful gray eyes and an impassive mouth and strong features, quite a departure from the fresh-faced, pretty male models she worked with on a regular basis. He had a square jaw and blond hair so pale it was close to silver, and a hint of an old break in an otherwise patrician nose saved him from being almost too handsome.

“Morgan, this is Kane Wallace. Kane, this is Morgan Austen. I’ve known him since we were kids, before our paths veered in completely different directions. He works for a security firm out of Manhattan these days, but I figure this would be a nice change of scene for him, and there’s no one I’d trust more. You need a security detail, and someone who’d not only be able to make sure no one gets to you out in public, but won’t sell you out to the top buyer, if you get my drift. Kane’s mom and my dad were in law school together, back in the day, and we pretty much grew up in the same circles. He went to West Point and I went to NYU, and we lost touch for a while, but… here we are, and here we go.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Austen.”

He has a deep, measured voice, and wherever he might have been between West Point and a boutique Parisian hotel, he’d lost the New Yorker accent that still rang, sharp as a chime, in Raven’s voice. Morgan smiles, and offers her hand, and his fingers are rough and warm against hers.

“You can just call me Morgan. If we’re to work together, we should be on easy terms. May I call you Kane, or do you prefer Mr. Wallace?”

“Kane is fine, Miss Austen.”

Morgan’s quite sure that he caught the eye roll she’d given Raven at that, but Kane doesn’t say anything, and if she’d have known that fateful meeting would ultimately change the whole course of her life, perhaps she would have been more nervous, or excited. But at the age of eighteen, the supermodel daughter of a Hollywood A-Lister, meeting a man who’d become her security detail was nothing more or less than just a matter of course, a fact of life. So she’d mustered up her cheekiest grin, tilted her head to the side, and beamed up at him with all the power of a megawatt heat lamp. “Well, hopefully this is the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship, Beefcake. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

He didn’t so much as crack a smile in response.

“Awww. I just got a text from Zack. Him and Noah just landed at Heathrow.”

“That’s good. I’m glad they made it safely to their destination.”

“Don’t you think it’s romantic, Beefcake? This grand gesture he’s doing, this love at first sight thing. I really hope it pans out for our boy.”

“I’m sure he’s happy to have you in his corner, Miss Austen.”

It’s been five years, two months and ten days, and perhaps three hours since Morgan had first met Kane Wallace, and if that made her a bit like the one girl in Love Actually, she’s resigned to the fact. Kane does know that she exists, of course. But the chances of anything, even a hot makeout session that amounts to nothing, ultimately, are probably even slimmer. She’s turning twenty-four in six days, and he still calls her Miss Austen at least fifty percent of the time, and it would probably be infuriating if that buttoned-up propriety wasn’t such an intrinsic part of his disposition that it’d be a bit hard to it wouldn’t be fair to take it personally. She can’t help but needle him a bit, though. Certainly no one else would have the nerve to call him something so ridiculous as Beefcake to his face.

They have fallen into a comfortable routine at this point-- he’s never far, whether she’s home or out, in LA or Milan or some picturesque tropical beach for a photoshoot. She has a sometimes-brutal schedule, going between sessions with the personal trainer and photoshoots and fittings and interviews, making the necessary appearances at the necessary well-publicised premieres and galas. He’s always in the background, as unobtrusive as a broad-shouldered, six-foot-three man wearing a dark suit and an earpiece could possibly be, and if he’s ever felt that the long days and the jet lag wore on him in any way, he certainly never says so. The one time, perhaps two years ago, that Morgan had apologized about a particularly long and strenuous photoshoot, he’d simply said that military training had prepared him for a lot worse, and then managed to somehow find her a Döner kebab stand still open despite the late hour. It wasn’t quite LA taco truck fare, but at midnight, still fighting jet lag and after a day of Luna bars and low-cal Vitamin Water in between grueling costume and makeup changes, it had been the best thing she’d ever tasted.

And if she’s come to depend on him in far more than just as hired muscle to get rid of creepy paparazzi or overly-enthusiastic fans, or if she finds herself thinking about him in ways that aren’t at all professional, that’s no one’s business or problem but her own.

She smiles up at him, wondering if he knows-- notices-- that it’s not quite the same smile that she always gives the cameras and the reporters and the fans, not even the same smile that she reserves for friends like Zack or Noah. “At least it will be an easy day for us today. Just one appointment. Ace Kato has a waiting list the length of my leg of models who want in on his photoshoots. I’m honestly shocked that he picked me out of the pile.”

He glances down, just for the space of a second, at her comment, from the bottom hem of her breezy yellow skirt to the no-nonsense red pedicure on her toes, but when he looks up again, he’s not smiling. “I’ll be right outside the studio door if you need me.”

The ‘easy day’ ends in disaster in very short order, after Kato corners her in the dressing room between costume changes and puts his hands on her naked back, all while smarmily whispering against her neck that he could take her career to new, astronomical heights, if she’d meet him halfway. The insinuation is obvious, and the slap Morgan delivers to his face is reflexive and shocks her as much as him. A moment later, Kane is in the room-- Morgan doesn’t even have time to wonder how, precisely, he made it through the electronically-locked door-- and pulling the photographer off of her the way a wolf might drag off a deer by its neck. It’s a blur after that, sort of-- somehow, she’s bundled up into the back of her driver’s car, and Raven, not a cuddler by any stretch of the imagination, is holding onto her the way a protective mother might soothe an injured baby chick, smoothing down her hair with one manicured hand even as she barked into her phone, clearly on the line with the agency’s in-house counsel.

“It’ll be a settlement, probably. No one wants to drag this through a courtroom shit show. But as of this minute, no one in any of our offices will work with him ever again. It’s doubtful that he’ll press charges, even if Kane did break his jaw while pulling him off of you. I’m cancelling your appointments for the rest of the week.”

Morgan holds it together all the way home, waves off her assistant and the housekeeper and even her mother, all of whom have heard some heavily edited but possibly exaggerated version of what had gone down, and goes for a bubble bath complete with candles and wine, and it’s only after she’s bundled up in her robe alone in her room, skin pruney from the too-hot water and hair a wet and tangled mess over pillowcases meant for dry-cleaning only that it hits her. And with his usual quietly uncanny timing, Kane knocks on the door, and even as she opens it, she smells the distinct scent of fresh Animal-style In-n-Out fries-- her favourite comfort food as a child-- and that’s when the tears come.

Without any question, the housekeeper will have something awful to say the next morning about greasy fries on the furniture, but neither of them are worried about that at the moment, and though it takes perhaps a minute or two, Kane eventually steps forward instead of back, and certainly she’s looking her worst just then-- wet and bedraggled, without a speck of makeup, wearing nothing but a fuzzy pink bathrobe. She’s also undoubtedly getting tears and snot on his shirt, but for a man of few words who rarely even smiles, his arms are strong and gentle just as she’d always imagined, and the rumble of his breathing and heartbeat, steady and low beneath her cheek, is what finally calms her down. Her hands are clenched around handfuls of his shirt and he sits her down on the bed, brings her the now-cold fries, and makes her eat them, not stepping back until she manages a ghost of a smile.

“Raven said you broke his jaw.” Her voice is slightly scratchy around a mouthful of messy sauce and potato. An ominous glint enters Kane’s eye, and he raises his chin.

“Might have. Would’ve done worse, too, if I had to.”

“I know.” He doesn’t speak much on his background, though he’d mentioned before that he had decided against making a career out of the military due to a dislike of politics and killing people on the orders of people with selfish motives. Nonetheless, if nothing else, she knows that Raven would not have appointed him to this role were he not anything less than completely capable, and in this case, capable might as well have meant deadly. Kane still walks like a soldier, and scans a room and its occupants the way an officer might, and in those last few moments, the arms that had held her had been hard and solid as steel. “This is so hard.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down at the spotless plush carpet underneath their feet. “You’re entitled to whatever measures you must take to recover and heal. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, earlier.”

He couldn’t have been there any earlier unless he’d had superpowers and teleported into the room. As it stands, Morgan’s still fairly sure he’d broken down the door, but she wasn’t even referring to that, at least not completely. She laughs, but it’s a hollow, almost desperate sound. “Kato’s a creep who will get his ass sued and blackballed, but he’s just one of many creeps in the world. I’m not going to let a creep ruin anything more than one day out of my life. But it’s so hard to be around you and act normal and not like I’ve been trying to fall out of love with you for the last few years, because I can act normal around you, unlike everyone else, and you don’t care if I’m looking pretty or acting charming or if I’m a mess, and you’re the only one who always knows what I need. And I have no business even having this conversation with you. It’s not fair, and I’d be no better than Kato, using his position to coerce something out of another person.”

His breath escapes in a stutter, and Morgan doesn’t have it in her, just at that moment, to look up into his face, see consternation in those usually-unflappable features, or hear any hasty apologies. This, too, shall pass. She is Morgan Grace Austen, born and bred to handle anything life threw her way with a perfect smile on her face, and she’s already cried once today in his presence. It takes every bit of practiced poise she can muster, but she manages to square her shoulders, turn away with her head held high. “I’d like to be alone, now. Please. I will be quite safe.”

He doesn’t make a sound, exiting the room and shutting the door behind him, but the solitude of her space without him in it weighs in the air like the gloom before a cold rain.

One can almost always find the strength to carry on, and moreover, this day had been inevitable since the day they’d first met, all those years ago. Morgan finds herself able, after a sleepless night and a day of avoidance, to act almost normal again around him. She’s cordial, and so is he, and both of them cautiously never mention the incident, and if he notices that she is careful not to needle him or call him Beefcake or touch him in any way, he doesn’t remark upon it. But she feels the weight of his eyes on her, always watchful and protective but hotter, heavier somehow at odd moments. She throws herself into work and gets a contract as the spokesmodel for an up-and-coming cruelty-free cosmetics brand, and shoots a series of PSAs against bullying in schools and online. Her twenty-fourth birthday comes and goes without much fanfare, though she throws the expected no-expenses-spared party for the occasion, inviting along a few dozen of the most tolerable and non-problematic of the glitterati for an evening of champagne and fancy finger foods in an exclusive club. Heavy security keep out enterprising paparazzi, but Morgan does select and sell one carefully-taken group selfie to People Magazine and arrange to donate the proceeds to a charity benefiting victims of sexual assault.

True to Raven’s predictions, Ace Kato settles out of court, and though no details of the case are leaked, his demand and popularity as a fashion and celebrity photographer seem to vanish almost overnight. Raven makes a few scathing comments that he would soon be leaving town in disgrace and perhaps end up taking baby pictures in a Sears somewhere.

The new year comes and brings with it the usual flurry of activity in Hollywood as Awards season kicks off and the deep, intellectual films of the winter months-- a far cry from the CGI-and-explosions-laden summer blockbusters-- have their premieres.

Kane takes a week around Christmas as personal time, and travels off to some unknown destination, returning the day after New Year’s preoccupied and morose, though still impeccably polite and considerate and thorough. Morgan lets it go for all of two days before she corners him, and plainly asks him what is wrong.

He hedges, and looks down at his phone, and Morgan knows that she’s pouting by that point and doesn’t care. “You know everything there is to know about me, Beefcake. Down to how much Chipotle I scarf down every time Shark Week rolls around and how much I secretly hate Pilates to the fact that I still can’t watch The Lion King without crying. You can tell me what’s wrong with you for a change. Give me something to do to help.” He’s wearing a cotton t-shirt rather than the usual perfectly pressed button-down underneath a suit jacket, and of their own volition, her fingers curl into the soft cloth, wrinkling it. “Let me in. Please.”

He wraps his hands around her slim wrists, wide palms warm and calloused against her skin, but doesn’t pull her hands off of him, and acquiesces.

C’est La Vie is the type of arthouse film with a limited release, produced by some bigshot actor and featuring the usual dichotomy of virtual unknowns in leading roles and cinematography dreamy and lush as a French Impressionist painting. Morgan does not generally attend these premieres-- they inevitably run late, and she unfailingly gets cornered by either pretentious auteurs looking for a Muse du jour or well-meaning but nosy pillars of the industry from her mother’s generation, at least as inquisitive about her personal life as the most determined of the paparazzi, and more likely to be closer to the mark with it. But this evening is, as she admits to herself, a labour of love.

The gown that she has on is golden silk, Yves Ste. Laurent couture, and she’s got a good ten carats of yellow diamonds dangling on her neck and ears. But the question that Morgan gets asked the most, down the stroll of this red carpet, is who is the frail old lady there with her, hooked up on oxygen and being pushed in a wheelchair?

“She’s a friend of a friend, and she’s never been to Hollywood before.” She gives the answer with a warm smile for the cameras, and though she’s certainly wearing impractical shoes for the occasion and her entourage is not far off, she pushes the wheelchair the whole way herself, bending down periodically to make sure that the occupant-- Kane’s grandmother, Doris, is comfortable.

There’d been a lot of strings to pull, important people in the industry to sweet-talk, but ultimately, Morgan had prevailed in her goal. They’re seated quite close to the front, and on Doris’ other side is a legend, recognizable even though his black tie differs quite a bit from the rugged garments he’d worn in some of his most famous roles.

“My, my, aren’t you Mister Harrison Ford?” Doris whispers, the blush on her papery cheeks as charming as a schoolgirl’s. “You were my favourite, when I was younger. That Han Solo was such a dashing rapscallion.”

“Why, yes I am.” Harrison winks over Doris’ head at Morgan; this seating arrangement had been cleared with his people well in advance of this evening, and comes as no surprise. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

The movie premiere is surprisingly enjoyable, and by the end of the evening, Doris has opened up to the actor and the two are chatting away like old friends. They don’t attend any after-parties, but Morgan pours Doris a half-glass of Dom Perignon and toasts her happiness, and at a perfectly decent hour, takes Doris back home. The private plane will take Doris, in the end stages of heart failure, back to Upstate New York in the morning, to begin hospice care.

The limo ride back is mostly quiet, and for a moment, Morgan thinks that Doris might have fallen asleep, but Kane’s grandmother coughs, then looks at her with eyes that might have gone rheumy and soft with age but are the same shade of gray as her grandson’s. “You’re a nice young lady, Miss Austen. I can see why he loves you so.”

Morgan can smile and laugh on command, but she can’t control the quick gasp, the heat creeping up her neck and face. “He’s become… a friend. We’ve known each other for six years now. But surely you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not worried about hospice care, much as Kane might fret over it. It will be peaceful, you see. I’m hoping to live long enough to watch the leaves change colour-- sorry, dear, but California autumns have nothing on the East Coast, but if that isn’t meant to be, I’ll be seeing Kane’s grandfather again soon. He looks just like my husband did when he was young, too, though Calvin’s eyes were green. He’s a good boy.” Doris reaches across the aisle of the limo, pats the back of Morgan’s hand with her quavery fingertips. “I’m glad that he won’t be alone. He’s always been such an independent boy, but it doesn’t do for one to have no one to share their hearts and lives with.”

Doris leaves the next day, and Kane goes with her, and though Morgan throws herself into work for the next four days, his absence feels like a void in the center of her world. She wraps up some ad-work for the cosmetic brand, makes a brief appearance on one of the late shows. Needless to say, in the space of a five-minute interview, she gets questioned about her unusual guest to the movie premiere, but she keeps it simple, stating that it’s a friend of a friend, shamelessly invoking Harrison Ford and stating to the host, charmingly, that certainly many women would love to meet Han Solo and Indiana Jones himself before they passed, and she couldn’t blame her friend one bit. Of course, as is expected, the host segues into asking her about her own love life, and Morgan simply smiles.

“Of course I love somebody. I love a lot of people. For a lifestyle and a career that could be built out of artifice, I feel like I am blessed to know some of the best people, as friends, or colleagues, or associates. I am the luckiest girl in the world, and it has absolutely everything to do with the people I love, and not my work or my connections.” Somehow, she knows that Kane will watch this segment, though he is hundreds of miles away, and the smile she aims for the camera is the one she generally reserves for him, alone.

She arrives home from that studio appearance the same day as Kane, though he flies commercial and lands a good two hours after her. She’s slightly jet-lagged, and relaxing in her wing of the house in her pajamas when he comes in, looking far too good for someone who’s just left a loved one to their final rest and flown from coast to coast. Morgan clasps her hands together so they don’t reach for him, but just for a moment, after he greets her-- Morgan, for once, and not Miss Austen-- his eyes soften almost imperceptibly, and that alone gives her the courage to clear the air.

“I owe you an apology, I think.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why would you say that?”

“Because… I promised myself, long ago, before I met you, that I would never take advantage of anyone who worked for me in any capacity. That I wouldn’t overstep my bounds, either in thought or action, because so many people do, and get away with it, and that’s just not fair.” She has to be honest with him-- he deserves no less than the complete truth, and if her smile is shaky at the corners, she at least still manages to look him in the eye. “I can’t not love you. It’s not possible. But I won’t do anything out of line. You have my word, and I’m a woman of my word.”

“I know.” He steps closer, almost too close. He smells fresh, not at all like someone who had just been sitting in a tin can breathing recycled air for hours. “I’m generally a man of my word, too. But I think I’m about to break it.”

Before she can asks him what he means, he reaches for her, and takes her hands in his. Her hands are slim and dainty, currently sporting a shimmery pink manicure and a Pandora bracelet. His are tanned and wide, with rough palms and a utilitarian black watch, and his fingers are warm wrapped around hers. “I promised myself, when I took on this job, that I’d never touch you. That I would never even think to put my hands on you, or behave in any way that could be construed as unprofessional.” He tugs her in, then lets go of her left hand to cup her cheek, and she’s almost close enough to count his eyelashes one by one, and her breath catches somewhere between her throat and her lips. “I’m about to break that promise. And, speaking of, I quit.”

Before she can say anything in response, his mouth is on hers, and he doesn’t kiss her in the gentle, easygoing way of a casual but enjoyable date. He hauls her in, lifting her slightly off her feet as his lips all but devour hers, as though she’s his air and water, one hand cupping her nape as the other anchors at the base of her spine. She feels herself moan, but the sound of it is blushingly wanton in the quiet of the room even as she sinks her fingers into his shockingly soft hair.

It could have stopped there, maybe, if this hasn’t been building for so long, so intensely. But neither of them seem capable of letting the other person go. She goes for his shirt buttons first, ripping one off in awkward frustration as her nails get in the way, but then he laughs and lifts her up and carries her into her room, kicking the door shut behind them between more kisses-- on her lips, tracing a path from her jaw and down the length of her neck. Her own bed feels new somehow when he joins her on it, but he doesn’t touch her until she reaches up and kisses him again. She knows that he knows that she’s never slept with anyone before, and yet, after sharing everything else in the last six years, it doesn’t even feel awkward when he slides the last few pieces of clothing off her shoulders and legs. Morgan’s not self-conscious as a rule-- certainly, in the name of fashion, she’s been photographed wearing some fairly risque pieces before, often in the company of strangers, but she finds herself looking up into his face timidly as his eyes rake over the length of her, from the blonde hair fanned out over her pillows to the toes curling into the sheets.

“God. You’re the most fucking beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.” His words are blunt and a bit abrupt, but it coaxes a smile out of her, and then his mouth and hands are wandering over her bare skin, and there’s no time to overthink it any more.

Much later, as night falls over Los Angeles, Morgan cuddles into his side, feeling slightly sleepy and warm and very, very loved. “You quit, hmm, Beefcake?” It should feel awkward to tease him when she might have possibly squealed his name at an inopportune moment in the recent past, but then again, she’s never felt more safe or comfortable than when they’re together, so maybe things hadn’t changed so much, after all. “I guess you must, for the sake of both our reputations.”

“I quit working for you. I’ll never quit protecting you, whether or not I get paid to do so. I can do remote work on security systems or whatever. That’s all just details to figure out.” He tugs her close and runs his fingers down the length of her bare back, and she leans into the touch like a cat. “Go to sleep. We can figure this out in the morning.”

“Mmm. You’re warm. You don’t snore or talk in your sleep, do you?”

“If I do, too bad. You’re stuck with me.” He presses a soft kiss to her temple and tugs the covers up over them. “I love you, Morgan Austen. I figure now’s the time to finally say it aloud.”

She feels her mouth curve into a smile against the skin of his shoulder. “I love you too, Beefcake. And now’s the perfect time.”

He doesn’t snore or talk in his sleep, but he doesn’t let go of her all night, and he’s still holding her close when she wakes up in the morning. Morgan opens one eye, texts her assistant to cancel her hair appointment, and curls back up into his arms. Today, she’s sleeping in.

#vchanny-og #m/k #fanfiction #fanfic #senshi/shitennou #sailor moon

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