#the daughter feels defined by said relationship?

[eyestrain-addict]

Iwtv s2 ep2 spoilers

My thing I'm wondering is that in the promos/trailers claudia screams that Louis "picked another one over me" but in this episode she's encouraging louis to live outside of her and pursue a romance with Armand. I wonder what's going to change in the next few episodes.

[ripclaudia]

it is such an eye roll moment whenever someone says roman x gerri is toxic because gerri is a cradle robber. she’s the head lawyer of their father’s company. she was running around putting out fires not changing their diapers

yeah exactly this. obviously we don't know the full reality of what gerri's role in the roy kids' life has been, but implying that she has somehow been an extra maternal figure for them or some sort of a babysitter is just ridiculous. at most i can accept her sorting out the legalese whenever a kid got in real trouble, but she has definitely not been someone to watch over the kids while the men are working. while their respective positions in the waystar circle definitely add an interesting layer to their relationship and the fact they've been around each other for a long time is a part of that, assuming that it automatically means some sort of a deep decades-long relationship is just stupid and makes zero sense to who gerri is as a character.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Creature Feature.

Yandere: Yandere!Miguel x Reader.

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulation, Mentions of Non-Human Anatomy, Obsessive Behavior, and Rough Sex.

You weren’t sure when you decided the man living in your house and fathering your daughter was not your husband.

It might’ve been last week, when you caught him sitting in his unlit study hours after he’d promised he would come to bed, his eyes glowing vaguely red as he fiddled with a device you didn’t recognize with tools you’d never seen him use, before. It might’ve been two months ago, when Gabi’s teacher called you into a conference to discuss your daughter’s worrying new obsession with spiders and superheroes and the holographic women that, if what she’s been telling her classmates is to be believed, read her bedtime stories when her father wasn’t home. It might’ve been that first night – when he came home from work hours late and doting a black eye, missing the glasses you would never see him wear again and too shell-shocked to do anything more than stand in Gabi’s doorway and let you fuss over him. You’d done everything you should’ve, kissed his cheek and begged him to tell you what happened and pretended to believe him when he said there’d been an accident at the research facility, but it hadn’t felt right, hadn’t felt like it would’ve if you’d been taking care of the man you’d loved for most of your life.

And, when he snapped out of his daze long enough to drag you into his arms and pull you into a kiss more forceful than anything your Miguel would’ve been capable of, you couldn’t help but shudder, but draw back when his hands started to drift lower and he proved to share your husband’s instability, if only that. That was what made the final decision, really. He wasn’t your husband, but it wasn’t as if you couldn’t see a glimmer of something you recognized when you looked at him.

Or, it wasn’t as if you couldn’t normally see a glimmer of something you recognized.

Right now, you knew the man on top of you was a total stranger.

He wasn’t Miguel. He couldn’t have been. Miguel would never hold you so tightly, never dig his fingertips so deeply into your waist, never be so determined to keep you so suffocatingly close to him. His nails would never be so sharp – pointed claws piercing your skin, drawing blood that dripped down your sides and pooled on the sheets beneath you – and he’d never been so massive, either, bulging muscle lining his arms, his defined chest heaving with every ragged breath and strangled moan, both a far cry from the borderline malnourished lab-rat that was the love of your life. His face was malformed, misshapen; curved fangs poking past his parted lips, distorting the shape of his mouth and leaking drops of luminescent venom that fell onto your chest and coated everything they touched with the same numbing, buzzing static. Even his eyes – the eyes you’d always loved, the eyes you would’ve known if nothing else of your husband remained – were gone, drowned out by the shadows cast over his face, the darkness you couldn’t seem to shake when he was around. What little remained was tinted red and bloodshot, pushed miles past the point of remote familiarity. You’d let this stranger, this thing into your home. You’d let him drive your daughter to school, look after her when she was sick.

You hadn’t let him fuck you, but he was fucking you, and you hadn’t been able to stop him.

The sounds he was making were awful, too. Your husband had been adorably shy, prone to biting his tongue and repeating your name over and over and over again, as if the feeling of your cunt milking his cock made it impossible to remember anything else. This Miguel was, in comparison, couldn’t seem to stop making those terrible noises; throaty grunts and airy moans spilling past his lips, only partially muffled by your skin as he buried his face in the curve of your throat. One of his hands fell to your thighs, curling around it and forcing your knee against your chest, making it so he could force himself that much deeper into you, so he could thrust into you with that much more raw strength. You were glad Gabi was staying at a friend’s, tonight. Her room was next to yours, and you would’ve been surprised if there was an apartment in your building that couldn’t hear your headboard beating against the wall, couldn’t make out every pitchy rise and fall of the drawn-out whine choked out of some deep, vulnerable pocket in your chest as he buried those pointed fangs in the crook of your neck.

You felt him force something into you, your vision blurring as the blood seemed to smolder in your veins. Suddenly, the feeling of his pelvic bone catching on your clit was unbearable, your own slick now burning as it dripped down your thighs. It wasn’t a whine you let out, this time, but a sob – ragged and broken, hitched as it emerged from uncooperative lungs and further fractured by the way his chest pressed into yours as he straightened his back, as he drew back just far enough to smile down at you, to let those cruel eyes go soft and half-lidded. “Oh, mi amor…” You didn’t notice you were crying until his hand cupped your face, until his thumb swiped over your cheek and came away wet. “I could fall in love with you all over again.”

Your husband would never say that. Your husband would never imply that there ever could’ve been a world where he wasn’t in love with you, that there ever could’ve been a life he would’ve led that wouldn’t feature you at its center. Your husband would never grow fangs and claws and force himself on you with all the care and tenderness of a rampaging monster. Your husband—

Your husband wasn’t here.

Your husband wasn’t here, and it didn’t seem like he’d ever be coming back.

You curled into yourself, sobbing unabashedly. Miguel (or, whatever the creature on top of you called himself) welcomed your devastation with open arms, leaning back and pulling you onto his lap, bouncing you on his cock as a low, reverberating purr sparked in the base of his throat and filled what little empty space was left in your bedroom. He watched on as you scrambled to wrap your arms around his neck, letting out a breathy laugh as he nuzzled into the dip of your shoulder and went on. “Fucking beautiful,” he groaned, his cock practically throbbing against the walls of your cunt. “I don’t know how I got by without you. I’m never—” A fractured moan, the tips of pointed teeth ghosting over your jugular. “I’m never letting you leave my side again.”

It was a promise, a threat, spoken with enough dedication to send a cold shudder up the length of your spine. You only realized your mouth had fallen open when you heard your own voice, distant and distraught. “Who... who are you?”

Some part of you expected him to devolve, for what was left of his disguise to fall away and reveal rows upon rows of jagged teeth that would tear into your skin, countless eyes that would stare you down like some trapped insect, half a dozen more arms and hands he could use to grab and grope and pull and maim. You expected blood to spill by the bucketful, flesh to melt away like candlewax, rough edges and broken anatomy and all the terrible monstrosities that had to be lingering inside of a creature like him. You expected all the worst things you could possibly imagine, but in the end, what you got was so, so much worse.

His manic grin melted into a softened smile. He pressed another open-mouthed kiss into your throat before pulling away, staring down at you with more love than anything human could’ve spared. “I’m your husband.” And then, again, as he settled so deeply inside of you, you could only pray you’d be able to forget the feeling of him, one day.

“I’m yours.”

[spicyhamsamson]

I am. So fucking tired of Batman being portrayed as a bad parent and a toxic person. And it’s so goddamn widespread. Fuck, it might be as bad as the whole “Superman being a kindhearted Boy Scout is boring” take.

I get it, the man’s not exactly stable, he watched his parents get murdered in front of him and spent years of his life training to fight crime dressed like a giant scary bat, of course he’s not perfect.

But to say that Bruce Wayne isn’t caring, isn’t empathetic, to call him abusive…it just misses the point of who the character is to me.

Why do you think he fights crime? Yes, part of it is because he’s bitter and sad because his parents were cruelly ripped from him as a child, and he’s lashing out against the corruption of his city. It’s arguably the focus of his earlier years. But he learns to become more than that. He learns to bring hope, a chance to be better.

Harleen Quinzel is the Joker’s right hand lady, but she’s also a victim of an abusive relationship and a woman with a surprisingly strong moral compass and a love for animals, and wants to get better. That’s why we see time and time again that he has a noticeable soft spot for her, because he knows that she’s a good person at her core.

Harvey Dent is a man who will decide someone’s fate on a coin toss(and a pretty inaccurate depiction of DID), but he’s also Bruce’s close friend who clearly needs help learning to live with his condition, rather than try to get rid of it, and someone who he still goes out of his way to visit, even after everything, because he recognizes he’s not just a criminal with a weird gimmick, he’s a man who is struggling with a condition that he’s mishandled his whole life.

Victor Fries is a cold, emotionless man who will callously discard allies and blame them for being careless, but he’s also a man who’s either lashing out because he had the love of his life taken from him, or just desperate to make sure she isn’t taken from him, and is willing to do anything just to guarantee her survival. Of course Batman would understand, his whole life was defined by having people he loved taken away from him.

Even the Joker, arguably one of the most morally bankrupt characters in all of fiction, is someone that Batman has offered a chance to. After the guy shoots the daughter of his friend, a girl he cared for like she was his own kid, and paralyzes her from the waist down, he tells the Joker that he doesn’t want to hurt him. He wants to get him help. He looks at this monster who has taken countless lives and says “You don’t have to be alone.”

For fuck’s sake, he sat with Joe Chill in his last moments so that he wouldn’t be alone. Joe Chill, the man who murdered his parents, who took so much from him, the person responsible for all of the misery and suffering he’s gone through. And he sits with the man to comfort him while dies. Do you know how much emotional intelligence and maturity that must take? To comfort someone who arguably ruined your life?

And you’re gonna tell me the man who did that would abuse his kids?

That he’d hold up the young man whose death was his greatest failure, the boy he grieved, and say this?

That he’d look his goddamn son in the eyes and say this to him?

Why the FUCK do you think he took in Dick Grayson in the first place? It wasn’t because he saw the kid and thought “Ah. A potential soldier.”, it was because he saw a boy experiencing the same heartbreaking loss he had so many years ago, and wanted to make sure he didn’t end up as bitter and miserable as he was.

Why do you think he smiled when Tim Drake presented him a broken watch for Father’s Day? Because he was just happy to see the boy alive and safe.

DAMIAN LITERALLY POINTED AT A COW AND SAID “I’m keeping her. She’s Bat-Cow.” AND BRUCE JUST WENT WITH IT. DIDN’T EVEN NEED TO ARGUE WHY BRUCE SHOULD LET HIM KEEP HER. HE SAID “this cow is my pet now” AND BRUCE SAID “aight, bet”.

The thing about Batman is that he wants to make sure nobody else ends up feeling the way he does. That’s not just about stopping a mugger so a boy’s parents aren’t gunned down. It’s about giving his loved ones the support and care that he couldn’t have, because it was taken from him. It’s about comforting someone who just went through a traumatic experience and letting them know that they’re going to be okay. It’s about going to someone locked away in a cell who thinks that they’re a lost cause and a burden to society and telling them that he wants to help them get better. It’s about EMPATHY and COMPASSION.

That’s what makes him a HERO. He’s meant to inspire us, to show us that we can have that same empathy for others around us, that we can turn our suffering into hope for a better future.

I just wish more people at DC would start recognizing that. But I might as well follow that example myself. Maybe through this struggle of having to see this hero mistreat the people around him and act like a grade-A jackass, people will start to recognize that missing compassion, and slowly but surely, it might come back. After all, what is this post, if not trying to bring attention to the matter in the hopes of fixing it?

[lecsainz]

Hi! I love the way you write and you seem really sweet. No one really answers my requests so I’m not expecting you to😂. Why not try tho. Can I get a Clarisse La Rue x Fem! Half blood Reader. And the head cannons of our relationship and really go and do what you want with it. I love her sm and really want a good bit of head cannons of her.

I’m sorry if this sounds rude at all lol. I’m not trying to be.

HOLDING YOUR HAND

parings: clarisse la rue x fem!half-blood!reader

summary: that one where you date clarisse and what your relationship with her is like.

an: awww, thank you! you seem like an AMAZING person too, seriously! I loved your request, hope it turned out the way you wanted 😁 (note: I didn't specify which greek god the reader was because I didn't know if you wanted a specific one).

( my last work || my last work for riodanverse || main masterlist )

You and Clarisse have known each other since you first arrived at camp.

It took about two weeks for you to gather the courage to approach the daughter of Ares, which was odd for you because you were a social butterfly.

Clarisse wouldn't admit it, but she found it amusing when you came up to her and started to stutter, and to this day, whenever she remembers, she teases you about it.

After your first conversation, where you asked her to teach you sword fighting since you only knew how to use a bow and arrow until then, Clarisse gladly accepted. Her condition was that she'd only teach you if you joined her team in Capture the Flag, considering you were one of the best - if not the best, in Clarisse's words - at the camp.

Thanks to the training sessions, you and Clarisse began to bond as friends.

You talked about everything and nothing simultaneously. Clarisse felt she could be herself around you, knowing you wouldn't judge her.

Even if Clarisse was in the midst of a fight or giving orders alongside her half-siblings, she would stop as soon as she saw you, to come over for a conversation or to give you a hug.

She doesn't remember when she started feeling something for you, but she got scared that you might not feel the same and ended up distancing herself.

"Hey, Clarisse," you began tentatively, trying to keep your tone light yet concerned. "Mind if I join you?" She glanced up, surprise flickering across her features before settling into a guarded expression. Nodding silently, she gestured to the empty spot beside her. Sitting down, you couldn't ignore the tension radiating from her. "You've been a bit distant lately. Is everything alright?" Her gaze softened, a mix of emotions swirling in her eyes – a blend of vulnerability and the stubbornness that defined her. "It's nothing, just camp stuff," she shrugged, trying to brush it off. You tilted your head, offering a small smile. "You know, you can talk to me about anything. I'm here if you need someone to listen." Clarisse sighed, her guard starting to crack as she looked away, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her shirt. "I just... I thought maybe I was getting too close. Didn't want things to get... complicated." Her vulnerability caught you off guard, but you reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Complicated how?" She hesitated, eyes darting back to yours, her expression a mix of confusion and a touch of fear. "I... I started feeling something... and I was afraid you didn't feel the same." Your heart skipped a beat as her words sank in. "Clarisse, I..." You searched for the right words, hoping to convey what you hadn't said before. "I've enjoyed every moment we've spent together. You mean a lot to me." She met your gaze, her walls crumbling slightly, allowing a glimpse of vulnerability to shine through. "Really?" "Yeah," you nodded earnestly. "Really." A small, hesitant smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I've missed hanging out with you." "I've missed it too," you admitted, relieved that you were finally talking about the unspoken tension between you. There was a brief pause, the weight of your unspoken feelings hanging in the air before you broke the silence. "So, are we good?" Clarisse grinned, a hint of her usual spark returning. "Yeah, we're good."

It was no surprise to anyone at the camp when you two appeared together.

During the Capture the Flag game, Clarisse always kept an eye out for you. While she was engaged in a battle with a Hermes kid, she ended up falling, and you intervened just in time, nearly hitting the boy with an arrow.

"Need a hand?" You asked with a smile at your girlfriend. "I could've handled it myself," she grumbled, starting to get up. "A 'thank you' would be nice," you offered your hand to her. She accepted the help to stand. "I'm holding your hand," she murmurs, taking yours, and you lift her, shaking your head, amused by her. Clarisse stops and looks at your hands together with a huge smile. Before you could say anything, a noise from the forest interrupted, and Clarisse planted a kiss on your cheek before darting off, leaving you standing there, trying to process what just happened.

Clarisse definitely loves giving bear hugs.

She would wake up earlier just to spend extra time with you without anyone interrupting.

When Clarisse's siblings from the Ares cabin tease her about being a lovesick fool, she doesn't even bother defending herself anymore because it's true, and she's not ashamed to admit it.

Your love language is physical touch, so she wouldn't mind receiving hugs and holding your hand all day long.

"Good morning!" You'd hug her from behind at the Ares table, planting a kiss on her cheek, realizing she was annoyed, then darting off to your own table. When you glanced back at the brunette, you'd see her with a huge goofy smile amidst the cheers and teasing from her siblings.

While Clarisse trains, you would go just to watch her. She'd try to impress you, but if she made a mistake, she'd be extremely embarrassed, yet she wouldn't admit it, claiming that the slip was part of her plan for that move that made her fall to the ground.

"And that's how you catch your opponent off guard," she'd explain as she gets up from the ground. "Yeah, right," you start laughing at her. "Hey, I'm serious." Clarisse brushes off the dirt from her clothes, trying to save face.

She'd dislike everyone else but seeing you would instantly brighten her day by 100% .

[ourg0dsal]

Gideon Nav CANNOT Die. Hold on- I know... but give me one second and I'll explain.

So, as I said before Gideon Nav cannot die, or at least her body can't. Cause clearly (spoiler warning) Gideon Nav died at the end of Gideon the Ninth. There is no avoiding that.

But! If you have read all the books GtN, HtN, and NtN including all of the accompanying short stories (tho I will admit I have not read The Mysterious Study of Dr. Sex yet) then there is a better understanding of the timeline of the whole story outside of just what the three main books give you. Specifically and especially with Gideon's body. But also there are many times In Gideons life were she has faced near death events or events that she should not have survived from and still was breathing on the other side.

To go in chronological order of these events, when she was first born she was found in a container held by the air depraved suit of her mother. And while ofc In the book it does state that her mother had redirected her air supply to Gideon, but it is simply being stated to cover all my bases.

Then the 200 sons and daughters massacre when Gideon was 1 (or 2 im not sure) when she inhaled poisonous air without dying. Which led ofc to the Reverend Mother and Father fearing the ground she walked. And this is a big one because, it literally creates waves in the plot. It's a defining point of Harrow and Gideons relationship. That Gideon did not die when she was supposed to.

Later in the story Gideon talks with Pal when she believes Harrow to be a murderer and openly admits to him that "she nearly killed me a half dozen times growing up" which obviously in context was to emphasize on the brutal relationship between her and Harrow. But this could also be other times where miraculously Gideon survived death when she shouldn't have. Because as we know from the first confrontation between Harrow and Gideon. Harrow doesnt hold back for her.

Finally of all the events where Gideon escapes death, this one actually happens within the main story of Gideon the Ninth. When Harrow siphons from Gideon to retrieve one of the challenge keys. And at the end when Gideon passes out, it is narrated ""ha-ha," said Gideon, "first time you didn't call me Griddle," AND DIED." Now, this could obviously just be the snarkiness of Gideon narrating. Or something incredibly clever left behind by Tamsyn Muir for a book series that is so clearly meant to be reread. But ofc to do my rounds the next line after does state "well, passed out. But it felt a hell of a lot like dying." But then immediately after "wake up had an air of ressurection." Which honestly feels like Tamysn Muir teasing the readers at this point. The question then becomes rather, which one was the tease and which one was foreshadowing/ evidence.

Now the point of listing all of these events is that in all of these cases the chances of death are so incredibly high that for most its a miracle she's alive. Ofc most notably for the siphoning trial and the poision gas, but none the less there is proof within the written story and and out that Gideon has looked death in face and moved on with maybe a headache. And it wasn't just in her child hood this is something she can just do. Some recreated in the written story! Because as Pal said. Even with the siphoning challenge done perfectly the chances of leaving Cam with severe brain damage was far to high. And Gideon didn't even suffer that.

Sadly, despite all these Gideon gets to the final battle and fights Cytherea and does die. At the hands of a particularly pointy fence. Or was it truly the fence that did her in? Rather than the lyctorship ritual that was started seconds afterwards.

My full theory, isnt just that Gideon Nav can't die. It's that Gideon Nav wouldn't have been able to die... If Harrow hadn't sucked her soul out. There are at the very least 8 seperate events that Gideon should have died, two of which were nearly gauranteed, but she was ended by a piece of metal. Yes, a very well placed piece a metal, but the point still up to that point she had faced worse a came out unscathed.

If Harrow had not completed the lyctor ritual, Gideon would not have died. Wether or not through resurrection or simply walking it off. Gideon's body has some sort of necromantic attributes to it that keep her alive. We see this in the Untitled Entry short story with Judith Deuteros that describes Gideons body, as it does not rot, cannot be injured, cannot be fed to animals forced or otherwise. And that is all before Jod ever gets a look at the body, because otherwise he would have known Gideon was his daughter before the later events of Harrow the Ninth.

And ofc during the first challenge when Harrow uses Gideon as her eyes to be able to see the construct in the other room and Gideon is able to see the thanergetic signatures that Harrow remarks should be impossible. (I assume because the process is Harrow extracting information (Gideons eyesight) from Gideon and so Gideon should not also be receiving information (the ability to see the signatures)) unless Gideon had some form of necromantic abilities, which she was tested for as a kid and apparently did not have. Alongside not having the correct attitude to be a nun of the ninth. And so we can round it out to be her body being naturally necromantic leaving Gideon without the ability to use it. (Which Is a jump from the actual point we are attempting to use, but for now this stops us from assuming Gideon as any sort of necromantic ability which is a theory all on its own. One that I personally have no evidence for or against)

Now, that I have hopefully made both my Ap Lit and Lang teachers proud with my 3 am essay, I must give you the real tragedy of Gideon the Ninth. Had Gideon not died, had Harrow been unable to complete the lyctor ritual for emotional reasons or otherwise, had Harrow not become a lyctor and killed cytherea. Gideon would have had to watch Harrow and Cam be killed, possibly even Corona, Judith and Ianthe. And then to be used for Cythereas own motives. Tamysn Muir beautifully set up the story so that the best possible outcome could have happened. Had Gideon not died. Everyone else would have. And "Camilla the sixth was no idiot" cam knew and accepted this whereas Harrow never would have. And so the unkillable Gideon had to die, and forcing Harrows hand was the only way to do it.

[fairyybngtn]

♡ SUMMARY - Armando takes you to the zoo for a day out, hoping to lift your spirits

♡ FEAT - Armando Aretas x POC Female Reader

♡ GENRE - Fluff

The sun shone brightly overhead as you and Armando walked hand-in-hand through the zoo. The fresh air and sounds of animals were a welcome change from the usual routine, and you couldn't help but smile as you watched children run around, their laughter filling the air. Armando had insisted on taking you out today, hoping to lift your spirits. At six months pregnant, the stress of work and the anxiety of pregnancy seemed to fade with the rhythm of Armando's footsteps beside you. As you passed by vibrant exhibits and colorful displays, you noticed the way Armando’s eyes softened with every glance you stole towards him. His usual stoic demeanor was replaced with a relaxed and gentle presence, something you cherished more with each passing day.

You remembered the first day Armando joined the AMMO team like it was yesterday. The memory of that initial encounter was still vivid in your mind. As he walked into the briefing room, you couldn’t help but react defensively.

“What the hell is he doing here?” you demanded, your gun instinctively pointing in his direction as he entered. The room fell silent, eyes shifting between you and Armando.

Mike, Armando’s father, stepped in to diffuse the situation. “Calm down,” he said, his voice steady. “He’s joining the team for a case. It’s part of a deal to reduce some of his prison time.”

With your gun still drawn, you looked at Mike and then at Armando, who was now looking back at you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. The tension in the room was palpable, and the others quickly moved to calm you down.

“I’m fine,” you muttered letting you coworkers know though your voice was laced with irritation. Armando, sensing the tense atmosphere, decided to add his own comment.

“Yes, you are,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. The room fell into stunned silence, everyone turning to look at him with disbelief. Your irritation flared briefly, but something in his gaze made you pause. It was a mixture of challenge and amusement, and it made you rethink your initial reaction.

Mike stepped in, guiding Armando to the other side of the room for a private conversation. As he walked away, Armando glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment. There was a glimmer of something in his gaze—curiosity, perhaps, or an unspoken connection. You could almost feel the intensity of his look, despite your irritation you couldn't help but notice how he carried himself with confidence. His gaze, full of unspoken challenge and curiosity, hinted at a connection that neither of you fully understood at that moment but would come to define much of what lay ahead.

From that day on, Armando developed a crush on you. There was just something about a sexy woman drawing a gun and threatening him that sparked an unexpected attraction. Despite the tension of that first meeting, he found himself drawn to you in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Fast forward two years later and here you were, pregnant with his child. The journey from that first meeting to now had been anything but ordinary, but seeing Armando's protective and loving side revealed through the ups and downs of your relationship made every moment worthwhile.

Armando, with his full beard and strong presence, looked more relaxed than you’d seen him in a while. He wore a casual shirt with a knit sweater, blending in effortlessly, yet still standing out with his rugged handsomeness. His protective hand rested gently on your back, guiding you through the crowds.

As you approached the giraffe enclosure, Armando spotted a perfect photo opportunity. “Mi, amor,” he said, his voice filled with excitement. “Let’s take a picture with the giraffe. It'll be a great memory for our daughter.” You nodded, and he handed his phone to a nearby zookeeper, who was more than happy to help. Armando stood behind you, his arms wrapped around your growing belly, and the giraffe leaned down as if to join in the moment. The camera clicked, capturing the pure joy on your faces.

Then you grabbed the camera to take one of him. He was looking up at the giraffe as it leaned over him. The sunlight caught his full beard, making it glint against his tanned skin. His eyes, filled with awe and a hint of childlike wonder, followed the giraffe’s movements.

“Armando, look at the camera!” you called out.

He turned his head, his lips curling into a smile that reached his eyes. For a moment, the tough exterior melted away, revealing the gentle, loving man he had become. The giraffe’s head was perfectly positioned above his, making it look as though it was curiously peering at the camera as well. You snapped the picture, capturing another beautiful memory.

After the photo, Armando turned to you, his eyes serious but soft. “I want to do better for our daughter,” he said quietly, his thick Spanish accent adding warmth to his words. “Give her the father I always wanted. Maybe this will bring me closer to my dad, give us a chance to start over.” Moments like these, when Armando let his guard down and showed his true feelings, made you love him even more. His rare vulnerability demonstrated how much he cared, not only for you, but also for the future you were creating together.

You placed your hand on his cheek, feeling the roughness of his beard under your fingers. “You’re already an amazing father, Armando. Our little girl is so lucky to have you.”

He smiled, a rare, genuine smile that melted your heart. “Te amo,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Stopping by the elephant enclosure, you watched as a baby elephant playfully nudged its mother. Armando’s eyes softened, and he pulled you closer. "I promise to always be there for our daughter," he said softly. Tears welled up in your eyes, touched by his words. "She’s going to have the best dad in the world," you whispered. Armando smiled, kissing your temple.

As you walked on, you couldn’t help but notice the way other people looked at him—some with fear, others with curiosity as to why someone would ever be with Armando… the stone cold killer. They didn’t see the man you knew, the one who had been so tender and loving throughout your pregnancy. He was there for every appointment, making sure you didn’t lift a finger, even if it was just to eat, and spent hours painting and decorating your daughter’s room carefully selecting each detail. Watching him with such dedication and love filled you with a warmth that made you forget all the criticisms from your coworkers, friends, and family. It pained you to see how people treated him, not even taking the time to get to know him. "Why do they judge him without knowing him?" you murmured, leaning closer to Armando as you both watched the animals.

He sighed, his grip on your waist tightening protectively. "People see what they want to see. They judge me based on my past, not on who I am now."

You looked up at him, your heart aching for the man you loved. "It's not fair. They don’t see Armando who wakes up in the middle of the night to make sure I'm comfortable, who talks to our baby every day, and plans for our future." He smiled down at you, his eyes filled with warmth. "As long as you see me for who I am, that’s all that matters."

You reached up to caress his face, your fingers tracing the line of his beard. "I love you, Armando. And I know you’re going to be the best father." His expression softened even more, and he leaned down to kiss you gently. "Te amo, mi amor. And I will do everything I can to protect and cherish our family."

As you continued your walk through the zoo, you felt a renewed sense of hope and determination. Armando had faced so much judgment and misunderstanding, but you knew that together, you could overcome anything. Your love for each other and your daughter was a beacon of strength that would guide you through any storm.

When you finally left the zoo, you had a collection of photos and memories that would forever remind you of this special day. More importantly, you had each other, and that was all you needed to face the world.

As you got into the car, Armando took your hand, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "Thank you for today," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "For believing in me, for standing by my side."

You smiled, squeezing his hand. "Hasta el fuego," you replied, using the phrase that had become a symbol of your bond. Armando's eyes softened, and he chuckled as he repeated the words, "Hasta el fuego." It was more than just a phrase, it was a promise, a commitment to face whatever came your way together. With a gentle kiss on your hand, he started the car, and you drove off, feeling more connected than ever. No matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew you had each other, and that was enough.

[scarltzwitch]

CROSSING WORLDS, MEETING HEARTS — LOGAN HOWLETT.

❥ Summary: On what seemed like an ordinary night, Logan Howlett and Elena Stark meet by chance in a bar. After Logan steps in to protect Elena from a stranger, an unexpected connection forms between them. As they start seeing each other more often, their relationship catches the attention of the Avengers, who are surprised to learn that Logan is not only from another universe but also has extraordinary abilities and has won the heart of Tony Stark's daughter.

❥ Genre: Logan Howlett x Elena Stark ( Fem!OC )

The bar was full of life on a Saturday night, with laughter and the sound of clinking glasses filling the air. Logan was in a corner, his gaze fixed on the drink in front of him when everything changed. It wasn't the first time Wade had convinced him to go out with his group of friends to places like this, but this time, fate had something in store for him.

Elena was a beautiful young woman, of medium height, with her chestnut hair cascading down her back. Her oval face, delicate jawline, and defined cheekbones were on display. The young Stark was looking for a breather with her friends and her father after a day full of chaos. The world had been hard to recover after Thanos' attack, but it wasn’t impossible, and the Avengers deserved a great rest after saving the Planet and the Universe. Wade Wilson and his group of friends also needed a break after their exhausting battle against Cassandra.

After a few drinks, the Avengers, along with Tony and Pepper—Elena’s mother and now Tony's wife, also known as Morgan's mother, who was Elena’s younger sister—had decided to retire to their respective rooms, leaving the brunette alone, as she had decided to stay a little longer. She loved the place her father had chosen.

Half an hour later, the young Stark decided it was time to go home. She got up from her seat to head to the counter and pay, but unexpectedly, a man approached her with the intention of bothering her and ruining her evening. After trying to make the guy leave, Elena felt cornered. She had drunk a bit too much, but she was still aware of what was happening. Logan, without hesitation, decided to intervene and with his characteristic growl, managed to pull the young woman away from the man who was harassing her.

“She said to back off,” Logan warned as he grabbed the man by the neck, but that didn’t stop him from throwing a punch at the guy's face, scaring him off.

Elena, moved by the situation, clutched her purse tightly and looked at the man who had helped her. She decided to make the first move. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that, but thank you,” she said with a slight smile, admiring the man who had come to her rescue. He was quite attractive, almost too good to be true. Logan merely nodded in response. After that silent exchange, Logan started to leave, but Elena stopped him.

“Would you like to stay a little longer?” Elena asked with a sincere smile. “I don’t usually invite strangers, but you just saved me from a pretty uncomfortable situation, and I feel like I owe you. So, what do you say?” she asked hopefully. Logan looked at her for a moment, as if weighing whether he should accept the offer. He usually didn’t get involved with others, especially someone much younger than him and from a world so different from his own. They returned to the bar, where Elena ordered some beers and a few snacks to accompany them. The atmosphere of the place was still lively, but now, with the company of the man who had saved her, everything seemed much calmer for her. They sat together at a table, and while they drank what the young woman had ordered, Elena couldn’t help but study him discreetly. He seemed tough, with an imposing presence, but there was a softness in his eyes that intrigued her.

“So... Do you come to places like this often?” Elena asked, trying to start a conversation. Logan took a sip of his beer while watching Elena, noticing the interest in her eyes. “Not much,” he replied in his characteristic gruff tone. “Only when Wade convinces me to go out.”

Elena smiled, surprised by the simplicity of his answer. “Wade? The weird guy I saw you come in with earlier?”

Logan shrugged. “Just needed a change of scenery. What about you? What made you stay after your family left?” Elena took a sip of her drink before answering. “I love this place. My father used to bring me here, and it brings back good memories. After everything we’ve been through, I needed a moment of peace.”

They shared a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the noise of the bar. Elena noticed how Logan’s hardened expression softened slightly. “Thanks again for stepping in,” Elena finally said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.” Logan looked up and, for the first time that night, gave a faint smile. “It’s nothing. I’m glad I could help.”

Elena leaned forward a bit, showing genuine interest. “Would you like to tell me more about yourself? I have a feeling you have some interesting stories to tell.” Logan looked at her, considering whether he should open up a bit more. The sincerity in her eyes and the warmth of her smile made him feel more at ease. “Maybe. Though I won’t make a habit of it.” Elena smiled broadly, accepting the challenge. “That’s fine. Sometimes, it’s nice to have an unexpected conversation with someone new.”

As Logan and Elena started to see each other more often, it wasn’t long before the news reached Tony. Although Elena tried to keep their relationship discreet, her father always had a way of finding things out, and soon, the word that she was dating someone began to circulate among the Avengers.

One day, while the group was gathered in Stark Tower, Tony, with his characteristic flair, casually mentioned, “So, it seems Elena has a new friend... a certain Logan Howlett.” The mention of the name caught everyone’s attention in the room. Natasha raised an eyebrow, Steve stopped reviewing his reports, and Thor, with his hammer in hand, let out a hearty laugh: “And who is this bold man who dares to court Stark’s daughter?”

Tony, with a mischievous smile, responded, “That’s the interesting part. Apparently, he’s not from our universe according to her. And... he has metal claws. He’s some sort of mutant, I think, like Wanda and Pietro.”

The room fell silent. Wanda was the first to speak, her tone one of genuine surprise: “Metal claws? You mean like a mutant?” Tony nodded, and before they could delve further into the matter, Wade Wilson, who had apparently been eavesdropping on the conversation from the hallway, burst into the room with a mischievous grin. “Oh, this is going to be fun! I’ve been waiting for this moment since I found out.”

Before anyone could comment further, the young Stark walked in with Logan, who was hooked to her, his arm linked with hers as the rest of her friends followed. “Sorry, sorry. He can be a bit... odd,” Elena apologized with a smile. Wanda didn’t hesitate to be the first to hug her, but the rest of the room’s attention turned to the man accompanying her, surprised.

“Excuse me? Who are you, and what are you doing with my daughter?” Tony asked, surprised, with a glass of whiskey in his right hand and his other arm around Pepper.

“Tony, honey. Let him introduce himself, please? You’re Logan, right?” Pepper asked with a slight smile, trying to lighten the tension. Elena murmured a thank you in gratitude, to which the blonde nodded.

Logan nodded without saying much, standing firm. Thor was the first to break the tension by approaching them and giving the mutant a friendly slap on the back. “So... I’ve heard you’re a warrior from another world with much more experience. It seems I have competition—and with claws, I hear. Strange, but interesting. I think you and I will get along well.” Logan barely reacted, but Elena noticed how his lips curved slightly upward.

Steve, for his part, crossed his arms and looked at Logan with a mixture of respect and curiosity. “So, you’re a veteran? Not many can say that in this room.”

Feeling a bit nervous, Elena stepped forward, holding Logan’s hand. “He’s different, but I think he’ll fit in well with us. And well, he’s... important to me.”

Before anyone could respond, Wade interjected with his usual humor: “Of course he’ll fit in! Plus, it was about time this team had someone with a bit more claw—and, by the way, a delightful loudmouth mercenary like me!” Everyone, even Logan, couldn’t help but laugh at the comment.

With the tension now eased, the Avengers, along with Elena and Logan’s group, sat down to chat and get to know each other better, sharing stories and jokes. The initial surprise quickly faded, and while they knew Logan wasn’t what they expected for Elena, they also recognized that he was someone they could trust, especially if he shared a close relationship with Tony’s daughter.

@welcometochilis585

Hi! I'm so sorry for the delay, but I wanted to do my best with this one-shot. It's a way for me to practice with writing, thank you so much for trusting me with your idea. I loved it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

— Lily. 💜

[skzdarlings]

part v: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 18k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamic plus explicit violence, threatening behaviour, mentions of homophobia, implied suicidal ideation, and explicit sexual content.

-

Jisung sighs with agonizing sorrow as he turns his baseball cap around.  He tugs the brim low then steeples his hands on the desk. 

“I see,” he says grimly.  “I understand.  You found paradise in Hyunjin.  You had a good friendship, it made a good romance.  So you didn’t need a friend like me.  Now you come to me and say, ‘Han Jisung, come bowling with me and my evil boyfriend.’  But you don’t ask with respect.  You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married and you ask me to go bowling—”

“We’re in earth science right now,” Felix says, bemused. 

“He’s quoting a movie,” you say.

“Ah.”

“And for the last time, Hyunjin is not my boyfriend,” you say.  “We’re just… hanging out.” 

Your second ‘date’ with Hyunjin was once more a family affair as your father invited him and his parents to the mansion for lunch.  It was professionally catered because your father does nothing by halves, so at least the food was good.  You and Hyunjin were mostly silent in the company of your parents, but you were allowed to walk around the yard by yourselves after. 

He looked good because he always looks good, in a fuzzy purple sweater and name-brand jeans.   His charisma was dwindled to nothing, though.  He kept his fists curled up in the sleeves of his sweater and smiled a lot of forced smiles.  His parents’ presence clearly does a number on his mentality.  He did unwind somewhat when you were finally alone, but it was hard to shake the feeling of observation, their eyes stalking your every step like animals in a zoo. 

“Maybe we should just have sex on the ground here,” you said dryly.  “See if that satisfies them.”

He burst out laughing at that, an endearingly wheezy sound that made you giggle too.   

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head.  “When you make jokes like that I remember you and Han Jisung really are best friends.” 

“Guilty,” you said with a snort.  “Stupid jokes is what is friendship is all about.” 

He smiled at the subject of friendship.  His expression was full of so much warmth, very contrary to his polite but cold countenance during lunch when he only flirted appropriately. 

You like Hyunjin as a friend and you think he might feel the same way, hence the reservation on both your parts to truly commit to this farce of a relationship.  It feels wrong to use him to keep your father happy.  

You caught his eye this morning in the school corridor, sharing a smile as you crossed paths.  Even though a true relationship has not been defined, you told him you wanted to tell Jisung before you started hanging out at school. 

You made the mistake of saying this within earshot of Hyunjin’s parents.  His father unfortunately overheard you, enquiring as to the identity of this Jisung. 

“Just her little school friend,” your father said.  “Nobody important.” 

Jisung might be nobody important to your father but he is still your friend.   And unlike your father, who merits the value of life on business calculations, the first question Jisung asks is, “Does he make you happy?” 

Felix is scribbling in his notebook but lifts his head at that question.  You cannot look at him directly because you know it will shatter your very careful mask. 

“Hyunjin is actually really nice when you get to know him,” you say, because the best lie has a hint of truth in it.  “And I really do like spending time with him.  So… it would make me happy if you could be happy for me too.”   

Jisung scrutinizes you, then glances at Felix who has gone back to scribbling in his notebook.  Eventually Jisung smiles and spins his cap backwards. 

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Jisung says.  He turns very dark and serious when he says, “But that pretty rich boy is paying for my nachos.”

You catch up to Hyunjin in the hallway.  He laughs when you tell him Jisung’s stipulation. 

“I think I can afford it,” he jokes, then quirks an eyebrow.  “Jisung… He doesn’t know about your dad, does he?”   

“Only a bit,” you say, thinking back to the countless times you abstractly complained about your father to him.   “I mean, he knows he’s strict but he doesn’t know why.  I complain about some stuff but… I don’t really go into detail.”  Truth be told, you like that your friendship with Jisung is so far removed from your home life.  He has nothing to do with your father or your wealth or your abuse.  He likes you for you and that has always been the case. 

“What about Felix?”  Hyunjin asks.  He nods behind you because Felix is never too far away.  He is blending in as inconspicuously as he can, pretending to read notices on a bulletin board. 

“What about him?” you say, heat creeping up your neck.  You hope you appear casual.

“How close are you?”  Hyunjin asks, his casual tone coloured with a hint of suggestion, like he already knows the answer. 

You suppose anyone might assume Felix has a crush on you seeing as he is never far from your side.  There is little explanation that a civilian could glean other than Felix being clingy or lovesick.  No one would guess it is his job to trail after you. 

But the suggestion is difficult to rebuke because your true feelings get all twisted up inside you.  You and Felix do like each other – too much for your own goods.  Though there has not been a reprise of the other morning, in fact you have not mentioned it once, there is a new electricity in all of your touches.  That exchange did not satisfy or quell any desires, in fact it seemed to accomplish the opposite.  When you wake in the morning to him so close, your heart turns into a thunderstorm and it sends sparks flying through every inch of your body. 

You want him more than ever.  You also hope you never get him or you will never find the resolve to let go. 

“He’s just my—”  You cannot force the word friend.   “He’s just Felix,” you say.  “He drives me crazy, to be honest.”  That much is true.   

Hyunjin’s brow furrows.  He looks at Felix then turns your body so he is blocking you from sight.  He leans in close to speak. 

“He isn’t bothering you, is he?”  Hyunjin asks.  “Because if he is—”

A sharp laugh jumps out of you.  The offer of protection is unexpected and unintentionally amusing.  You have seen Felix in the midst of his training, his body a well-honed instrument that he knows and controls with utmost precision.  Hyunjin uses his body in a different way, playing to his strengths with his showmanship, but he would be no match in confrontation. 

Not that he knows it.  His offer is very sincere. 

You gaze at him, studying his kind but determined face.  You remember how Hyunjin was expelled from his old school for fighting with another boy, supposedly over a girl.  You read the report yourself and you recall how the other boy was badly pulverized.  It is hard to picture Hyunjin doing something like that, but you know how violence often lurks in unassuming places. 

“Thank you,” you say.  “But it’s fine.  Really.” 

You guide the conversation back to bowling and it distracts him well enough. 

At least you were allowed to plan this date.  Your father essentially ordered you to go on a solo date with Hyunjin, except you could not be truly alone because Felix had to be there.  When you questioned the logistics of that, your father said to work it out, that he would heed Felix’s discretion on the matter. 

Fortunately, even with things tense between you, Felix does take your opinion into consideration.  He agreed when you suggested a casual venue where you could hang out with Hyunjin and better acquaint him with your friends.  

You are still not sure how long this charade is meant to continue, but for now you try to enjoy having another friend. This turns into a daunting task.  Your social skills are lacklustre to say the least and attempting to befriend Hyunjin’s huge circle of friends proves perilously overwhelming.  Fortunately, Hyunjin doesn’t take offense when you bail early at lunch to sit with Jisung instead.  Hyunjin has a lot of friends but none with whom he is especially close. 

“Having a best friend isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” you joke, watching Jisung bowl by swinging the ball two-handedly between his legs.  You slouch in your seat as if embarrassed by him, shaking your head while Hyunjin laughs. 

“He’s funny,” Hyunjin says. 

“Then why do you antagonize him?” you ask, lightly but curiously.    

“Because it’s fun,” he says with a smirk, making you laugh and Felix chuckle.  “And easy.”

The three of you watch Jisung wail as his ball predictably rolls into the gutter. 

“Fair enough,” you say.  

You can tell Hyunjin has his guard up.  It does not make him unkind but he is less personable even while he is more charismatic.  You know that persona is in place to protect him, that Hyunjin wears happiness and charm the way you wear ire.  Although they are contrary dispositions, both keep people at bay. 

Jisung, being Jisung, manages to slip through the cracks of that guarded wall, much like he did you.  You got to know Jisung slowly then all at once, empty moments passing between you until one day you realized he had long passed the guarded gate. 

You are mulling this over when you spot him.   You are so surprised that you choke on your soda and sputter the liquid painfully out of your nose.  Your spontaneous violent hacking startles the boys, all of them jumping then fussing over you.  

You are still coughing when Lee Minho approaches.  

Hyunjin and Jisung do not see him at first, too pre-occupied with wiping your shirt and asking if you are okay.  It is Felix who spots Minho next, realization dawning on his face before his expression sours.  You have been seeking that reaction, looking for the vaguest hint of jealousy or at least acknowledgement.  Felix does not seem very intimidated by Hyunjin, even when he flirts with you or touches you.  He can probably tell your feelings are only friendly.  But you did like Lee Minho once and he knows that. 

Your heart skips beats when you and Felix look at each other.  He has not been holding your gaze lately, quick to look away when you catch him staring.  It sounds strange to say that you miss him when he is sleeping in your bed every night, but you ache with the loss of intimacy.  He is the first person you see in the morning and the last face you see at night, but he has never felt farther away.  Even your very first night together involved more genuine interaction. 

If he truly did not want you, it would be easier.  But when you do catch him staring, his eyes are intense, his gaze forever thoughtful.  When he is not minding his actions, he naturally leans towards you just as you do him, orbiting planets around the light of your stars.   

Jisung likes you as a friend, Hyunjin likes you as an ally, but Felix knows every part of you, the good and the bad, the normal and the crazy.   When he touches you, he touches all of you, and you feel like a whole person, full of more life and possibility than you ever thought you could be.  You told yourself not to rely on his touches and maybe you should have listened, maybe this withdrawal would not ache so terribly now, but you cannot bring yourself to fully regret it. 

What you want is to reach across this table and hold his face, to bring it close to yours.  Even if you don’t kiss, it would be enough to have him close, his breath on your lips and his freckled cheeks warm under your palms. 

You will take what you can get, basking in the devoted attention of his gaze as your former crush approaches the table. 

Minho comes up behind Hyunjin and smacks a hand onto his shoulder, startling him. 

“I could hear you from the parking lot, Hwang Hyunjin,” Minho teases.  “How many degrees was it again?” 

When the rival popular boys were both at school, their interactions were minimal despite their reputations.  Their few encounters were only jokingly hostile, one running gag revolving around Minho cooking Hyunjin in an air-fryer. 

“One-hundred-eighty degrees,” Hyunjin completes the joke.  He laughs with everyone else but he is blushing scarlet from the tips of his ears all down his neck. 

It is strange.  Hyunjin is a physical person, at least when performing.  This is the same guy who made out with his girlfriend in a classroom.  The same guy who got detention on his first day for skipping class to fool around with some girl.  And yet his shoulder dips as if Minho’s hand is too heavy to bear, as if he is overwhelmed by the touch. 

Hyunjin once remarked on your powers of observation.  It is especially easy to read someone when their behaviour is similar to your own.  Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.  The stilted proximity, the way they naturally lean towards each other, so heavily affected by the simplest touch on the shoulder. 

How they absolutely cannot bring themselves to meet eyes.  

Minho talks to your table, friendly enough, but it is obvious he has no idea who the rest of you are.  He only knows Hyunjin, and he addresses Hyunjin directly, but he does not look at Hyunjin for more than a few seconds, and they do not look at each other at the same time. 

Eventually, Minho squeezes the back of Hyunjin’s neck and Hyunjin curls up his fingers.  Minho smiles and says his goodbyes, casual, friendly, sparing one final glance at Hyunjin that Hyunjin does not return.   Hyunjin reaches for his glass and takes a drink while Minho leaves to join his own friends across the room. 

You wonder if Felix registered any of it, but he is still frowning at Minho’s retreating back.  You suppose he was watching you more than Hyunjin.  Jisung is taking a picture of his abysmal bowling score. 

You look at Hyunjin but he is smiling again.  He offers to pay for dinner, swiftly diverting the conversation in that direction.  Jisung goes with him to counter to order, leaving you and Felix alone. 

Felix has gone back to feigned indifference, sipping from his soda as he stares at nothing particular. 

“I need to be alone with Hyunjin for a bit,” you say.  That quickly snaps his attention to you.  “I just want to talk to him.” 

“Talk,” Felix says, lifting an eyebrow.  “Uhh, about what?”

“If it was your business, I wouldn’t need to be alone with him,” you say curtly.  You are being intentionally antagonistic with that one, but you get a little thrill when it succeeds in piquing his interest.  You suppose you have always resorted to bad behaviour for attention.  Encouraged by the heat darkening his gaze, you flutter your eyelashes and drawl, “My daddy would get mad if you got in the way of us, you know.” 

He laughs with disbelief.  Stubborn as ever, he looks away, popping an elbow on the table and digging his fist into his temple.   

“What?” you say with exaggerated innocence.  “Wouldn’t he, Felix?  Doesn’t he think I’m a bad girl who needs a good boy to fix her?” 

He looks at you, just a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, but it gets you so hot that you momentarily forget your whole endeavour.  

He drops his arm with a thump, smiling at you with all that performative saccharine sweetness.  It is the smile he projects when he is convincing the world he is just sweet, innocent Lee Felix.  Beanie, flannel, ripped jeans, just another guy, cute and unassuming.

He stands and swiftly turns on the heel of his foot, slapping a hand down on the back of your seat so you instinctively lean back.  He follows you down, in your face when he speaks in that low, honeyed voice, “Hyunjin doesn’t have what it takes for that, sweetheart.”   

Then he is back in his seat, arms crossed and back to ignoring you. 

“I hate you,” is what naturally falls from your lips, no other word sufficing to summarize the sheer inundation of feelings.

The corner of his lips quirk up in a little grin.

He is the present bane of your existence, but Felix does oblige your request.  At the end of the evening, he purposefully leads Jisung away with some empty distraction, holding conversation while watching you over his shoulder.   He does not go far, but far enough to be out of ear-shot. 

Hyunjin is bent down, changing his shoes, and it takes you a minute to muster the nerve to speak. 

“Hyunjin,” you finally say, your voice coming out weaker than you intended. 

Your tone is usually sharp so the unexpected softness has him tensing before he even lifts his head.  When he does, it is with a dimpled smile, handsome and so polite. 

You scrub a hand over your face, shaking your head, trying to think of something to say.   You do not want to put him in an awkward spot, but you definitely do not want him walking into a worse situation because of ignorance. 

“You… you weren’t expelled for fighting… were you?” you finally ask.  “And you and Minho weren’t enemies.”  

His expression caves, a sharp breath parting his lips.  He stares at you for a long moment, flickering between a fake laugh, anger, fear, and finally resignation. 

“How did you…” he starts, then laughs without any humour, dry and airy as he pushes his hair back.  “You really are good at seeing people, huh.” 

“I stand by what I told you at that party,” you say.  “That I’m sorry you feel like you have to hide the best parts of yourself.  But as your friend, I need you to understand… my father is a very, very dangerous man.  He uses people.  All the things that make you who you are… he will just categorize them statistically and work out how to use those things against you to benefit him.” 

He covers his mouth and stares at the ground, looking contemplative.  After some time, he drops his hand, and speaks in an unsteady voice that makes him seem very young.  “I can handle it,” he says.  “My father…”  Another dry laugh.  “I had a… friend… at my whole school.  My father found us together.  He tried to get him leave me alone but… stupid kid… he didn’t listen.  So my dad hired this thug, I mean, I didn’t even know you could do that… He shook him up and we paid off the family and then he moved me here and he said… he said…”  His voice trails off and you don’t think he will find it again. 

“Image,” you say.  “Expectation.  Whatever.” 

He huffs a breath, rolls his eyes, laughs again. 

“Yes,” he says.  “I thought it would be easy.  He wasn’t asking me to change, just pretend.  I said… well, that’s not that bad, it could be worse.  It’s worse for other people.  I can pretend.  But it’s not easy and…”  He sucks in an unsteady breath, his face crinkling with emotion.  His voice is strained when he continues, “I don’t like lying, and just because I don’t like girls it doesn’t mean I like using them.  You were the final straw, I just…”  He rubs his temples and shakes his head.  “I just need to get through this year.  I can move out after school but… my dad won’t give me access to my savings until the end of the year and only if I can show him I’m… ‘better’.  So I… I need to get through this year.” 

“Hyunjin, I want to help you,” you say, “but you need to know what you’re getting into with me.  My father is more dangerous than just hiring a thug.  He is the thug, his whole operation is thugs.  He snaps his fingers and half the city is rearranging itself for him.” 

“You talk back to him a lot,” Hyunjin argues, a fact you cannot refute.  Though you are marginally better behaved in company, you are never truly docile. 

“Yeah,” you say with a helpless laugh, “but trust me, I’m messed up.”

“So am I,” he says.  “We can help each other.  Keep our dads off our backs for now then figure it all out.” 

Silence falls as you consider each other’s words.  You feel like no matter what choice you make, it will be the wrong one. 

“He works two jobs,” Hyunjin suddenly says, staring over your shoulder.  You don’t have to turn to know it is Minho, on the other side of the room, laughing with his friends.  “One is at a coffee shop.  On the weekends he teaches dance classes to kids.  His family isn’t well off but he is so casual about it that no one cares.  Things everyone else gets ashamed or embarrassed about just doesn’t seem to bother him.  I thought I hated him at first, because it all seemed so easy for him, and I was jealous because I thought I should be the lucky one.  Then one morning after a party I was hungover and bitching at him, and he just said tsk…”  Fondness creeps into his expression now, smoothing out the sadness that was there before.  “Then he made me some coffee and kissed me when I wasn’t expecting it.  I started working myself up about it and he called me idiot and did it again.”  He looks at you.  His voice is steady now.  “My dad would never make coffee for someone.  He doesn’t even know how.  He pays someone to do all that meaningless stuff for him.  Meaningless.  That’s all his life is.  He think it’s so important but it’s not.  But I know better.” 

He sits straighter and says with complete confidence, “My life will not be meaningless.  I just need to get through this year.” 

You know it is not so simple as that.  You do not see a light at the end of the tunnel the way he seems to do.  But he speaks with so much heartfelt conviction that you really do feel it for a moment. 

In the end, it is impossible not to take his hand. 

-

Felix is quiet on the car ride home.  You know despite the pretence, he is curious about you and Hyunjin.  His regard was a scrutinizing one, watching you hold hands until you said goodbye in the parking lot. 

But Felix is acting his role, an indifferent and professional bodyguard.  You take turns glancing at each other, occasionally catching eyes but looking away soon after. 

The house will be empty for the next couple weeks as your father is on a business trip overseas.  You strut confidently into the house with Felix on your heels.  You busy yourself with scrolling on your phone, pretending you do not hear his agitated sighs.  You plop yourself down on the couch and cross your legs.   

Felix stands in front of you, arms crossed.  You smile an excessively syrupy smile and bat your eyelashes.

“Yes?” you say.  “Can I help you?”   

“What are you doing with Hyunjin?” he asks. 

“You know what I’m doing with Hyunjin,” you say dryly, looking at your phone again.  “Just what my daddy said.”

“Okay but uhhh, you don’t like Hyunjin,” he says.  “And you definitely don’t like obeying ‘daddy’.”  He pitches up the word in a nasally whine to mock you, smiling when you glare. 

“Maybe I changed my mind,” you say.  Then you shrug like the whole thing is beneath you, like you could not care less about his reaction even while it is all you care about. 

You stand and knock shoulders when you brush past.  You make it a scarce foot before he grasps the back of your neck and guides you back to him, gentle and slow but ungiving in its demand.  Even when he lets go, you feel tingles where his fingertips so lightly pressed. 

You are standing close, almost cheek to cheek.  You can count each familiar freckle. 

“Are you free right now?” he asks, dropping his voice in such a suggestive way that you immediately feel flushed.  You nod without thinking too hard.  When you do, his face lights up with enthusiasm and he smiles, eyes oh-so adorably crinkled with mirth.  “Great!” he says.  “Put on exercise clothes and meet me in the gym for training.” 

He leaves the room in a brisk jog, waving over his shoulder.  You stand there for another moment, staring at the empty doorway and computing the whiplash of that whole ridiculous exchange.  

Never have you come so close to actually hating that abominable nightmare boy. 

You have clearly worked Felix into a mood, so you decide to be marginally complacent and do what he asks lest he hunt you down and force you to do push-ups in the bedroom.  We can work-out in the bedroom all right, you imagine yourself saying with a wink, knowing very well there is not a chance you would ever actually be able to say that.  Agitating him with a healthy dose of implication is different than outright stating it.  Though the look on his face would be funny. 

When you reach the gym, he is in sweatpants and a t-shirt just like you.  He is stretching in front of the mirror wall.  He smiles that sardonic smile through the reflection, beckoning you to join him.  You make sure to stomp as petulantly as possible, crossing your arms like a stubborn child when you reach the mirror. 

“You need to warm-up first,” he says.  “Do you know how to stretch?”

“Yes, I know how to stretch,” you say venomously, a useless lie since he has witnessed your pitiful demonstrations of athleticism in gym class.  He doesn’t comment, though, just lifts his eyebrows and says, “okaaaay,” before moving on. 

You copy a few of his stretches, though he makes his movements look easier than they are.  Then he makes you run a few laps around the room, simply smiling when you scowl at him.  You are pretty sure that part was just a petty punishment. 

Finally he sets up some mats and starts explaining basic tactical defense positions.  He clearly knows what he is talking about and the familiarity of the subject seems to ground him in his body.  It draws you into a similar state of relaxation and soon you find yourself actually listening to his instructions.  

You mirror a few of his positions, focussing on holding yourself steady, on finding your centre of gravity.   

“You won’t beat most people with brute strength,” Felix says.  “I mean, uhhh, ha-ha, I’m not exactly the biggest guy in the world, myself, you know?  It isn’t about that, though.  Look, feel your core strength…” 

You lose yourself in your concentration, watching your own motions in the mirror as he steps around you.  Your attention only fractures when he lays a hand on your shoulder.  He is just fixing your posture but your body does not seem to care that the action is casual.   You curse your own sensitivity and tell yourself to get over it, especially when he starts demonstrating more bodily manoeuvres, requiring you to put your hands on his arms or hands or shoulders. 

He acts unbothered the whole time, making you feel even more ridiculous.  Then he explains something while wrapping an arm around your neck from behind.  You step closer instinctively and your eyes widen when your backside collides with his front and you realize he is not as indifferent as he is acting.  It is only the vaguest stirring of interest, but his sweatpants do little for modesty. 

He nudges you away and clears his throat, continuing his lesson but with a little stutter.  You feel flustered and embarrassed too, somehow simultaneously craving this sort of evidence and also balking at it.  You actually masturbated in front of each other but for some reason it is more embarrassing when he catches you looking at the subtle imprint in his sweats.   He clears his throat again but continues the lesson like nothing happened.   When he steps up behind you again, you are both careful to keep your distance, his arm only hovering around you. 

“So the best thing in a situation like this—” he starts. 

“I know what to do,” you say, the tension so unbearable that if you do not shatter it, it will break you instead.  You abruptly swing your arm back, elbowing him in the gut.  You catch him by surprise and he stumbles back with an oof, holding his stomach and glaring with playful intensity. 

“Very funny,” he says and steps closer again. 

“This works too,” you say, giggling then stomping on his foot.  It isn’t very hard but it is unexpected so he curses, taking a playful swipe at you when you skip away. 

“Mature,” he says sarcastically, but with a genuine smile.  You stick your tongue out at him and he reaches again, laughing when you dance out of arm’s reach. 

He chases after you and you yelp when he catches up, his retaliation a truly heinous, punitive tickle attack.  You squeal and laugh in his arms, squirming to get away and apologizing through your shrieks.  He just laughs, continuing his evil barrage of tickles.   You get tangled together in your flailing, stumbling around and eventually landing in a giggling heap in front of the mirror. 

Finally he stops, just as winded from laughter.  You are sitting between his legs, slouched against his chest, facing the mirror as you pant and wind down from your giggles. 

You look at each other through the reflection, the longest you have held each other’s gaze in a while.  It feels different, less direct, but also more complete.  You see yourself as well as him, sitting in a fairly intimate position and looking for all the world like a normal young couple, glowing with carefree happiness. 

You take a few steadying breaths.  He does as well.  The rush of your game settles.  In the absence of laughter, the room is quiet.  The whole house is quiet, a big empty space with the two of you alone in one small room, securely tucked away in your privacy, looking at each other through a mirror. 

He swallows. 

Your heart is racing and not from any playful exertion.  He has a hand on your elbow and the other on your knee, but he is holding very still, as if a move in any direction will be catastrophic.  He is probably right to think that. 

You touch his hand anyway, holding his gaze in the mirror while you slide his hand from your knee to your thigh.  His brow pinches, expression contorted as if in pain, though the hardening press of him against your backside tells you it is not pain. 

He says your name.  Then he sighs, closes his eyes, and rests his temple against your head. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, drawing out all the softness of heart in his low drawl.  You whimper, from that or his touch, his hand high on your thigh.  Even through your clothes, his touch burns, waking nerves where it roams. 

“Please,” you say, watching his face through his mirror.  Finally he meets your gaze there, dark eyes on your face as he lets you guide his hand between your legs.   

One deft stroke through your clothes has you making a sound like a sob.  It pulls him over the brink of his hesitation, leaving it all behind as he cups you with a possessive sort of determination.  His touch is clumsy and desperate but you don’t care, because it’s him. 

It all seems to happen so fast and not fast enough, two pairs of nervous hands pushing and pulling.  He tugs your knee over his, spreading your legs wide, and slides his hand into your sweats while you buck back against him.  Your eagerness overwhelms you so he shushes gently in your ear, his free hand splayed across your collarbone.  His forehead is pressed into the side of your head and he looks at you sideways through the mirror.  You nod, holding his gaze as he touches you properly. 

It is a fumbling, hungry touch, the hunger of someone who thinks he might never eat again after all this plenty.   He might be right.  He might be wrong.  It doesn’t matter right now.  You give yourselves over to the experience, as raw and inelegant as all that earnest passion is. 

Your breathing is loud enough to fill the whole room, the whole house, broken sighs and guttural moans louder than the yelling that usually fills this place.  His touch is only surface, not daring to go so far as putting his fingers inside you, even while rubbing his fingers through all that wet desire.  Your knee is hooked over his, keeping you helplessly open under his touch when you come.  He looks at you with an incredulous sort of amazement, then his eyes close and his low moan turns to a broken whimper as tumbles over the edge too. 

You are both breathing hard in the aftermath, eyes closed, heads touching.  You slowly bring your leg back and he slowly withdraws his hand.  You look into the mirror when you take his hand, when you put it back between your legs over your clothes and hold it there.  He says your name and curses. 

It is the last thing he says for a while.  You are both quiet.  It is only later that night when the silence breaks, when he gets into bed after checking the security system.  You look at each other across the space of that bed and mutely come to an accord, his arm outstretched in offering as you move into his embrace.  He holds you against his chest, his heart beating under your ear. 

“Do you hate me,” he asks, like he already knows the answer. 

You sniffle.  You nod. 

“Okay,” he says, and strokes your back until you fall asleep.

-

Your final year of school passes in a blur of afternoons with Jisung, fake dates with Hyunjin, and long, unsatisfied nights where you and Felix hold each other with the knowledge of everything between you – and do nothing about it.  He keeps his head down, trains, and dutifully reports to your father.  At least your father is more agreeable these days because of your supposed relationship with Hyunjin.  He thinks it is changing you for the better when really you are just being careful for Hyunjin’s sake. 

The end of the year rolls around and soon you are down to the last few days of classes.  You and Hyunjin are due for a conversation about what happens next.   You whisper this to him in class, sitting close as you are sharing a lab desk for two.  He is bent down scribbling in your yearbook, his pen scratching when he freezes.   He looks up at you and nods.

“Yo, are you lovebirds done?” Jisung asks, spinning around from the desk he is sharing with Felix.  He points a ruler at Hyunjin.  “You better have left the last page blank like I said, man.  I have things to say to my girl.”   

“I did, I did,” Hyunjin says with playful exasperation, handing Jisung your yearbook so he can sign it too.  Jisung takes it with a snap, clapping the ruler on the desk before turning back to his own seat to write his message.  You and Hyunjin look at each other, helpless but to laugh at his shenanigans.   

You catch Felix’s eye.  He knows your relationship is fake, though he doesn’t know why.  He probably figures you are just trying to keep your father off your case.  Even if you trust Felix, it is not your place to tell Hyunjin’s story, guarding it so long as he asks. 

It does mean Felix looks at you with the occasional battered-puppy eyes. 

“Come on, Felix,” Hyunjin says with his big, dimpled smile, “let me write in yours too.” 

The yearbooks were handed out this morning so everyone is running around getting their friends to sign farewell messages.  You have already signed more yearbooks than you ever imagined you would, Hyunjin’s friends considering you an acquaintance if nothing else.  Signing for them was easy at least, lots of have a great summer and good luck with your future.  

It is much harder coming up with something for genuine friends.  While Hyunjin writes in Felix’s yearbook, you stare down at Hyunjin’s, trying to think of what to say to your fake boyfriend and real friend. 

I hope you get everything you want and more, you finally write.   I’m glad I got to know you.  LUV U BOYFRIEND!!!!

He laughs at the last part when you show him.   “I wrote the same thing in yours, loving girlfriend,” he says. 

You laugh too.  You crumple up some paper to chuck at Jisung who is still scribbling in your yearbook. 

“What, are you writing a novel?” you ask.  “Hurry up!” 

“Patience!” Jisung says.  “You can’t rush a masterpiece!” 

You, Hyunjin, and Felix all laugh.  Once more, you and Felix look at each other a little longer.  You did not bother to write in his yearbook as no words could suffice to summarize anything. 

He jokingly wrote Have a Great Summer : ) in yours. 

Jisung finally finishes his apparent epic, smacking your yearbook onto your desk.  You reach for it but he holds it shut, giving you a very serious look. 

“You can’t read my message now, okay?” he says.  “Read it at home.  Alone.  With violins in the background.”

You snort and roll your eyes but smile fondly at him. 

“Okay, Jisung,” you say, “I promise to cherish it and read your masterpiece properly.”          

“That’s all I ask,” Jisung says with a salute. 

After school, Felix waits while you and Hyunjin have a quick word. 

“Can you come to my house?”  Hyunjin asks.  “I want to talk properly.  Not here.”

You know your father will agree but you need his permission as you cannot visit without an escort.  Hyunjin knows you always have a bodyguard not too far from sight; he just does not know that Felix is one of them.   Your father sends his own men on your excursions together. 

Felix is never too happy when separated.  He is cordial enough with your father’s security team but it is obvious that Felix thinks he is more skilled than them, often commenting on their weaknesses or blunders.  You do not see things with his professional precision but you take his word for it.  It is easy to believe Felix is the best.  After all, it takes a whole team of people to replace him. 

As predicted, your father agrees to let you visit Hyunjin for the evening.  The Hwang mansion is nowhere near as big an estate nor are their security measures even close to your impenetrable, bulletproof, gilded prison, but it is still a secure location where you can be supervised.  You go with a few of your father’s men, sharing a dry look with Hyunjin when you arrive at his house.  He just smiles, used to it. 

You have dinner with his him and his parents, smiling all the while, playing the part you have played all year.  Your father’s men surround the house and you pass them in the backyard, making your way to Hyunjin’s old tree-house for some privacy.  It leaves you within sight of your father’s men but well out of ear-shot.   

You plop down on the little wooden balcony, sighing as you stare into the distance.  The sun is setting over the neighbourhood, an orange sky dappled with rosy pinks, sparkling as it catches glass panes and ostentatious embellishments.  The creaky old tree-house has a cozier feel, a world separated from the nonsense below.   

“Thank you,” Hyunjin says after a moment of shared silence, just watching the sunset.  You look at each other and he smiles.  “Having a real friend who knows me made a difference this year.” 

The forthright sincerity is a bit much for you, seeing as you are not so good at communicating so plainly.  You think you are improving, though.  The old you would have drawn back, but you are able to smile at Hyunjin in return. 

“I hope it helped,” you say. 

“It did.”  He moves a little closer just to be safe.  “My father gave me control of my savings.  My grandmother left me an inheritance and I needed the money.”  His smile brightens his whole face in the rosy light.  “I bought a house.”

“A house?” your voice breaks as you try contain your surprise in a whisper.

He laughs at your reaction, still smiling. 

“Yes,” he says.  “Well, it’s more like a cabin.  It’s not much to look at.  I needed it to be off the record, all in cash, and far away from here.”   

You find the image of a small, homey cabin to be devastatingly beautiful.  It could be the most dilapidated, ramshackle mess of a construction and you would still consider it perfect.  You imagine sitting on a tiny porch with Felix, him smiling a big smile that crinkles his eyes and shows his teeth, his face sunny and golden and truly carefree, not just pretending. 

You look at Hyunjin and see him staring into space with the same smile.  You picture him with all the tension gone from his shoulders, laughing his wheezy laugh instead of forcing polite smiles.  You swallow a lump in your throat. 

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you say, holding his hand.  “That’s really wonderful.” 

It brings him back to you.  Some of the dreaminess leaves his expression but he is definitely still happy.  He squeezes your hand back. 

“I can’t go yet,” he says.  “My parents would just… They’d find me.  I’m their only son.  It would be an embarrassment to them if I just left.  When I think about what my father did to my friend just to teach me a small lesson…”  You squeeze his hand in sympathy.  You both know his parents did not have that boy beaten to keep him away, but to teach Hyunjin a lesson.

Hyunjin takes a deep breath and says, “They won’t let me walk away easily.  I have to do it right if I’m gonna be free.”

“How are you going to do that?” you ask, curious for his sake and even your own.  The image of a far away cabin, untouched by trouble, is quickly nestling itself in some hidden cockle of your heart.  You know that it will be difficult for him to leave but it would be next to impossible for you, so there is no sense in dreaming.

And yet…  If Hyunjin can find a way, it makes you think that maybe certain dreams are not so impossible. 

But he just sighs and looks away. 

“I don’t know yet,” he says.  “But I’m going to find a way.”  He lets go of your hand to reach into his pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper.  He passes it to you and you unfold it.  You brow furrows as you read.    

“Is this—”

“The city and address to the cabin,” he says. 

“Why are you giving this to me?” you ask in a small voice.  Not for the first time, you curse your inconstant feelings, the quick rise to emotional heights in the matter of seconds. 

This is Hyunjin’s future written in a single line on a single piece of paper, such a seemingly simple thing and yet it has the power to completely destroy him.  This is his means of his escape, his only avenue of liberty, and he is showing you despite your proximity to some truly wretched forces.   He trusts you more than he fears them. 

“It’s an easy address to remember,” he says.  “I know things are hard for you.  I don’t know what will happen to you.  I don’t even know what will happen to me.  But I know it’s harder when you’re alone.  I know having people make a difference because they made a difference for me.  If you ever get out, if you ever need somewhere to start…” 

You cannot think of what to say.  No words seem sufficient in reply.  You can only nod and take a deep breath.  You look up into the fading light and blink away your tears. 

“Thank you,” you say.  “I hope if we meet again, things will be different.” 

The address has a sweet rhyming lilt to it, easy to remember like he said.  You read it over a few times, commit it to memory, then tear up the slip of paper beyond any salvaging. 

You sit in the tree-house until the sun fully sets.  Little lanterns flicker to life one-by-one in the darkening yard below.  When the sky is a blue wash and the path below is twinkling gold, you sigh. 

“I don’t want to go back,” you say miserably.  You don’t want to see your father or that house.  Even Felix will stir nothing but anguish right now, as you think about how you are trapped and he is shackled to you.  You also don’t really want to linger here.  Your uncontrollable emotional pendulum has swung back from its precipice.  A few minutes ago, you were close to crying, and now you feel so empty and resigned that you think you will never cry again.   I’m so broken, you think helplessly.  You want someone to tell you otherwise but you don’t know how to ask. 

Hyunjin leans back, peering into the yard.  Your father’s men are getting a little complacent in their boredom, one of them yawning where he is slouched in a deck chair.   They are not really paying attention to you.  They figure there is no where for you to go, the main steps from the tree-house leading right into their path. 

Hyunjin puts a finger to his lips.  You follow him quietly across the tree-house, obscured in enough darkness that none of the security team notices.  He leads you to a dangling rope ladder, hidden on the opposite side of the tree.  He points across the yard to a little garden around a koi pond. 

“There’s a gate just past the pond,” he whispers.  “There’s a path that leads through the neighbourhood.  I’ll stay up here until they say something, then I’ll tell them you went home.”  He smiles and puts a hand on your shoulder.  “You probably should go home,” he says, “but at least this way you’ll have a bit of time alone first.” 

You smile back at him, patting the hand on your shoulder. 

“Thank you, Hyunjin,” you say. 

“See you around,” he says, then pushes back his hair and smoulders at you.  “And don’t take the break-up too hard. I know I’m handsome but there will be other men.”     

You laugh and roll your eyes, pushing his shoulder. 

“Oh, please, I broke up with you,” you say.  “I couldn’t keep up with your vigorous beauty routine.” 

“This face is natural,” he says, laughing too.  Then he nudges you and looks more serious.  “Go now.  They’re not paying attention.” 

You briefly weigh your odds.  You have not snuck out in a very long time so the punishment might be proportionate to your otherwise good behaviour.  Felix is not here so he will not be blamed for your escape.  And you will not be avoiding a reprimand no matter what you do, because your father is going to be angry that you and Hyunjin broke-up – especially without consulting him first.  If you are going to be punished anyway, you might as well take a walk and clear your head first. 

You grab Hyunjin’s hand one last time, giving it a squeeze as you smile.  Then you climb down the rope ladder and hurry across the garden.  You are out the gate and on the path before you know it. 

The wealthy neighbourhood is quiet and brightly lit, every yard illuminated despite the quietude of the street.  They are all so pristinely manicured, different yet identical magazine-ready mansions.  They look a bit eerie with the darkness around them, like some alien recreation of what a home should look like.  It makes you dread the return to your own house.  You wonder how much time you have to yourself, if the car is going to pull up alongside you any second now to drag you home. 

It is then you remember you do have one more place you can go.  Ridiculously, stupidly, your emotions come back in full swing and you feel like crying again.  Maybe it is because you have not snuck out in so long, so it is reminding you of the very first time you ever did.  You went to the very place you are going now: Jisung’s house.

You always met there before darting off to a party together.  Those parties never amounted to much.  You and Jisung always talked a big game then spent most of the time in a corner or on a roof, but it was the only time you were ever away from the prying eyes of your father’s overprotective security.   You passed many nights that way, complaining to your best friend, talking about nothing, then rushing home before your absence was noticed.   

You remember the route to his side of town, catching a bus and getting off at a familiar stop.  This neighbourhood looks very different than Hyunjin’s, a range of houses both new and old, rundown and fixed-up.  They don’t waste energy lighting their yards unless they have guests.  All the light is from the streetlamps and the little yellow squares of homey light beaming through their windows. 

You have never actually been inside Jisung’s house.  You would usually just meet him in the yard before continuing on.  This is the first time you walk up the porch steps and ring the doorbell. 

You start to shiver.  The adrenaline or your escape kept you warm but now you can feel the chill of the evening. 

You are looking around the block and shivering when the door opens.  You turn and see an older woman with a scowl on her face.  Even if you did not know Jisung lived with his single mother, you would recognize her because of her round cheeks and big eyes, much like him.  Except where his face is usually open and friendly, she looks at you like a bug she wants to squish. 

“What?” she asks. 

“Um, sorry to bother you,” you say, somehow more intimidated by her than your father’s burly security team.  “I’m friends with Jisung.  I was just wondering if he’s home…?” 

She takes a step back and screams his name into the house.  You stand awkwardly in the doorway, waiting while thumps and bangs come from the upper level, then Jisung is hurrying down the stairs and skittering into view.  You so seldom see him without a hat that it is momentarily jarring, his flop of dark hair going everywhere as he comes to a wide-eyed stop. 

He gets over his surprise and smiles wide, saying your name with an upward what-the-fuck inflection. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, stepping aside to let his mother pass.  She says nothing more to you, disappearing into a side room. 

“I, um, I don’t know,” you say, your emotions in turmoil again.  You think about what Hyunjin said, about how having a friend made all the difference for him, and you suddenly realize how much you missed spending time with Jisung, how he was your first and only escape for so long.  Tears are falling before you can stop them, a mess of everything with Hyunjin and Felix and your father, but you can only stammer a vague excuse, that you broke up with Hyunjin and wanted to talk to someone. 

Jisung’s face is twisted up with surprise and sympathy.  He says your name a few times and apologizes, guiding you into the house.   

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he says, taking your hand and leading you up to his bedroom. 

“Won’t your mom mind?” For some reason, despite the mania of emotion inside you, that is what you fixate on. 

Jisung just laughs dryly, shaking his head as he closes the bedroom door behind you.  “Trust me,” he says. “She won’t care.  Sit down.” 

Jisung’s bedroom is undeniably him, music posters overlapping on the wall, stacks of journals on his desk and bedside table.  It is a sprawling canvas of music and writing, not to mention litters of clothes and baseball caps.  He pushes a pile of clothes off his bed so you can both sit, shoulder-to-shoulder.  His bed is against the wall, under the window, cool stars twinkling down at you while his bedside lamp fills the room with warmth. 

Your sobbing has slowed to a heaving stutter.  Jisung hands you some tissues to wipe your eyes. 

“I’m gonna kill that evil pretty boy,” Jisung says.

You hiccup and shake your head.  “It was me,” you say.  “Hyunjin is my friend, he’s a good guy, I just—” You start crying all over again, tearing the soggy tissues to shreds.  Jisung leans over to fetch some more, his face scrunched up with concern while he watches you dab your sore eyes.  “I’m just so messed up, Jisung,” you say.  “You have no idea how much.  I don’t even think I could properly love someone if I tried.  I just make a mess wherever I go.”

“What! Yo!  No.  Why are you saying these things?”  He looks equal parts bewildered and horrified, quickly wrapping an arm around you.  You let your head fall on his shoulder, still wiping your eyes while he rubs your arm.  “You are not messed up.  You’re my best friend and you’re awesome.  How could you have a best friend if you can’t properly love someone, huh?” 

“I’m a bad friend though,” you say.  “I bail on you all the time and I’m crazy and emotional and—”

“And you have an evil dad who locks you in the house, remember?”  Jisung says.  “Look, I know it’s not my business, I’d never make you say it, but from what you’ve told me… Dude, that guy fucking sucks.” 

You cannot help but laugh at that.  Jisung smiles, tweaking your nose. 

“I’ve never been mad about that stuff,” he says gently.  “Not at you.  At your dick dad, sure.  But that has nothing to do with you.” 

“I’m emotional like him,” you say, tears slowing to a lip wobble.  “I fight him all the time but maybe that just proves it. All that anger inside me.” 

“Anger isn’t bad,” Jisung says.  “It’s a feeling just like anything else.  Some people do bad shit while smiling the whole time.  Remember that guy who bullied Felix that time at school, and how you hit him with that book?  Or other times you just snapped back at some stupid dick?  That wasn’t bad!”

You don’t have an argument in you.  You just exhale, dabbing under your eyes with the crumpled tissue.  Jisung continues to rub your arm.

Your eyes drift and land on one of his baseball caps.  It is perched on a stack of schoolbooks.  You think back through the years, all those school days, all those stolen parties and late nights.  It was a slow beginning, then one day you realized he was your friend, your first ever friend, that he was making you laugh and you had inside jokes and you wanted to spend more time with him.  You weren’t afraid to be around him and you knew he wouldn’t make fun of you or push you or judge you. 

You feel his arm around your shoulder now and realize you are not afraid of it.  You can no longer remember the first time you hugged Jisung, probably because it wasn’t a kiss or anything romantic and so you did not really register it.  It was a moment that arrived silently, without any heart palpitations or fanfare, no sweaty palms or hot cheeks.  He would have just put his arm around you like he is doing now, asking for nothing in return for it. 

You realize he must have been the first person to hug you.   Your mother passed away when you were in infancy and the only family you ever knew was your father and his now-late father.  They did not hug each other and they did not hug you.   The only kind of love you knew was a violent, controlling one, and it made you into a distrustful, feral little child in return. 

You have reflected before how it took a long time to warm to Felix.  Bit by bit.  Touch by touch.   It would have taken longer if you had never known Jisung.  He drew you out of your shell before anyone else did. You were able to reach for Felix because Jisung reached for you.  You were able to befriend Hyunjin because Jisung befriended you. 

You find yourself choking back a different sob, one conjured by the realization of just how much Jisung has done by being there.  You understand what Hyunjin meant, about a friend making all the difference. 

Before you can say anything, Jisung gently asks, “It’s bad, isn’t it?” 

You sit straight to look at him, brow furrowed.   

“Your dad,” he says.  “Things are… they’re bad, aren’t they?  Worse than just not letting you hang out?” 

Tears spill over again.  You realize he is sniffling now too but holding back tears.  He reaches across to wipe your face with his bare hands, swiping at your tears.   

“I knew for a while,” Jisung says in a strained voice.  “I could see the bruises.  I didn’t know what to do.  And I felt like I was letting you down because—” 

He chokes on his breath.  It gives you a moment to interject.

“You have nothing to feel bad about,” you say. You wipe his tears too, laughing at your equal dramatics.  “Seriously, Jisungie.” 

“No, you don’t understand,” he says, grabbing your hands and pulling them off his face.  He shakes his head like he is trying to shake his tears out of him.  It seems to work.  After another breath, he manages to speak clearly.   “Do you remember our first conversation?  At school?”

“About the weather?” you say, thinking back to the first time Jisung started a conversation. 

“No, before that,” he says.  “We sat beside each other for months but we never spoke.  Then I missed a week of school because I made myself sick, all my stupid anxiety and whatever.  My mom, you know, she tries but she… It’s just easier for her to ignore me most of the time, I think.   I know she didn’t want kids.  So I was taking care of myself.  And I missed school sometimes because of it, but no one ever noticed when I was gone.  It’s like I was invisible everywhere I went.  And I got so sick that week that I just wanted to die.  But then I went back to school and I got my homework from the teachers and then you—”  He slaps his hands in his lap and looks at you, smiling a teary-eyed smile.  “You were the first person to ask where I was and if I was all right.  And you made a face like you didn’t believe me when I said I was.  Then I started talking about the weather.” 

“Oh,” you say, shredding the tissue in your lap for something to look at, trying to keep your tears at bay.  “I didn’t remember that part.” 

“You’re really good at seeing people,” Jisung says.  “Even when they’re trying to hide or pull away.  I don’t know how you think you can’t love when you’re like that.  You know how to do it better than the rest of us who forget to even look.”  He takes your hand again, drawing your eyes up to his.  “But I’m looking back now, okay?  And I’m gonna save you.” 

It is so frank and sincere that it makes you laugh. 

“I am!” he says, laughing through his own watery voice.  “Don’t laugh at me!  You saved me and now I’m gonna save you too.”

“It’s not that easy, Jisung,” you say.  “You have no idea how crazy everything in my life is—”

“It is that easy,” he says.  “You’ll see.  I promise.  And a best friend promise is a forever promise, okay?” 

You cannot bring yourself to argue.  You just nod, your bottom lip wobbling again. 

“Okay,” Jisung says.  “Now come hug me so you can’t see me when I start crying like a baby.” 

You laugh but fall into his arms nonetheless.  You sit under that window for a long time.  At least, it feels like a long time.  You don’t look at the clock and you don’t count the minutes.  It is not the kind of hug that is leading to anything because he doesn’t want to kiss you and he has no other motivation.  He just hugs you until you are both calm, when your tears feel silly and dramatic and your eyes are sore but you feel strangely refreshed. 

“I need to go,” you say, to which he whines in complaint.  You laugh.  “Saving me will have to wait for another day.  For now, if I don’t get home…” 

As if summoned by that very thought, your phone erupts with buzzes and rings.  You sigh and fish it out of the pocket of your shorts, watching messages from your father, his security, and Felix come flooding in.  The others are making commands and demanding your whereabouts.  Felix asks, Are you okay?  Then, I have to turn on your GPS.  They’re gonna come get you wherever you are. 

You answer Felix, telling him you’re fine, that you’re with Jisung.  He sends an emoji that manages to look very unimpressed, then just says, that’s what the boss gets for sending amateurs. 

Your father’s men are far from amateurs but it is still funny when Felix insults them. 

You turn your phone to silent after that, not bothering to answer the others.  They will find you in no time with Felix’s help. 

“I better go,” you say.  “My dad is sending someone to pick me up.  I’ll be fine tonight, I promise.  But I’m gonna start walking because I don’t want you mixed up in any of this when they get here.” 

Jisung tries to argue but lets you go when he sees how serious you are.  He insists you take a hoodie for warmth so you do.  You give him one last wave before you begin the trek down the block, hoping to get far away before your father’s men find you. 

You have made it two blocks over when a sleek black car approaches.  You start to walk towards it because there is no other reason for a car that nice to be slowing down on a street like this.  Only when it gets closer do you realize you the make and model of the car is not one that your father usually uses, and you do not recognize the driver. 

Your heart kicks up with a startled, frantic flutter as the car comes to a slow stop not far from you.  You swerve, crossing to the other side of the street to avoid it.  You try to act nonchalant, reassuring yourself that it is coincidence, that your father’s insanity is seeping into your brain and making you paranoid. 

By the time you realize your anxieties are not baseless, it is too late.  Not that you stood much of a chance in the first place. 

You try running but there are three of them overall, one driver and two armed muscle guys.  They chase you down and cover your mouth before you can scream.  You kick and jostle but all of Felix’s self-defence lessons fly out of your brain in your panic.  Your tears are all used up so you don’t cry.  Even terror passes, leaving only nausea in its wake. 

It doesn’t feel real, being shoved into the back of a car by men in black suits.  This is not something real that happens.  This is something your father threatens, something inane and melodramatic, something out of a movie or a book, not real life.  Not your life. 

Yet here you are, flanked by two strange men while the driver peels across the tarmac.   They do not cuff or gag you, simply buckle you into a seatbelt and point a gun at you.  You are shaking too bad to do anything useful anyway, and your voice feels clogged in your suddenly dry throat. 

They are talking to you but it takes you a minute to register any word, everything fuzzy and out of focus. 

“—just be a good girl and co-operate and everything will be fine.” 

That is all you hear. 

That and the name Miroh. 

You try to calm yourself.  You think rationally.  Miroh has no reason to kill you or even torture you, as far as you know.  In all likelihood, he is using you as leverage to get something from your father.  That is why your father is always worried about you being taken.  He doesn’t talk about damage to you, just his business. 

You manage to calm the worst of your shaking.  Then the one with the gun yanks on your hair and you jerk away violently. 

“She’s better behaved than Miroh said,” he says with a laugh.  “Might not even have to take a finger.” 

You clutch your hands tightly together, glaring at him, but it just garners more chuckles.  The driver laughs too, peering at you through the rear-view mirror. 

“Too well behaved,” he suddenly says, eyes narrowing.  “You check her pockets?” 

It is then you remember your phone.  Felix turned on your GPS.   They can track where you are going.  Felix can track where you are going.  If nothing else, you trust that Felix can do something.  Felix, Felix, Felix.  It is all you can think about.  Felix will find you.  You will be back with Felix tonight, safe in your shared bed. You are always safe with Felix.  You want to be there right now.  You can’t even remember how you got here.  Your whole day is turning into one blacked out nothingness, a dreary bleak empty before you found yourself in this car hurtling to god-knows-what fate. 

The man finds your phone.  You try to reach for it but then you feel the gun at your temple and your whole body locks up.  You have seen a gun before, many times, but you have never had one pointed at you.  You always thought you would be brave, having been around them your whole life.  Maybe that is why you are afraid.  Your body is trying to protect you, freezing you like it always does. 

The man rolls down the window and throws your phone into the wind. 

You sit back and close your eyes, willing this nightmare to end.  You try to convince yourself that this is your father’s doing, that he is just trying to teach you a lesson.  You wouldn’t even be mad.   You just want to go home. 

But there is no sign of your father’s security team.  You pass dozens then hundreds of cars as you leave the residential area and take the highway.  None of your father’s vehicles are among them.  And how could they be?  They can track as far as your phone and then they have nothing.  There is no way for them to know where Miroh’s men are taking you.  You have no idea what they want.  You can’t even cry or panic because your body is shutting itself down in its panic.  The periphery of your gaze is obscured in shadow.   Their voices fade in and out, rarely directed at you anyway.  They seem to know you will not answer.  They have experience with this sort of thing. 

Of course they do.  Miroh is your father’s only equal.  Your father does nothing by halves.  Miroh would only send the best. 

You leave the highway and turn onto a country road out of the city.  Wherever they are taking you, it is far and they are unhurried.  You have a long time to stew in your anxiety.    

You can only see directly in front of you, through the windshield and the rear-view mirror.  You stare, willing one of your father’s black cars to appear in it even though you know that will not happen.  The only cars are civilian cars and even those begin to disappear as they take side roads to their own destinations.  Soon it is just one other car trailing you at a distance.  It is a beat-up civilian truck, not very big, a splotchy, peeling burgundy.   The rims are muddy from frequent use and little washing. 

It is ugly but it could be the last thing you see for a while.  It makes you stare more intensely. 

You are focussing so hard on the tiny details that you do not even notice it is speeding up.  It goes from a distant spot to filling the rear-view in moments.  

The driver mumbles a curse to himself, shaking his head and frowning. 

“What’s this idiot doing?” he grumbles.  “As if we don’t have enough to deal with.  Now we got some drunk on the road.” 

The truck is swerving, back and forth, then it speeds up and whips past your car.  It startles the driver, making him veer a hard right as the truck goes left around him.  He shouts a curse even though the other driver can’t hear, the truck already speeding away into the darkness.  There are no street lamps on the country road so it completely vanishes, disappearing when it leaves the glow of your headlights. 

There is a moment of quiet.  A tunnel of light.  Darkness around it. 

The truck appears again in the middle of it, parked and blocking the entire road lengthwise.  The driver shouts another curse and slams on the brakes to stop from barrelling into it. 

The whole car lurches with the sudden halt.  You snap forward and back again, held down by the seatbelt.  The other two hit the seats in front of them, cursing as they fix themselves.  The weapons guy drops his gun and it clatters somewhere on the ground of the vehicle.  You watch him dive down, cursing to himself before he finds it. 

“Get him out of the way!” the driver shouts, pointing to the stopped vehicle.   The two men get out of the car, sounding more aggravated by the obstacle than afraid.  The other one pulls a gun so they are both armed as they approach the vehicle. 

The men circle the truck.  You can see they are yelling and cursing again.  They come stomping back over to the vehicle.   Even with all the windows rolled up, you can hear him as he shouts, “There’s no one fucking there!” 

“What!” the driver returns, pointing ahead.  “He didn’t just disappear!  Check the—”  

He is interrupted by the rattle of unexpected thunder – what sounds like someone running up and over the car from behind.  You both look up as if you can see through the car roof.  The men outside react just as fast, guns raised.  Shots are swiftly fired and you cover your ears, flinching. 

The figure comes into view.  It feels like your heart stops. 

Felix takes a flying leap off the roof of the car and comes swinging into view.  He lands on the shoulders of one of the men.  In one sharp move, Felix snaps the man’s neck.  When his body crumples, Felix jumps, tackling the other man and knocking his gun out of the way.  He pulls his own gun out of his waistband and you don’t even have time to cover your eyes before a bullet shatters the man’s temple.  That body falls too. 

It was a matter of seconds.  The driver scarcely has time to react.  He is fumbling with the glove compartment when Felix walks up to the car and shoots his window.   The bullet does not penetrate the glass but it fractures it, sending shards flying onto the man. 

You shriek, your voice coming back to you.  Felix smacks the broken window with the butt of the gun, shattering it completely.  He unlocks the car, his face devoid of all emotion as he throws open the door and reaches in.  He grabs the man by the scruff of his neck and repeatedly slams his head against the steering wheel, knocking him out cold. 

He closes the door with a kick and tucks his gun back in his waistband. 

Adrenaline completely takes over your body.  You do not think or reflect, only feel and act.   Felix steps toward the car to open your door but you are already pushing it open.  He steps back when it flies past him, already breathing hard when you stumble out of the vehicle on shaky legs. 

“Do you have any idea—” he starts, his deep voice breaking.  “Any, any idea how worried I was?  And those stupid, fucking, incompetent—”

He is pointing to nowhere, just gesticulating in his emotions.  It all seems to pour of him, terror and agony, anger and helplessness.  He is wearing casual clothes, ripped jeans, a sleeveless red flannel over a t-shirt.  He was probably sitting at home when he jumped into action.    

His dark roots are starting show in his golden hair.  You will have to colour that for him, you think, giddily, half-mad. 

“You could have died,” he is saying.  “They could have—”

You throw your arms around his neck and crash into him.  It is a collision of a kiss, more teeth than lips until you figure out to close your mouth. 

Those men could not move him but you can.   He backs up under the guiding push of your soft hands, walking, walking, walking, each quick backward step until you have him pressed up against the truck, your lips still locked.  When you finally separate it is with a gasping, wet split.  You stare at each other, taking in the reality of the other person.  Him, with blood disappearing into the red threads of his flannel.  You, alive, unharmed, right here in front of him with no one to stop him from kissing you again. 

He grabs you by the neck and pulls you back to him, kissing you with an open-mouthed desperation that has you practically sobbing with need.  He flips your positions, cupping the back of your head so you are not hurt when he pins you to the truck.  You sink your fingers into his hair, wrapping a leg around his waist as he grinds against the softest spot of you.  He licks into your mouth, making a rumbling noise of deep, heartfelt satisfaction that makes you throb. 

His lips are pink and raw when he stops for a breath.  You kiss the side of his face, clinging to him, making a pleading noise when he does not resume kissing you. 

He steps back and points to the car. 

“Get in the truck,” he says firmly.  “This isn’t the time.  Don’t argue.” 

You have no desire whatsoever to argue.  You climb into the passenger seat while Felix makes a phone call.  You watch him through the window, running a hand through his hair, his mouth pink, his shirt blood-stained. 

You have always known Felix was capable of this sort of thing, but seeing it is very different than imagining it.  Before it was some nebulous concept of a person but now the reality of him collides with the boy who has been sharing your bed for years.  This is the same boy who needed your help to tie his school tie.  Cartoon-watching, computer-building Felix, with his dry wit and toothy smiles. 

You are not sure what it says about you that you are not afraid of him, not even a little bit.  Maybe it is because you are not surprised.  Maybe it is something else.  But the only thing you want right now is for him to put his arms around you. 

He gets into the truck and sits there for a moment, just breathing as he looks down at his phone.  A thought flickers across his eyes, a twitch of his brows, then he turns off the phone and tosses it into the backseat.   The gun follows with a clatter.  You look back at both then at him with shock. 

Felix has never turned off that phone.  It is always completely charged and within reach.  The GPS cannot be tracked if it is off.  Your father cannot reach him if it is off.   It is never supposed to be off. 

You stare at him, tracing his profile as he pushes his hair back then starts the car.   You only look away when you pass the other vehicle, the unconscious driver still slumped over the wheel.  You turn your head, watching the scene disappear into the darkness behind you. 

“Your father’s men will clean it up,” Felix says, drawing your eyes back to him.  He does not look away from the road, resolutely focussed despite the lack of traffic on the country road.

“You left one alive,” you say.  “What if he wakes up?”

“Uhh, he’ll be lucky if he is conscious in two days,” Felix says with a scoff.  His lips draw into that thin line.  “Your father will want someone to interrogate.”

You look out the windshield and sigh.  You feel like you have aged years tonight yet it also feels like none of this really happened.  It seems impossible that moments ago you were staring through a different windshield, petrified. 

Felix looks at you.  You turn your head and meet his gaze, watching grief twist his features before he looks ahead again. 

“Did they hurt you?” he asks, gripping the wheel tight with both hands. 

You shake your head, still facing him, studying him. 

“I was thinking about you,” you say, the words escaping in a breathless slur.  “It was the only thing that made me feel safe.”  You find it easier to speak your feelings after everything.  It’s like all that fear blasted through a barricade.  You thought you might never see him again and all those feelings were trapped inside you.  You cannot help but let them pour out now, like blood seeping from an open wound, your hand shaking as you reach across the console to touch the side of his face. 

His breath stutters.  He takes your hand and for a moment holds it, squeezing it in his.  He does not look away from the road.  Eventually he puts your hand in your lap, curling it around your thigh and squeezing, then he grabs the wheel again. 

Your gaze drifts to the wheel then the overall truck.  The rest of reality comes back to you in increments and you suddenly realize this is obviously not one of your father’s cars. 

“Where did you get this truck?” you ask. 

“I stole it,” he says. 

“You stole a car?!” you shriek, voice naturally pitching up with surprise. 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just killed two men,” he says.  “You’re worried about the car?” 

“I don’t know!”  You slouch in your seat, looking out the window.  “Don’t talk to me, I’m traumatized.” 

He shakes his head but laughs a little.   You do not speak for a bit, the only sound the tires rolling over the gravel road.  Then Felix sighs. 

“They wouldn’t listen,” he says.  “Your father’s, hmmm, ‘professionals’.”  He rolls his eyes and clicks his jaw, clearly still pissed about it.  “I knew it had to be Miroh.  You were heading west to the highway when your GPS stopped.  I knew where they’d be taking you.  But your father’s geniuses thought you threw your phone and were running.  But you wouldn’t do that, yeah.  You want to be found.  That’s why you run.  You want him to care enough to chase you and bring you home.” 

You look out your window, resting your head in your hand as rows of dark trees pass you by. 

“Home,” you say.  “Miroh.  Not sure there’s going to be a difference in what’s waiting, is there?” 

Felix says nothing to this.  The gravel road comes to an end as you approach tarmac.  Instead of turning left to return to the highway, Felix turns right.  You look back through the window, confused, wondering if you mistook your location.  But no, you are definitely driving further into the countryside. 

“The highway is that way,” you say, looking at him.  His whole body is tense, eyes locked on the road.  “Aren’t we going home?”

“Yes,” he says, then turns up a different country road.  “Eventually.” 

You do not know what to expect with Felix.  His emotional fluctuation is not as blatant as yours, but he does waver unpredictably, one moment leaning towards you and then pulling away.  You do not know what he is planning and you do not ask.  You simply stare through the window as you turn up a few more roads, getting further and further from the main road until you turn into a small gravel lane between some fields.  Bushes surround the car on either side, the main road very far behind you. 

Felix turns off the car but keeps both hands on the wheel, still staring intensely out the front window.

“Where are we?” you ask, squinting through the dark at the fields.  It feels exceptionally quiet without the engine running. 

“This cannot happen again,” Felix says.

He is still facing forward, concentrating on nothing that you can see.  You look ahead then back at him, sighing with exasperation.  If he drove you out here to just to lecture you some more…

“I know,” you say.  “I shouldn’t have left in the first place.  I’m sorry.  I know it’s your job to—”

“This has nothing to do with my job,” he says.  He shakes his head.  “I— You—Do you understand how I—  This is— This is reckless.  Stupid.  It cannot happen again, yeah?  Do you get me?”

“I know,” you say.  “And it won’t.  I get it.  No more running, I just—”

Your breath catches when he looks at you.  There is so much heat in his gaze that you feel immediately flushed.

He undoes his seatbelt then reaches across the console and undoes yours.  When you hear the click, it all registers.  You reach for him as he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls.  This kiss is a crash as well, but a stumbling one, less vicious than thirsty.  Arms get tangled in seatbelts but he manages to whip them aside.  He guides you into his lap as you climb ungracefully over the console with all your shaking limbs. 

You make a sound like relief when you are in his lap, chests touching, knees pressing into his hips, arms around his neck.  His hands are under your borrowed hoodie, then under your shirt, palms splayed against the bare skin of your back as he kisses you with a wet open mouth, hungry and seeking, asking and taking. 

He reaches to the side and fumbles for something.  You squeal with surprise when the seat abruptly drops, your combined weight pushing it flat when he flips the lever.  The surprise passes and he spills back, taking you with him.   He yanks at your hoodie and you sit up to pull your arms through.  Embarrassingly enough, you get tangled trying to remove it at the same time as your shirt.   You get them both off, laughing shyly and feeling ridiculous with your ungraceful action. 

He blinks up at you, his face full of much more wonder and affection than you think you merit.  It is almost more embarrassing than your clumsiness. 

Your awkward hand covers your collarbone but he takes that hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing you palm then your fingertips.  You throb with the recollection of the last time he took your fingers in his mouth, except this time he doesn’t look away, all that heat centred on you. 

He grasps your hips then slides his hands up your body.  You wonder if other people feel like one big shivering mess at such simple touches.   You blame it on today’s chaotic episode.  For a moment, you were nothing and no one, floating in a bleak emptiness with no past or future.  Just a bartering tool, business collateral, a thing sitting in a car for transport to be used by a different bad man for financial leverage. 

Felix touches you and your body comes to life, all that humanity rushing back.  You’re a person and so is he, flushed and excited, just a little messy but earnest.  You find yourselves in a stolen moment in a stolen car, nothing yours but each other. 

He palms your breasts through your bra then fumbles with the clasp, his usually dexterous hands suddenly jumpy.  It makes you both laugh, tittering little sounds as you get it off and toss it aside.  His calloused hands on your bare skin erases any lingering embarrassment.

Straddling his hips, you rock against him.  The hard line of him is pushing at the fly of his jeans, as receptive and eager as you.  You make similar sounds, soft low hums, used to keeping quiet.  You remember you don’t have to restrain yourself so you moan when he cups you through your shorts, grinding the heel of his palm against the soft wet heat of you.  You push his shirt up, running your hands over his chest, noticing a few scars but not lingering much right now. 

You touch him like he touches you, hands wandering, working each other up until you are wild in your wanting.  He makes a rough sound when you squeeze him through his jeans, then he is trying to work off your shorts while you unbutton his fly.  You have to get off him to take the rest of your clothes off.  His fingers are twitchy as they scrabble over his fly, unzipping then shuffling his jeans down his hips. 

You are confronted with that moment of intention again, when his jeans are at his knees and his shirt is pushed up, when you are completely naked in a car in the middle of nowhere and climbing back on top of him, making the deliberate choice to do what you are doing.  It is exhilarating.  It is scary.  You have big fears, about the repercussions in the world outside this vehicle, and you have little fears, like what if you are not good at this and you let him down after everything. 

But that seems impossible when he looks at you like that, warm and desirous, breathing hard as he drags his fingers down your body and slips them between your thighs.  You touch him too, marvelling in his sounds and faces, the flush of his cheeks, his mussed hair.  With just his fingers inside you, he is already looking at you like you are a singular miracle. 

It does feel miraculous.  When you think of where you started, when you think of who you are, this seems so impossible.  But you are here, losing yourself to his steady touch and tender gaze.  You grab his wrist, instinctively seeking control when he works you up to an orgasm, making you clench around his fingers.  You shudder on top of him, your head tipping back.   

“Fuck,” he says, so low and guttural it hardly sounds like a word.  Then he says softly, “Sweetheart.” This is accompanied with a long touch inside you, dragging his fingers so slowly, drawing out your orgasm until your whole body feels soft and pliant.  You ache with the loss of him when he withdraws his touch, just his thumb rolling across that oversensitive nub of pleasure.  Your skin already feels sweaty where you are touching, your hand curled around the length of him as you position yourself above him. 

Even with his effort, it is a stretch and burn when you first sink down.  You smack a hand on the roof of the truck, scratching your nails over it as you sit in his lap with him inside you. 

He curses.  His head falls back, his eyes closing. 

“Is it okay?” you ask in a strained voice. 

He replies, “Ahh…” then, “Uh!” then “Uhhhahh…” then finally, “Yes, yes.  God yes.”  He lifts his head and looks at where he is inside you, then he looks up at you.  “Are you, uh, are you okay?” 

His voice is a raspy thing, his face so raw with pleasure that you find yourself giggling in spite of yourself. 

“Yeah,” you say on a breath.  “Just… a lot.” 

He sits up, careful not to jostle you too much.  You still feel him moving inside you.  When you clench, he makes a sound, but he is not distracted from his mission, cupping the back of your head and bringing you close for a kiss.  You sink into it, your hands sliding onto his shoulders as his tongue slips past your lips. 

He helps you move, both of you following base instinct and little else.  It starts to feel deliriously good.  You are light-headed from kissing, worked up from knowing he is as close to you as he possibly can be. 

You move slowly, hands roaming over each other.  You get his flannel off and toss it into the passenger seat.  Then he braces himself to move his hips better, holding you steady.  You touch the roof so you don’t hit your head, rolling your hips to meet him.  It’s good but not enough and soon he is turning you over, laying you on your back under him.  He has to separate from you to get comfortable. 

You whine, touching yourself, and he smacks his head hard against the roof with surprise.  You laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth while he winces and rubs his head. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, still giggling.  Fortunately, he chuckles, wincing again for show before sighing. 

“Never better,” he says, and takes off his shirt.  You are both perspiring and not just from exertion, the car trapping all your combined heat and breathing.  The windows have completely fogged over and it shields you completely.  You have never felt more safe.  You eagerly open your legs to him as he settles on top of you and finds his place again. 

You wrap around him, whimpering and moaning and sighing when he finds a rhythm in this position.  He cradles you in his arms, rocking into you until you are dizzy with it.  He somehow feels deeper and deeper with every motion.  He kisses your chest and throat, up to your ear, across your face, your mouth.   You kiss him back, hooking your ankles behind his back and pulling him hard against you like you want more. 

“Got you,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear.  “Got you, sweetheart.” 

He makes you come again, tears springing to your eyes from the sensation of it all.   When his breathing gets frantic and his hips erratic, you let him go.  You breathe hard under him as he sits back and grabs his discarded flannel, coming into that.

 He tosses it aside after, then runs his fingers through his hair as he stares down at you.  You slowly sit up and lean in for one more kiss.  He obliges, cupping your face and kissing you deeply. 

You want to wrap around him again, hold him to your chest and lay there until you are both ready for more.

You take what you can get.  This was dangerous, but you have no regrets.  Even when you are both dressed and in your own seats, you feel enflamed and alive and glowing. 

He tosses his flannel out the window, leaving it on the ground behind you.  You roll down the windows and return to the highway.  It is a long drive home. 

-

Your father does not punish you.  He does not punish Felix in place of you.  The house is deathly silent when you arrive home.  Your father is in his office and Felix takes you there to see him. 

Your father does not even look up from his book.  After a moment he asks, “Did they hurt you?” 

You shake your head but he isn’t looking at you, so you are forced to find your voice and answer, “No.” 

“Good,” he says and turns the page to his book. 

You are teetering on the edge of panic all over again, waiting for him to erupt, to throw something at you, to grab you by the hair and give you a beating worse than anything ever before.  But he just turns another page to his book, so it’s you that erupts. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” you say in a frantic rush. “Hyunjin and I broke up and I was upset so I wanted to see Jisung, that’s it, I just wanted to see my friend.  It’s just because—”

Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, trying to stop you from running your mouth when you don’t need to do so.  It succeeds in silencing you, your voice breaking.  You swallow down a sob. 

Your father finally lifts his head.  His expression is completely blank.  There is no trace of anger, no sadness, no guilt.  You do not know what to do when he is like this.  He is giving you nothing worth a reaction so all your emotions bubble inside you with nowhere to go, spilling over and scalding you like a boiling pot.

“Go to bed,” your father says.  “What’s done is done.” 

It is not surprising that you have a nightmare, waking in a fit that even Felix cannot comfort.  Your half-asleep mind panics when he grabs you, forgetting who he is.  Only when he repeats your name in that sweet, low voice do you remember yourself.  You collapse against him, shaking while he strokes your back and talks gently to you, lulling you back to sleep.  It remains fitful and uneven but you get through the night. 

You are expecting the punishment to come in the morning but your father does not speak to you even though he is in the house.  You do not see him all day.  You have another restless night of bad dreams, Felix comforting you as best he can.  You wake the next morning thinking that surely, the punishment would come today.  There is no way your father is letting you get away with this.  He is planning something, something big, something you will never forget. 

But your father is gone and so is the security team.  Felix phones him and your father informs him that he had some impromptu business to take care of, that he would be gone for the next week.   

You are driving to school on Monday morning when Felix says, “Maybe he thinks it was punishment enough on its own.”  

“Do you really believe that?” you ask. 

Felix does not answer because he knows how far-fetched that is.  He knows your father as well as you do. 

There are only a couple more days of school.  This late in the semester, the lessons are completed, exams being graded.  Everyone is gearing up for graduation, signing yearbooks, taking pictures.   Classes offer more down time than work, letting students mingle.  It is easy few handful of days, the most exceptionally fun days of the whole year. 

Jisung would not miss it.  And he would not abandon you after your conversation.  When he is missing from school on Monday, you are immediately filled with horror. 

Felix looks at you when he realizes Jisung is missing, doing his best to calm you with his eyes. 

“He wouldn’t,” you murmur, just loud enough for Felix to hear.  “Tell me he wouldn’t…” 

Felix says nothing.  He knows your father as well as you do. 

You try phoning Jisung at various intervals through the day but it keeps going straight to voicemail.  Jisung is not great at keeping his phone charged so this is not unusual on its own, but you cannot shake the dread in the pit of your gut. 

Before the day ends, you all but throw yourself at Felix.  All it takes is one teary-eyed please for him to nod, understanding. 

You have the driver take you to Jisung’s house.  Felix steps out of the car and calls your father, needing to report your diversion from routine, but also hopefully gleaning some intel into your father’s potential involvement.  Meanwhile, you run up the porch and frantically bang on the door, not stopping until Jisung’s mother whips it open. 

“What?” she snaps.  “Why are you banging— oh it’s you.”

“Where is he?” you ask.  “Is he sick?  Can I see him?” 

“He’s just at the hospital,” she says like this is no big deal at all, even while you are sweating through your clothes with anxious terror. 

“The hospital?” you ask.  “Why is he—”

“Calm down!  He just had an allergic reaction,” she says.  “Stupid child ate peanuts and didn’t have his pen.  He’ll be fine.” 

“Can you tell me which hospital?” you say.  Some tension leaves your body with this revelation but even so, you will not feel truly at ease until you can see that Jisung is safe with your own two eyes.

His mother tells you where to find him and you thank her while she closes the door in your face.  You are feeling lighter already, heart bursting with light when you spin and jump off the porch. 

You rush up to Felix, eager to report your good news, but you draw to a slow stop at the look on his face.  This is not his professional indifference, listening to commands, but instead an expression of obvious remorse.  He looks apologetic, eyes full of pity, as he extends his arm, handing you the phone. 

You press the device to your ear, heart skipping beats in the worst way. 

“Hello?” you say. 

“After everything I have done for you,” your father says.  “After everything I have given you.  After my leniency despite your repeated abominable behaviour.  For you to end things with an appropriate boy to go chasing after some no-count, miscreant loser with no future and no—”

“What are you talking about?” you say.  “I don’t even know—”

“You stupid little—”  You can picture his face, mouth frothing with rage, brows pinched in fury.  You can picture him catching his breath as he slams a hand on his desk.  “Do you think I couldn’t see it all over your face?  That you were out whoring around with that nobody boy you call a friend?  I could see your commitment to the Hwang boy was a front but I foolishly thought you were making an effort to improve yourself.  How long have you been deceiving me?  Fronting with the Hwang boy while you run around with your schoolboy behind my back?” 

He thinks you’re dating Jisung.  He thinks this is all because of Jisung.  You cannot tell him the truth without ruining your life, Felix’s life, and Hyunjin’s life. 

You scramble for a defence, a denial, but memories of you and Felix flood your mind, the panic of that night takes over you, and soon you are freezing up. 

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” you eventually manage, your voice quivering with the rest of you.  “Please, Jisung is completely innocent, he’s just my friend, he—”

“Please,” your father says derisively.  “You have the audacity to say please to me now.  To ask for my permission now.   You listen to me and you listen well.  What I did to this boy was nothing. Having an allergen slipped into his food was a warning to you.  Your one and only warning, a warning I am only giving you because I prefer not to deal with civilian messes when I can avoid it.  But I whole-heartedly assure you, that if I find out you are in contact with this boy, if I find out you are even thinking about looking in his direction, it is over for him.  I will have him shot in the fucking head in front of you if that’s what it will take to get through to you.” 

You are bombarded with the image of Felix shooting those men.  Suddenly, you imagine it is Jisung across from him instead.  You look at Felix with a frantic, terrified look.  Your voice is weak when you say, “Dad, please, he’s—”

“Do not talk to back me!” he screams.  “You spoiled little slut!  He’s trash, is what he is!  Do you know what kind of life I have given you?  How dare you insult me this way.  How dare you throw it all on that waste of a person.  You go to that boy and you tell him to stay away or it will be the end of him.  Do you understand me?  Say yes or so help me—”

“Yes,” you say, sucking in a hard breath to keep your tears at bay.  “Yes, fine, just leave him alone.  Don’t hurt him, please.” 

Your father hangs up without another word.   

You look up at Felix.  He takes the phone, sucking in a breath of his own. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“It’s not your fault,” you say. 

Jisung is sitting up in his hospital bed when you find him.  His phone is a dead brick sitting on his bedside table, uncharged as anticipated.  He is sipping from a carton and watching television when you walk into the room, surprising him.  His face lights up with delight and he chokes on his drink, dribbling a bit down his front. 

You hurry to his side, worried, but he just laughs and wipes his chin. 

“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” he says.  “It was just a flare-up.  They’re just keeping me for observation to make sure I don’t, you know, suffocate and die in my sleep.”  He says this like it is ridiculous and funny but you are overwhelmed with the image of Jisung lying still in this bed, all the life and colour of your wonderful and vibrant best friend drained to nothing. 

Jisung can see something is wrong.  The humour falls from his expression, replaced with concern as he sees you well up with tears. 

“Hey,” he says, softer.  “I said I’m fine.  Don’t worry.  Is this about something else?  Are you okay?” 

You are not crying but you can feel the emotion in your throat.  If you speak, you think it will pour out in a flood.  You can only sit there, perched on the edge of his bed, staring at him.  He still looks strange without his hat.  Although he is joking around, there is an admitted pallor to his complexion.  He is on the mend but he has clearly been very ill for a day at least. 

That pallor and serious expression look so wrong on his face.  When you think of Jisung, you think of happiness, the first burst of sunshine in your life after growing up in shade.  You think about his awkward laughter during your first conversation, his many hugs, his stupid jokes, his winks and encouragements.  You did not know how to love anyone or anything until you met him. 

In your silence, he looks around, spotting Felix hovering in the doorway. 

“Felix!” he says.  “Hey!  What’s going on?”

“Hey,” Felix says gently.  He looks at you, sees your downturned face as you gather yourself.  He smiles at Jisung with his best distracting grin, like everything is fine, like everything has always been fine.  “Just saying bye, man,” Felix says. 

“Bye?”  Jisung asks.  “Where are you going?  Right before grad?  Not back to Australia, are you?”  Jisung looks at you and pets your head.  “Is Felix leaving?  Is that why you’re upset?”  

“No, Jisung,” you say, forcing your voice.  You shake your head.  “No, it’s not Felix.  I just…”  You look up and meet his eyes, so big and concerned.  You see him at age twelve, thirteen, fourteen, all those years he coaxed you out of your shell and ran around with you.  He was the first person to look back at you, to see something worth reaching for.   You want to touch his face and hug him, but you are certain if you start any of that, you will not be able to do what you need to do.  “Jisung, I’m leaving,” you say.  “I won’t be able to see you again.” 

“What?” he asks, confused for just a moment before he shakes his head and frowns.  “This is about your dad, isn’t it?  Is he doing something?  You have to let me help you—”

“Jisung, you can’t help me—”

“Yes, I can—”

“You can’t—”

“Then who’s going to?” he demands. 

“Not you!”  Anger and sadness combine and you look away, staring at the crinkled juice carton on his bedside table.  He is here because of you.  “Jisung, he made you sick.  He will try to kill you.” 

“What?”  Jisung asks, barely above a whisper.  “H-how?  I don’t even—”

“He has professionals,” you say, meeting his bewildered gaze again.  “And he can do much worse than this.” 

Jisung opens and closes his mouth, failing to find the words, then finally he shakes his head and says, “No.  I don’t care.  I’m not scared, I’m—”

“I’m scared,” you say.  “Jisung, I don’t want to see you ever again, because if something happened to you—”  You cannot conceive of a world where this is no Han Jisung.  You would not be the person you are now if he had never existed.  You would not have any emotions at all.  For the first time, you do not curse your sensitive feelings, rather you relish in feeling them at all, that you have a friend that it hurts to lose.   “Jisung, please,” you say.  “Don’t make this harder for me.  I’m going to go and we can’t see each other again.  The best thing you can do for me is have a good life.” 

Jisung starts crying, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. 

“That’s not fair,” he says.  “What about you?  What am I supposed to do?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.  You laugh dryly, looking aside. “It would have been better for you if you never knew me.”

“You already know that’s not true,” he says in a small voice. 

You are certain his face is full of pain but you cannot bring yourself to look at him again.  You try to say the word goodbye but it gets stuck in your throat, so finally you just stand up to leave.   

He grabs your arm, tugging you back.  You stare at the bed, not at him. 

“I said my promise was forever,” he says.  “I don’t care if it’s in five years, or ten years, or fifty.  I know I’m not—I know I can’t do much but—if you need me—”

You just nod, scrunching your face to stop the tears.  It does not work.  You pull your arm away and he lets you go, his hands falling helplessly limp to the bed.  You stare at the ground as you walk away, not looking back at him, not even looking at Felix. 

You are standing in the doorway when Jisung says your name one more time, barely more than a whisper yet stopping you faster than all your father’s screaming. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he says. 

You look up at Felix.  You know when you leave this place, you are going to take his hand.  When you climb into bed tonight, you are going to wrap your arms around him and let him hold and comfort you.  You are going to soothe his nightmares the way he does yours.  You are going to carve out a corner of light and happiness in your otherwise dark life.  You are going to do that because you know how, because having a friend made all the difference. 

“Oh, Jisung,” you say, wiping your face.  “You did save me.” 

You do not stop again, walking past Felix and into the corridor.  He follows swiftly behind, laying a hand on your lower back then taking your hand.  You squeeze it and he squeezes back.  You let him guide you out of the building, your vision blurry.  He knows there is nothing he can say to help right now, but he touches you gently and helps you along.  When you get home, he trails behind you as you trudge up the stairs to the bedroom. 

“Can I do something?” he asks. 

You shake your head.  “Not right now, thank you.” Your voice is still weak.  “Maybe later.” 

“Okay,” he says.  “I’ll be here.”

You nod and continue up the stairs, not even sure what your plan is right now.  It feels strange to go about your usual routine but that is what you do, your body carrying you automatically through each task, changing clothes, putting your uniform away, washing your face. 

You sit at your desk and decide you might as well go through your stack of school supplies.  You have been dumping textbooks and notebooks here as the semester ends.  You sort the empty notebooks from the used ones, the books you will never re-read from the ones to shelve.  You find your yearbook in the middle of it all.  You realize you never actually read Jisung’s message. 

You open the book, skimming the other messages from other students.  Lots of Have a Great Summer from Hyunjin’s friends, but a few cute personalized memos too.  Felix’s joking scrawl is at the bottom of a page and it makes you smile and shake your head.  You smile again when you read Hyunjin’s note: Our lives will not be meaningless.  He ended it with a playful, LOVE YOU MY GIRLFRIEND!!

You flip through the book.  You were not in any clubs or on any teams so there are very few pictures of you, just your posed portrait and one photo on a collage page – you, Jisung, and Felix awkwardly smiling as the yearbook photographer snapped a picture of you at lunchtime. 

You swallow.  You already know turning to the last page is going to make you cry.  You could avoid it.  You could close this book and never think about it again.  Your father would never walk into any situation that would deliberately compromise his mental and emotional integrity.  He would deride you for doing so.  You used to think he was right, that your feelings were a weakness. 

You realize your feelings make him weak, not you.  He wants you to be a robotic doll, devoid of feelings, blindly obedient, but you are not.  You will never strive to be that. 

You flip to the final page, filled with Jisung’s writing.  You smile and cry and curse out your father, then close the book and hug it to your chest, your heart beating steadily where you cradle it close. 

-

To the bestest most awesome girl in the world (not just saying that because you’re the only girl I know) from the bestest most awesome boy in the world (including your evil boyfriend, sorry!) 

Usually it’s easy for me to put my thoughts in writing but I’m drawing a blank.  How can I tell you in words how important your friendship is when that friendship is made up of more than words?  I never thought I’d be someone who runs off to parties or sneaks out onto rooftops, and I never thought I’d have so many friends.  Thank you for giving me the world.  I hope we can keep exploring it together. I know no matter what, we’ll still be friends, even if we’re far away after school ends.  Our parents might suck and we might be kinda weird as hell, but we have each other and that counts for something.  We loved each other first so no matter what else happens that will be always true.  Boyfriends will come and go but your best friend is forever!!  And you know I’ll be ready with a shovel if anyone breaks your heart.  I know it’s sappy to say, but it’s always safe with me.  

Times might be hard and we might drift apart, but I know we’ll see each other again and it will be like we never left.  Take care of yourself if I’m not there.  Keep fighting!!!  Nothing will be impossible for you. 

Your best friend now + always,

Han Jisung ♡

[kidconsky]

Okay.... Let's analyze what happened in dcmk these last few weeks. Obvious SPOLIERS will be commented so you know.

> Appearance of Aoko's mother in Magic Kaito.

Where was she all this time? Why did she never appear or even show a sign of life? She didn't even call her daughter on her birthday... She appears so oblivious to everything, she didn't even know who Kaitou Kid was since her husband has always been obsessed with trying to catch this thief for YEARS. It seems like Gosho just randomly placed her in the story without trying to connect with the canon, it's almost as if she was a character outside of her original manga.

> Film 27 and its breaks in logic and common sense.

After all these years, Gosho decided to go against everything he had already said and made the Kaishin to be cousins, not only ruining a unique relationship (whether you shipped or not) but also bringing plot holes and contradictions in the story. If they are cousins ​​what's the excuse for them never trying to even interact before? Why was it that when Yukiko first met Kaito, she never acted like she was related to her? The same with Toichi, she always talked about him as just her teacher and NOTHING more than that, it doesn't make sense to put that in the story now. Why did Kaito never even have support from his family? Not even showing up at Toichi's symbolic funeral? How come Yusaku never went to talk to his late brother's family, even if he knew the truth KAITO DIDN'T KNOW...

No one even considered his feelings...

> All the bullshit involving Kaishin.

The biggest problem for me about them being cousins ​​is not just because of the ship but because of all the history and construction they had. It's as if everything that's different about them is summed up in the simple fact that they're related. But Kaishin has always had something unique, something that Gosho himself defined as "a mysterious bond". Them not having the slightest type of relationship made everything so unique, a connection that only the two of them could have together, one would easily understand the other even though they were complete strangers. Now I feel like they want to throw that away.

> TOICHI KUROBA AND MY HATE FOR HIM.

Gosho had already said that Toichi was possibly alive but the confirmation brought me a wave of anger and contempt that I had never felt for any other dcmk character (even bo). Let's think about Kaito in this whole story:

• lost his father when he was just a child and is still traumatized by it today.

• for 8 FUCKING YEARS he discovers that his father's death was never an accident but a murder.

• His father was actually an internationally wanted thief who was after a precious stone capable of bringing immortality.

• he steps into his father's shoes as KID and decides to try to find out for himself what happened to his father, who killed him and why.

• now there is a criminal organization that thinks he is the KID who didn't really die and they are trying to kill him once and for all.

• he decides to put himself at risk looking for Pandora, being something belonging to the organization and the police themselves.

• a lot of people hate him, regardless of whether he hurts people or not.

• more and more he becomes more and more removed from everything and becomes burdened with the KID charade.

• his own mother doesn't care about him, on the contrary, it seems like she likes to make things even more difficult for her son (she disguised herself as her dead ex-husband just to screw with her son's head, that's sickening to say the least).

• everything Kaito does is because of his father's murder, he never wanted to be KID, he never liked stealing, he doesn't do any of that for pleasure (except when it involves a certain mini detective but that's not the focus now ).

• and in the end his father was ALIVE all this time, doing who knows what while his son was risking his life because of him... BRO...

This whole thing is insane. And not in a good way.

[jukeboxsweethearttt]

obsessed w sugar daddy rafe !

how would it go when he meets her family ? 🫢

Dreams

OlderSugarDaddy!Rafe x Fem!Reader

Sugar Daddy Rafe credits to @starfxkr ofc💋

cw:very large age gap and kinda of unsupportive parents at first but that’s all!

Rafe had always been the epitome of sophistication and charm since he’s matured and greyed, and you couldn’t wait for him to meet your family.

Despite your excitement, a part of you was nervous. You knew the age gap between you and Rafe was very apparent and might be a point of concern for your parents, who were protective and traditional in their views.

But Rafe, ever the reassuring partner, held your hand as you drove to your childhood home, his presence calming your nerves.

As you pulled up to your parents’ house, the familiar sight brought back a rush of memories. Rafe gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Everything will be fine, sweetheart,” he said softly, his eyes full of warmth. “We’ve got this.”

Your parents greeted you with open arms, their smiles genuine but tinged with curiosity and slight apprehension as they eyed Rafe. After the initial pleasantries, you introduced Rafe properly. “Mom, Dad, this is Rafe,” you said, your voice steady. “The man I’ve told you so much about.”

Your mother, always the more expressive one, was the first to respond. “It’s nice to meet you, Rafe,” she said, her smile polite but cautious. Your father nodded, his expression reserved as he studied Rafe.

Over dinner, the conversation was stilted, each topic seeming to circle back to subtle probes about your relationship. Your mother finally voiced the question that had been hanging in the air. “Rafe, how old are you?”

Rafe, ever composed, smiled gently. “I’m fifty-two.”

Your parents exchanged glances. Your father cleared his throat, his tone measured but firm. “And our daughter is twenty-one. That’s quite a significant age difference, don’t you think?”

You felt a wave of tension wash over the table. “We’re aware of that, Dad,” you interjected, trying to keep your voice steady. “But age isn’t what defines our relationship.”

Rafe placed a comforting hand on yours. “I understand your concerns,” he said, addressing your parents directly. “Age can be a difficult thing to accept, but I assure you, my intentions with your daughter are genuine. I love her deeply and am committed to building a future with her.”

Your mother’s expression softened slightly, but your father remained stern. “We just want what’s best for her. How can we be sure that you, being so much older, can provide that?”

Rafe’s gaze was unwavering. “I understand your protectiveness. I would feel the same way if it were my daughter. I can only assure you that I am here for the long term. I want to make your daughter happy and support her in every way possible.”

After dessert, your father asked Rafe to join him on the porch for a private conversation. Your heart pounded as you watched them step outside, but Rafe gave you a reassuring glance before following. Your mother, sensing your anxiety, squeezed your hand. “He seems like a good man,” she said softly. “But you know your father and I worry about the age difference.”

On the porch, your father didn’t waste time. “Rafe, I’ll be honest,” he began, his voice steady. “I’m concerned about the age gap between you and my daughter. It’s not about you personally, but I worry about the long-term implications.”

Rafe nodded, respecting your father’s candor. “I understand your concerns, sir,” he replied. “But I assure you, my intentions with your daughter are genuine. I love her deeply, and I am committed to building a future with her. Age may be a factor, but it doesn’t define the love and respect we have for each other.”

Your father studied Rafe for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “It’s clear you care for her,” he said finally. “But understand, this isn’t something we’ll accept lightly. We need to see consistency and commitment. Words aren’t enough.”

Back inside, your father’s demeanor had softened. He shared a look with your mother, and you could see the silent communication between them. Your mother smiled at you, her eyes kind but still concerned. “We trust your judgment,” she said. “But we need time to fully accept this.”

Rafe returned to your side, his presence a comforting anchor. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home,” he said earnestly. “I promise to always cherish and support your daughter.”

Your father nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips. “That’s all we can ask for, Rafe. Just give us time to adjust.”

Driving back, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of relief and happiness. Rafe’s hand rested on your thigh, his touch reassuring. “I told you it would be fine,” he said, his voice filled with affection.

You smiled, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for being so patient and understanding,” you whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied, his eyes filled with warmth. “And I’m so grateful to have your family’s tentative support. I know it means a lot to you.”

With Rafe by your side and your family’s cautious acceptance, you felt ready to face whatever the future held. The love you shared was strong enough to overcome any obstacle, and you knew that together, you could navigate the complexities of life with grace and unwavering commitment.

[diamondcitydarlin]

----LOTS OF SPOILERS FOR THE FILM BELOW BE AWARE---

The thing that's driving me kinda CRAZY about the sequel though is how perfectly it sets up a personal arc for Lydia to be intertwined with Beej's. Like I said in my reaction post after seeing the film last night, I feel like Lydia as a character doesn't really get much of an arc or a resolution by the end of the story, as most of the plot is focused on repairing her relationship with her daughter, with Delia, maybe even her ex-husband to a certain extent, and for as much as she's rid of someone actually preying on her (Rory) we have no reason to believe she's found inner peace or really discovered herself or isn't still constantly popping pills to help with the 'gift' of sight she still has to deal with. There's so much about her left unresolved that Tim is either going to have to make another film about or I will have to fanfic about. But again, what's also fascinating is the way the beats of Lydia's story become tangled up with Beej's by the end of this, and also the ambiguous suggestion that there might be some kind of red string of fate linking them together across life and death and centuries (my kingdom for Beej saying "I've crossed oceans of time to find you" in a deep sexy Dracula voice and Lydia being like "plz shut the fuck up" LMAO)

Like, the 'psychic connection'. The thing that makes Lydia able to see and interact with Beej in places other than the house/model in Winter River. At first I think we're led to believe these are genuine hallucinations she's having, but ofc that's debunked when Beej reveals he's aware of these sightings and has been participating in them on purpose. Does this suggest that their first marriage may have been binding in some way that didn't release him from death, but allowed him more range to manifest so long as he was attached to her? That's not really addressed or explained, but I feel like it opens the possibility of being a thing (as so many fanfics have had happen before, I LOVE it tbh)

Also, the parallel of them both having had predatory exes that tricked them into 'selling their souls' (one in a figurative sense, the other literally lmao). I'm honestly shocked more conclusions weren't drawn from that conspicuous parallel in the film itself, because it's VERY interesting. It seems almost to suggest they're both meant to safeguard each other's souls (which is why I'm still bitter we didn't get Lydia defending him from Delores, I think that would've been a nice follow up to Beej saving her from Rory, even if she was just doing it out of a sense of obligation).

And idk, on the whole I feel a lot of Lydia's personal struggle at this point in her life is defined by a need to feel 'normal'. I get how that can seem odd coming from the teen girl that confidently described herself as 'strange and unusual', but this is 30 years later, after several failed relationships, after becoming a mom and struggling with a strained relationship with her daughter because of her oddity, idk, I think it's a good case study on how society forces women to conform lest they be a bad daughter or a bad mom or a bad wife, etc, but I think it's obvious she's just fighting her 'strange and unusual' nature and the more she does that, the more difficult her life will be.

To me, that suggests her path to happiness has actually a lot to do with Beej, or very well could. Who else is going to understand her true nature the way he does? Who else is going to unashamedly encourage her to be balls to the wall weirdo like she REALLY is??? Who else can truly set her free that way??? Like I'm gnawing on wires here yall, if nothing else Tim gave us SO much fanfic material to work with on this one.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 13)

A/N: i'm sorry yall, i feel like my posting is getting slower and slower. I know this a short one too but i've been so stressed with uni

WORD COUNT: 862 words

Series masterlist

Both Safia and Rose are waiting for you when you get back from your supper.

“Gods, i’m nearly ready for bed. I’m so tired.” You groan as you walk into the room but both of the girls can see clearly that you walk as if you’re much lighter than you have been for the past few weeks.

“Yes, princess. Your ride was very long today. You entirely skipped lunch.” Safia muses, fetching yours and her own needlework. She hands you yours before sitting on a settee across from the armchair you rest on.

“I suppose I did.” You murmur as you make yourself comfortable, not yet looking at the needlework.

“Your meal with Lord Stark seemed to perk you up.” Rose comments and Safia shoots her a pointed look for her impertinence. She always was the more bold one of the two. 

“I look happier because he said we should have my brothers over for a visit, not because I shared a meal with him.” You say sharply.

“That is wonderful news, princess!” Safia states politely but her joy is clearly genuine as well. She’s loved nothing more than playing with little Aegon and Viserys since her brother died.

“Yes, very wonderful.” Rose adds. It isn’t that she is unhappy with the news, she just senses that it isn’t the only reason you’ve come back to your chambers with such a smile on your face.

Rose is higher born than Safia and you can tell in these moments. She is much less frightened to speak her mind than the lowborn girl is even if she is only the daughter of a second born son whose house is nothing close to prominent. You’ve always liked that about her; Rose doesn’t let her station define her and that’s one of the reasons she’s your closest friend.

“You have other thoughts on your mind, Rose. Speak them.”

“I wouldn’t want to overstep, princess.” She replies. The girl may be bold but she isn’t stupid. She knows how easy it is to hit a nerve when speaking of your relationship, or lack thereof, with Cregan.

“You’ve never had that problem before.” You point out and Safia smiles at the comment, looking back down at her needlepoint right away.

“I just sensed that you were getting along better with your husband. It pleases me to see you smile once in a while. It used to grace your face so often back in Dragonstone, and even in Kingslanding. Now, it seems as though you haven’t smiled for weeks.” it's a sad notion but you aren’t regretful of your coldness.

“I am the last woman in this world to sit down and take the hand they’ve been given by an unfair dealer.” You muse. The anger all feels justified, thinking of yourself as an avenging angel. “If I am compliant in my own misery then every other woman will follow suit... They’ll have no choice. I’m the second most powerful woman in the world and I had no choice.” You say solemnly.

“Change is coming, princess.” Safia starts. “It is just… slow.”

“Look at your mother. Westeros had not seen a queen rule in her own right before her.” Rose says.

“At this rate, our children won’t even see a fair world.” You reply.

“But the later generations will benefit.” Safia says optimistically. “Prince Jacaerys will see that it is continued.”

“Yes… Jacaerys.” You murmur bitterly. “Is it so wrong that I want to benefit from it? More could be done.”

The girls ignore the slight against your mother and Rose speaks again, “It could take… unfathomable amounts of violence to accomplish such a thing.”

“Who cares for the lives of men who are unfaithful to their ruler?”

“And those men’s children, wives, families, are innocent but if you kill the head of their house, they would never forget it. They might not directly call for vengeance but most would resent a radical ruler. People of status rarely care for radicality. It diminishes their power.”

“Death would extinguish it.” You murmur. The girls know you aren’t truly serious but such laxness in reference to violence discomforts them. “Jacaerys will continue our mother’s progressions but that doesn’t make him any less of a man. He can’t truly understand.”

“I am sure Lady Baela will be of aid to him in that.” Safia adds thoughtfully.

But it could’ve been you aiding him. Though, the people would never chant your name the way they chant his.

“She will make a good queen one day.”

“Perhaps one day your brother will take you on as an advisor.” Rose suggests. She sees how badly you want control.

“If I’m not too busy tending to Stark’s children.” You scoff.

“They will be your children too, princess. I am sure you will love them as any mother loves their child.” Safia says kindly.

You ponder on her words for a moment, wondering if a mothers love if truly unconditional. Is there something inherent in childbirth that will make you fall in love with the babe that tears itself from your womb?

You’re not sure if you’ll ever love the children Cregan puts in your belly.

“Perhaps.” 

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[myeagleexpert]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖛𝖔𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖊𝖘

sinopse:The curious case of the prefect of Ramcharcke raises theories and hypotheses, and each has a basis for it. Which one will be right? What do you believe in?

Characters: NRC Staff,Dire Crowley, Divus Crewel, Mozus Trein, Asthon Vargas, Sam.

“𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙”

Crowley completely agrees with the said philosopher, as a director of a renowned school built on the controversial values of historical figures. He KNOWS that every NRC student is a place full of angry, arrogant, hormone-bombed teenagers, which is why he is so magnificently kind to Yuu. Who would give a complete stranger a place to sleep without magic? Who would do everything to make Yuu return to her beloved world even if it cost hours of work? Oh, how generous the director is, right?

For some reason, Yuu is managing to keep well. Survival is the word that would best define this situation. Now how she is managing to do this is difficult to talk about. At some point the director thought of carefully analyzing the case of the strange student without magic. In a school with cruel students, you, Yuu, are the only one with altruistic thinking and no magic. Why would the carriage that has never made a mistake in all these centuries of power bring a person like that with no aspect other than the basics? Unless…

Yuu has the potential to be evil in her own world, but not in this one where she is in a clearly vulnerable position, Crowley concluded and fell deeper into his reveries. So to survive you will have to adopt a good and pure image until you have enough strength to overcome your enemies, little by little, until you reach the top of the chain. Like every human being he has ever encountered in his secular life, Crowley feels that the thirst for power and blood is deep inside in Yuu. That's why he sends her to do various dangerous jobs and jobs, disguised traps. It's like a challenge: How far the wolf in sheep's clothing go? Roll your dice and place your bets, as Director Crowley will be keeping an eye on you.

“𝙈𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚, 𝙨𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙪𝙥𝙩𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙢”

Perhaps in the analytical mind of the cruel chemistry teacher, Crewel, he had gone through the stages of denial and finally surrendered to the illusion. Yuu is a sweet and hardworking girl. That's it. Period. They had some time to develop a complicated relationship of father and daughter, mentor and student, but when Divus accepted his “fated role” according to him, it was a one-way thing. He will not allow any rowdy cub to offend her with repulsive lies. Did Yuu poison the students? Yuu blew up old bullying rooms? Did Yuu cheat on tests and manipulate students? LIES! She was just defending herself. His precious little puppy would never submit to such a low attitude.

His “filhota”, a term he learned from her, isn't like that, is it? So stay away from these disobedient puppies Yuu, they tarnish your image, dear.

“𝙈𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙧”

Trein not only agrees with this theory, but he could prove it from a very practical experience: Yuu.

Having raised his own family, two daughters, a cat and being an experienced teacher at school for years, he knows how to masterfully recognize each type of student in his class: The nerd, the clown, the teacher's pet, the one who doesn't know anything about nothing, the one who knows everything, the one who pretends to know everything, the lazy and many others….but what about Yuu? How does she characterize herself in this group of characters?

What a curious case, a student without any kind of magic, with few memories, and in a school of arrogant boys without any support? How did she survive for so long? How does she adapt so easily? One day she's a nobody, and the next she has contacts with important princes and shady merchants. One day she knows nothing about the world that has stopped, and the next she knows more than Trein himself in his years of apprenticeship. In some way or another the stranger knows every secret of every hallway in the school, and holds them in the palm of her calloused hand.

The blank figure has immense potential for creation and destruction, and something tells Trey that the foreigner's innocent look and sharp tongue have dangerous odds.

"𝙈𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙣"

Vargas could not agree with this theory more truthfully! The human body is designed to be challenged every day, and what would be the limit? As the trainer of every type of creature, from beastmen, fairies, merfolk, humans, hybrids and everything in between, he can say with certainty that there is nothing more rewarding than seeing a student overcome their obstacles!

The chest was filled with pride when he closely analyzed Yuu's case. He clearly remembered the student's first days at school, her steps were so light that the wind would carry her away, so weak and malnourished that she wouldn't walk a complete circle around the field without fainting, her look scared, her breathing heavy. She couldn't fly any higher than Azul and every time she spoke, her voice was shaky, like a kitten learning to meow.

Just look at the overcoming! Not only are her steps firm and determined, but she runs very fast as well. And even when an envious person tries to push him in a competition, she pushes him harder, making him fall to the ground. 12 eggs a day. 12 EGGS PER DAY. A diet that the trainer himself follows and just look at the results. The prey body has evolved into that of a hunter. Big, strong, fast and adaptable. Perfect.

Maybe you should be worried about the way she beats the past bullies who tormented her blue and purple? The way she hunts them is different, it's personal, it's physical, it's animal.

It seems like the game has changed, doesn't it?

“𝙈𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙡𝙛”

The friends on the other side tell every secret and gossip that leaves the salesman, Sam, astonished. Sometimes it's hard to believe, other times he has to check it out with his own eyes. But for Sam, it's much more fun and engaging to analyze the situation like a grotesque soap opera. Each “little thing” is a sign for the next chapter. One day, among the hygiene products that are intended just for her, Yuu bought a different knife, an enchanted amulet and cans of a different type of fish and also a bottle of rat poison. Would it be for the rats of Ramshackle?.... No, the friends on the other side said that Yuu made an alliance with the rats, and so, she gets more information from the school. What type of information? who knows? For what? What will she do with the poison then? Pay attention to the next chapters.

A shadow wandering around in the morning once commented that on one of Jack's morning walks, he commented to Yuu that she "seemed to adapt to Twisted Wonderland fairly quickly.." And as soon as he found out, he ran as fast as his ghostly figure allowed him, so determined to be the first to tell Sam a hot piece of gossip that he didn't stay until the end of the conversation, and consequently left the merchant and his friends on the other side curious to know what Yuu's answer is.

Is Yuu letting her changes show to her troublemaking first-year friends, or has she tried to keep a mask on for a while? We cannot deny that her “strange” behavior is commendable for analysis. The one who enters the lion's den and comes out intact, the one who melts the heart of an evil icy queen, the one who entered as a sacrificial lamb and came back as the leader of the pack. Ohhh~~what interesting character development! More and more shadows surround Yuu now, watchful and thirsty for her next steps.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Every like, repost and comment is very welcome and appreciated. ♥

[imagoofygoober]

@brokeaesthetic request 1: Tangerine and reader are new parents and the stress is making them both slowly lose it.They end up arguing but stop when the baby wakes up and both apologize.

Hi! I absolutely love both of the requests you sent me.Ill be working on the other one soon after I'm finished with this one.

p.s.: I've only seen bullet train about three times so- as I said in my last fic,sorry if its bad.

dad! Tangerine x mom! wife!reader

Prompt: hurt/comfort,slight angst?,a bit fluffy at the end

Warnings:arguing,mentions of childbirth and insecurities,implied sexual relationship,a hint of smut at the end if you squint,cursing (duh,its Tangerine).

Summary: Having a baby was the best thing that could happen to you and Tangerine.Well,not at first.

You loved being a mom and Tangerine loved being a dad.

You loved being his and he loved being yours.

But it was hard.Only seven months into your daughters,Cherry,life and the both of you haven't had a proper nights sleep in weeks and you haven't had sex since before she was born.

Not that you even wanted to anyway.After having Cherry,it had left you feeling gross,sore and insecure.You felt loose,heavy,fat and Tangerine barely even changed.The only difference was that his abs were less defined and he was more agitated.You thought he wouldn't want you anymore because of your weight gain and inability to lose it.

You loved being a mom,it was an amazing experience that not everyone could have.So why wasn't she happy like all the moms in the movies? Why was she always mad and this close to snapping?

Little did you know,Tangerine felt the same way.He felt as if he had let himself go.That you didn't want him anymore because you refused to change in front of him,always hiding your body from him.Buying clothes that are four times bigger than you usually wear and never wearing anything he's bought besides your wedding ring.That made him upset and that only served to make him more irritated.

_

After a particularly long day of Cherry's non-stop screaming and crying no matter what either of you did,you finally managed to get her to go to sleep.You gently lay her down in her crib before leaving the nursery,gently closing the door behind you.

When you make it to the bedroom,Tangerine was already there,sitting on the edge of the bed.He glances up as he hears the door open,letting out an exasperated sigh before looking at the wall again,his jaw set.

You hear the sigh and your brow furrows. "We need to talk." you say,a certain bite in your tone as you place your hands on your hips.

"Not this again." he mutters,rolling her eyes as he lets his head fall into his hands,his fingers running through his hair.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you ask,a small pit of anger forming in your gut as you watch him roll his eyes.

He rubs his forehead frustratedly before looking up at you. "It means that I don't want t'fuckin talk about it."

"Oh,yeah! I forgot! You never want to talk about anything." you say sarcastically as you cross your arms over your chest.

His eyes narrow at you as he scoffs,his fingers gripping the sheets. "What's that supposed t'mean?"

"It means that you never want to talk about whats wrong." you say.

He doesn't say anything for a moment,just staring at you with a tense jaw and narrowed eyes,not wanting to admit that you were right.He didn't like it when you wanted him to tell you what was wrong.In fact,he hated it.It wasn't something he was used to even after years of being together.

You let out a soft exasperated huff,about to say something else before cutting yourself off when you hear Cherry's cries from the nursery,both of their expressions slowly softening as their anger diminishes.

"I'm sorry." you both say at the same time.The both of you smile slightly before hearing the infants cries grow louder.

"I'll get her.." Tangerine says uncharacteristicly soft as he stands from the bed.

But before he leaves,he pulls you into a tight hug,burying his nose in your hair as he whispers softly. "I love you.."

"I love you too.." you reply just as softly before he pulls away and leaves the room to go take care of Cherry.

_

When he gets back,lets just say you won't be able to walk very good the next day. ;)

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

I just loove your mamma Donna!

Can you write about about dark Donna and reader having a 8 year old daughter. When reader told her about pregnancy Donna wasn't thrilled, she thought the baby would only be a nuisance, but she still cared about reader. However, when the baby was born, Donna's attitude changed, she became extremely possessive and loved her more than anything.Donna is also very overprotective of her child,for example, when she visits the village and someone is bothering her daughter, she acts like a she-bear defending her cubs. one day the girl goes outside to play, an hour passes and the child does not come back, Donna and reader start to worry, Donna decides to look for her daughter. When she goes towards the forest, she hears a scream and it turns out that several men are trying to kidnap the girl. Donna gives them terrifying hallucinations and kills them in a very brutal way.

Yesss!!!! Thank you!!! I'm glad to see you like them!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))))

No one touches our family

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slightly dark Donna, jealousy...

Word count: 6,173

Summary: She'll always protect you, both of you...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Are you feeling better?” Donna asked, timidly peeking out of the bathroom door where you were refreshing yourself in the sink.

“I think so, I don't know,” you answered, letting the cold water run over your face, hoping that horrible dizziness would disappear.

The woman in black approached slowly, rubbing your back lovingly, but with something dark in her gaze.

“I told you to go out to dinner with your friends wasn't a good idea,” she whispered in a cold, dark tone, like every time she thought she was right.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, drying yourself with a towel.

“Here we go again…” you murmured, putting your hands on your hips, ready for another serving of jealous Donna, a very frequent one. “Ivana isn't the best cook in the world, but I doubt that was the reason.”

“Who?” she asked abruptly blinking in confusion, the shadow of jealousy darkening her face.

“Ivana, the daughter of… Oh, you know what? It doesn't matter,” you said amused.

You had already grown accustomed to that attitude, you knew that Lady Beneviento had serious problems facing a relationship like yours, that fear and doubts were still very present in everything you did.

After all, your relationship had started out of the blue.

As the daughter of bakers, your work in the village had led you to meet everyone who lived there, including the fearsome Lords.

You were never a particularly brave girl or with innate talents for commerce and dealing with people, but having no other choice, you had to develop those kinds of talents on your own.

Talents that, in a totally fortuitous way, led you to rub shoulders with the most important people in that sinister village. They may have been fearsome, dangerous, but you soon discovered that was just a facade. Each of them had dreams, ambitions, they seemed much more human than what you heard in the stories parents told their children, especially when one of them, Donna Beneviento, started to generate a different interest in you.

Calling it love was a bit hasty at first. The obsessive, fearful and possessive nature of the lady in black was something that was difficult to deal with, but little by little the love you began to feel for her made things easier.

Dark, sick, disturbed and strange, those were words that could define the lady in black, but you preferred to do it with the ones you discovered as you got to know her: sweet, kind, loving, attentive… Yes, you preferred those adjectives, although the first ones couldn't help but be present in your life.

You loved her, and so did she. That was the only thing to think about, that was the only thing that mattered to you.

Everything was going well, your relationship had gone through many phases, but they were all good. She had nothing to worry about and neither did you. You knew about her complexes about the changes that the parasite caused in her face and body, but none of that was enough to make you not want to know if it would work. And it did, it worked almost perfectly.

But for a while now, your body seemed weak, your stomach went crazy in the mornings and you were tired all the time. Something strange that you didn't give importance to until those symptoms worsened over time. You had a bad feeling...

“It does matter, I'm sure she poisoned you,” Donna said, crossing her arms.

If you didn't know her, you would probably think she was joking, but no, not at all, she was that paranoid, that jealous...

“What? Oh, please, Donna,” you said, unable to help but laugh. The dark glint in her eye told you that she wasn't exactly amused.

“I'm serious. There are a lot of people in this village who want to hurt you,” the lady said, looking down, with a broken tone.

“Me? Why?” you asked with raised eyebrows and a mocking smile. “Don't they like my bread?”

“They don't like me,” Donna answered. “And they know that if they want to hurt me, hurting you is enough to do so.”

“Okay, okay, what you mean is that I can't eat something that you haven't prepared, huh?” you joked, thus diverting the darkness from her thoughts.

“Yes, it can be a good strategy,” she said with a more relaxed look, with a beautiful smile beginning to light up her face.

You shook your head, biting your lip, and approached to give her a soft kiss on the cheek, one that had an immediate effect, relaxing the tension in her body.

The sad and sinister doorbell interrupted that moment, alerting the lady again, who ran downstairs, grabbing her damned black veil.

“The door, the door!” the doll Angie shrieked, jumping around in the hall.

Normally the puppet's attitude was annoying, but lately her shrieks were like torture for your sensitive ears.

“Angie, please don't yell,” you said, going down the stairs too, fanning yourself with your hand due to the heat that emanated from your body when you made a minimum of effort.

“Don't yell, don't yell!” she repeated mockingly, while you, unsuccessfully, tried to reach the door before Donna.

“Hello, Lady Beneviento,” a familiar and timid voice sounded from behind the threshold and you, seeing that you had arrived late, rubbed your eyes with your hands.

“What do you want, silly?” Angie asked, climbing into her owner’s arms, speaking for her, as usual.

“Is (Y/N) at home?” your friend Elena asked.

You looked up, sighing, waiting to see what the brunette’s reaction would be this time. She could scare the girl, she could make her demons chase her, she could be nice (unlikely) or she could close the door in her face. It was like a roulette wheel of misfortune, but one that you started to find funny.

“No,” the lady whispered, in her own voice, trying to close the door, something that you prevented with a quick movement, making Donna’s head turn towards you, annoyed.

“Yes, she’s at home,” you said, in a mocking tone, causing the lady to growl. Donna definitely didn’t like visitors. “How are you, Elena?”

“Oh, fine, I’m fine,” your friend said, smiling in relief at your presence.

“I'm glad to hear it, do you want to come in?” you asked pleasantly, opening the door wider.

“Can I come in?” the young woman asked, now looking at the Lord, who was breathing heavily.

“Can Elena come in, Donna?” you asked through clenched teeth, with a slightly threatening tone.

Another growl came out of her lips as she moved out of the way of the young woman, who timidly entered the mansion. At least the young Lupu didn’t displease Donna.

“Come, let's sit down,” you said, leading your friend into the living room, closely followed by Donna and the doll, who looked at the intruder in a sinister way. “You can sit with us if you want,” you whispered to the lady in black, who immediately shook her head, pulling Angie, who had pounced on the young woman, surely trying to scare her.

“Dai, Angie,” Donna murmured, dragging the puppet next to her, who would surely hide in the workshop until the girl left, as always.

“I want to stay with the fools!” the doll protested.

“Let her stay, Donna, she doesn't bother us,” you joked, causing her fists to clench even more.

The lady ignored your words and disappeared into the darkness murmuring words that surely weren't flattery.

“I see everything is going well,” your friend commented, calmer when Donna's intimidating presence disappeared. You raised your eyebrows and nodded amused.

“Yes, as always,” you said, relaxing on the couch, waiting to hear that the elevator had arrived at the basement and you could speak freely. “Did you bring it?” you asked in a low, almost imperceptible voice.

“Yes,” your friend answered, searching for something in her bag, a wrapped package that she handed you discreetly and you unwrapped, sighing, nerves starting to run through your body.

“Oh, thanks,” you said kindly, putting a hand on her arm. She shrugged, downplaying it. “Surely if I had bought it from the Duke, Donna would have already gone crazy. Damn fat guy with a big mouth…”

“It's nothing, (Y/N), anything for a friend,” the girl said, kind, as always.

You nodded, reading the instructions on that object. The letters trembled at the same time as your hands.

“Okay,” you said to yourself, looking for spying eyes around you.

“Are you sure that…?” your friend asked, making the same gesture.

“No, I'm not sure, that's why I asked you for this,” you said amused, silencing your fears with jokes, as you always did.

“What are you going to tell her?” she asked curiously.

You shook your head, letting out another nervous sigh, moving that strange stick between your hands.

“If it's negative, I guess, nothing,” you murmured, reading the instructions again. “I don't want to worry her in vain.”

“What if it's positive?” Elena asked, looking around, shaking with fear. Yes, well, that sinister house could scare anyone. You were already used to it.

“Well, I guess… I don't know, she has to know, I think,” you whispered. “I don't know, Elena, I'm a bit scared.”

“Well, it's, it's fine,” she said, gently rubbing your back. “You should get over your doubts.”

“Now?” you asked doubtfully, with your heart that seemed to want to jump out of your chest.

She nodded with an understanding smile.

“Yes, that way I'll be the first to find out,” she joked playfully, pushing you off the couch.

You nodded confusedly and decided to do as she said, slowly climbing the stairs to the bathroom.

You didn't have to wait too long. A positive symbol appeared on that test within a few seconds, confirming your suspicions. You checked it several times, there was no doubt.

“Well?” she asked when you came back down. Surely your face was a poem. You could feel the color slowly disappear from your cheeks.

“I'm pregnant,” you said, letting yourself fall on the couch and handing the test to your friend, who put on a surprised expression, without losing her smile.

“Oh, congratulations, (Y/N),” she said excitedly, giving you a quick hug. You remained motionless, something she noticed right away, moving and relaxing her face. “Isn’t... Isn't that good news?”

“I don't know,” you said, running a hand over your forehead. “Is it?”

“Of course, (Y/N), a baby is a gift from the Gods,” Elena said, getting a little closer to encourage you.

“Is it? Tell that to Donna, she gets jealous even of my shadow,” you murmured with a frown.

“Well, but... It's, it's hers, isn't it?” she asked in a worried tone. You shifted, annoyed by that question.

“Of course it's hers,” you said abruptly, shaking your head. “Yes, yes, it's I-don't-put-on -that-rubber-thing Donna’s…” you sighed, with your legs shaking.

“Well…” she sighed, without leaving your side. “I'm sure the news makes her very happy.”

You laughed nervously, not believing your friend for a second.

“Yes, I guess…”

When the girl left, you were left alone again, with that test in your hands and a lot of fears and questions.

Well, a baby wasn't something you expected that soon, at that moment, but deep down, starting a family was always in your plans. At that moment you would only have to do something complicated, tell Donna.

“Donna?” you asked, peeking through the doors of the workshop, where the lady was calmly working on her dolls.

“Has she left?” she asked in a low, hoarse voice, concentrating on painting a sinister porcelain head.

“Yes,” you answered, approaching slowly and kissing her cheek from behind, putting pressure on her shoulders to relax yourself.

“I'm going to see if I can catch her, I feel like scaring her,” Angie said amused, jumping off the table and leaving the workshop. Normally you would try to stop her, but on that occasion, you let her go.

“She's going to scare your friend,” Donna murmured, without looking up. “I'm not going to stop her.”

“Yeah, well,” you said amused, with a passive gesture of your hands, sitting down on a nearby chair. “It’s better this way, so I can talk to you alone.”

“Mm…” she murmured, with disinterest, something that made your blood boil.

“Donna,” you said, putting a hand on her wrist. She looked at you curiously, but again, she went back to her dolls. “Hey, I said: I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, I’ve heard you. Talk, I'm listening,” she said in a low voice, dipping the brush in black paint. You rolled your eyes and groaned, snatching it from her hand and leaving it on the table.

“No, um... Listen, listen to me carefully,” you said nervously, avoiding the darkness with which she looked at you. She hated when you interrupted her work. “It's important.”

“What's wrong?” she asked, with all the attention you wanted, crossing her arms. There was no other option, you had to tell her.

You took a breath and closed your eyes, extending the test to the brunette, who took it confused.

“I'm pregnant,” you said in a small voice, your whole body shaking. You opened your eyes slowly, looking for a reaction from the brunette, who simply shook her head, blinking erratically.

“What?” she asked after a few seconds of tension. “If it's a joke...”

“It's not a joke, I took the test and it's positive. I'm pregnant,” you said in a more serious tone, crossing your arms.

Donna paled, closing her eye and sighing in a way that made your stomach turn.

“Oh, Gods...” she murmured, giving you back the test.

You, surprised by her reaction, decided to use another strategy, smiling tenderly.

“Aren’t... Aren't you happy? We're going to have a baby,” you whispered in her ear, with a scared voice, with tears in your eyes. She shook her head, not really knowing what to say.

“(Y/N) this… This is a problem,” she said in a low voice, looking away from you. “Why are you pregnant?”

“You're not asking me that,” you said with your eyebrows raised, nervous, just like her. “Wait… A problem?”

“A baby is… It's not…” she stammered, shaking her head, with that dark look again.

“It's not what?” you asked abruptly. “I think it's good news, don't you think?”

“No, of course I don’t,” she said with a nervous laugh, with her hands shaking, being grabbed by yours. “A baby is… It's not… Cazzo, (Y/N), why?”

“Why?” you repeated incredulously. “If you were so worried, you should have done something to stop it, right? How many times have I told you to put on a con…?”

“I'm not going to do that,” the lady interrupted, hitting the table with a closed fist, scaring you. “È umiliante.”

“Well, then you should assume the consequences, or are you going to kick me out of the house?” you asked, having a strange feeling, as if you had already experienced that before, twice, more or less.

“What? Of course I’m not, who do you think I am?” she said furiously, with a serious and annoyed look.

“I don't know, I…” you sighed, passing a hand over your forehead again. “Hey, I didn't expect it either but… I don't know, maybe it's nice to have a child, right? It's the ultimate expression of love.”

“Yes, but… Um, a baby is, it's just a nuisance, (Y/N), you know, they cry and stuff,” she said nodding, as if reaffirming to herself she was right.

“I know, but… Well, I'm excited about it,” you murmured in a sad voice, disappointed by her attitude.

Donna sighed, looking around for something to say, something to help you.

“I guess we have no choice but to accept it,” she said softly, taking your hand, regretful of her reaction. “Hey, maybe, maybe it's good.”

“That's what I think,” you said, letting yourself be caressed by the delicacy of her hands. “I'm sure it's good…”

Despite that almost childish reaction, the months passed peacefully. The idea of ​​having a child didn't excite Donna and you knew it, but even so, she took care of you, she took care of your baby even if it wasn't to her liking. She loved you, you knew it, for her you were always the priority, and you still were.

Care, caresses on your belly… The 9 months passed like a dream, one in which you were lightly, gently cared for in the best way possible. Donna may not have been excited about being a mother, but at least she bothered to pretend that those kicks in your belly moved her. You didn't really know if she was pretending, you never asked.

“Baby, baby, baby, baby,” Angie hummed, making your headache worse. At least the doll seemed happy, maybe too much.

“Angie, please… Shut up,” you said, putting a wet cloth on your forehead, with your hands caressing your already very swollen belly.

“What? I'm keeping you company,” the doll defended herself, climbing onto the couch and hugging your belly as well, something you didn't stop. Deep down, you thought it was adorable. “Hi baby…”

“You're going to drive it crazy,” you said amused, smiling at that interaction. “And me too.”

“It has to be called Angie,” the doll said, letting you breathe.

“We don't know if it's a boy or a girl,” you said, caressing your belly gently. That day your child was especially restless.

“Hey, baby, are you a boy or a girl?” the doll asked. “If you're a boy you could be called Angelo.”

You laughed, shaking your head, keeping that wet rag on your head.

“Anyway, I'm going to eat something…” you sighed, trying with great effort to get up from the couch. The doll squealed unpleasantly, pushing you to sit down again.

“Hey, hey, stop there, silly!” she shouted.

“Don't yell,” you said pretending to sob.

“Donna says you shouldn't move,” the doll said, with a cocky pose. “What do you want? I'll get it for you.”

“How kind of you,” you sighed, surprised by such kindness so uncommon in the puppet. “But still, I want to stretch my legs, otherwise I'll be stuck to the… Oh, shit…”

Frightened, you looked down. Well, at least you were at home.

“You fool, you peed yourself!” Angie shrieked. You didn't even make an effort to get angry, you were about to panic.

“Ugh, it's not… Shit, shit…” you muttered, breathing with difficulty. “Donna!”

The birth was complicated, but finally, after a few hours of torture, little Beneviento came into the world among inconsolable cries.

“Oh, Donna, it's a girl…” you said excitedly, holding the little baby on your chest, crying from joy and effort. “Hello, hello my love…”

The lady in black nodded reluctantly, but with a sincere smile on her face.

“Look at that black hair you have…” you commented, feeding your daughter for the first time. “Have you seen, Donna? You can't deny she's your daughter.”

She nodded again, without taking her eyes off her daughter, as if she was thinking about something. She seemed sorry, probably for her attitude. You didn't want to ask, you had the most beautiful thing in the world in your arms.

“It's incredible,” you murmured, cradling the baby in your arms, who was squirming in confusion for having been taken away from the warmth of your belly. “Don't you want to hold her?”

Donna sighed, looking away for a moment, biting her lip.

“I… Fine…” she finally said, extending her arms for you to hand her the girl, who seemed calm.

“That's it… Say hello to mom…” you whispered, handing the baby to Donna, who took her carefully. “Say hello, honey, ciao, mamma…”

Donna smiled tenderly, cradling the baby in her arms. The little girl kept moving, stretching, and by chance, one of her hands landed on the brunette's face, making her freeze with a serious expression.

“Look, she loves you,” you said amused, breathing deeply, relaxing after so much effort.

“She's, she's beautiful,” Donna commented, with the same surprised expression, playing with her fingers, letting the baby squeeze them tenderly. “It's… It's… Wonderful.”

You closed your eyes, relieved by your lover's emotional reaction, by the tears that were beginning to form in her eye.

“I promise I will always take care of you, my precious girl…” she whispered, gently kissing her daughter's forehead, thus beginning a new, unexpected stage, a change in the woman in black that you had not believed possible.

Time passed, and with it all of Donna's fears vanished, all of her worries. Nothing could stop her from taking care of her baby, from singing lullabies to her to help her fall asleep. Against all odds, the lady in black became the best mother in the world.

But not everything was good.

The jealousy, that overprotection of the brunette not only hardened with you, but also with the girl. Donna seemed almost obsessed with keeping little Fiorella Beneviento safe from any danger, with having everything she wanted.

It was not the best way to take care of a child, but you had to admit that tenderness, that eagerness to protect what was hers had an adorable side.

Eight years later, Donna continued in the same way, protecting you, protecting her daughter, her most precious treasures fiercely.

“Fio, hurry up and come here!” you shouted, leaning over the stairs, calling your daughter for a quiet walk through the village. “Oh, Donna…”

You sighed when the lady in black approached you, her black veil hiding her beauty. You hated it, you even thought of burning it.

“What's wrong?” she asked, shrugging, ignoring your protests.

“To see you with that on makes me nervous,” you said, stamping the ground impatiently. “Fiorella Beneviento! This is the last time I ask you!”

“Don't yell at the girl,” Donna scolded you, with a hand on your shoulder. You rolled your eyes and stole a small kiss on her lips, lifting the black fabric in a playful way.

“Fiorella!” you shouted again, at the girl's lack of obedience, which was not common, nor usual. You suspected that Angie had something to do with it.

“I'm coming, mom!” the girl said l, leaning over the railing.  “How annoying…” she protested childishly, slowly going down the stairs.

“Annoying!” Angie shrieked, going down hand in hand with the girl.

“If I remember correctly, it was you who wanted to take a walk through the village,” you said in a sufficient tone, dressing up your daughter while Donna gently caressed her black hair. She always had those gestures, she was always proud of her daughter.

“Yes, but I was reading,” Fio said, giving the brunette a quick hug. “Mamma, vieni?”

“Sì, tesoro,” she replied with a loving laugh. The little girl smiled wider and jumped for joy.

“Great!” she squealed excitedly. “Let’s go, mom, come on.”

“Yes, yes…” you sighed, winking at Donna, who followed you slowly.

The walk was quiet, more than usual. Well, if you ignore a snowball fight between Fio and the doll, of course.

“Hey, I'm glad you came,” you whispered, walking hand in hand with Donna, surrounded by a shower of snowballs. “Thanks,” you whispered in her ear, kissing the visible part of her face, earning a shy giggle.

“I don't like you going to the village alone,” she said with a cold voice, but squeezing your hand affectionately. “It's dangerous.”

“You know what? I'd rather you told me you felt like taking a walk with me and your daughter,” you joked, frowning playfully.

“That too,” she said in a whisper. You nudged her slightly and hung on to her arm, letting her slide a hand around your waist, making the walk much more romantic.

“I love you, Donna, you know that, right?” you whispered, sighing, enjoying your new life.

“Me t...” the lady replied, abruptly interrupted by a snowball that hit her face. “Me too.”

“100 points, Fio!” Angie shrieked, bursting into deafening laughter. The girl approached slowly, rubbing her hands in apology.

“Scusami, mamma,” she said in a fearful voice, as Donna took off her veil and brushed the snow off of it.

“Don't worry, tesoro,” Donna whispered, brushing the snow off as you struggled not to laugh. You failed, causing the brunette to look at you with a fiery eye. “Do you find it funny, (Y/N)?”

“No, no…” you lied amused, making your daughter laugh as well, who put her hands covering her mouth. “Well, maybe…”

“Maybe? Fine, fine,” Donna said, nodding seemingly disinterested, winking at Fio and moving away. “Come on, laugh now!” she shouted as, after bending down, she threw a snowball directly at you, leaving you speechless.

“Right in your face, silly!” Angie mocked, as you brushed the snow off your face, crouching down furiously to counterattack.

“Mamma!” your daughter said, pulling the brunette's dress to move her out of the path of your throw.

The laughter, that improvised battle was all you needed to get through the day.

“Can I go play with Rox?” Fio asked, when you arrived at the village, where a group of children her age called her, her friends.

“Ask Donna for permission,” you said, pointing at the brunette, who was looking at fabrics with Angie.

The girl nodded and ran with her mother. Surprisingly, she nodded, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, pushing her towards the children.

“Wow…” you said, approaching her seductively. “Mamma is in a good mood today, mm?” you teased, grabbing her waist and kissing her from behind.

Donna laughed, running a hand through yours and moving to get you to move away.

“It’s okay if she plays with her friends,” she whispered, studying one of those fabrics with her touch.

“Oh, wow, it’s okay now, is it? I thought you said they were little demons who shouldn't get close to Fiorella,” you murmured, touching the fabrics passively.

“Yes, but... I, I can't help but remember my childhood,” she explained, paying the weaver for the chosen fabrics. “I was very lonely, (Y/N). I don't want that for our daughter.”

“Well, I like that. I like you think that way, Donna,” you said affectionately, walking beside her, enjoying some time alone.

Relaxed, the two of you leaned against a fence, with all the shopping done, waiting for the girl to stop playing. Donna caressed you affectionately while you leaned your back against her body, letting yourself be intoxicated by her affection.

“Loser, loser!” the children shouted, getting your attention.

“I didn't lose, you cheated!” Fiorella protested, kicking the snow furiously. Small steps were approaching

“Donna, silly, they're messing with Fio,” Angie said, tugging at your dress and comically pointing at the kids.

“What?” Donna asked, turning away angrily and looking at those kids, who, indeed, seemed to be laughing at your daughter. All your alarms went off at that moment.

“Hey, hey, Donna…” you said, grabbing the brunette's wrist. “Stop right there. Leave it be. It's kids' stuff.”

“No, I'm not going to let them laugh at Fio,” the brunette protested, breaking free from your grip.

Angie and you looked at each other and you rubbed your eyes, sighing helplessly.

“Donna…”

“Mamma!” the little girl shrieked, running to hug her mother, who appeared like a shadow, making the children immediately fall silent. “They're making fun of me…”

“Who, tesoro? Them?” Donna asked, as you approached slowly, shaking your head.

“Lady Beneviento,” some of those children muttered, petrified, scared.

Donna crouched down, with her daughter hugging her tightly, looking hatefully at her friends.

“It's very rude to laugh at others, did you know that?” she whispered in a dark voice.

The children nodded. It could almost be a comical image.

“Do you know what I do with children who laugh at others?” she asked again, threateningly. The little girl smiled pleased, looking at her mother with admiration. Donna always defended her, always.

“No, ma'am,” they answered at the same time.

“I lock them in my dark basement with my dolls…” she whispered in a hoarse, terrifying voice. “And when they get tired of crying, they realize that they will never be human again, their limbs are made of wood…”

“Hey, Donna…” you said unable to help but laugh. She looked at you briefly, but then at the doll, which lunged at them. “Aren't you going too far?”

“Come with me, kids, I want you to be my friends!” Angie shouted, scaring those poor children, making them run away.

Donna laughed with satisfaction, high-fiving Fio, who stuck her tongue out at them mockingly.

“I'm sure you won't laugh at me again!” the girl shouted, with a proud smile, which dangerously reminded you of Donna's.

“Great, you can be proud,” you said, holding back your laughter as you saw those children flee in terror. “You've created a trauma for an entire generation.”

“They were messing with me, mom,” Fiorella protested, pouting.

“They were messing with her, (Y/N). They deserve it,” Donna said, proud and satisfied.

“You know you're not going to be able to protect her forever, right?” you asked in a melancholic whisper, hanging on her neck while your daughter talked about how fun it had been to scare her friends with Angie.

“I know but, but as long as I can…” she said stammering nervously, always looking at the girl until your hand stopped her, lifting her chin under the veil.

“You're an angel,” you said, lifting the fabric and stealing a kiss from her. “Come on, let's go home, it's almost time to lunch.”

The afternoon came after a quiet meal, full of laughter and Fio imitating her mother's exploits. You couldn't deny that she was quite the artist, she imitated Donna perfectly, especially her dark side. You didn't know if that was good, but at least it was funny.

“Can I play outside, mamma?” the little girl asked, interrupting your romantic reading on the sofa.

“Yes, tesoro, but wrap up warm,” Donna said, pulling your body closer to hers.

“Grazie!” she squealed happily, leaning in to kiss her mother's cheek.

“Hey, hey, hey, what about me?” you protested, pointing to your cheek, which she also kissed before going out into the garden.

“And me?” Donna asked amused, pretending to pout. You laughed, biting your lip, and leaned in to kiss her slowly, a kiss that was perhaps too hot for that moment.

That kiss led to more, hungry caresses and your body resting on hers, legs on either side of her hips, moving slowly.

“Gross!” Angie complained, moving past you, just to annoy you.

“Angie…” you groaned, blinking in an annoyed manner. “Why don’t you go play with Fiorella?” you asked, ignoring the doll, continuing your kisses to the brunette, who was already breathing heavily.

“You want to be alone, huh? Good luck with that,” the puppet mocked, pulling you away from that improvised passion.

With a grunt and a movement of her hands, the doll fell limp on the couch. Donna’s thing, of course.

Time passed quickly, that little moment of madness was quick, but intense. The book you had abandoned returned to Donna’s hands after catching your breath and taking a shower. Maybe too much time had passed.

“Mm,” the brunette murmured, when the clock in the hall announced the time.

“What's wrong, honey?” you asked, sighing, leaning on her shoulder.

“I'm worried, (Y/N), Fio's not back yet,” Donna whispered, looking at the clock again, closing the book.

“Oh, you know how she is…” you said, enduring Angie's blows, protesting for having been deactivated. “If it were up to her, she would spend the whole day in the forest.”

“The forest?” the lady asked, looking at you in surprise. “What do you mean by the forest?”

“Well... It's where she plays, didn't you know?” you said, knowing that you had said something you shouldn't have.

“Of course I didn’t, I would never let her go near the forest by herself, what were you thinking?” she said, nervously, getting up from the sofa and walking towards the entrance, grabbing her inseparable black veil.

“Hey, hey, come on, Fio isn't a baby and she's on the grounds, nothing will happen to her,” you said, stopping the brunette, who had already covered her face.

“No? Look at the time,” she said furiously, pointing at the clock. “She's been gone for two hours, (Y/N).”

“Okay, hey, calm down,” you said, putting your hands on her shoulders.

“Don't ask me to calm down,” she hissed, pushing you away and walking back to the door.

“Where are you going?” you asked, grabbing your coat and following her closely along with the puppet.

“To find my daughter, of course,” Donna said, letting you go first and looking at the garden. “Fio! Sei qui?”

“I told you she's in the woods…” you said impatiently, crossing your arms.

“Then let's go to the woods,” Donna said, with a sigh, pulling your hand, almost dragging you along the path.

“Fio?!” you both called.

When you saw that the girl wasn't playing in the usual place, in the old gardener's house, you started to worry too.

You let her play there because you knew it was safe, Fio was 8 years old and as smart as her mother, and there weren't any monsters around there that could stalk her, or so you thought.

“Lasciami andare!”

The unmistakable scream of the little girl reached your ears, and Donna didn't waste a second to approach the source, running desperately through the forest.

“Don't bite me, damn it!” an unknown man screamed.

When you arrived at the place you had to take a deep breath to keep from panicking.

Two villagers you didn't remember seeing were holding Fiorella, trying to tie her up with a rope. You couldn't react.

“Be careful, be careful, if we hurt her she won't be worth anything,” the other man said, managing to tie the little girl's hands.

“This girl is a demon, no wonder she's the daughter of...” the stronger man said, grabbing the girl, who was kicking on his shoulders. “Lady Beneviento.”

“Oh, shit, I told you!” the shorter one shouted when Donna appeared from the shadows, calm, with a firm, slow, stalking step.

“Mom! Mamma!” the girl shouted, turning her head and kicking harder.

“Let my daughter go,” you hissed, threatening, at Donna's apparent inaction. “Calm down, honey, we're here.”

“These bad men want to take me with them!” the little girl explained, falling to the ground with a dull thud.

“One more step and I'll kill the girl,” one of them said, grabbing the girl by her black hair. Donna trembled with rage, but she didn't lose her nerve.

“How brave of you, kidnapping a little girl,” you said, furious, without losing sight of the girl, who was complaining about the tugging.

“Shut your mouth, you stupid sick girl… If you want this girl, you'll have to pay for it,” dumbest of the two, the most stupidly shameless said.

“Sick? You mor…” you growled angrily, walking towards him, being stopped by Donna, who put a hand on your shoulder and pulled you until you were behind her.

“Pay? No, we're not going to pay,” Angie said in a dark, serious tone, with Donna's voice.

“No? Well, well, then we, we…” the other man muttered, fighting the girl's protests.

“Dare to touch her, you miserable bastardo,” Donna said, in her own voice, walking towards them. “Dare, come on.��

“I, I'm leaving,” the short man said, trying to escape. It was impossible.

Fio broke free from her grip and ran into your arms. You picked her up in relief, untying her ties and calming her tears.

“Shh, that’s it, mom’s here,” you said, lifting her into your arms. “Donna, let’s go home.”

“No,” she said, extending her hand to the two men, who fell to the ground in horror. “Take Fiorella away from here. Now!”

You nodded and obeyed, carrying your daughter away from that scene.

Horrible screams filled the quiet forest. You crouched down, covering the ears of the girl, who was still scared.

“Hey, no, look at me, look at me,” you said, when the girl tried to look over your shoulder.

“Is mamma okay?” the little girl asked, pretending to be braver than she was.

You nodded with a fake smile, putting her coat back on.

“Of course she is,” you said, wishing for those horrible screams to stop.

A short time later, the lady in black and the puppet appeared from the shadows.

“Mamma!”  the girl screamed, running into her arms.

“Are you okay, tesoro?” she asked, as if she hadn't just brutally killed those bandits. That coldness gave you chills.

“Yes, mamma, thanks for saving me,” the girl said politely, hugging the brunette, letting Angie hug her too.

“Hey, Donna,” you said, approaching cautiously. “I didn't think that, that she could be in danger.”

“I know,” she said, forgiving your carelessness. “Relax, (Y/N), I told you I would always protect you.”