#I swear every time I think I have the whole ‘adulthood thing’ figured out I hit a massive wall

[fairy-grotto]

Trying to convince my employers to let me work from home has once again proven far more difficult than it should be.

[a-reverii]

▸ A FAITHFUL COMPANION⌇sirius black.

› pairing ━ ꒰ dark!sirius black x muggle!reader ꒱

› in which ━ ꒰ a black dog seems to keep you company wherever you go. ꒱

› content warning + notes ━ ꒰ stalking ; obsessive tendencies ; swearing ; breaking & entering ; violence & blood ; degradation (not specifically sexual) ; allusions to kidnapping ; reader is in college/university ; etc. i felt like sirius would totally use his animagus abilities to his advantage (if he was a yandere), so here is this fic. ꒱

› word count ━ ꒰ 2 . 8k ꒱

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A BLACK DOG.

That was the first thing your eyes laid upon when you exited the decrepit old vehicle that was the bus that took you to and from your college. A single, average-sized, black dog.

You'd always had a certain fondness for animals. From infancy to adulthood, this was a fact that didn't change. Cats, bunnies, birds, dogs ━ it didn't matter the kind. All that mattered is that you could pet it. You'd since, of course, learned that not all pets or animals were one for such forms of affection, but you nevertheless adored them all the same.

You didn't think much of the dog after you began making your way back to your home, only really took notice of it when you caught it in the corner of your eye, trailing behind you by a few meters. Were it not for the late hour or the fact that you were walking on your own, you may not have been so paranoid as to look behind you every once in a while, and, by extension, notice the animal, but you were glad you did.

You slowed down, and so did the dog. Strange, you thought, but you supposed animals were simply like that. You then continued, and noticed that it too resumed its leisure pace.

So, making the decision to act off of impulse, you paused your walking once again, before turning around and squatting down, offering the creature a friendly demeanor. The dog seemed to understand your openness, as it then approached, smelling the fist you extended towards it and allowing you to give it a good scratch behind the ears.

It was, most likely, very unsanitary of you do do this ━ the animal could have had all sorts of diseases or aggressive tendencies, but you'd always loved animals to a fault, so you decided to take the risk.

The dog's fur was remarkably soft, you realized, as you brushed your fingers against it. Much softer than that of a wild dog would be, or a stray, at the very least. Perhaps the animal was lost.

"Hey, little guy. Do you know where your home is?"

The dog, of course, did not respond, but you let out a small chuckle as it leaned into your touch and even went so far as to try to lick your face. This, you tried to avoid, wanting to maintain some level of safety and cleanliness, but the animal managed to give you one good kiss after numerous attempts.

"You're an affectionate one, aren't you?" You murmured under your breath, shaking your head. "Well, you're cute, but I'm going to have to head back home. Hope you find yours, buddy."

You gave the dog an affectionate few pats on the head before standing up fully and resuming your walk, not aware of the fact of the figure that then trailed behind you carefully, now hidden by a veil of darkness.

* * *

The next time you saw the dog, exiting the bus as you always did, you felt an eerie sense of deja vu pass over you.

That was, of course, until you realized that this very situation had occurred only the day prior. Still, it almost unnerved you ━ the way the animal sat so perfectly still. Were it not for the occasional breeze that brushed its fur in an almost imperceptible manner, you would have been sure it was a statue.

"A creature of habit, huh?" You mused as you stared at the animal in some attempt to soothe the odd feeling that was growing in your stomach.

The dog followed you, closer this time, and you didn't bother it. Despite the irregular nature of the whole ordeal, you supposed that if this dog was at your side, it would hopefully ward off any unwanted interactions with strangers or people with malicious intent. You never knew the true intention of people these days.

And so, days passed on like this, and a sort of companionship blossomed. The dog would appear in the same place at the very same time every day, and it would accompany you on your walk home. And, although your were originally slightly apprehensive towards the animal, you grew a quick liking to it. Its presence made you feel safer during what once were your lonesome walks home, and the animal itself was rather friendly.

It never seemed to follow you to your doorstep, however, always disappearing the moment before your house became visible. And, in a sense, for this you were glad. You'd most likely feel too guilty to deny the animal shelter if it pleaded with you on your doorstep for such, even though you hadn't the money or the space for it. So, for now, the brief but frequent walks were sufficient.

* * *

You sat in the large, imposing library of your college, chewing on the edge of your pen as a matter of habit. Before you on the table sat several pages of lined paper, the likes of which you were supposed to have an essay written upon in no less than a week.

"Shit."

You cursed perhaps too loudly, as a few heads turned your way, though no one made any comment as to reprimand you. It was rather unfortunate that every word seemed to echo ━ that every sound seemed to reverberate in the large building. The walls were high and the ceiling curved into a sort of arc, though as beautiful as it was, the architecture seemed to be the main cause of this. It made everyone inside of the library keenly aware of every word uttered ━ every sound made.

It was as a result of this that you'd been struggling for the past hour or so to write down so much as a single sentence. You'd gone to the library to have some peace and quiet, but you seemed to have neither.

Your eyes darted about the room, looking for something to focus on, something to ground you. The rain ━ yes, that would be it. Your eyes wandered over to the large window that occupied the wall beside you, and you did your very best to pay attention to the pitter-patter of the raindrops. You'd always found a certain calmness accompanied the rain.

It was, then, by watching the window so very intently that you spotted a black figure in the distance, unmoving amongst the chaos that was the rainstorm. In some attempt to discern what it was that stood there, you leaned forward in your seat ━ not that it was of much help, of course ━ and squinted your eyes.

It was a dog, you realized.

A black one, you suspected, though you couldn't be very sure as the fog and rain distorted its color, but of this much you were certain: it was a dog, and it was staring right at you, sitting perfectly still.

Instantly, you imagined it must have been the black dog that so often followed you, but you quickly realized that the distance from your college to the bus stop was too considerable a trudge, so you concluded it must have been a different mutt that had found itself upon the grounds of your beloved college.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that it looked so hauntingly familiar.

When the rain finally cleared up, the dog was gone, and you wondered if it was a trick of the light, or an image your own mind had conjured up. It was of no importance, however, you quickly reminded yourself, as you remembered the papers in front of you. Work, they seemed to whisper. Write something. And yet you couldn't seem to get the image of that dog out of your mind.

When you took the bus back home, having wasted an entire afternoon, the black dog was there to greet you, and you let it.

And so, days passed, and eventually weeks, and eventually months. And with the time, the black dog ━ the name of which you still did not know in spite of the amount of time you'd spent with it ━ became a familiar presence, one that seemed to follow you in the most peculiar of places ━ from your bus station to the outside of your bedroom window to perhaps, even, following you inside of your college campus.

Of course, some of the times you'd seen the dog you were sure were figments of your imagination, but you found it odd all the same ━ how this one dog seemed to infiltrate your mind so powerfully. You loved animals, yes, but you'd never realized to what extent ━ and you surely never expected that your mind would conjure up this creature everywhere you went. You'd certainly never expected to begin hallucinating the poor thing.

After yet another long day of schoolwork, you stepped off of your bus, your eyes almost immediately searching for that black dog that had so quickly became your partner ━ one you never found. Your eyes narrowed as you scrutinized the landscape before you, which now seemed barren without the creature.

It felt strange now, walking home completely alone, but you supposed that the dog may have found its home or had wandered off to somewhere new, and for this you could not be mad. You could only hope that the creature was now safe, wherever it was.

You let out a soft sigh as you felt the hardwood floor of your home underneath you and swung the door shut behind you, collapsing on your small couch. Your legs ached from the walk from the bus ━ one that was always far too long for your liking. You desperately wished that it could simply drop you off to your front door, but, alas, you were a struggling college student, and such luxuries were not ones you could afford.

After spending what you thought of as a considerable amount of time resting, you stood up with the intention to heat up some food ━ leftovers, most likely, as you'd hardly eaten all day. On your path to do so, however, you felt your stomach sink upon noticing a man in your kitchen, his back to you as he stared at an object you could not yet discern.

You stood, paralyzed for all but a moment, though it didn't take long for him to sense your presence, and to turn around, a devilish grin painting his features.

The man seemed to be about your age, perhaps slightly older, with long, dark hair, brilliant blue eyes and rather distinct look about him. You did not know how or why, but instantly you knew that he was no normal man ━ not in the slightest. Something was off about him, something equal parts alluring and eerie.

"Who are you?" Your words came out in a rather weak manner, and you wanted to hit yourself for sounding so vulnerable in front of this most likely dangerous stranger who had, for some reason, broken into your house. You weren't quite sure why he was here, of course ━ you didn't have anything of real value stored away in your home.

The man in question titled his head at you, as if observing your expression, before returning his gaze to the object in his hand ━ a picture frame, you realized. One you'd placed on the counter with the intent of moving long ago, though you'd never really had the time or put in the effort to do so.

"You muggles and your silly questions. Why does it matter who I am? If I were you, I'd be asking why I'm here."

Your brows furrowed at his words. Muggles? What on earth were those?

"Why ━ why are you here?"

At the question, the man's smile only seemed to grow. He did not reply, however, instead opting to continue staring at the picture in his hands.

"I don't know why you chose to live in such filth. I've never seen a wizard occupying such a small, dirty home. Tell me, Y/n ━ do you wish for your life to change?"

Wizard. The word rang in your ears, loud and clear. This was a madman you were speaking to, surely. What was he on about?

And ━ moreover, how did he know your name?

"I... wha..?" The more questions you had, the more they seemed to impede your question-asking abilities. You could hardly get a word out.

"I could buy you a much better home than this. Much bigger, cleaner. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Something luxurious."

His words were confusing. A house? Why would he buy a house? You felt as though you were lacking some crucial piece of information.

"Why are you here? Please, just ━ you can take anything you want. Just ━ please, leave," you finally managed to say.

The man raised an eyebrow, his head raising to stare at you. He looked almost amused. "Excuse me?"

"Please ━ please leave. Or I'll ━ I'll call the police."

"The police? What are those?"

Your brows furrowed. "I'm not ━ this isn't a joke. I'll have you fucking arrested ━ I'll do it if you don't... Just, get out of my home."

"No need for such harsh words, love. And we needn't escalate this so quickly. I don't plan on harming you."

"Then why are you here?"

Once again, that devilish smirk returned, but this time with a response to your question. "To take you to somewhere... better."

"Who are you?" Your mind was now buzzing, but you wanted answers. This man seemed to know something about you, and you wanted ━ needed to know what, a need that seemed to transcend your practical thoughts. You should have already called the police by now.

"Sirius Black."

"How do you know who I am?"

The man ━ Sirius, took a step forward, and you in turn took a step back. He then frowned.

"You muggles aren't very bright, are you? Or is that just you?"

"What?"

"I've known who you are for a long time now, Y/n. I've been... watching you. Up close and from afar. I suppose you could say you've caught my eye."

"What do you want from me?"

"Want?" Sirius echoed. "I do not want anything from you, my dear. What I want is to help you, is all. Now, whether you accept that help or not is entirely up to you."

"And... if I don't?"

"Then I'll simply have to see to it that you do."

You tried to control your breathing, which had grown increasingly erratic from his cryptic responses. Your eyes darted about your kitchen until finally you spotted your telephone, on the right wall, behind Sirius.

Shit.

He seemed to pick up on what you were doing as his eyes followed your line of sight. "I wouldn't do anything if I were you. It'll be easier for both you and I if you cooperate."

You bit the inside of your cheek. You had to try. Your eyes searched for something to use ━ a weapon of sorts. It found no other than a plant vase that sat on the counter, but within reach. Unconventional, you supposed, but you didn't have many other options.

In a single, ragged motion, you ran towards Sirius before hitting his head with the vase and ━ to your partial surprise (you hadn't swung with very much force) ━ shattering it completely. You tried not to pay mind to the stinging on your hand or the small but numerous shards that had embedded themselves into your arm as you ran towards the phone. Your hands trembled as you tried to tap the numbers 9-1-1, but just as your finger brushed against final one, a harsh force pushed you against the ground.

Sirius loomed above your now bloodied form, a dangerous expression on his face. His eyes were wide with the kind of paranoia that made your heart skip a beat. He looked beastly ━ almost animal-like as he bent down, hovering only inches above you.

"See what happens when you don't cooperate? Look at the mess you made. I was going to be nice. But now look at what you've done ━ " You shivered as his hands came to caress your cheeks, softly at first, before then digging into your skin with his unnaturally sharp nails. You bit back a whimper.

"Yes ━ nice, I was going to be very nice. But you've ruined it all, you stupid muggle. But that's fine. Your cooperation isn't needed. I only hoped for it."

He then took out an oddly shaped wooden stick ━ or something of that sort from his pocket. Sirius smiled wildly, as a predator would upon catching their prey.

"Sweet dreams, my dear. I suppose we can only hope you are ready for what comes next."

And then, everything went dark.

[vvatchword]

Why I Swear

I had someone actually comment on a video telling me that they wished i would stop cursing. Now, the video was for me 100%, and it was just asking a question: help me organize hierarchically for worldbuilding purposes, and I was pissy at the time because it seemed like it should be easy, and also I am intensely depressed right now and swearing makes me happy.

In any case, the comment really made me stop and do a think.

Do I want to stop swearing? Why do I swear in the first place? Am I swearing incorrectly? Because you really can start throwing in too many f-bombs. I have done it before. And I will

DO IT AGAIN

So here's the thing about swearing, in case you've ever wondered, or if you have known me from my Distant Past:

Once, I never swore at all. I was so clean, in fact, that other people in high school consistently noted it as one of my personal traits. This was mostly from a sense of propriety and intense religiousness. See, I lived my whole childhood idolizing adults and an Ideal Adulthood--an Ideal Human Experience, if you will. I was merely an adult-in-training, and ideally, Adults Do Not Swear.

When I finally left the faith, I was very disturbed by how complete strangers would just ASSUME I was religious. Specifically, they seemed to clock me as evangelical Christian every time. I couldn't figure it out, and I hated it. I wanted people to KNOW I wasn't religious, and being "identified" as religious just... well, it re-traumatized me. There's no easy way of putting that.

I had some options. Dress specifically? Wear specific merchandise that clearly tied me to anti- or areligious groups? Well, no. I lived in the middle of bass-ackwards Texas and that was just asking for trouble, and it would probably go the opposite way and CREATE antagonism. If you've ever had an ACLU card pop out during a transaction in a store playing Christian music you might pick up on some of the spine-tingling terror that inspires. Oh, and it wasn't a store, it was a dental office, and I hadn't had my procedure done yet. So that's a cool feeling.

You know what you can do?

Pick up "god" instead of "gosh." "Hell" instead of "heck." Eventually, grow brave enough to mention crudities off-hand, and learn how to employ swears and imply filth strategically. And, finally, pepper your speech with "fucks."

The outcome is fucking magical. For one thing, then people can't assume that you are expressing any political belief at all. They can just assume you are ignorant. Hilariously, yes, that is what intensely religious people in Texas will think. You're swearing! You haven't heard the Good News yet!! You might just be a casual Christian!!! THERE IS HOPE FOR YOU YET, GRASSHOPPER!!!!!! ACCEPT CHRIST INTO YOUR HEARRRT

Approbation for swearing is mild, too. You can just not swear on the clock, but swear after it. It's off-putting to older and more proper people, but you don't have to use it much, or as strongly, to get yourself across. And because normal people make for absolutely wretched missionaries, they will KNOW you aren't quite "right" but they also have to wait for very specific points in time to start selling some Jesus.

What is more, something about picking up the act of swearing itself alters you a little. I have no idea what it is. Confidence? The congealing of your belief system, which starts to express itself through your behaviors without you even noticing? I don't know. But it does make a difference in your carriage and body language somehow.

Swearing also made me realize something really special about communication and the kinds of people who are put off by it. To illustrate this, let me tell you a story.

So back in the mid-2010s, I took a job at a Wells Fargo call center, during that period they were (ab)using their help line as sales opportunities. My boss was fucking mental. He would attack me constantly and wasn't beneath name-calling. He would shriek at me about nothing and whisper insults only I could hear. He was exceedingly cruel.

So one day I went back to my old workplace--Walmart--and saw a good friend/coworker smoking outside. I stopped to talk to him and told him my story, which was full of swearing, because holy fucking shit it was an awful experience. His eyes filled with tears for me, and he began swearing back in equal strength about this fucking asshole who was very truly mistreating me.

We started to walk back inside of the store as his break was nearing its end. A man in nice jeans and a business-casual long-sleeved shirt was just ahead of us. He stopped in front of us and said, "You know that kids are in this store, right?"

There's a face I like to call a "church smile." It's this oily, holier-than-thou, "I-am-praying-for-you", "you should know better", pitying expression, complete with a toothless up-turn of the lips and brows lifted and eyes slightly watery (preferable but not necessary). I assure you that any time someone gives it to you, they are about to try and drop what they think is a Truth Bomb. And, because it was a Wednesday night, and given the way the man was groomed and dressed, I could smell church all over him.

Remember. This whole time, my friend and I had been discussing in great detail how my boss had been mistreating me in some of the worst ways possible, including psychological abuse. And what bothered Mr. Church Man was the fact we used the word "fuck." Not that I was abused: "fuck." A kid might hear the word "fuck." MIGHT hear. Hadn't heard it, most assuredly--not from us, it was fuckin 9 PM. (Have they heard it on the bus and at school? Oh yes, at least 300,000 times. But we're not going to talk about that.)

He wasn't worried about ME at all. He was worried about theoretical people,* but he wasn't worried about the real flesh-and-blood person standing in front of him.

I realized at that moment that swearing was also a tool: how wrapped up is someone in how things LOOK over what they ARE? If you're upset about people being hurt, why aren't you upset about me actually being hurt? An appearance can absolutely instruct us in the identity of a thing, but it can also be used as shorthand to ignore complex multi-faceted issues.

And that's why I use profanity--and in my stories, other horrifying elements--to pinpoint exactly how clear a person's comprehension is. Are you worried about the hearts of real problems--that real people, complicated people who can be terrible, are being hurt? Or are you hurt that the world is not as perfect as you would like?

Are you worried about the right things?

So yeah, I'll keep swearing. Like all forms of communication, it's about where and how it's employed. But I will absolutely use it, and I love it. Sometimes it's a relief that civilized language can't provide.

And sometimes it's not just a personal expression.

Sometimes... just sometimes... it's a tool.

*We can argue that he wasn't upset about anyone, but rather for the sake of an ideal moral world that can never exist, but that's another discussion for another time.

[casualmaraudering]

this is a bit different than my usual drabbles but this au keeps creeping into my mind so I had to write something with it

*

"They're delicate," Remus says quietly, swatting Sirius's hand away. "I'd rather not have anyone touching them if it's not necessary."

Sirius watches Remus's wings flutter a bit and then fold neatly close to his body - not completely put away, mind you. Sirius had seen that they're able to squish into Remus's back quite a lot, which is surprising given their size. Sirius reckons it's some Angel magic or something - they're not necessarily as bird-esque as he originally thought.

Sirius simply nods, choosing to sit a few paces away, leaving Remus be for now. Eventually, after a few minutes, he relaxes enough that his wings fall into what he thinks is their natural, comfortable state - close to Remus's body, but relaxed, falling slightly to the sides and almost shielding his shoulders with the way they curve. The fire in the fireplace reflects against the feathers, shining at the golden spots on the tip of each and every single feather.

They occasionally flutter as Remus reads - Sirius had noticed it over the past few weeks. Not too much movement, definitely not enough to be noticed unless you're looking.

And Sirius is definitely looking.

"Why don't you let me touch them?" Sirius finds himself saying. Remus lifts his head, a crinkle appearing inbetween his brows, his face in a state of confusion (which is rather consistent for him, considering it's his first ever time on Earth, and he's still not sure of human technology). "Your wings, I mean. Is it- is it some custom you guys have or something?"

He doesn't really expect an answer at first. Remus has been rather closed off, only sharing bits and pieces of information about himself if Sirius caught him in a nice mood (and that didn't really happen too often), and those hardly ever are anything about his species. Sirius supposes its a mixture of distrust - they have only known each other for a couple weeks, after all - and, well... perhaps he's homesick. Sirius can only speculate, but Remus does spend a great deal of time gazing at the night sky these days.

Remus's wings fold around him, Sirius notes, shielding him more. Sirius could swear he seems embarrassed.

"It's intimate," he says quietly, his eyes falling back to his book. "In our early years, our parents groom them. Once we enter adulthood, though it's.." a hint of a blush seems to appear on Remus's face - not that Sirius can see much of it with his wings curling around him. "... it's something lovers do for each other. Our wings play a big part in our mating. So a stranger touching them would... it's not something I'd be comfortable with."

Oh.

Well. That would explain the day they were running from wingers the other week. Sirius distinctly remembers when he pulled Remus behind a tree, close to his chest and his arms around his person and his wings. Remus had whimpered, and was red in the face. And he was quite cold towards him for the rest of the day.

Now that Sirius knows the context of it, he supposes it was extremely inappropriate for him to hug Remus in such a way - a way a boyfriend would. Sirius doesn't even know if Remus has an angel boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever back where he's from. He guesses he should ask about that one of these days.

"Sorry," Sirius ends up mumbling, scratching his neck, not sure what to do or really say. "If I'd have known I wouldn't have- yknow. The other week, with the wingers."

"I've forgiven you for that," Remus replies, his wings backing up a little bit so that Sirius actually sees his face this time. "You've saved my life, after all. I just... got a bit overwhelmed. No one's touched my wings since-... well, since a long time," Remus says quietly, in a voice that almost seems sad.

Sirius doesn't pry. He doesn't think Remus considers them friends - he sure as hell doesn't know enough about Angel customs to figure that out, but he figures that, in time, if Remus wants to confide in him, he will.

He just has to be a little patient.

"Well, for whatever it's worth, I still stand by what I've said the first time I saw you," Sirius smiles at him. "They're probably the most breathtaking thing I've ever seen in my whole life."

And maybe it's just his imagination, but he thinks those gorgeous wings flutter slightly when he says that.

[let-it-show]

As She Falls In Love

I-I don’t know. This is fluff and falling in love and going through figuring it out and the struggle. I wouldn’t call it angsty though. This isn’t how I normally write! It’s basically a flow of feelings. Have some sap, lovelies.  ---------- She never planned for this to happen, and yet it won't let up. Every day she sees Anna and for that, every day she smiles. Elsa has missed her so much these past thirteen years. She more than missed her, but she doesn't know that there's a big enough word for it. Maybe it has to be a phrase, such as 'longed for', but that sounds a little romantic. Does that even matter anymore, she starts to wonder? She knows her sister, but doesn't REALLY know her. They're related but it has been so long since they were together in any sort of family sense that Anna's like a friend she adored and spent every moment with up until magic slowly made them disappear from each other's lives. Anna was like a dream or a wish that came into her life briefly, and then was simply another person in her life to watch. To have her back after the thaw... Elsa doesn't know how to start at first.

She approaches Anna and greets her with a hug every morning. When she first held her sister in her arms on the fjord, her body had tingled all over and it was like she couldn't keep her close enough. Elsa couldn't even believe it was real. But it had been real when she felt Anna's warmth against her, as Anna had sighed her name in happiness. She can't let that slip away, she can't lose the way Anna squeezed her, and so every day she makes sure she holds her.

At first she feels this must be how sisters greet each other, and even if maybe it was less appropriate in their adulthood, they already lost so many years. Their relationship is an exception to most rules. It never had a chance to be normal anyway.

Elsa also makes sure to tell Anna she loves her every day. When she first met Anna in her mother's arms, she loved her. She loved her when she hurt her and she loved her all those years on the other side of the door. And after the thaw, she can't believe how much she loves her! Whenever she says those three words to Anna, she sees her eyes light up and her cheeks get a little redder.

The thing is, she's finding she wants to whisper those words in her ears. She wants to say it with her lips against her sister's skin, feeling her shiver with every cool breath. This isn't how she's supposed to feel, she's sure, but the urge grows and grows.

She finds herself analyzing Anna's every word, and every movement.

If a touch with Anna ever feels too brief she starts to immediately wonder if something changed, if she crossed some line - but luckily, it seems, every touch lingers. Anna pulls away from her really only when she has to, letting Elsa hold her hand, her arm, even wrapping her arm around her waist. Of course when she does that, Anna immediately leans into her and Elsa has to catch her breath. She's only dreamt of any of this before.

Elsa says good night to Anna every night with a hug. One night she changes this as they've been talking on Anna's bed into the late hours. Elsa is comfortable laying on her side and she yawns. "Can I just stay here?" she asks Anna.

She swears Anna was glowing as soon as Elsa finishes her question. She nods and says yes, and they begin to slip under the covers. Elsa found herself immediately craving contact with Anna as they slept, a new level of comfort. Was that normal? Did it matter? Again, their relationship is an exception.

As she finds her mind trapped in wondering if she can do this, the situation is figured out for her. Anna scoots her body closer and her arm curls over Elsa's waist. Anna lets out a satisfied sigh while Elsa's eyes are wide. She's relieved that Anna can't see her face in this darkness. After a moment's hesitation she slides her palm over Anna's hip, every nerve on edge and sure that there's ice forming over the bed. But Anna doesn't pull away or say anything, she just relaxes.

Another way she's allowed to be closer.

Elsa can't stop thinking about her. Her every thought and decision has Anna behind it. She wants to protect her, wants to love and appreciate her, wants to share her whole heart with her. When Anna spends time with Kristoff her heart hurts and tears but she somehow keeps control of herself. Yet she can't show that ever, because Anna is happy to have friends and she loves Anna happy. If she could just stop overthinking whenever she's with him, stop projecting a reality that might not even be, she could feel relief.

Something's wrong with her. Clearly.

Every day she can't wait to talk to Anna. If Anna seems distracted or doesn't have much to say, Elsa tells herself not to get anxious. It doesn't mean Anna doesn't want to talk to her. Sometimes the young woman is less talkative for whatever reason, and it could be any reason. There are times Elsa forces herself to say something, even something strange, just so there's more to say.

Not that there's a lag in conversation very often-they can't stop talking late into the night. It happens every night now and they fall asleep with one of them curled into another.

Elsa wants to kiss her awake in the morning. She wants to drag her fingers to her lips, running them over Anna's knuckles until her eyes flutter open. Even she knows that could be a bit much, however, so she seeks a different method of gently shaking Anna awake when she sleeps too long.

And again, one morning Anna figures it out for her.

After Elsa gently shakes her awake Anna looks up at her with tired eyes and a little smile. She sits up and reaches for Elsa's arm. As soon as she has a hold on her, she draws Elsa's face down to her own. She smiles and kisses Elsa's blushing cheek. "Good morning!" she says slowly before shifting her head and yawning.

Elsa find herself emboldened that night, so as soon as the lantern is out and Anna's head hits the pillow, she leans over her. For a second Elsa toys with one of Anna's braids, kept in for the night to control her hair. Then she dips herself down to softly kiss Anna's freckled cheek and the corner of her mouth. "Good night, Anna, I love you so very much," she whispers before she can run out of courage. When she drops her own head down to her own pillow, her eyes are wide again, and she finds herself tugging at her own fingers before moving to the sleeve of her teal nightgown.

When she repeats the kisses and words the next night, Anna's hand seeks out Elsa's as it tugs on her own sleeve again. Elsa's heart threatens to leap from her chest when Anna squeezes her hand and moves closer.

It has become harder for Elsa to think about anything or anyone but Anna. She knows she loves her more than she's supposed to, and wants more with her than she's supposed to. The idea of meeting suitors is something she's unable to give more than of a fleeting thought. Of course, it never really has been important to her as she spent so long hiding herself away. She knows this, and maybe that's why her feelings are warped, maybe that's why she doesn't know how to grow, how to force feelings of affection for someone other than her sister.

It's not that she doesn't like people. She has several friendships in the castle and some favorites outside the walls. Not a single one brings anything close to what Anna brings out of her though. Only Anna can make her heart feel so warm, can make her actually want to touch and be touched past hugs, and past hand-holding.

She's not supposed to feel like this! Yet she can't fight it and even worse, potentially, she's not feeling as wrong about it as she should. Is it so wrong? Anna makes her happy, makes her feel loved, makes her feel alive... Is it really wrong at all?

Some deity out there must be out to force her hand. She gives Anna her good night kiss and the two clasp hands as they drift off, as has become the routine for a few weeks now. It's not enough at all but Elsa makes herself be content with it. She's been good at concealing for most of her life. And so as normal, she falls asleep to the sound of Anna breathing.

The next thing she knows she's in not just a cold, but a frozen sweat that's incredibly uncomfortable. It stings in a strange way. Her eyes are wide and she's trying to catch her breath as thoughts of unbearable sadness fade from her mind in a slow pulse. She's so sure something is greatly wrong and all she loves has been shattered. She can't get through this!

Then she realizes there are lips on her forehead and then on the top of her head. At the same time there's an arm wrapped around her and she is slowly secured in a warm embrace. Anna's heartbeat thuds against her ear and the way it soothes her so completely almost confuses her even more. However as the thoughts turn to nothingness and the heartbeat continues, she realizes she's had a terrible dream. A dream, and nothing more. The reality is that she is with Anna, and Anna is soothing her, whispering that she's okay, that she's loved.

As Elsa comes back to herself, she grips Anna tightly. "Oh Anna, your heart is my sun, even on a miserable, dark night." She's not entirely awake yet to form a cohesive thought, but she knows the love she feels. She knows she adores and desires her sister, that she will go to the ends of the earth to give her the best life she can. She finds the crook of Anna's neck and kisses her there lightly to show her affection.

Anna doesn't pause. She does nothing to hint she's uncomfortable, instead continuing to stroke her hair and give her a squeeze with a quiet sound of acknowledgment. Elsa falls asleep with her face buried in Anna's skin, her warmth melting down the frozen sweat into nothingness.

The next night Elsa is invited to rest her head on Anna's chest and she says yes before she can even think about it. Of course she wants to feel her heart. As Elsa closes her eyes, Anna's fingers stroke her cheeks. It's probably the best she's ever slept.

It's harder and harder to focus. She wants it to be morning or night, and she doesn't want to deal with hours of documents and meetings in between. Anna visits her of course, they have breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. Anna helps with work tasks. They even go for walks sometimes, and those are nice. They aren't private.

Those nights begin to come earlier and earlier. Elsa finds herself pushing to stick to the schedule and settle in sooner rather than later with Anna. She wonders if she's setting herself up for disappointment sometimes, because what if Anna isn't ready for winding down when she is? However, she notices that Anna is often tugging her toward the bedroom, wanting to start their nightly chat.

Sometimes it's less chatting and more cuddling. Elsa isn't sure where it started to change so much. They talk of course, but sometimes it's while she lays half on top of Anna and traces her features with just traces of ice. Anna shivers and giggles, but never makes her stop. Sometimes Anna pulls Elsa against her and flings her arm around her to tickle her senseless.

If ice starts shooting out of her fingers, Anna releases her and kisses her face.

So it happens one night that Anna releases her and catches her lips instead of her cheek. Anna pauses at first, brushes a stray hair from Elsa's face, and brings their lips together again. Elsa's heart is pounding. She reaches for the hand returning from her face to around her waist. She laces their fingers together, returning the kiss. Something in her wants to break in the best way because she's knowing she hasn't misread and that she has everything she's always wanted.

When Anna finally pulls back, she has a smile reaching her eyes. Her gaze meets Elsa's and there's no look of regret, or even surprise. Anna knows how she feels. Anna returns how she feels. Elsa smiles back at her and the two laugh together as Anna hugs her tightly and buries her face in Elsa's back.

Elsa brings her hands to her lips and kisses her knuckles in the way she's hoped to. She doesn't feel wrong for the joy that surrounds them. They have never been normal.

Their relationship has always been an exception.

[aimasup]

So I saw a bunch of Human AU Sanders Sides and thought I could make my own version

Backstories under the cut for anyone who’s interested

(Tw warnings such as mentions of abuse, homophobia and car accidents but it’s angst with a happy ending don’t worry)

-Long post-

-Patton:

Toddler to child: Parents love me and I love them! Lots of friends in kindergarten! Met Logan one day! He’s so smart!

Grade school: More friends! Logan’s opening up! Everything’s perfect!

Highschool: My parents are arguing more and I’m tired Meeting Roman and Remus! Roman’s so cool! Meeting Virgil! Virgil needs a hug! I feel sad and stressed sometimes and I don’t think I want to worry anyone with it.- Virgil’s with us now yay!

College: My best buds are here! I got into an accident halfway through my studies Virgil please don’t feel responsible. It’s not your fault. I’m so sorry Logan I should have understood your situation better. Roman please get mad I deserve your anger and I feel awful and empty but I shouldn’t show it because some people have it worse than I do I know it why do I feel this way? I’m fine honestly this is fine everything’s fine I’m just the problem -

Adulthood: So. I’m not the problem. I just need to work on my attitude and my flaws. I love my friends and family so much because they let me know that expressing my feelings is ok! My parents are fine now! I’m getting professional help! I work in an animal care center with Virgil! Roman is successful and pursuing his dreams! Met this guy named Dean and he works with Logan in the bookstore next to our center! He’s fun but he might need to stop lying so much, but other than that I’m happy with where I am now!

-Virgil:

Toddler to child: Parents love me and I love them. Bullies can go suck it. I feel bad that my parents always spend their time comforting me but they’re my whole world and I feel safe with them.

Grade school: Bullies are getting worse. Dad’s dead. Mom is stressed and busy so I don’t want to trouble her further. She still spends time with me for some reason. I don’t think I deserve friends. MCR is great. I met Dean and Remus. They’re. Interesting. I hate Roman.

High school: Oh my god everything is stressful and oppressive and everyone is scared of me. That’s good. Maybe. Met Patton, Logan and Roman. They’re only somewhat scared? Hm. Dean and Remus are getting into even more trouble than usual and pulling me into them. Maybe they aren’t good for me with how they’ve been acting lately. I’ll go be with Patton. - Maybe they don’t really accept me they’re just waiting to kick me out like everyone else why would they even like me-

College: Mom I love you so much I swear I’ll get a good job and make this college money worth it you’ll see. And things are surprisingly less stressful? I really like my friends? Patton why the hell did you save me from that car. Logan you have some explaining to do. Roman you shut the fuck up. - Everything is my fault I should have never said anything why am I always like this everyone was right about me- 

 Adulthood: Mom!! You can now retire!! Roommates with Patton, Logan and Roman now and I love being with them so much. And. Dean and Remus are still around. Well then. Whatever. I work a nice job at an animal care center with Patton and I have my friends and I’m learning to be more open and things are going well for now. Not bad for a life.

-Logan:

Toddler to child: Parents go to work most of the time and I see them every other weekend. Who cares about everyone else in kindergarten I have my books and Crofters. Oh hello Patton.

Grade school: I’m smarter than everyone else and I know it. Patton is a wonderful companion. I’m doing well for my age. 

High school: Virgil and Roman are interesting. Remus needs to chill. Virgil no let me lay some facts down for you because you are valid you hear me. Oh! Oh my gosh! I met this amazing student and he makes me feel special and happy! I think I love him! - It hurts but that’s fine- 

College: I’m coming for those degrees! Patton needs to stop asking me to leave my boyfriend. He doesn’t understand how important this man is to me! I can stand a little pain! Wait what happened to Patton. Virgil? Roman? Ok. Wait. Shit. I’m an idiot. I can’t believe it took me this long to figure out - I’m such an idiot it doesn’t matter how knowledgeable I am I’m still a gullible moron when it comes to relationships and everything my ex has ever done and said to me is all my fault because I fell for his manipulations-

Adulthood: Ok. I trust my therapist and my friends when they say it’s not my fault and that it’s alright. What I felt with my ex wasn’t love and I’m not a moron for falling for him. I can always start over. Like with the bookstore I now own with my receptionist Dean. Apparently he knows Virgil huh. They frequently bicker whenever Dean goes to their animal care center to buy snake feed so that’s interesting. My parents have retired and are now trying to make up for lost time with me? I appreciate it I suppose. Now I live with my companions and contact my family and things are alright.

-Roman:

Toddler to child: Parents love me and I love them! They buy me anything I want! They support my dreams! But Remus keeps bullying me and I’m not sure how to feel about him. He’s still my brother

Grade school: I have so many friends! Extra-curricular activities because I’m really talented! Remus has new friends to cause trouble with oh boy. More people to bully me the better for him ugh. Virgil especially creeps me out. I’m getting a little concerned as to how my parents are treating Remus but I’m sure he’s fine 

High school: Ok. So. Apparently telling my parents that I like guys is a bad idea. - That’s going to scar on my back for sure- They treat me completely differently from when I was a kid? And I met Patton and Logan and I think I might be a tad spoiled by my family. Also Virgil’s here but he’s getting more and more ok. I’ll hang out with him now. - I’m ungrateful and a disgrace and I’m not as creative as I ever thought I was- 

College: Welp. I’m moving out. I wish Remus the best of luck because I think he’s coming too. My parents officially suck as much as Logan’s current boyfriend. He needs to dump him. Wait I’m a YouTuber now! Yay! - I’m getting more and more stressed and overwhelmed from debt and I fear rejection from my fans and friends the moment I say something out of line and the moment I run out of good ideas for them- Oh shit Patton what happened!! Logan what did you do!! Virgil you shut the fuck up!! Remus you’re not helping!! - I could have prevented this why didn’t I realize this earlier am I that self absorbed-

Adulthood: Yes I’m a full time YouTuber and actor and singer now!! Patton, Logan and Virgil live with me now and they even work close together! Remus is now a comic book artist and novel author, hope he doesn’t traumatize people too much. Logan’s receptionist Dean sure is a character.  I still fear rejection- but I know things will be good for now!

-Deceit:

Toddler to child: Where are my parents. Why is the orphanage so small and why do people look at me weird when I talk. I’m never getting adopted.

Grade school: Well, I’m adopted now I guess. No way in hell am I telling them everything that happens daily in my life. Why do my new parents think my bedroom door needs to be removed. They took my little garden snake because it wasn’t a ‘normal’ pet? Hm. Why hello there Virgil and Remus. Hello Roman. 

High school: That’s it. I’m getting piercings, I’m getting a huge tattoo, I’m kissing snakes. Screw my parents. I don’t need to let anyone know anything about me. My opinion doesn’t matter anyways and everything about me is going to be bad no matter what so why bother So they fear us, Virgil? Good. Wait. Where are you going?

College: I’m moving out officially. Remus is in a different college. -Don’t miss him at all. I shall play along to society’s whims for now and get a degree and never use it. Got rid of the tracker under my car. I don’t think I’ll ever contact my parents again.

Adulthood: I think I’m doing rather well as a citizen. Remus is my new apartment mate oh god. But he is now a comic book artist and novel author so at least he has a job. Perks of working in a bookstore with Logan. That nerd’s one of Virgil’s new friends? And emo boy now works in the animal care center next to us? Whatever. I’ll leave them be unless I need some new snake feed. Things are peaceful now for me at least.

-Remus:

Toddler to child: I want my parents to look me in the eye and tell them they care more than just throwing fancy stuff into my arms dangit. Whatever I’ll just take it out on Roman and the kids in the playground.

Grade school: -If you can’t say anything nice don’t open your ugly mouth ever at all- So I’m disturbed? So my thoughts aren’t normal? Fine! Not like I can control what comes into my head! Let me bully Roman some more with my new buds Virgil and Dean! - freaking star child has everything I hate him so much what will it take for my parents to have their attention on me I’ve caused so much trouble in school why won’t they care-

High school: Roman what the hell happened?? I was planning your murder but now I’m not sure how to feel?? Damn you?? Uh?? We’ll move out?? And where the hell is Virgil going again?? Dean?? He’s leaving us? Alright. That’s it. That’s it - my grades and reputation are shit and my parents always assume the worst of me anyways so I’ll just sleep around with a bunch of guys every other week for quick cash and drag my family’s name through the mud and have fun because I don’t hate myself completely but my ideas are bad and I’m bad and- 

College: Fuck you mom and dad! Roman and I are moving out!! I’m gonna become a comic artist and write terrifying stories that’ll make Satan cry!! - Ugh Dean’s in another college dammit I miss him- Roman what is it this time someone get run over or something? What happened with that nerd Logan?  Is Virgil alright- What the fuck happened? - the star child is crying why are you crying why am I crying why do I feel like this I don’t care I shouldn’t care I hate you I hate me-

Adulthood: My ideas are selling! I’m a comic book artist and a novel author! Dean is my new apartment buddy! My brother is still some fancy theater geek but who cares! And the store Dean works at sells my books! And Virgil’s in the animal care center next door! I met his new friends officially and they’re boring lol. I really like where my life’s heading!

[kyoonqs]

iluso amor ; second part.

↬ summary: Cora has always considered herself elusive, easy to bore and adventurous to the last fiber of her body. One day for no apparent reason, she appears in front of the manager of a globetrotting circus passing through the city where she is temporarily staying to fill her life with magic. Baekhyun, as serious as he is handsome, has no intention of playing a role other than on the main canvas of the circus. He decides to separate Cora from her life of fantasies created by her travels and sets out to show her reality as raw and cruel as he knows it. Or so he believes.

Will time run out too quickly before love and passion devour him and he decides to risk everything for a love that lasts… Forever?

↬ pairing: baekhyun x cora fem!reader.

↬ circus!au ; illusionist!baek x hitchhiker!oc ; strangers to lovers au!

↬ genre: fluff ; romance ; angst ; drama.

↬ length: 3.6 k words.

↬ tag list: @changshapatrol @spacebyuns @fluffyhunnie @soos-goddess @hoho-cham @shadoukiti @sunbyun21​ @mangobaek​ @suhotly​ @pororodks​ @bbhbae​ @blahblahblah-boo 

If you’d like to be tagged for future chapters, please let me know!

↬ masterlist.

Baekhyun was giving orders, simultaneously lending a hand to the circus men and Cora noticed the tense muscles in his arms as he loaded seats into the forklift and pulled the rope. At that moment she remembered that when he had left her alone, she had roamed the caravan from start to finish, only to find one of his whips on the bed. Despite seeing his conduct at the show, she couldn't help but feel threatened. It was then that she realized she had no courage to sleep in the trailer, not even on the couch.

–“Come on, let's go to bed.” The last vestiges of the dream vanished and Cora was immediately on guard. The darkness was absolute, she couldn't see anything. Most of the trucks were gone and the workers with them.

–“I have decided to sleep here.”

–“Outside? I don’t think so. In case you haven't noticed, you're shivering.” He was right. It wasn't cold when she had first stepped outside, but the temperature had dropped since then.

–“Take this as a friendly warning. I've barely slept in three days. First we had a storm and we almost lost the circus cover, then I had to make two trips. I’m not an easygoing person in the best of circumstances, but I’m even worse when I don’t sleep.” He raised the arm at her side and she hissed in alarm when she saw a whip twisted into his hand. Cora gasped when Baekhyun grabbed her arm and pulled Cora to her feet without putting up much resistance. He opened the door to the trailer and turned on the light, gently nudging her elbow to enter. Was it just Cora's imagination or had the inside of the trailer shrunk since she'd first seen it?

–“Please don't touch me again.”

–“I'm too tired to think of anything you imagine I can do to you, if that's what you're concerned about.” His words did not reassure her.

–“Why do you carry the whip everywhere? Are you threatening me?”

He muttered something under his breath, closed the door and walked over to the bed to sit down. He dropped the whip to the ground, but the handle still rested on his knee. She looked at him apprehensively.

On one hand, Cora had promised to continue her journey, he hadn't hurt her or anyone else but on the other, there was no doubt that he scared her. She wasn't very skilled at fighting, but she knew what to do when the time came necessary. She steeled herself.

–“I think we should clear things up. I want you to know that I will not be able to live with you if you keep intimidated me in this way.”

–“Intimidating you? What are you talking about?”. Her nervousness increased, but she forced herself to continue.

–“I guess you can't help it. It's probably because of the way you grew up, although it's not that I believed that story you told onstage. Your lack of sanity?”  She paused. “Because it's fake, right?”. 

He looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

–“Yes, of course it is,” she hastened to say. 

–“What I mean by intimidating, I mean your attitude and …” she took a deep breath, “that whip.”

–“What's the matter with it?”. Cora shut her eyes. With a wrinkle of her nose she bit her lip and took a deep breath before starting again.

–“If you have that kind of inclination, I would appreciate you telling me now instead of giving hints.”

–“What are you talking about?”. He continued to stare blankly at her, until she screamed in frustration.

–“For the love of God! If you intend to hit me for pleasure, tell me. Hey, Cora, I like to whip people for pleasure, and you're next on the list. At least I would know what's on your mind”. 

His eyebrows raised, “Would that make you feel better?” 

She nodded.

–“As you wish.” Baekhyun looked at her with sparkling eyes and repeated the same phrase she tried to dictate to him seconds ago. He excused himself saying he was going to shower, went into the bathroom and closed the door. Cora nibbled on her lower lip. That hadn't exactly gone as planned.

Baekhyun chuckled as the shower water poured onto his body. Cora had given him more fun in the past ten hours than he'd gotten in the entire year before. Or maybe even more. His life was normally a very serious matter. Laughter was a luxury he hadn't been able to afford very often. But it was only natural when he had spent his whole life chasing something.

He remembered her comment about a fetish...maybe? But it would have spoiled the fun if he had explained that he always carried a whip when he knew the workers had been drinking. 

Traveling circuses were like a war zone when it came to solving problems –they had to be prevented before they arose– and the sight of the whip was a very dissuasive measure to alleviate the temper of some.

Despite how much the last confrontation with the girl had amused him, he had a feeling that the fun would not last long. This year he was putting him to the test, first a promise made to the circus owner on his deathbed: to do one last tour with the circus, and second the challenges that came with navigating one, including Cora.

As he let the water run off the shampoo, he thought about his past. Baekhyun had known the circus since he was eight years old and one of them spent the summer touring the towns of the Spanish coast. He would never forget that afternoon when he had accompanied his father to make the profit tally of imported products to Korea and the noise of a crowd gathered on the avenue caught his attention. 

He remembered how after begging his mother to convince his father to take him to a show –  it had become his absolute dream to become a circus performer. This dream would seemingly collapse at 18 when his father gave him maturity lessons during summer vacation. After that he’d traveled with the circus to earn money, and then much later, in adulthood, when every few years he left his life behind and spent a few months on the road.

Baekhyun's character had been shaped by his father's wise sermons and his always astute observations about the world and how hard it was for a man to survive. A man had to work hard, take care of himself, and maintain his pride.

Circumstances had made him that way, a tough and stubborn man who lived by his own code with no illusions about himself. And Cora... she lived in a dream world created from travel and tourist places.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed another to dry his hair, and opened the bathroom door. Cora gulped when the bathroom door opened and he stepped out. While he dried his head with the towel, she took the opportunity to look carefully at what seemed a perfect body, with well-defined but not excessively toned muscles. Baekhyun possessed a broad chest and shoulders, hips considerably narrower than said shoulders and his abdomen was flat, hard. Her gaze followed the arrow of hair that started at the navel and continued under the towel. Suddenly, she felt heated as she wondered what it would be like below.

–“I'll drop the towel in five seconds.” He deprived her of the vision of his chest when he turned his back on her and headed for the bed.

She quickly grabbed some clean underwear and a faded Kyung Hee University t-shirt that she had found on the same couch, surely belonging to Baekhyun – and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door. 

Twenty minutes later, she came out of the shower fresh with his shirt on. She had decided that it was preferable to wear this over the only nightgown she had, a tiny pink silk babydoll with lots of lace that her aunt had given her in case she "conquered" European men.

He slept on his back, the sheet covering his bare hips. It wasn’t right to look at a person while they were sleeping, but she couldn't stop doing it. She walked to the foot of the bed and watched him, looking up from his abdomen to his chest to admire the perfect symmetry of the male torso. Asleep, he didn't look the same. 

Cora's hands tingled with the urge to caress his cheeks and comb his hair. She didn't understand how it was the same man who had scared her to the point of wanting to bolt out of there, she wanted to understand what was going through his mind, she wanted to approach him and tell him that she wasn’t as dumb as she seemed. 

She stared at him for a few minutes more, swearing to herself that she would do her best to figure out and ease the weight on his shoulders. She lay back on the sofa and tried to fall asleep as soon as possible. Starting tomorrow, a new chapter of her life will begin.

–“Wake up, dulzura. We have a long day ahead of us.”

She rolled onto her stomach. He tugged on the sheet and Cora felt the cool air brush against the back of her bare thighs. She refused to move. If she did, she would have to face a new day. She buried her face deeper into the pillow. She felt a soft and warm hand rest in her hair, curling it back softly, clearing her face so that the Sun –which was barely peeking out– would illuminate her face. She rejoiced in the caress. Baekhyun was grinning widely but she missed it by putting up resistance to getting up.

Only when he pulled his hand away did she slowly open her eyes to see that he was already dressed and shaved at that unholy hour. Baekhyun glanced at her body, reminding her that she was actually practically naked under the sheet, just dressed in an old t-shirt of his and some rather compromising panties. When she realized it, she rolled onto her back and pulled the sheet up to cover herself with it.

–“We have almost three hours of travel ahead of us and we will be leaving in ten minutes. Get dressed and do something useful.” He turned away from her and went to the sink.

–“It's still night.” Cora and squinted at the gray morning light streaming through the dirty little windows.

–“It's almost six o'clock.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and raised the mug to his lips.

–“I'll stay in here while you drive.”

–“It’s illegal.” Baekhyun set the coffee cup on the table, then reached down to quickly pick up the clothes from the floor. He examined her critically and handed her a pair of jeans that had been hanging over the armrest of the chair.

Cora wanted to say something funny but was sure he would not be amused, so she reluctantly went to the bathroom. Ten minutes later she came out dressed and noticed that he was in front of the open kitchen cupboard, somewhat indecisive and it could even be said that a certain sadness claimed his face. She noticed that on the sink was an apple, a packaged cupcake, the last of the oatmeal frosts from the jar that contained them, and a recyclable bottle of what looked like yogurt.

–“Um... this morning you can eat whatever you want, you don't have many options but I know you can satisfy your stomach with this. From the next purchase we’ll have to divide the food between us. The circus is beautiful but it doesn’t leave much profit.” It was the first time she had heard him so dejected, almost regretful and that confirmed Cora's suspicion: his gruff behavior possessed a reason so she would try her best to not be another burden. She just hoped that Baekhyun would build the confidence to share his troubles.

She murmured a "thank you" as soft and delicate as she could when he stepped past her, scratching the back of his neck as if the situation had made him more uncomfortable than it should. She decided that from now on, she would try not to feel scared in front of him and that she would be the strong woman her mother had instilled in her to be.

They barely spoke during the first hour of travel. Since he hadn't given her enough time to get ready, Cora had to finish “putting on makeup” –she was only able to apply lip balm and blush– in the truck and comb her hair as best she could despite the bumps on the road, holding her hair in a high ponytail which she braided first then decorated at the end with a patterned fabric bow. Baekhyun observed her as much as he could from the corner of his eye, avoiding a smile that would give him away and enjoying how her hair twisted when she moved her fingers from side to side. He thought that with her washed face she looked prettier than the day before. The shadows in her eyes distracted from the color and spark they possessed and the lipstick widened her lips to the point that they appeared be swollen.

Around mid-morning, Baekhyun bought orange juice, some cereal bars and two packaged sandwiches. He stopped the truck in a place decorated with flags and logs cut to a length that suggested they were to be used for seating. After eating, Cora went to the bathroom and tried to find money with which she could return the favor to Baekhyun, but she only found some coupons from a previous job and some tokens for the spreading machine. 

When she came out she realized two things: one, an attractive waitress was flirting with Baekhyun and two, he was doing absolutely nothing to discourage her.

Cora watched him tilt his head and smile at something the girl had said. She experienced a twinge of jealousy as he seemed to be enjoying the waitress's company more than her own. She made up her mind to ignore what was happening but then it came to her recollection she’d never explicitly let on to having feelings for Baekhyun. Cora feared that if she came on too strongly, crossed barriers he wasn’t ready to do away with just yet, she’d never have the opportunity to get closer. Though he had been fairly hospitable, there was always an air of reluctance that clouded his every  interaction with her, a sort of underlying anxiety she couldn’t quite place. With resignation, she straightened her shoulders and approached the table where she gave the clerk her most radiant smile.

–“Thank you very much for keeping this dulzura company. Most of the time, he doesn’t like talking.” The waitress seemed somewhat surprised by Cora's friendly demeanor. She then lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “It was very kind of her, wasn't it, mi amor?”. 

Baekhyun choked on his coffee. She leaned in to pat him on the back while giving the girl a beaming smile.

Controlling his cough, he stood up from the table with an expression even angrier than was usual for him. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, Cora reached out and brought it to her lips so he wouldn't say anything. He looked at her like he was going to strangle her, but he just tossed several bills on the table and shoved her out of the restaurant.

–“Are you going to get mad about a little joke? Haven't you gotten used to clowns yet?” Cora's shoes slipped on the gravel as he dragged her toward the truck and the ugly trailer.

–“I already told you, you’re the grumpiest man I have ever met. And it doesn't suit you, not at all, Baekhyun. Let me tell you something, I was right, you look much more handsome smiling.”

He halted in his tracks and although she hoped he would say something to her, perhaps return the compliment, he continued his accelerated march to the truck. Disappointed, she grabbed the door handle, pulled and seated herself on the passenger side. Moments later they were back on the road.

The morning was sunny. The warm air coming in through the ajar window was not yet suffocating. Cora couldn't find any reason for him to sulk on such a perfect and beautiful morning, so she finally broke the silence. 

So far Baekhyun had been cooperative, he had commented that they were going to Fraga, they would spend two nights there and then they would continue traveling through the rest of Huesca. They had 4 months ahead of it, a life of trips and tours that were only missed once the season was over, exhausting but full of colors and renewed illusions in the face of each person who made up the audience during their performances. She wished they’d already given a place in the show. She still had little clue as to what she would have to go through first.

–“This will be the last season of the circus. So we will put in our best efforts. The owner passed away at the beginning of the year and his wife, Algeria, has inherited the circus and has put it up for sale.” He said, pressing his lips together almost imperceptibly. Cora noticed anyway. 

–“Have you been at the circus a long time?” she asked, determined to find out more about him.

–“I go and come. I traveled with the circus from my teenage years until I was twenty. Since then I’ve come and gone.” She took the time to appreciate him better than she could the night before, surprised that he was speaking so "openly" and that he wasn't growling in the middle of her questioning. 

The questions didn’t stop there, Cora would take her time asking him as much as she could but she had been somewhat disappointed when he didn't ask her any in return. Suddenly she remembered that she was there for work and decided to inform Baekhyun that she had never set foot in a job as artistic as the circus.

–“I just wanted to say that I don't know anything about the circus world.”

–“You'll learn. Gael, the guy who normally runs the locker, has to be away for a couple of days. You’ll be taking his place until he returns, and then you can join the show. We open the function with the parade presentation. Later we can look for the act you’ll be joining.”

She only made an approving sound. For now she was only counting the moles that were spread evenly and in isolation from his face to his ears and even fingers.

They continued traveling several miles in silence while she pondered what he had told her. But it was what he hadn’t said that worried her the most. Unknown to her, the word "love" –amor as she had called him in front of the waitress– had been bouncing around inside his skull. Baekhyun had been thinking that perhaps Cora wasn’t as empty-headed as he initially believed and perhaps he liked the nickname more than he expected.

↬ author’s note: today's chapter has been a little longer, hope you enjoy it! as you know, any feedback is welcome ♡ and must tell you something important, pay attention to the small details, they will play an important role in the plot! last but not least, thanks to Oliv for her help and time invested in helping me get each part correctly narrated.

[dejayoonw]

hold tight , jjk

part 5 | make it up

word count: 4.3k

warnings: jealousy, mentions of drugs, dirty talk, praise, pet names(baby girl, little girl, pretty girl, she calls him daddy), jk has a big dick, oral (m receiving), deep throating, face fucking, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, spanking, finger sucking, like one (1) pussy slap, he cums in her mouth

a/n: this is part five of my social media au hold tight & will probably make most sense if read along with the rest of the au.

~~

“Come on, we don’t want to be late do we?” tugging your best friend's hand towards the door you wondered how Jungkook would react if you were to be a little late to the wedding, would you get to see him annoyed like the first time you met him just before he recognized you? You hoped you’d get to see that side of him again, liking it more than you cared to admit. Pushing your thoughts to the back of your mind you got into the passenger seat of Tae’s Bentley, it was his proudest possession to date. You were happy that your best friend's hard work had paid off enough that he could afford something like this, plus for the two of you to live in an upscale apartment. Of course the two of you shared the rent on the place but still, you were proud of him for being so successful while doing something he loved. 

Pulling up to the wedding venue you smiled to yourself as Tae pulled into the parking space next to Jungkook's car. Your smile was soon wiped off your face the second Jungkook stepped out of his car. He was wearing tight black pants that accentuated his thighs with a button up shirt tucked in, two of the top buttons undone to show off a little bit of his chest. The only disappointment was one of your favorite parts about him, his arms littered with tattoos, had been covered by his sleeves. And yet, you still couldn’t find it in yourself to be disappointed, not when he looked this good. You will yourself to stop gawking at the boy, letting your eyes meet his only to see him already looking back at you with an uncharacteristically smug look on his face. You couldn’t care less that you’d been caught, in fact you were glad he’d seen you. You threw a wink his way and turned to your friend, taking the camera he’d lent you to use for the job out of his hands. Poor Tae was doing his best to ignore his best friend eye fucking the guy he’d hired, he found himself wishing more and more that Hoseok had been available. 

Throughout the wedding you made sure to focus on the job, as much as you wanted to flirt with the pretty man in the oh so tight jeans you didn’t want to mess things up for Taehyung. So you kept to your section of the venue and did as you’d been instructed. The ceremony surprisingly seemed to go by quickly though the reception was lasting a lot longer than you’d expected. You weren’t sure how many people kept the photographers around throughout the whole reception but you guessed if you had a rich daddy to pay for everything you might do the same. Just as you were about to take the fortieth picture of the bride's grandmother doing shots with yet another man in his twenties you heard your name being called. 

“The groom said they’re about to move the party to one of his friends' houses, it’s just their friends. He invited us.” Taehyung told you quietly so no one would overhear. Jungkook stood next to him though his eyes were anywhere else but on you or Tae. 

“So they want us to take pictures of their friends doing coke and getting fucked up?” You mumbled not exactly excited about the extra work. Jungkook snorted at your response, you couldn’t help but smile a bit, feeling proud. 

“No they want us to come get fucked up with them. Or, at least I don’t think that they’re planning on doing drugs.” Taehyung seemed to be questioning whether he should even go now, worried you might be right. 

“Look at them Taehyung, of course they're going to do drugs. Why should that stop us from partying like Belford? We can be The Wolves of Walmart.” Taehyung shook his head at your ridiculous joke, especially considering you probably had just as much money as any of them, but chuckled nonetheless. How the two of you had even stayed so close into your adulthood was honestly something you both wondered everyday. You two were so different. Where he worried about things like drugs and shied away from anything overly sexual you didn’t bat an eye to it. You weren’t necessarily into coke or anything hardcore like that, but you’d smoked your fair share of weed in your lifetime. 

“We’ll go if you want to but if anyone offers me a line I’m leaving.” Tae said, shuddering slightly at the thought. You smiled up at your soft hearted best friend finding his caution endearing. This was why you’d been able to stay close, because the differences the two of you had always seemed to be nothing in comparison to the adoration you held for each other, platonically of course. Once upon a time you might’ve harbored a crush for your introverted, modest friend but then he came out to you in tenth grade and you quickly got over those feelings. Besides, you were more into the bad boy type anyways. 

“Are you coming too, Jungkookie?” You asked looking up at him through your eyelashes, eyes opening just a little wider. How could Jungkook say no to you when you looked at him like that? As much as your relentless teasing made him feel like he might have an aneurysm, he couldn’t resist spending more time with you. It felt weird not having you messing with him today, so maybe you’d talk to him at the party. This was probably the last time you’d see each other anyways, he should make it count. 

“I’ll go for a bit.” The cute little smile that took over your face was enough to rid Jungkook of any second thoughts he might’ve had. Jungkook saw you as this powerful intimidatingly sexy woman who somehow still emitted the cutest energy. How would he ever survive tonight with you switching back and forth so drastically? 

It didn’t seem to be a concern once the three of you got to the party. Ever since you walked through the door you’d been swarmed by multiple people. It was one after the other, even if Jungkook had worked up the courage to talk to you he’d never get the chance to. So he sulked on the couch, squished in between a couple engulfing each other and the arm of the couch. He’d lost Taehyung a while ago, though Jungkook figured he’d found someone for himself. 

You loved your viewers, well most of them, there were definitely a few on the weirder side that occasionally took things too far, but overall you loved them, you were so thankful to them. It was times like these though, that you wished your job wasn’t so public. You’d been stuck in the same spot for the last hour, person after person had come up to you to ask if you were Honey from onlyfans. You hated that you sounded so snobby in your head but you really just wanted to talk with people normally tonight, you were there to have fun after all. Not that talking with your viewers wasn’t fun, you just really wished it didn’t feel like work sometimes. You’d zoned out on the guy next to you who had been telling you all of his favorite videos of yours in great detail. Your eyes found Jungkook across the room, a strong pout on his lips as he played on his phone. You tilted your head slightly wondering what had him so upset and why he wasn’t enjoying himself. 

“Yuta, dude, leave that poor girl alone. Sorry Honey, he doesn’t know how to shut up sometimes.” One of the girls, who’d earlier introduced herself to you as Sorn, said trying to save you from her friend. Honestly Yuta wasn’t bothering you, it was just that he’d been rambling for the last 10 minutes and you would much rather be figuring out what’s going on with Jungkook right now. You smiled over at Sorn silently thanking her. 

“It’s no problem, I think it’s sweet that you enjoy my content so much Yuta. I do think I'm going to go check on my friend though, again, it was nice talking to both of you.” You said, smiling sweetly at Yuta while winking at both of them before making your escape to Jungkook. You say yourself on the arm of the couch he was sitting on, catching his attention right away. You couldn’t help but notice the annoyed look on his face when he looked up at you. 

“Why are you pouting over here all by yourself?” You asked him trying not to laugh at how obvious it was that he was struggling not to look at your legs that you’d draped over his own. 

“Not all of us have a fan club everywhere we go to keep us entertained.” Jungkooks sharp tone had caught you off guard and shamefully sent a wave of head down to the pit of your stomach, but maybe that was the drink you’d been nursing since you’d gotten here. You weren’t sure why you found yourself wanting to make it up to Jungkook, you hadn’t done anything wrong. It’s not like the two of you came together or anything. Yet here you were, giving him your best apologetic eyes, with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry Jungkookie, I didn’t mean to make you jealous.” You said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t think you were still teasing him. Jungkook didn’t know where this shift in attitude came from but he could swear he’d seen this look somewhere before. 

“I’m not jealous, what do I have to be jealous over?” He didn’t know if he was trying to convince himself or you but it was clear neither of you were buying it. You didn’t push it though, you didn’t know why you felt so compelled to make things right with him. Maybe it was just instinct because you were admittedly attracted to him and you tend to submit to the people in your life who you connected with physically.  

“But still, we’re friends and I let you sit over here alone while I talked to a bunch of people. I should’ve stayed with you. Let me make it up to you?” There was no way in hell Jungkook was reading this right. You were sat with your legs draped across his lap, your fingertips grazing his shoulder and every so often they’d brush his neck just slightly, but there was no way you were saying what he thinks you’re saying. 

“What, um, what do you mean?” He asked, avoiding your intense gaze. 

“Anything you want, name it and I’ll do it.” How was this happening? Jungkook had to be reading it wrong. But, what else could you mean? His mind was racing so fast, he felt himself freaking out. Before he even thought about it Jungkook was mumbling something about finding a bathroom and stumbling off away from you. Jungkook wasn’t even sure how he found the bathroom, but all he knew is he needed water, now. 

Splashing some of the water onto his face Jungkook attempted to calm himself down. Why had he gotten so freaked out? This wasn’t like him, normally he was good at getting people he was interested in, man or woman. Why did you make him so nervous? Just because he’d seen you naked before didn’t mean you’re any different from the people he’d slept with before. Except you were, he hadn’t slept with you. He’d just seen some pictures and maybe a video or two(or fifty) of you. He’d fantasized about you without even knowing you and now he knew you, kind of. He felt creepy. Why did he though? You posted that stuff for people like him to look at, you made it clear that you knew he’d seen your stuff and you didn’t act like you felt weird about it. In fact, you acted like you liked it. So why was he hiding in the bathroom? You’d basically just offered to fulfill all the fantasies he’d had about you. He had never been one to run from that kind of offer before, at least not from someone as beautiful as you. 

The more Jungkook thought the more he hated himself from most likely missing his chance with you. How many of your viewers could say they’d had this opportunity? He didn’t know, but the answer was none. You’d made it a rule a long time ago not to sleep with any of your viewers. There was just something about Jungkook, which is why you’d made your way outside the bathroom to apologize for freaking him out. You weren’t sure why you thought he’d wanted to sleep with you in the first place. Sure you knew he’d seen your stuff online but that didn’t mean anything. Jungkook didn’t see you at first when he opened the door but when you’d called out his name he was glad to see you. 

“I’m sorry I forced myself on you like that, I think I just read the signs wrong. I got carried away because I think you’re really attractive and, I don’t know, I’m sorry.” You kept your eyes on your hands folded in front of you. You had this pitiful look on your face like you were ashamed of yourself. Jungkook was disgusted with how hot he found it. Why did literally everything about you turn him on? More importantly why hadn’t he jumped at the opportunity to act on it when he first noticed that you were willing. Yoongi would’ve called Jungkook a little bitch if he’d seen the way he’d been acting around you. 

“Shut up and get in the bathroom.” Your eyes went wide as you checked to make sure it was actually Jungkook’s mouth those words came out of. You felt heat rushing to your cheeks at the stern look on his face. Where had this come from? Where had he been hiding this side? You knew if you walked in that bathroom you’d be getting exactly what you’d silently(and not so silently) been begging for since you met Jungkook. He didn’t want to push you, but he couldn’t deny the excitement he felt when you rushed past him into the bathroom.

“If you don’t want to do this we don’t have to.” You told Jungkook when he shut the two of you in the small bathroom. You wanted to give him the opportunity to leave before anything happened. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel pressured. 

“I can assure you babygirl, I want nothing more than to show you just how much I want this.” Before you could process his words Jungkook's lips were on yours, kissing you like a man starved. His lips were soft and he wasted no time being gentle, sliding his hands in your hair and tugging your head back further to give him better access as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Then, before you could get used to the feeling of his mouth on yours, his lips left yours and attacked the skin on your neck. Sucking, nibbling, and licking as he tried to find your sweet spot. Your fingers were desperate to cling onto something, moving from his back up to the base of his neck you raked your fingers through his hair as his mouth worked wonders on your neck. You were a whimpering mess as he left little marks all over your neck. Jungkook smiled at the sweet sounds leaving your lips, feeling proud of himself for getting this kind of reaction without even really doing anything. You could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your panties and you ached for some kind of relief. You involuntarily pushed your hips into his, feeling his already forming bulge causing both of you to moan at the sudden contact.

“You better keep your hands to yourself if you want this to go well for you, little girl.” You had to stop yourself from moaning out loud at his words. Jungkooks grip on your hips was tight enough that you’d probably bruise but all you could feel was pleasure. 

“Kookie please,” You begged, dropping down to your knees in front of him, taking his large hands in yours. “wanna make it up to you.”

You wouldn’t continue without his explicit permission, so you gazed up at him with wide eyes. How could Jungkook say no when the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen was on her knees in front of him begging to suck his cock? 

“Go ahead baby girl, show me what that pretty mouth can do.” He said letting his hand fall to the back of your head gently. His cock was practically screaming to be let out of the tight confidments of his jeans. As you cautiously undid the zipper and button and pulled both his jeans and his underwear down at once Jungkook let out a soft noise at the relief. You gawked at his size, he was probably the biggest you’d ever had, prettiest too. Your mouth was watering at the sight, he was perfect. 

Looking up at him you were stunned again by the beauty that is Jeon Jungkook. Staring down at you with his mouth agape he brought his hand to your jaw, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip. Keeping your gaze locked with his you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out just slightly, licking at the pad of his thumb. Jungkook groaned slightly as he finally guided his cock into your mouth, watching you close your lips around the head and started slowly bobbing your head up and down his shaft. You began to use your tongue as you quickened your pace. Jungkook was mostly silent but you could tell he was enjoying himself when he tightened his grip on your hair every time you took him deeper.

You began to use your hands a bit, causing a moan to leave his lips at the feeling. You then took his cock deeper, finally making him buck his hips forward, hitting the back of your throat. Rolling your eyes back you pushed your head down further on his cock hoping he’d get the hint. Thankfully he did, tangling his hand in your hair to hold your head still, he bucked his hips again, harder this time, shoving his cock even farther than before. He repeated the motion, fucking your face until you had to tap out. 

Pulling off of his dick with a pop, you were gasping for air, your chin covered in saliva and your hair was a mess, you looked perfect. Quickly Jungkook pulled you up by your arms needing to feel your lips on his again. Your pretty little hands snaked their way up Jungkook's shirt, feeling his abs as he kissed you. How that simple action affected him so much Jungkook didn’t know, but he did know he was in for it. Sex before didn’t come close to how it felt with you and he hadn’t even fucked you yet, how was he ever supposed to have sex again with a random girl knowing it could be this good with you? 

You lightly traced Jungkook’s abs letting your hand slowly fall down to his cock, pumping it in hopes of getting what you wanted. Jungkook kissed you a little harder making you moan and rub your thighs together for some relief. Needing to feel you Jungkook pulled your hand off him and roughly turned you around, pushing you against the bathroom counter. You whined at the feeling of his hard cock against your ass. 

“You’ve been such a good girl baby, sucking my cock so well. Feel how hard you made me?” He whispered, his raspy voice sending more heat to your dripping core. His arms wrapped around your waist, his hand cupping your clothed pussy making you whine out. “Want to be my good girl? Want me to fill up this pretty little pussy?

“Please.” You begged, wanting nothing more than to be his good girl. Jungkook pulled your dress up over your ass, yanking your soaked panties down letting them fall to your ankles. His hands gripped your ass as he admired the pretty sight for a moment before he dipped one finger into your entrance almost groaning at how tight and wet you were. 

“Fuck babygirl, who did this to you? You’re soaked.” He teased, adding another finger to stretch you out enough for his cock. You let your head fall forward, loving the feeling of Jungkook's fingers pumping in and out of you. Then suddenly he pulled them out and slapped your aching pussy causing you to yelp. “I asked you a question, pretty girl.” 

“You did.” You whined out, pushing your ass back into Jungkook's hips, needing some relief. Thankfully he shoved both fingers back in, feeling satisfied with your answer. But he wasn’t done teasing you. 

“Are you sure it’s only for me? Not all those other people you were ignoring me for?” He asked, curling his fingers up and hitting your g-spot. 

“No, fuck,” You moaned as he continuously hit that spot, you were so close. “It’s only for you, daddy.” 

Jungkook groaned at the nickname, he’d never cared much for it but something about the way you said it made his dick twitch. He pulled his soaked fingers from your pussy ignoring the whine you let out in protest. He spread your juices all over his cock before lining the head at your entrance. Both of you let out gasps of air and soft moans as he slid his cock into you. 

“Fuck baby, you feel so good.” All you could manage to reply with was moans of agreement as he bottomed out. Both of you needed a moment to not cum right away. The feeling was too good. Needing him to move you ground your hips into his making him groan out a sweet sound as he gripped your hips tightly to stop you. Before you could beg him to move he had pulled back almost all the way out and slammed his hips back in forcefully. Your head fell forward as he repeated the action at a fast pace. His hands left your hips to squeeze your ass, letting one hand fall down to spank you, surely leaving a handprint. 

Needing to get deeper Jungkook pulled your leg up onto the counter, gripping at your thigh tightly. You moaned at how deep he was getting now, knowing it wouldn’t be long before you were coming apart. Jungkook shushed you letting his free hand wrap around to shove two of his fingers into your mouth to silence your loud moans.

“You’re doing so good for me pretty girl but I need you to be quiet okay? We don’t want to get caught, do we?” The thought of someone catching the two of you had you clenching around Jungkook's cock, making his hips sputter for a moment. “Oh you like that idea? The thought of someone finding out what a slut you are for your daddy?” 

Jungkook's hand left your thigh and immediately found your clit, rubbing at a fast pace to match the way he was pounding into you. You moaned loudly around his fingers, biting down on them lightly causing a hiss to leave his lips. Your leg that had been holding you up was starting to feel like jello but you ignored it as you came undone all over Jungkook's cock, clenching and shaking in his hands. He held out, fucking you through your orgasm until you let your leg down so you could hold youself up. Jungkook quickly pulled out ready to cum on your back until you dropped to your knees and opened your mouth wide. Moaning at the sight Jungkook let his load spill all over your tongue only getting a little bit on your lips. You kept your eyes on his as you gathered his cum on your fingers and popped them in your mouth making sure you got every last drop. After you swallowed you opened your mouth to show him, making him smile down at you, grazing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Did I do good?” You asked softly, still staring up at him with wide eyes. 

“You did amazing baby girl.” He told you, pulling you up to stand. He chuckled and held you still when you wobbled slightly still not fully able to stand on your own. Crouching down, Jungkook pulled your panties up your legs for you and let your dress back down. 

“Thank you, daddy.” You told him, partly teasing and partly serious. He rolled his eyes and smirked at your words placing a soft kiss on your cheek. The moment was interrupted by a banging on the door, making you two jump apart.

“Yo, are you two idiots not done yet?”

[jayladankiah]

OKAY🌻-(long mental health post)

On October 10,2021 I woke up knowing that day was not going to be a good day for me. My spirit was really low. My mind instantly flooded with random questions and things that I was currently worrying or stressing about. Instant anxiety.

This whole year I had been fighting a losing battle with my anxiety and bipolar depression. This year I have really been tested as an adult out here without mom and dad. I’ve had so many L’s after L’s. I’ve cried entirely too much and kept everything too myself. I have lost bonds and grew away from people that were closest to me. This year has whooped my ass and molded me into a brand new person.

I was completely lost dealing with a lot of things by myself and it was only so much that my family or my fiancée could do for me. I thank the universe for abundance because I have been in and out of work all year dealing with my anxiety. I honestly don’t function around people and that bothers me because I like to call myself a peoples person when I work. I couldn’t do it. Anxiety attack after anxiety attack at every different job I got. I thought maybe it’s the job and I’d get another one but everything repeated.

I’d tell everybody that asked me was I okay yes every time. And every time I said it I made myself believe it even more. My mind allowed me to honestly believe that I was so I kept on pushing and lying and trying to be strong and figure a LOT of shit out on my own. Big mistake. Now mind you I was diagnosed with anxiety and bipolar depression in 2015 so this battle is not new to me. I am a cutter and was once on medication that I currently was not taking.

October 10,2021 I got so overwhelmed and so low that for the first time in years I picked up something sharp and actually wanted to cut myself. I stopped to think, where could I cut myself where my fiancée wouldn’t see it. Nowhere actually lol so I held onto the blade that I had. I was home alone fighting every demon that was in me at that very moment. I knew that if I stayed in that house by myself that blade would have pierced my skin somewhere. Too much on my mind,the emotional pain, I was never strong enough to bare it.

No I’m not suicidal,never have I been but the physical pain always took away every worry, question, doubt and pain on my mind. It was too much. I called my mom and told her I needed help. In all honesty I knew I just needed to finally get back on my medication and to vent. Not even just to anybody but finally to myself. I had a lot a childhood trauma that followed me into my adulthood. All of this trauma followed me along the years in cycles that I repeated many times so far in my life. I realized that I could not do this alone anymore. I admitted myself into a mental hospital on Sunday night.

I say that going there was the best and worst thing I could’ve done. I swear I felt like I was going crazy being “trapped” in there only 3 days lol Tuesday morning I snapped once again. This time I said some things to some people that I shouldn’t have. These things that I truly meant but not in the way that they came out.

I prayed so much and so hard that night. I did apologize but snapping out like that made me realize exactly what my issues were and why I was the way I was. Being there freed me from my mind in a way I didn’t know I needed. I allowed myself to soul search and answer all of the questions I had been avoiding. All of the things that didn’t necessarily happen directly to me really were the things that affected me the most. I acknowledged everything and everyone from my past that held a mental bondage over me… I let that shit GO !

I could no longer cry. I prayed and hoped that the way I snapped didn’t make them choose to hold me longer than Wednesday. I was released Wednesday evening and everything that was weighing on me when I entered no longer bothered me. I was back on my medication and was ready to talk to a therapist and the source of my trauma.

I wrote a letter and passed it on in hopes to soften the blow once the face to face conversation came up. It has yet to happen. I feel so much better today than I did on Sunday. I plan to take it one day at a time. All of my healing starts with me and I don’t expect anyone to acknowledge it or even understand it. I’m stronger today because I no longer run away from my problems. I know that everything that has happened to me this year has been sign after sign to face my problems and finally heal.

I can only move forward from here. I no longer have time for toxic relationships, family or friends. My mental health is more important than anything. Everything or anybody that is for me will be for me. I will never go without and I will never be alone. I am loved and I am moving on into discovering my true purpose.

Never have I been ashamed of myself in any kind of way. My battle with mental health has never been and will never be a secret. I have never been more sure of the woman I am growing into as I type all of this. Don’t mistake who you once knew me as for who I am today. I hope that this little story and the things I have experienced can help someone else. You never know what somebody is going through. You always should be kind to people, for their minds can be very fragile. Every day is a challenge but it’s not in me to give up. I wish anybody dealing with mental health issues nothing but love and light as you live each day.

🌻✨💜

[overwatch-does-stuff]

Lindholm Family Headcanon Dump!

I know Michael Chu retracted the statement that Torbjorn has a bunch of kids, but Chu just quit so I make the rules now. It’s a LONG post under the cut because I got carried away. Mostly starring Torbjorn, but featuring Ingrid, Reinhardt, and Brigitte (plus a bunch of other kiddos that exist but I don’t have headcanon names for yet oops.) There won’t be any Bastion in this one because that’s an entire other post’s worth of content.

- Torb has a big family. He and Ingrid had a couple children of their own while he had a stable position in Overwatch, but they found out that they loved having little children around the house, so after all of their biological children moved out, they chose to volunteer in the foster system! This lead to them adopting at least four more kids. - Which means they drive a huge van everywhere.  - Both Ingrid and Torbjorn are masters at driving as a result. - They’re exactly equivalent in skill with one exception: Ingrid can parallel park the van, a skill he has yet to figure.

- Their house is pretty big (the Overwatch paycheck paid well, that, along with Ingrid’s income,) so there’s plenty of room for all of them. - There’s three levels: upstairs (for the bedrooms and playrooms,) downstairs (for entertaining spaces/the kitchen and stuff,) and finally, the basement, which is Torbjorn’s personal workshop. - Most third world countries would kill to have a workshop as good as his. - It’s all because Ingrid spoils him so much. He gets just as excited for Christmas as his kiddos do. - “The latest arc welder? Aww, honey, you shouldn’t have!” - Ingrid doesn’t work in his field, but she listens to his special interests dumps, and puts in enough research of her own, that she knows just what to get him every year. - Ingrid doesn’t like getting gifts as much as he does, so for Christmas, he always makes sure to spend quality time with her. He jokes that he ‘sucks at planning dates’ but he really doesn’t! For her, it’s nothing but the top restaurants and most exciting experiences. She loves going ice skating in particular, something that he hates but will always do with her. - Torbjorn and Ingrid split the cooking equally. They’re a bit traditionally gendered with what they like to cook, with Torb leaning more towards grilling and Ingrid preferring baking, but it suits them just fine. - Their grill, along with every other cooking contraption in the house, has been upgraded in some way. In fact, Torb’s the one who grills only because Ingrid still can’t figure out how to use the damn thing since he upgraded it. - Their house is covered in contraptions of all sorts. Other than the grill, Ingrid utilizes every single one of them. Meals get served and sent around via chutes. The floors sweep and mop themselves automatically when they’re dirty. The dishwasher loads, washes, and unloads itself in record time. - You know the zany contraptions in the Addam’s family house? Think that, but more brightly colored. - However, Ingrid’s taste in interior decorating is the opposite of gothic or minimalist- she loves quirky, unique features and bright colors. - She loves thrifting.  - The huge chair they got for Reinhardt in the living room was a thrift store find that she’s still very proud of. - She also has an old-fashioned “live laugh love” wall with all of the family portraits. She knows it’s cheesy, but it’s nostalgic for her.  - She doesn’t just bring furniture home. She also brings home cats. - That’s right. Brigitte got her cat love from Ingrid. - It’s a long-standing tradition, with the first cat she brought home was over thirty years ago when they were a new couple. - Torbjorn swore that it would be her cat and that he wouldn’t take care of it. - He was wrong. - Very wrong. - He now loves his cats and calls them cutesy nicknames in whatever language he feels like in the moment. - He built them automated feeders, automated litter boxes, and even some automated toys. He spoils them rotten. - Every time Ingrid brings home a new cat it’s the same routine. He swears that this will be the last one and that he’s not taking care of this one! But that’s wrong and he knows it. - But, because Ingrid’s always bringing things home, she’s a little more tolerant when Torbjorn brings. . . a specific Omnic. . . home.

- But that’s a whole other fanfic that I would need to write, so instead, back to the parenting! - Ingrid is 100% a feral soccer mom. Torbjorn is just as bad. - They’re the ones screaming their lungs out at sports games.  - They have a house rule where their kids have to participate in one extracurricular sport. It can be school teams, club teams, or even just working out on their own, but fitness is something that both Ingrid and Torb consider important. - Torbjorn, of course, built his own gym in the basement. He trained with Brigitte, and now he trains with another one of his daughters who’s taken an interest in weight-lifting. - But this all doesn’t mean that the Lindholms discourage more creative talents! - Torbjorn crafted a giant steel board where any arts and crafts get hung with magnets. One of his little boys is an artist and he couldn’t be more proud.  - Brigitte experimented with metal art when she was a teenager, and many of her pieces are now permanent fixtures in the Lindholm home. - She crafted a particularly beautiful string of lights that hangs above the dining room table.

- Now it’s time for Uncle Reinhardt!!! - Okay, so maybe he’s called just ‘Reinhardt’ by the older kiddos, but everyone knows he’s essentially an uncle in all but blood. - He’s been invited to every holiday celebration for about. . . actually, he’s just always been there.  - He’s a true multi-generational staple. Brigitte can’t remember a holiday without him, and now the younger kiddos are getting doted on by him every Christmas.  - Rein loves telling stories for the children. He spends the entire car ride there planning his multi-hour epics. - Now that she’s older, Brigitte sometimes helps with the storytelling, contributing sound effects and such. - Something which just causes Torbjorn to laugh and shake his head. - Reinhardt also loves nothing more than being a walking jungle gym. As soon as he walks in the door, he’ll grab the nearest kiddo and put them on his shoulders. He’s often seen walking around with a kid in each arm and usually an extra hanging off his back. - Sometimes he gives Ingrid a heart attack when he starts throwing kids around, but hey, she’s known him long enough at this point that she (mostly) trusts him. - Everyone gets sad when Reinhardt has to leave, but he insists that there is justice that needs to be done. He soothes the kiddos by promising an even better story when he gets back.

- Now it’s time to get sad. . . here’s my Brigitte headcanons. . . - Brigitte was REALLY close with her father growing up. She spent so much of her time in his workshop learning from him, as one of the only Lindholm children to take a liking to machinery and engineering. - However, when she moved out. . . she found it difficult to escape his legacy. Everyone, many of the older industry professionals and the like, expected her to be just like her father. They tried to cajole her into finishing old weapons designs that Torbjorn had abandoned. - It was then that she learned the full extent of Torbjorn’s involvement in the Omnic Crisis. - She had a lot of trouble reconciling this news with her love for him. It’s still something she had great difficulty with.  - This shock played a big part in her decision to give up on finding a job in the industry and instead accompany Reinhardt on his travels. - It wasn’t a decision that Torbjorn endorsed, which hurt their relationship even further. - But it’s not like he doesn’t try to keep in touch. They call every other weekend or so to catch up, but there’s always a tension between them that neither one is ready to address.  - They will talk about it someday. They’ll figure things out. They care about each other too much for either one to give up.  - In the meantime, though, Brigitte has gotten a lot closer with her mother. She calls her much more often.  - They talk about all of the things that Brigitte wasn’t all that interested in when she was younger. Stuff like fashion, makeup, and more traditional advice, such as how to get a date or what it feels like to fall in love.  - Ingrid also makes sure to show her how the cats are doing over the online call.

- To be truthful, Ingrid isn’t too worried about Brigitte’s decision to live the rough-and-tumble lifestyle. It reminds her a lot of her own young adulthood, where she decided to pick up everything and move to the big city to get away from her parents. - She’s quick to remind Torbjorn that her own little rebellion is how they came to meet whenever he gets worried about Brigitte’s decision. - (They met at Ironclad. The only job Ingrid could find after her big move was working secretary. She fell head-over-heels for him immediately, while it took him a while to warm up.) - (Their first date was just walking around the city, with Torbjorn talking almost the entire time about random things he saw. He’d see the newest cars on the street and dive into what he knew about that industry. They’d pass by a construction sight and he’d point out what tool designs were similar to the ones he was working on.) - (When he realized that she was actually listening to him and taking him seriously, he agreed to a second date and never looked back.) - They aren’t a perfect couple- they’ve had their fair share of arguments, especially because they’re both deeply stubborn, but they’re always able to work it out in a way that makes them both happy. That skill is why they’ve lasted so long. - One thing they’ve never argued about, though, is Torbjorn’s commitment to duty. When they started dating he made it clear that his work was very important to him. Ingrid made it clear that she was willing to be patient. - It got hard when he was away for months at a time with Overwatch during the Crisis and its aftermath, but through constant online calls they managed. - The biggest surprise of Ingrid’s life was when he told her he wanted to have kids when the Crisis ended. - Turns out, having a major life crisis about how your career impacted the world makes someone want to find another purpose in life besides their career. - And thus, they dove into parenthood together. - Now they both couldn’t be happier :)

[spoppersonality]

How MBTI & Enneagram affect character relatability

I have a theory, and I’m going to illustrate it with the help of Adora and Shadow Weaver. I also have a personal story there.

Fun fact:

I share an MBTI type with Shadow Weaver (INFJ)

and an Enneagram type with Adora (Social 9w1).

(Not going to go into more specific subtypes right now.)

What makes this interesting to me, is how I am, in this case, pretty much a perfect example of how people tend to relate to fictional characters with similar Enneagrams, rather than similar MBTI types. My “evidence” is anecdotal of course, but I have noticed a pattern there. I think this tendency is at least one of the reasons behind some interesting phenomena in fandom and might set some light to questions like why some characterizations are more popular in fanfiction than others. (Such as why people write characters like Keith, Sasuke, Zuko and Catra as artsy emos.) But I digress. (Might get into that another time, though.)

I had watched SPOP about three times before it even crossed my mind that Shadow Weaver shared a personality type with me. While it was apparent to me the first time around, that I shared a personality type with Adora. So, why? Because one is a hero, and one is a villain, and I would rather identify with the hero?

That seems like a nice and clean answer, but I don’t think it’s quite that simple.

I think it has more to do with how I, and I think most people, relate to fiction from an emotional point of view. We tend to watch and read stories for emotional reasons, more than intellectual ones. Not that intellectual reasons don’t play a part, just that the driving force is often emotional. We’re looking to connect emotionally with the characters, otherwise we would be watching a documentary or reading a science book instead. At least that’s how it works for me, and in my experience, a lot of other people.

MBTI is about cognition, while Enneagram is about motivation. Sometimes I like to distinguish MBTI as your “intellectual type” and Enneagram as your “emotional type”. At least from that angle, it makes perfect sense, that we would relate to a character with a similar emotional type: a similar Enneagram, when we are immersed in something with our emotions.

And this is true of MBTI “thinkers” and “feelers” alike. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen INTPs claim Sherlock Holmes simply MUST be an INTP because they relate to him. When I first got into MBTI, I was guilty of that too. I thought every character I emotionally related to, was an INFJ. LOL, NOPE. I just didn’t know anything about Enneagram. After getting into that, I can easily see that the characters I most relate to, tend to have a very similar Enneagram type to mine.

Actually, it was the fact that I related to Adora so much that made me especially blind to the possibility that I might relate to Shadow Weaver in any way. That’s why I find this personal example so juicy. It’s because in the emotional dynamic between Adora and Shadow Weaver, I related to Adora a 100% and then some. I’ve had my Shadow Weavers, and reacted to them in a way a Social 9w1 will. We are people pleasers because we lack a solid sense of self, and we do exactly as we are told to avoid conflict, separation and loss (our worst fear).

In the worst case scenario, we believe we need to constantly excuse our very existence.

(Like seriously, it can get ridiculous. When I was around ten, if I was at a friend’s house, I didn’t have it in myself to ask for a glass of water if I was thirsty. Even when it was offered to me without asking, I found it hard to accept, because I had done nothing to pay for that water. Even though I live in a country with the best access to clean water in the world, so one glass of water costs practically nothing.)

Given all that, it makes sense that I wouldn’t even consider relating to Shadow Weaver, because to me she very much represents everything toxic that I experienced as a child and needed to unlearn in adulthood.

But after taking a step back from that emotional angle, it’s pretty easy for me to see that cognitively speaking, I’m not Adora, who is an ESTJ. I’m pretty much the polar opposite. Which is Shadow Weaver, as weird as it feels to me.

As INFJs, we are very good at understanding another person’s psychological make up. We easily take anyone’s point of view and use that to influence the people around us. We don’t naturally gravitate towards the spotlight or a leadership role, we are at our most effective in one-on-one communication.

Obviously, Shadow Weaver uses all this to manipulate and abuse people, to get her way and her narcissistic supply. I use it to help my friends see their problems more accurately, and themselves in an encouraging light. (And to write fiction!) Shadow Weaver uses it to cause conflict between people by distorting their view of reality, I use it to ease conflict by an attempt to bring more clarity.

But that doesn’t mean we are not both INFJs, because we definitely are. Upon a closer look, I find many things about Shadow Weaver relatable.

She’s definitely an introvert driven by her internal vision, her idea of power, and she’s thinking leaps ahead, like she does the moment she sees Adora as a baby. (Ni) She’s a great communicator, but it’s more of a means to an end to her than it is a passion. (Fe) It seems like the very concept of power interests her more than what practical things she can do with it (Ti).

And her vision is SO MUCH BIGGER than her abilities. That’s exactly how I’ve felt my whole life, because inferior Se will do that to you. You don’t see the step-by-step approach to your GRAND VISION even though you can see the end result so clearly in your head that you swear you can touch it. Your insight can be so accurate that you can (deliberately, or accidentally) make people think you’re connected to some mystical higher power even though you’re mostly just full of sh*t (=ideas, abstractions).

It’s like, your whole life, you’ve been working towards one goal, one vision, that is just on the other side of a river, but you CAN’T FIGURE OUT HOW to get across. If you could JUST do that, then on the other side ALL your dreams would come true, everything you’ve worked for, for your entire life would COME TOGETHER in pure AWESOMENESS because you’ve been thinking, and planning and fantasizing and putting all of your mental energy into it, and just aching to get across that river. And then, a f*cking ESTP (Catra) shows up, farts a bridge, gets to the other side, and once they’re there, they have NO. CLUE. WHAT. THE F*CK. THEY. ARE. EVEN. DOING. THERE.

I’m getting carried away.

Emotionally, or, motivationally speaking I don’t relate to Shadow Weaver. Like, at all. I couldn’t care less about having power over other people. I can’t bear the thought of hurting another person. (I still cry at night sometimes because I once called my brother’s helmet “stupid” as a child, when he was annoying me.) I don’t need to be the most powerful or put others down in order to feel whole. The idea of hindering someone’s growth into their happiest and truest self is horrifying to me.

But still, my brain works similarly to hers. I’m full of ideas that are connected to the same big vision I’ve had my entire life, but getting there efficiently enough requires a lot more brain work and trial and error from me than some other types.

Emotionally speaking I relate to Adora so much. I get anxious if I’m not constantly doing something “useful”. I feel responsible for other people’s happiness. I feel tremendous guilt every time I have to say “no” to someone in order to rest and take care of myself. I feel like a failure when I’m not able to fix someone’s problem. I feel obligated to sacrifice myself because I “can”. When I was voted the least desirable girl in my class, I was just relieved it wasn’t anyone else, because I knew my friends would have shattered if it were them. (Hint: it wasn’t because I had better self-esteem. It was because my self-esteem wasn’t a concern for me in the first place.)

And yet, I’m also nothing like Adora when it comes to cognitive make up. It would be interesting to dive deep into why the ESTJ 9 combination is totally fascinating for me, but this post is too long for that already.

My point is:

1) In terms of relatability in fiction, Enneagram might play a bigger role than MBTI.

2) Sometimes people get into heated arguments about a character’s type because they can only see a character they relate to, as their own type, and that’s intellectually dishonest. (As a personality junkie, I care.)

3) It’s OKAY to relate to a character with a different MBTI from you. MBTI is not everything. Enneagram is not everything either. There might be another reason.

4) Sometimes people seem to feel like they need to be like their favourite character in EVERY way, to justify their experience of relating to that character. Well, you don’t. Having the same cognitive type doesn’t automatically lead to the same motivational type, or the same life experiences, or the same relationship style or the same neurotype, or anything else. These can all be different, and your experience is valid no matter where the relatability comes from.

5) If you relate to a character, there’s a reason for it, and you’ll get the most out of it, if you try to discover that reason as honestly as possible and not automatically assume it must be your MBTI (or something else). Those four letters are not the most important thing about anyone, so you don’t need those to “claim” a character to your side of things.

6) You have no obligation to emotionally relate to a character with the same type as yours. I can assure you my feelings towards Shadow Weaver did not become any warmer after discovering we shared an MBTI type, and that’s okay too.

[t-o-m-hollands]

A/N: Cointens violence and mentions of injuries, war and blood. Also swearing and drinking. Smut in future parts, nothing in this. 

“It seemed like a nice neighbourhood to have bad habits in.”  

― Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep  

When Tom’s grandfather passes away, he inherits an office in the middle of a buzzling London. He has no idea what to do with it.

The year is 1947 and Tom is restless after the war. After a chance meeting with his old comrade Harrison and a drunken lunch at the local pub they decide to open up a detective agency. After finding you huddled up in a library while chasing an unwilling witness Tom decides to hire you as the agency’s secretary. You, reluctantly, take up the offer from the charming stranger.

Together the three of you face some of London’s most hard-boiled criminals and lethal femme fatales.  

You have to navigate your way through adulthood, life after war and your growing feelings for your boss.

***

The pub was unusually crammed with people, workers meeting up with each other for a pint before heading home to their families. He could see them through the muted windows, cheering and laughing, pints of beer clutched in their hands. Now, it certainly wasn’t the nicest pub in London, a thick cover of mud covered the floor, the walls were so dirty that it was hard to tell what the original wallpaper had looked like. But then again, it was the Bugle, a pub well hidden in the Shafto Mews in London. It was not a pub you just happened to stroll in to, looking for a place to eat or a friendly place to catch up with a long-lost comrade in. It was a seedy and dirty place, where the beers came cheap and the brawls started easy.

The barman, a Mr. Eric Brew, was a brusque and quick-tempered elderly man with a beer belly so large it made it hard for him to steer his way through the many bottles and glasses behind the bar. Luckily for him it was unusual for anyone to ordered anything other than a pint or perhaps a glass of cheap and watered-down whiskey.

Tom loved this place, because no one ever bothered him here. This was not a place to talk to strangers in.  

On this particular autumn afternoon the air outside was crisp and full of the smell of pavement after rain, it smelled of London. Currently though the sky was bluer than it had been all summer and the leaves on the trees had just started to change their colours. There was a distinct chill in the air. Tom shivered in his dress shirt, thinking to himself that this was sure to be the last time that year he’d get away with not wearing a jacket.

As he stepped inside, he exchanged the almost impossible fresh autumn air for a cigarette smoke fog. It was unusually busy for a Tuesday afternoon, and the sound of loud voices and clinking glasses filled the air. Tom gathered it must be payday. It was long ago that he stopped to bother about the days of the week or when pay was due. Not because of an abundance of money but for the lack of a steady job.

Walking up the bar he told Eric to pour the usual and handed him a coin. Eric grunted and started to pour into a glass that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months.

“Busy today, mate” Tom stated. Eric grunted again and handed him his drink.  

As Tom sat down in the far, and well hidden, corner of the pub he thought to himself that his so-called conversation with the barman had been his longest conversation in days. After the war had ended, he’d stayed out in France, despite his mother’s letters begging him to come home he hadn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t miss his family, on the contrary, being apart from them felt more torturous than anything he’d lived through during the war.

Still, he thought as he gulped down on his drink, he had been through war, and that does change a person. He wasn’t the same care-free boy who’d so gladly enlisted, desperate for some preconceived idea that the war would satisfy his deep-rooted need for adventure, to please his longing for glory. He’d happily waved his younger brothers and his parents goodbye on the platform, surrounded by sad looking boys saying farewells to their loved ones.

The war had not given him what he wanted. There had been no glory or sense of adventure.  And even though the worst injury he’d suffer was a broken nose that had more to do with his own stupidity than actual fighting he had still seen the suffering of others. Walked through villages so bombed there was nothing, no human nor animal left. Nothing but ruin and corpses left to rot. He’d seen the torn apart remains of what had once been children on the street. He had had to breath trough the smell of decaying flesh as they walked by. He had lost friends and comrades.  

The war had changed him, and he still wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse. All he knew was that he couldn’t face his father, or his mother. Not yet. He thought of his little brothers, how much five years must have changed them. He quietly wondered if he’d recognise them if he passed them on the streets today. He tried to convince himself that he would, and only after half a bottle of whiskey did he feel brave enough to admit it to himself that he probably wouldn’t. Too long had passed.  

The only reason he had come back to England at all was for a surprise visit from a solicitor, who had tracked him down somewhere outside of Cannes, informing him of the passing of his grandfather. Tom had few memories of said grandfather What he could recall was a fearsome and stern figure, Victorian in his manner. Tom could remember looking up to the damn near giant as he looked down at Tom with disapproval written all over his face as Tom stood in front of a broken vase, he’d accidentally shattered while chasing the cat. It certainly had not been a man fond of children. Tom had always kept his distance from the man whenever they had visited, scared of the scolding the older man was more than capable of.

Therefore, it had been, to say the least, a great surprise when said grandfather had left his entire inheritance to his oldest grandson.

Sure, there hadn’t been a lot of actual money, not after all the death-duties and inheritance taxes had gone through, but he’d gotten his office and the apartment above it, placed bang on one of the busiest streets of London. What his grandfather had used the office for he had no idea, and the solicitors refused to tell him anything about is grandfathers’ dealings, but judging by the state of the place it must have been an awfully long time since anyone sat their foot in the place, probably not since before the war, the first one. The entire place was, like this very pub, filled with dirt and dust and long abandoned forgotten things. Most of which was nothing more than trash, a chair that surely would break as soon as anyone sat down on it, a desk with one broken leg and a filing cabinet full of mouldy documents.

The only distinctive feature was a rather well-made painting. Not only was the portrait of the young lady striking, but the gold frame surrounding it was solid gold. Something that had chocked Tom greatly. For he had never seen anything look quite so out of place than that gold framed picture of a young, beautiful women with seemingly shining eyes –

“Surely it can’t be – Tom Holland, OI! Tom!”

Tom instinctively looked up, only to meet the eyes of a dearly beloved friend.

“Mate! As I live and breathe!”

“Where have you been, buddy?” Harrison happily exclaimed, pulling out the chair opposite of Tom and before pretty much falling down on it, a pint of beer in hand and a massive grin on his face.

“I haven’t seen you since Monte Cassino– ” he silenced himself. Maybe because of the look in Tom’s eyes, maybe because of memories of his own.

(I haven’t seen you since the war, I haven’t seen you since we were crying in the bunkers, thinking we would die. Hoping that we would. Hoping that we wouldn’t.)

“Yeah” is all Tom can manage to get out, lungs suddenly feeling too tight.

They both take large gulps from their glasses, avoiding the others eye.

“So how you’ve been, mate?” Harrison asks, sounding more mellow now, less cheerful.

“It’s been good, bud” Tom says, trying to sound happy, trying to raise the mood a little. He can see the dark clouds of the war in Harrisons eyes, can see it clear as day even in this smoke-filled, god forsaken pub. It’s still haunting him. And he doesn’t quite know what else to say, doesn’t know how to voice the fact that he himself is hardly sleeping anymore, that he spent two years in France living as a wanderer and picking up odd jobs wherever he could find them, not even trying to pick up the pieces from the past. Not knowing where to begin

(At home, the part of him that’s braver than the rest seem to always whisper. Start at home and build from there.)

“Yeah?” There’s a note of hope in Harrison’s voice and as he looks at him the clouds in his eyes seem to clear, if only a little, and Tom’s heart breaks for his old friend. He knows that desperation, saw it all over France in the soldier's eyes. A desperate longing for proof that there was something good in the world, even after everything that had been done.  

“Yes, mate! It’s been grand. I came into an inheritance and all!” And upon seeing the look of pure surprise in Harrisons now cloud-free face Tom bursts into genuine laughter, not caring to think about how long ago it had been since he had made a whole-hearted, genuine laughter.

“Alright, let’s order some food and then let’s catch up, yeah?”

And they did. The food at The Bugle was awful. Tom knew this, since coming back to London he’d drink away his consciousness in this pub and once or twice he had given in and ordered what The Bugle’s chef referred to as food. He knew this but did not care, for the company was excellent.

It turned out Harrison had come home immediately after the war. Had tried to pick up the pieces from before. He met up with his old friends (the ones that’d survived), he dated a different girl every week, unable to settle and now lived in his parent’s townhouse in Belgravia while they spent most of their time on the family estate out in Norfolk. He too was currently out of a job, however the difference was that Harrison had no need for work, the allowance his parents gave him and his own grandparents inheritance (which, although Tom never asked, but presumed) far exceeded his own.

Tom sensed that Harrison, just like himself, felt a deeply-rooted restlessness since coming home. It was in the way his left leg wouldn’t stop tapping, his regular glances around the room, in the way he just shovelled the food around his plate, not eating much.

Tom in return told him, although with far less detail than his friend had given, of staying out in France, of a surprise visit by the solicitors. He told him of the abandoned office and apartment he now was the owner of. He even told him of the portrait hanging above the broken desk.

They talked about old times, of old friends and past lovers, and every time the name of one of those comrades that didn’t make it to the end of the war was mentioned an awkward silence spread between them before the other one quickly started a new story.

(Harrison noticed that Tom never mentioned his parents, or his brothers. Not once. But he doesn’t say anything. He think they’ll get to that eventually.)

A loud crashing breaks their conversation and both Harrison and Tom are on their feet before either one of them has even registered where the sound came from.

“YOU FUCKING SWINE, I’LL GIVE YOU NOTHING!” The screeching, and surprisingly high-pitched voice, comes from Eric the barman, who’s standing arms raised above his head behind the bar. A young man, not even wearing anything to mask his face, is holding a revolver and pointing it right at Eric’s chest.

Before he’s even fully comprehended what he’s doing he’s halfway across the pub, people scattering out of his way, and out of the robbers aim. He can sense Harrison’s presence right behind him and then they’ve both tackled the young man to the ground. All Tom can think about is to get his hands on the man’s revolver, so that he can secure it. He sees how Harrison tries to get a hold of the young robbers’ arms as he’s waving them around, trying to fight them both at once. Unfortunately, he gets in a lucky swing that hits Tom right over his nose, a nose that’s already been broken once, and blood gushes out. The man looks surprised by this, partly because of the sudden stream of blood falling over him and partly because he actually just hit someone. Tom quickly uses this for his advantage and dives down for the revolver as Harrison secures the burglar’s arms behind his back.  

They manage to hold him down until the police comes. They give them a quick rundown of what happened. Eric, furious and face alarmingly red, fills in when he manages to find words, shaking from fury. One of the policemen offer to drive Tom to the hospital to have his nose looked at but he refuses. Then they ask if he’d like to press charges. Tom takes one quick look at the young man now sitting in a police car and shakes his head. The boy, for on closer inspection he’s nothing more than a boy, looks terrified, and honestly, he’s already in enough trouble with the law. During the past few years crime in London has been on the rise. Young and restless men all coming home from the war, looking for jobs where there are none and haunted from memories from the battlefields. It’s no wonder there’s desperation in the air.

So, Tom and Haz walks away, leaving the two police cars and its officers, a furious pub owner with an unexpectedly high-pitched voice, and an entire pub of people with their noses pressed up against its foggy windows.

As they walk, without discussing where they’re going, Tom suddenly bursts out in laughter. He doesn’t know why, but the restlessness that’s done nothing short but haunted him for years now has suddenly vanished. There’s a pause and then Harrison joins in and Tom knows, knows that he feels the same. That this sudden rush of adrenalin was just what he needed too.

They practically double over with laughter, leaning on the other to keep upright and when they finally stop a comfortable silence fill the quiet as they walk on.

Before long, and before having reflected on where his feet are leading him, they’re standing outside of 15 Sloane street.

“Is this it?” Harrison asks, voice filled with curiosity as he looks up at the red-bricked building.

“Yeah” is all Tom manage to get out as an answer. Because suddenly he feels almost shy, like he’s showing Harrison some long kept secret. And for a moment they just stand and admire the building. “Can I look inside?” Haz asks, curiosity colouring his every word. So, Tom unlocks the door and they step inside.

Inside the air feels heavy, not like in the pub where it had been full of smoke, but instead it feels old, and if it hadn’t been so damn cold outside Tom would have opened up the windows.

The ground is as covered in mud and dust and dirt as the pubs floor. The walls look dull too. But the space is good, a large foyer to receive visitors, a guest bathroom, an office, a kitchen and a staff bathroom too.  

“So” Harrison finally says, having taken in the place in silence. “What are you going to do with it?”

And Tom doesn’t know what to say because honestly – is that not just the question that’s frequently been on his mind since he first got here. “Dunno” ha answers lamely. “I suppose,” he starts but stops himself, feeling too embarrassed at his childish idea.

“What?” Haz encourages.

“Well” Tom begins, and then before he loses his gut he rambles out “It would be cool to be a detective though, wouldn’t it?” He doesn’t look at his old friend as he says this. He should though, because he misses out on the massive grin spreading across Harrison’s face.

“Oh totally!” He all but yells. “Like Sherlock Holmes, or Phillip Marlowe?”

“Phillip Marlowe, surely!” Tom responds, finally looking at his old comrade. He feels light as air, having finally put words on a wish that’s long been on his mind.

But now Haz looks awkwardly down, down on his well-polished, hand-made shoes and the muddy ground. “What?” Tom asks, worry threatening to blow his happy bubble.

“Look, you don’t have to, it’s just, like if you don’t want it or you find me lacking you could just sack me bu–“

“Of course, you’ll join me” Tom interrupts Harrisons awkward attempt at asking to work with him. “Really?” He asks, eyes gleaming with happiness. “You, ‘course mate, wouldn’t wanna do it without you”.

***

And so, it begins.

They start with trying to make the place habitable. After all, the office space needs to be a presentable enough environment for clients to feel comfortable to share their troubles with them and preferably the apartment above needs to be clean enough for Tom to live in without contracting a disease. It’s hard work, and Harrison loudly complains and gruntles and questions why they can’t hire someone to do it. Tom just laughs and tells him to shut his over-privileged mouth and keep mopping.

The truth is they could easily get someone in to do the cleaning for them, it’s just that Tom doesn’t want to, feels like they really ought to do this by hand, by themselves. To build the business from the ground up. And quite frankly, some real, good hard work is just what he needs. For the first time in ages he’s so physically exhausted by the time he goes to bed that he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He still has nightmares, but he gets in a couple more hours sleep every night and that makes it worth it.

Even though Harrison loudly grumbles about the rough labour he is a hard worker. Tom teases him a lot about it. Telling him he didn’t expect to end up doing this when he was sent to that posh public school as a child. Telling him that this is what good honest works feels like. Informing him that the pain he had in his knees from scrubbing the floors is what heavy labour feels like. It’s all jokes thought, for even they grew up worlds apart on the social scale they still fought on the same battlefield and as children they fought the same imaginary dragons.

In the end aid comes in the form of Lady Lauren Osterfield herself.

Tall and lean and dressed from top to toe in fine silk and fur in soft colours and with hair, the same shade as her son, in soft waves. She sways into the office one day, unannounced, as Tom’s trying to scrub the dirt from the walls and Harrison’s sprawled out on the floor, fighting a particularly stubborn piece of dirt. A hard a look of deepest disapproval is written all over her face as she takes in the scene.

“Darling” she drags out the word and make the endearment sound like a loving, but stern warning. “You simply cannot do this on your own”

“But mommy we-” Harrison begin but she stops him with a raised hand. “I will hear none of it, sweetie. If there is one thing I know it’s potential, and this place has got spades of it. However, I will not see my darling boys like this” she huffs, then adds “also, the rate you two are going at you’ll be in your 50’s before you even had your first client.”

She walks over to where Tom stands, now leaning against the broken desk, hands in pockets and covered in dust and sweat. “Sweetheart, it is wonderful to see you again” And she strokes his cheek with a satin gloved hand and Tom can’t help but to lean into the touch.

He had spent many a school holiday at the Osterfield house. Although, house wasn’t the right word. Technically it was a manor house – Osterfield manor was in fact its name. It had been built by Lord Ashley Osterfield in the early 1600th and had stood proudly on its green fields ever since. Tom had lived in the village, in a small cottage with his mother, father, three brothers and a half-blind cook/nanny named Cully. Harrison, since it was the family tradition, had been sent away to Eton whereas Tom had gone to the village school.  But whenever summer holiday rolled around, they’d play on the grounds to the manor and in the forest surrounding it. They had played thief’s and robbers, Robin Hood and Peter Pan. Life had been blissful and full of light. He can still remember how the last month before summer break had seemed endless, how he’d counted down the days until his best friend would return, staring out of the window during class, not listening to whatever Ms Frank was going on about. They sent each other letters of course. About what was going on at home, what tricks each had played on their friends, or on their teachers, how awful school was or about the latest mystery novel they’d read.

His memories of the Osterfield family were many and fond. Lady Osterfield, with her loving but stern ways, never looking anything less than perfection, bringing them meringues and freshly made lemonade to the treehouse where they sat people-watching, spying on the garden parties going on below. Memories of Lord Osterfield, reading his newspaper outside in the warm summer sun, dressed in linen suits and with a great moustache covering his upper lip, teaching Tom tennis and playing croquet with them. And then little Charlotte Osterfield, Harrisons little sister. With her long, blonde hair neatly combed and braided, always carrying around a teddy bear, following them wherever they went. Harrison would get rather annoyed with her for that, but Tom had always said that she could join them if she wanted to.

He remembers Christmas eve at their house. A ginormous three in the hall, neatly decorated by Lady Osterfield herself. Countless of cousins and great-aunts and uncles coming over. The staff running around cleaning every corner. The chef, Mary her name had been, yelling orders and shouting herself blue in the face. The end result had been incredible though, and as snow covered the entire manor and its grounds there was a fire lit in every room, the smell of ham and turkey in the air, glitter and light and mistletoe and presents in overload. He remembers still, being sent home in the horse driven carriage on Christmas eve, belly full of delicious food and sweets, and presents from Lord and Lady Osterfield to every member of his family, including one to Cully, surrounding him as he watched the snow fall over the pretty little village outside the carriage window.

“Hello, Lady Osterfield, it’s been a while” he manages to get out. Because this is, has always been, his second mother. And it hurts even more to see her now, despite the fact that war doesn’t seem to have aged her a day. But seeing her reminds him so much of his own mommy, and his stomach seems to revolt.

“That” she says, and he thinks her eyes are wet with unshed tears “it certainly has been”. She doesn’t ask how his war had been, why he hadn’t return sooner, or sent them letters. Probably understands that he cannot give her those answers. Not yet at least. She lowers her hand and take a step back.

“So” she announces and there’s a level of authority to her voice that makes both Harrison and Tom stand up straighter. “I will send Georgina over, hopefully she can start tomorrow already, because this really is urgent”. She looks around her surrounding, the broken furniture, the floors and ceiling that refuse to give up the dirt they’ve been holding onto for years, despite Tom and Harrisons desperate scrubbing.

“Sorry? Mommy, who.... who on earth is Georgina?”  

Tom smiles, for he can almost hear the curse word Harrison so nearly lets out.

“Oh darling, it’s Georgina Brewster, she is simply marvellous and really the only one who can save this place. I shall call on her immediately, she will work wonders, just you see”.

*

Georgina Brewster, as it turns out, would have put fear of the devil into any and every one of the generals Tom had met during the war. She practically comes in as a steamroller into the office the very next day and before either Tom or Harrison know what’s going on they’ve been thrown out of their office with strict orders to “keep out of the way, for gods sake, and don’t come back until next Friday at least!”

And because neither Tom nor Harrison dare to contradict her, even though Tom’s apartment is above the office and he now has nowhere to sleep, they listen and keep out of her way, spending their time at Harrisons, or rather Harrisons parents, place in Belgravia.

There they plan out and strategize, trying to agree on what exactly their business should be and how they should conduct it.

Their first hurdle is the name of the agency.  

“So”

They’re at ‘The Bugle’ again and Tom is swirling the liquid in his glass back and forth, holding a lit cigarette in his other hand. Around them the air is filled with smoke and conversations. Tom had, rather cheekily, asked the barman if they shouldn’t get their drinks for free, seeing as they did save his ass just the other night. The barman had done his usual ritual of mumbles and grumbles before pouring them some watered down Irish whiskey.

“So?” he asks, implying that Harrison should continue his unfinished statement.

“What should we name it, mate?” Harrison is leaning back against the wall, his long legs sprawled out. He looks as exhausted as Tom feels.

“Name what?” Tom dumbly inquires, only half his mind on the conversation, the other on the gorgeous woman at the bar. She looks strangely out of place, wearing a respectably coat, dark hair neatly organised in curls and a soft smile on face as she’s conversation with the infamously grumpy barman, who – and Tom can hardly believe his eyes – is smiling back at her.

Harrison snorts and with a voice practically dripping in sarcasm he answers “Oh the golden retriever puppy we’re adopting! The fuck you think, mate? The detective agency of course!”

Tom gives his friend a kick on his sprawled-out legs.

“Holland Detective Services” he then states.

Harrison goes quiet for a second, rubbing the aching spot on his leg where Tom managed to get in a perfect hit, the bastard had always been good and noting soft spots. “Not Holland & Osterfield?” he asks, only half joking.

“Nah, too posh mate, we’ll sound like some solicitors’ firm, you know, like ‘Bundle & Alfredson & Alfredson & Bundle”, too ridiculous. Plus, no one trusts solicitors with their secrets, they’re too posh and proper. We need people to feel like they can come to us with things they can’t go to the police with.”

He looks over to the bar again, but the beatiful lady is nowhere to be seen.

*

And so, Harrison Detective Service is founded. The office (the apartment miss Brewster luckily left him handle himself) is revealed to them.

It’s perfect. There’s no other word for it. It’s looks professional but not over styled. The two large desks made from oak, the bar table with its whiskey decanter, the filing cabinets strategely placed in the little backroom, the lamps giving the office an almost golden and mysterious lightning, and on the wall hanging above his own desk, the painting of the woman that his grandfather left him. The only thing remaining from the original office.

*

It doesn’t take long until their first client arrives. He’s a perhaps not the ideal client, Tom notes. The man is in his late 50’s, wearing an ill fitted suit and smelling distinctly of B.O. He is however willing to pay.

Thus, this is how Tom ends up chasing a, to say the least, unwilling witness all down Euston Road. The man he’s chasing is fast, and Tom’s side is hurting and he feels out of form. He really should have had something other than whiskey for lunch. The man does a quick turn left, right over the road and Tom’s right at his heel.

A car horn blows and there’s a blinding light and for a moment Tom’s back on the battlefield in France, he throws up his arms, trying to shield himself for whatever is coming at him. His entire body tenses up and he waits for the inventible crash. But it doesn’t come, and there’s shouting but he can’t hear what they’re saying, the blood rushing through his head too loud for anything else to sound real. His lungs feel too tight and his breaths are shallow.  

Slowly he regains control of himself, as he tries to take the world around him in.

The shouting is coming from a very angry driver, half hanging out of his window telling Tom to get out of the way, waving his arms in fuming gestures. People on the pavement have stopped what they’re doing, some mid conversation or mid walk, all just staring at him. He jumps into action again, desperately trying to push down the part of his brain that’s still in France. He can’t see his witness, but there’s only one place he really can have gone.

He runs up the marble stairs, ignoring the glaring stares around him.

The foyer is impressive to say the least. It’s a large circular room, marble from floor to ceiling. Right in front of him, but all across the room, is a reception and an elderly woman sitting behind it.

“Excuse me sir, we close in twenty minutes,” she calls after him, but it’s all she manages to get out before he’s gone, having made his way all across the hall and into the large oak doors with a sign simply stating ‘Main Library’.

The doors slam behind him and the sound eco in the silence. At first he’s taken aback, for this is nothing like the marble mausoleum he’s left behind, and if he thought the reception area had been large then this room is massive. It’s nothing short of a labyrinth of oak bookshelves, reaching from top to ceiling and filled with large volumes of books that look as if they must be older than queen Victoria.

He can only assume that this is where his witness is hiding, somewhere in this maze he has taken cover, wrongly assuming that Tom will just give up and leave. His witness is in no such luck. Tom does however remember noting the lineament of a revolver inside the other man’s jacket, and by now he’s had more than enough time to take it out, perhaps just waiting for Tom to be close enough not to miss.

The library looks empty and surely it must be this late. On slow but quiet feet he makes his way to the left side of the room, deciding to start there. Careful not to make a sound he removes his own revolver from its holster. Slowly he starts to make his way down the aisles, every time he turns a corner he knows it’s about whoever is the quickest with their trigger that will win.

By the time he’s made it down aisle three he can feel his heart beat so hard in his chest he finds himself wondering if it’s going to leave a bruise on his skin with its violent beating. Adrenaline has been running in his veins since the near contact with the automobile outside.

And then he hears it, a sound, what might be the noise of shuffling, and he starts to move with even higher awareness of the danger of the situation. Any second now he could stare down the barrel of a gun.

Before he can be a coward about it, he jumps around the corner of the shelf, gun in hand and pointing it straight at the witness.

Except it’s not him.

It most certainly is not him.

A pair of enormous and breathtakingly beautiful - but also terrified - eyes stare at him and for a second the whole world seems to stop, or crash, and Tom can’t help but feel like he’s a planet that completely unexpectedly has gotten knocked of its axis. He goes still, not just his body but his mind too. Everything just seems to stop, and Tom can not remember anytime that has ever happened to him before. All he sees is a pair of hauntingly beautiful, and vert familiar, eyes.

“I’m sorry sir, but weapons are not allowed inside the library.” Her voice is soft and even, but Tom can hear the slight tremble behind them, he can tell she’s playing braver than she feels. He knows that trick all too well. So, he lowers his revolver, but doesn’t unload it, still ready for his hostile witness to pop up, and if he does Tom will be ready for him.

“I beg your pardon, miss” he says and looks her up and down, trying to take in the rest of the woman in front of him. He’s pretty sure she is the same woman he saw at the Bugle the other night. She’s only a few centimetres shorter than he is, but then she’s wearing a pair of kitten heels. Her black pencil skirt and white blouse practically scream out respectability and woman. Around her neck hangs a thin, golden necklace with a little golden heart attached to it. A fleeting question of who has given her this pass his brain. And then there’s her hair, brown and styled in and fashionable curls.

“Sir” she says, and she sounds sterner now, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows “could you please pu-“ but before she can finish the sentence, before she can even finish her though Tom’s pushed her down on the ground, trying to cover her with his body as bullets fly around him. He swears under his breath, and he feels the librarians still body under him and he can practically feel her heartbeat. He tries very hard not to react to how close their bodies are to each other. His hyper focused mind hears her hitched breathing even above the sound of a firing gun and he sends a silence prayer to whatever god might be listening that she’ll get out of this unharmed.

The witness is far away from them, all across the hall and if it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t want to leave this woman unprotected he would just hope for the best and rush against him, firing as many bullets as he had and if he survived this, and if Harrison found out he would just have to take his scolding later. Still trying to cover the women underneath him he raises his gun and fires. He knows the chances of him aiming right are damn near zero from here, but he wants to make it clear to the other man that he sure is not going to give in without a fight.

Still keeping his eyes on the bookshelf the witness has hidden behind he whispers to the librarian, “when I move off you, go hide behind the bookshelf, do not run for the main entrance whatever you do, but if there’s another way out, and you get a chance to leave, I suggest you fucking take it miss”. He hears a hiss of breath and then, a quiet “alright” and that is all he needs.

Springing to his feet he rushes seven meters ahead and then throws himself down behind another bookshelf. Daring to cast a look behind him he just about manages to see the secretary hide behind another bookshelf. Good, he thinks to himself, at least he doesn’t have to worry about her. And so he sprints out from the bookshelf and runs for all his might straight against the bookshelf the witness is hiding behind. It doesn’t fall, but he can hear countless of books falling, hopefully all over the man with the gun. He hears a shout of surprise and despite the situation he can’t help but smiling, the all too familiar rush of adrenalin runs through him and he jumps around the corner. However, before he can even raise his weapon something hard hits his temple and the world goes white for a moment as he stumbles over.

The other man is above him, throwing punches, hitting different places of Tom’s face with every hit. Tom tries kicking and luckily enough the stupid idiot above him has mounted him at chest level and haven’t taken his legs in consideration. One of Tom’s kicks hits the shelf and as he grabs the man's arms with his, stopping the flow of punches he sees a thick book (Dostoevsky’s The Idiot, he notices with glee) fall down and hit the man straight on the head. This time it’s his turn to stumble and Tom shake him off him with ease, but the other man quickly recovers, and lunches over him again, arms stretched out to grasp around his throat. Before he can even try to fight the bigger man off him, the loud sound of the shot of a gun echoes against the walls of the library and he stills. Then he feels it. A bright burning in his side and then, another shot.

He manages to turn around trying to make sense of the situation. On the floor lays the hostile witness, clutching his leg, where he’s clearly just been shot, and above him stands the librarian. Arms shaking as she’s clasping the gun in her hands.

For a moment Tom forgets about everything else. The mess they’ve made. The fact the police must be on their way. The bleeding man beside him. The fact that he’s bleeding too. All he sees is he terrified but impossibly brave woman in front of him.

Slowly, trying to ignore the pain in the side of his stomach, he gets up and walks over to her, arms stretched up in a gesture to show that he means her no harm, for she looks terrified to the point where she’s trembling all over. Her eyes are still fixed on the man on the ground, who’s shouting in agony.  

“Look at me” he says, and his voice is firm and calm “Hey, miss, look at me”. She does, and something in his stomach churns. Once in the woods he and Harrison had all but stumbled over an injured deer, it had had the same look upon its face then as the woman had upon hers now. But he doesn’t flinch, don’t want her to lose focus but keep it on him and not the bleeding bastard on the floor.

When he finally reaches her, he takes the gun from her still clasped hands, unloads it, and put it in its folder by his chest.

“You’ll be alright, yeah? I promise you’ll be alright” he tries to reassure her but she keeps looking at him with that utterly terrified look on her face.

“Just hang on for a second, alright?” He doesn’t want take his eyes off of her, but he knows he has to, so he turns away from her and walks over to the injured man. Leaning down over him he whispers in his ear “mate, the police and probably the ambulance are on their way. They will be here any moment. Now, listen up, alright, ‘cause I’m only saying this once. You will be a fucking gentleman about this and when the police ask what happened here you’ll tell them it was some randy bugger trying to nick your stuff, yeah? You defended yourself, ‘cause you’re a lad and all that bullocks. They won’t believe you, but they can’t prove anything else.” His voice is low and threatening and he knows he has the witness full attention. “And in return” he continues “in return, I’ll stop hunting you over this Faulcon business, yeah? I’ll go after someone else, and when I finally have enough to turn that bastard over to the police, your name won’t be mentioned anywhere, yeah?” The man looks up at him with bloodshot eyes and nods.

Moving away from him he swiftly walks over to where the other mans’ revolver got lost in the fight and he takes it, places it in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he walks over to the librarian, who, apart from her shaking hands has not moved a muscle. She’s staring at him, but not at his face this time, but eyes fixed on the wound at his right side. It’s pretty much only graced him. It still hurts though, and a bloodstain is growing ever larger and larger, staining his white button ups to the point where he doubts he’ll ever get the red out.

“Miss, look at me, yeah?” He tried to get eye-contact with her again, because even if she’s been incredible brave so far, she looks as if she’s about to pass out “Just focus on me, I’ve got to get us out of here thought, do you know any other way then the main entrance? Some back door?”

As he’s talking he buttons up the suit jacket, effectively hiding the wound. He sees her eyes flicker down for a brief second as he does so. Then, as if she suddenly wakes up she takes a breath so deep he can’t help but to wonder if her lungs had been empty. “Yes” she then says, and he feels the immense relief over the fact that her voice sounds clear and controlled again. “It leads straight out into a back alley and then out on Gordon Street.”

He stares at her, taking her in again. Her dark hair still in perfect curls framing her, perhaps somewhat paler, face. Her back is straight, her hands still somewhat shaking. He notices her red fingertips, and no gold ring to be seen. At least he doesn’t have to deal with some unknown husband, who probably wouldn’t be too happy with him if he’d heard what Tom dragged her into.

“What’s your name?” he asks, because he has to know.

“Laura” she breath out.  

Just a first name then.  

“Well Laura” he says “let’s leave”.

He takes one of her shaking hands in his, and she leads the way out of the chaotic scene, leaving behind them a massive hall and a labyrinth of bookshelves and in that labyrinth an injured man slowly losing consciousness.

***

A/N -  Harrisons family is of course entirely fictionalised. As is everyone in this story.  

Also, my sort of face claim for Laura in this story is Gene Tierney, but imagine it as whoever you like.

[kkemtal]

Risk and Benefit: Where Was I For You Not To Mind My Own Business Here

September 1, 2021

The peak of my red tide has got to be the cause of why my mind goes intangled and triggered a growing deeply sown frustation throughout this whole day. I might second my over intake of caffeinated beverages today to be part of the major blame too. This has conjured images of the things I really want to do and enjoy. In the unprecedented world we're currently caught on, with my reluctance, I am jeopardized by having second thoughts on weighing out the risks and benefits on pushing what I desire to do as part of my self-love - gym, solo travels, driving classes. From these planted frustrations unveils what rolls out at the end of today.

Throughout the day, just out of the blue, while waiting for my appointment at the hospital, I decided to meet with someone who works at the coffeeshop. It's just a walk mile distance. I had a fine moment of transient socializing with 'them' while jumbling with my client calls and a few mail reports. As always, on how consistently thoughtful and welcoming they were, they treated me with my favorite coffee drink along with vegetarian salad and blueberry cheesecake. Honestly, I felt an immense gratitude on my every visit there as I thought they and along others associated with me are angels in my life based on their gestures imbued of positive energies. Along with our conversation, it was just me being accosted of how I was doing. I was expressing on wanting to unwind on local travels and beaches as a solo traveller or hoping to be adopted by any willing adventure seeking cliques. As an open opportunity for me to explore and along the way make new friends which I know how crucial this is at my age.

From suggesting cool beaches and tourist spots into harboring mixed emotions of frustration and dreading over you as they asked me how am I with you. They kinda felt dubious on our non-label or lowkey so to speak kind of relationship. They kinda felt a pity on me as they knew how expressive I was on assuring you that I still have feelings for you. They adamantly advised me not to take this martyrdom too long while you're at abroad as they had a gut feeling you might possibly met someone more special. Since, we haven't spoken yet for almost two months right after you left me on seenzone last July 20, 2021, I believe? You were at the van on your way home from whatever was your part-time job related errands at night. As an overthinker, I have already thought about that as one of the future major possibilities for another painful heartbreak in this cusp of adulthood. Most likely the reason to be would be you finding yourself falling in love more in there and choose to live permanently there and restart a new life chapter. I sensed it's never gonna be as traumatazing as my last toxic ex-boyfriend. But, a somewhat liberating yet a very painful and great lesson in love to be embedded from.

Right now, honestly, I'm crying here at my room because I'm overthinking that maybe our depth of love for one another since then was we misinterpreted in some way on confronting what's so special and rare we had or we took it differently by meaning. Maybe, on your side, this is just a fleeting rollercoaster moment, a phase you'll take what we had a special connection for granted. From my side, I know I prayed for this to have it with you during college which right now I yearned for something greater between us and that has left me feeling one-sided with you. Maybe, I mistook what you've felt for me as something greater and beyond just purely a crush. Since you've got no father figure and are a single child, maybe you loved me more as a sibling with no romantic/intimate attachment, perhaps. I don't know, I feel kinda guilty, confused and hurt with these self-inflicting thoughts. I have a hunch that could be the reason on your phases of denial flickering out. At the same time, I'm sulking to the thought of you being taken over by your selfishness and pride or your own demon as you mentioned then. Maybe you might forget me and along with your closest loved ones here who are missing you. I know you just have to figure things out for yourself and come up with some thoughtfulness and considerations whilst exploring on your dream land which I'm so happy for you that you've made it given the global situation.

Being so emotional right now and incessantly crying, fuck. Of course, I have thought about these possibilities on being on your shoes because I want to save myself from being too idealistic in love and shift my perception into what is realistic. I have considered every factor amidst this pandemic while being patient with you without waiting, I don't know if that makes any sense. The pain caused from these thoughts is something I should embrace as a cure of a future heartbreak. I don't want to disturb you although I want to besides on how much I miss you so much and wondering about you. But, truly the main reason is I know you have received more than enough of my assurance that you'll always count on me based on the poems, songs, letters and most especially that birthday presentation I sent during the lockdown period.

Apart from that, I will just let you be. Just like that significant gist from the film Ruby Sparks, I don't want to control or try to change you out of frustration to stay in line what favorable consequences I'd like to project through you in choosing me. Teary-eyed me painfully sees this as a challenge on what's meant for me will find its way back to me on the right time granted by the Universe. Done right out naturally. Regardless, the balance of negative and positive opinions I gathered from others, I'm still gonna be on flow and patience with you. Wholeheartedly, no matter what, I'll always be thankful for how long I take this too far on reaching you amidst the uproar of doubts and approvals, cheers and jeers from the crowd on how our relationship unfolds. Despite, I felt I am silenced onto holding with this, anchoring with hope though I'm drowning in despair. Because, I swear to God, what we have is so unimaginably rare that I couldn't find this kind of special connection with a gazillion of people I met who just come and go. I kept searching for you to anyone who has been enamored by me or anyone at our age group connected with me both in and out of my professional field. At this far reaching point, you are beyond comparable. No one is anywhere near significantly special as you - the fear of losing and the risk of temporary place in my life serving as what figure of platitude.

Tonight, I saw a post introducing one of the locally known DJs residing from the middle region of our country who's in a long-term 6 year relationship with one of the Miss Universe candidates from the aformentioned region competing against other beauty pageants for the globally crown reigning competition. As I viewed the couple's adorable pictures and appreciating how beautiful they are, I cried asking God how I wish to be genuinely happy by having this kind of exact inspiring and loving relationship with open acceptance and no room of denials coupled with exuberance and blessings from both parties and the public with no clouded judgements and be perceived as subject to love is beyond what's intangible. This. I felt envious. I know this overblowing trail of messed up rumination will pass but come in lighter degrees from inexplicably thinking about you past work hours until I hit the hay.

Right now, I only hope and ask the Universe for you to be safe at all aspects while chiselling in becoming the better version of yourself by weeding out the realized toxic traits you figured from yourself based on your encounters from living with your abroad ambitions. Hoping you will have more strength and energy to take care of yourself and tread against whatever plummets you down in this new journey as the world has been hard enough. As you say, happiness is such a luxury.

- kkemtal

[fbdo1986]

Winter’s Chill - A Succession Fic

a/n: We meet again! Once again, here is something exploring the Roys and their sibling bonds! Admittedly, I’m digging deep into some of my own weaknesses here, but I couldn’t help but write something after discussing the concept (Connor holding onto things that his siblings grew out of) with a friend. This takes place on the timeline of Season 1, but without any of the events transpiring that cause Connor to be brought into conversations surrounding the future of Waystar Royco. 

Warnings: Brief Allusions to Death and Grief/Loss (actual loss is not present)

Word Count: 3222

On a regular January evening in New York, the soft sheen of snow leaves a film on all the windows of houses and apartments alike, and the sound of it brushing up against the panes has an almost transfixing quality. People outside brave the cold, swaddled in winter coats and scarves that are close to dragging on the ground. Crowded streets don’t have a chance to get very slick, yet the chill seems to coat everything the snow doesn’t touch. Those inside face a lingering shiver, with windows and doors locked tightly so as not to let anything in. If it weren’t so regular this time of year, it would be almost comforting. The isolated figures of the Roy siblings take refuge inside, not many miles from one another. The three go through the same motions, nearly. Funneling warm breath into chapped hands, shrugging off coats, as though they passed around the same mannerisms amongst themselves. 

The same can’t be said currently across the country, where both Connor and his girlfriend bustle about inside his home, until Willa stops in front of what catches her eye. 

“What do you have all this stuff for?” She asks, picking up a box that sits against the desk at the far corner of the living room. She sets it on the tabletop, leaving it unopened.

“What’s that?” Connor calls from the kitchen, meandering back into the living room to hear her clearer. 

“You’ve got… boxes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you open them.” She traces a hand over the cardboard as he rejoins her side. “Can I open this?” She looks up at him momentarily, her dark eyes meeting his light ones.

“Sure.” He says softly. He backs up, leaving room for her. It’s been a while. Usually, Connor goes through these things alone. He’s unsure, this might hold things that he’s kept so long he almost forgets what they are. Maybe that’s for the better.

So the box is opened. And immediately as her hands retreat, recognition tinged with regret washes over him. There’s no tape saving it from inspection, and the perplexity adorning Willa’s face stings, because there’s no right way—no proper way—to explain these seemingly useless mementos. But he’s kept them in any way he can, physically or otherwise. But now it’s the only way he has a piece of them at all.

He practically hides his face, like a little kid. Caught red-handed in sentimentality that he can’t look in the eye. 

“Are these yours?” She holds them up for him to see. They’re like evidence of a crime scene. Of a better self. It feels like years and years ago. A lifetime. They’re one of various pairs of mittens: blue with a snowflake pattern. They’re the size of a child’s hand. 

Tears clog his throat. His chin quivers. 

“What’s wrong?” She looks at him with a concern that words cannot convey. She knows that his childhood—all of theirs, collectively—is a sore, tender subject maybe best kept in boxes. Her frown gets deeper with every passing second.

He wants to say that it’s nothing. But really, it shows fully how much time has passed. It's etched in the pattern, he swears. But lord, when did these get so small? How could they have grown? Even more than he remembers, much more than that. And he knows, of course he knows they have. But with the true recognition of it—years and years between them, even though it feels like yesterday—his chest tightens, releases, and then the words fall out.

“They’re Kenny’s.” He turns away. “And the red ones are Shiv’s.” He swipes a hand across his face and is unsurprised by the fact that when he draws it away it’s wet with tears. “Rome’s are at the bottom.” 

No one penetrates the silence right away. Finally, Willa speaks tentatively. “Did something happen? They’re not…?”

“No.” He interrupts before she can complete the thought. “I-I talk about them like they’re ghosts. I mourn them like they’re gone. And-and they haunt me. But they’re not.” His shoulders come to meet his ears defensively, nearly folding in on himself.

She softens. “How long has it been?” She knows a lot about Connor’s siblings, he talks about them frequently and rarely spares any details. But she’s never seen them around, and there is—if nothing else—a rift surrounding them purely due to distance. Yet what she’s sure of, something he’s spent his whole life building, is a bond that connects them further than just through their father. 

He clears his throat. “Uh, six years.” Since he’s seen them all at once. It was at Kendall’s wedding. Some big, elaborate thing. And of course, he never made the conscious choice to leave them behind. In fact, he devoted himself to quite the opposite as he left home at eighteen. By twenty-one, he had his own place which served as an unofficial second home for his siblings just as much as it did for him. So it’s difficult to articulate how or why this ever happened. But somewhere between then and now, it all slipped away. 

Now, they paint a funny picture. Kendall, ushered into the business as soon he was old enough with Roman trailing at his heels, and Shiv holding her own trying to shoulder her way into politics, all around the little epicenter that is where they grew up. And, well, he’s somewhere in New Mexico. That’s all he can say. It slipped away. 

He grasps at her hands, but stops himself short. His voice is a near whisper. “Oh, Will. I want it back so badly. I want to go back, turn time around and make it up to them. Because… I remember everything. When each of them were born. When I got home just in time to see Roman for the first time. Shiv’s first cello recital, when I taught Kenny how to swim. And his drawings. I doubt that dad ever kept them.” And then it breaks. “I was everything. Now I’m just… nothing. How do you… forgive yourself for realizing you spent as much time in someone’s life as you have out of it? How do you stop feeling sorry?” 

It hurts him. It hurts him more than the multiple unspoken understandings he’s made throughout his life, some he only fully processed years afterward. More than knowing there was a day when his father decided he just wasn’t enough. And even more than the day where Kendall broke his arm, and Connor swore his chest felt the same impact. All the air was crushed out of his lungs. All it took was one thud and then grass—green grass, streaked through with summer sun—didn’t look quite the same anymore. 

In the pause she brushes the tears from his cheek. “Sweetheart, you can’t just stop everything. You can’t forget that you have a life. You can’t be everything. You can’t.” She stands stoically, softening with the last few words. 

“It’s not about that. It’s the fact that I promised myself I would do something, be something for them. I remember it so clearly.” His face hardens as more tears gather at his chin. He pretends they aren’t there.

“But you said it yourself. They’re not gone. Why have you waited? Why not reach out, try again?”

“I’m scared. I don’t… I don’t want to face them knowing I disappointed them.” It’s as though every year the reminder cuts deeper and deeper. He’s further and further from those days spent in the park, ensuring that before every outing they were bundled up tight, scarves around their necks with their mittened hands in his own. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine it. Anything else. It’s as though anything beyond the smallness of their hands was just pretend. Even as he saw it all unfold in adulthood, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was like seeing a little kid in daddy’s suit. Trying to be big, drowning in clothes. Just playing pretend. 

And then…. it wasn’t anymore. And now the rest comes rushing forward, and now that time finally caught up… it’s terrifying to admit. 

Willa shakes him out of it further. “You can’t keep them like objects, Con. They’re real people. Real people you can talk to. And if you’re even half as good of a brother as you make yourself out to be they definitely miss you. You’re not disappointing anyone.”

He sighs, absentmindedly thumbing the fabric of the small mitten he’s just taken in his hands. It’s Kendall’s. He puts it to his chest and gives it a squeeze. He isn’t quite sure of how they’d see him now, like this. He laughs with tears in his eyes. He’s always been sentimental, sure, but he doesn’t think anyone knows that he’s kept these things.

“So come on. Tell me your stories.” She chuckles, coaxing him to sit as her hands hold his forearms. “You have some, don’t you? About the mittens. Of course you do.” She presses a kiss into his forehead. “And tomorrow, you’ll make this right again. Okay? Call. Write. Start with Kendall. Start anywhere.” Warmth blooms in her features and so they settle, stopping their bustling to reminisce.

“Now, go on. Remember the sweet things." It's useless to combat her smile. So he starts, telling her about when they went out in the cold and he taught them how to make snow angels. How their eyes brightened when they realized there was no restraint here, that they could enjoy themselves with all the giddiness in the world. And so, they made a routine of it. Every chance he got, trekking out of the house just to see the sparks in their eyes. Falling and laughing in snow. Even if it took up the whole afternoon, even if it left their faces red and chapped from the wind, their glow never left.

The next day Connor gathers up the courage to take Willa’s advice, and with a deep breath he dials the phone.

A voice on the other end appears. "Hello?"

"Uh, Kendall?" He's a little frantic, since he didn't expect him to pick up, honestly.

"Con? Are you alright?" He’s unsure exactly why Kendall felt compelled to ask, but he supposes maybe asking a question off the bat isn’t expected. Or, maybe it's the waver in his voice, on the edge of breaking, or the simple fact that he’s doing this at all. 

"Yeah, of course. I'm sorry. I know it's a little out of the blue. Hey, uh, if you're busy I can always call back—" He backpedals. It’s too much to put onto him some random night, some odd years later.

"No." Kendall eases him, and takes a seat close to where he stands. "I'm good. We can talk."

Connor doesn’t speak right away, leaving a silence which Kendall scrambles to fill. “... Hey, um.” He exhales sharply. “Clearly you called for some reason, and if you don’t want to go through with it I’m not going to force you, but, it’d be nice. Y’know. To talk.” 

He hates how tense he feels, how abnormal this has become. "I'm sorry, Kenny." 

"Sorry? Why are you sorry? Don’t lie to me." Solid concern pools into his voice. And Connor can picture him like he’s right in front of him.

He weakens. He’s always had a tendency for this, to choke up when it comes down to it. “Gd.” He pinches the bridge of his nose momentarily. “Everything. All of it, Ken. I—I’m so sorry that I couldn’t stay. That I couldn’t be your big brother anymore. The way I used to be.”

“Connie… ” Kendall says, frowning slightly.

“Come on, Ken. You can’t do that to me.” Connor says, smiling sadly as he wipes away more stray tears from his eyes. “You just can’t. You know how I get.” The nickname feels charged, almost. As though it carries the weight of all the memories they forged when it was just him and Kendall.

“But I mean. You-you’ve always done enough. You were always there. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But isn’t that all I’ve ever had, really? What else? What else have I done, or devoted myself to? As if I even did something that ever helped, that made you proud.” Connor huffs dismissively. “I’ve had my whole life to make things better, and what have I done? I retreated.” 

“No, you didn’t. You made us a home, a real one. You always had our backs, and protected us.” It’s something Kendall has held close his whole life. And although he doesn’t talk about it with them, he knows Shiv and Roman house the same sentiment.

“But I just, I’ve been gone so long. So many things have happened and all I’ve wanted to do is ask. But, but, I don’t know. I just, I have some things of yours, from when you were kids, and I dunno. If you’d want them back, I can—I can… ” His chest is heavy. It’s leaden with just wanting to let it out, that he misses him. That he misses when they grew up, when he was their outlet, the doorway to the world beyond their walls. That really, his siblings are the only fond reminders of home. He covers his face momentarily, heaving out a watery sigh.

It’s ridiculous. Trying to rewind time, trying to force Kendall to understand after such a gap of time, or hell, choking up on the telephone. There’s just no easy way to say it. No way to put how he feels into words, especially if he can’t get it out. But honestly, there’s just a piece of him that’s never quite been filled. And while feeling completely whole is out of the question, closing the gap might help. It’s the only thing he’s holding onto.

Connor’s shoulders slump forward. “Just, forgive me, I guess. For how long it’s been.” Neither can deny that.

“Oh, Con. It’s—This? Please. None of it is your fault.” It’s all so much more than that. So much bigger than any of them can fathom, more than they can ever fully come to terms with.

“Still. I could’ve been there. I used to be.” He scoffs. “I don’t even know how you are.”

“You know I can’t blame you for that. Leaving.” Kendall reassures him. “I mean that.”

“So I guess that means things are hard, then.” Connor doesn’t even mean to jump there, it just happens. Because he’s the only one who had the chance.

“It means they’re like they’ve always been. I’m okay.” Kendall laughs softly, and it eases them both.

“Okay.” A small smile flicks to Connor’s face even as he tries to fight it. It’s a touch ironic, how Connor has to be reassured by Kendall now, when the roles were reversed growing up. He was always that figure, a pair of shoulders to be leaned into for comfort, looming above the rest. 

And pretty soon, they slip into normal conversation. Trading simple anecdotes and jokes surrounding their current circumstances, time doesn’t quite rewind—but it does make it slow somehow. Laughter is easy, and somewhere they forget about the hurt that inspired the conversation in the first place.

Yet eventually, silence falls between them. Each brother tenses instinctively, fearing that the distance has been built between them again, that it’s too much to overcome. That they’ve waded deep enough that there’s nothing to fall back on; small talk can’t save them now.

“Connor?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep the things you have. My things. Okay?” Kendall pauses. “... And I miss you.” His heart tugs with guilt and fondness in tandem. And soon he’s spilling quiet tears of his own.

“I miss you, too.” Connor says finally, with a soft droop of his shoulders. The words are an exhale.

“So, um. Come back sometime. And uh, don’t be afraid to stay.” Kendall sniffs. “I’m sure the rest would want to catch up. You still have your place in the city, right? From when we were kids?”

“Yeah, yeah. I do.” Another instance of keeping pieces of the past. He doesn’t hesitate to smile, though.

“Good. Like old times, then.” Kendall says solidly.

“Yeah.” Connor nods to himself. “Yeah.” 

“Honey? It’s snowing.” Willa calls sweetly, eyes and smile equally wide. It’s a sight that they aren’t graced with often, since they’re secluded from the depths of the mountainous ranges of the state, where snow collects on their peaks. He sneaks a glance through the windows and surely enough, light flakes dance to ground below them.

“Well, I won’t keep you.” Kendall’s voice is amused, hiding a chuckle. He’s heard Willa in the background. “But uh, can I count on you? Staying for a little while?”

“You can. I’ll let you know when, but it’ll be soon. I swear.” He’ll make it up to them, he knows he will. This time, he’s sure.

“I know. I always could.” The sentiment is enough to draw tears from them again. They’ve never tried to hide their proclivity for emotion, but it’s the rest that makes it stew in their stomachs—how attached it seems to be to when Kendall would collapse into his arms unthinkingly, with Connor already outstretched, ready for the weight—that makes it that much easier to falter. It’s not… sad, not happy either. Just the understanding that somehow they ended back up just like they used to be, with fragile arms instead of strong ones. When neither is big nor small, just something in between. Something a little too quick to break, something that toes the line between readiness and second-guessing, where both need something bigger to hold them up even when they stand heads above where they used to. 

“Well, uh. Thanks, Kenny. I mean it. ” Connor says sheepishly. “Not just for this, even.” 

“Take care of yourself, alright?” Kendall offers, like it’s a hand on the shoulder.

“I will.”

So that’s how they leave it. No intentional goodbye, yet it’s filled instead by knowing that this time, there’s a plan to return. He won’t let it slip from his hands or get shoved into boxes to become souvenirs of childhood. It’s as tangible as the phone in his hands or the snowflakes coming to rest on the landscape unexpectedly housing them.

He sidles comfortably up against Willa, and the two venture out into the cold. A shiver takes her by the shoulders and he pulls her close as they watch the snow fall gently. The mountains are far away, so the expanse of desert as it meets the sky—quickly blurring to white—seems to chase on forever. There’s nothing around to greet them, as though the world could swallow them up, and it’s not as though there isn’t an occasional wish for more beyond their windows, even when the sky is brilliantly blue. However, they’ve been granted another guest, even if it’s just fleeting snow that dissolves on their fingertips. They’ve been gone from the city for years now, and that’s a reminder on its own. But whereas the city goers let it gather on their clothes and hair without a second thought, almost with annoyance, Connor welcomes it—albeit childishly, without the thought of covering his hands—as an opening, a prospect, an occurrence that he can’t help answer with the tinge of laughter. “Huh.” He smiles, wondering if it’s snowing again in New York. 

[richieisabastardman]

Hold Me Now - Part 3 - Richie Tozier x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 >>> Part 4

Summary: You had forgotten about everything that happened in Derry until Mike called you up. Now, sitting in the restaurant surrounded by your friends, you remembered everything. More importantly, you remember Richie. (Fluff/Angst/Sexy Stuff)

Word count: 2887

Warnings: Swearing, Sexual Situations (not smut)

Notes: Thank you all for all of the kind words about the previous parts!! It honestly motivates me to write so much :) Again, I’d love to hear what you guys think of this! Hope you enjoy. Also, I apologize for any spelling/grammar errors/inconsistencies. I read over things a thousand times and I still miss little things :’( 

You felt a heavy weight around your waist and a light snoring from behind you. You panicked for a moment before remembering the events of the night before. Smiling to yourself you turned around to face the tall man who was still sleeping soundly in your bed. You raised a hand to his cheek, feeling his stubble beneath your fingers. He let out a sigh, still within the blissfulness of a dream, and you tucked some of his hair behind his ear. He blinked his eyes awake. Confusion, like yours, had laced his features before he realised where he was. At the realisation he smiled, pulling you closer into his chest and resting his face within your hair.

“Morning” he mumbled, still drowsy from sleep

“Sleep well?” You asked, your hand against his chest. You felt him nod above you, his grip tight around your shoulders now. He held you to him like he never wanted you to let you go. You hoped he wouldn’t. There was a strong protectiveness about him now that you had only seen briefly before. You remembered when you were younger and he almost pummelled a boy for making comments about your body. He could never fight; he didn’t have the coordination. However, every now and then a strong need to protect others burst through him. It was in those moments that you liked him best.

“Yeah I slept fine. Why are you laughing?” he asked suspiciously as you chucked at the memories of your childhood with the man. They rushed into your mind like a flood. However, unlike the memories that came back to you when you entered Derry, these were pleasant. These memories were of feather light touches and words as sweet as sugar. Memories of the man you left behind to pursue your dreams outside of Maine.

“Just thought about how much of a dweeb you looked with those glasses when you were a kid” you said, and he feigned injury at your words.

“Bullying Y/N? Really? That’s low. Especially considering the fact that you tried to fuck me last ni-“

You cut him off by reaching up to his face and placing your lips against his. He accepted the gesture immediately, kissing you back deeply. You tilted your head, allowing his tongue access into your mouth. His hand rested on your jaw as his thumb rubbed it lightly.

After a moment you pulled away, smiling up at him. He smiled back at you. “Beep Beep Richie, yeah?”

“Yeah” Richie said, continuing to beam at you. His eyes were glazed over and that dumb smile he had refused to leave his face. You both had almost forgotten why you were in this motel in the first place. Almost.

~

You had laid with Richie in bed for at least thirty more minutes, chatting about your lives in Derry and your lives now, all whilst Richie drew figures on your back with his fingers. His other hand was entangled with yours. Every now and again he would untangle himself to play with your fingers, his hands almost comically large when placed next to yours.

“I’ve seen all of your movies the day they came out” Richie admitted, placing a feathery kiss upon your forehead.

“You have not” you laughed into his chest.

“Scouts honor!” He replied “Every single one. Why wouldn’t I?”.

“And what is your professional opinion of my work?” you asked, looking up at him.

He looked at the ceiling for a moment, thinking carefully. When he finally looked down at you, a wide grin graced his face and he replied “Meh”.

You hit his chest lightly, laughing.

“I’m just kidding. They were all great. Even that one that the critics said was too self-gratuitous”.

You cringed at the memory and Richie rubbed your shoulder encouragingly.

“Still” He said “Y/N Y/L/N the director. I always knew you’d make it”.

You smiled up at him, and he at you, before you lifted your head to leave a light peck on his lips. Whilst your memories of Richie grew hazier the further you moved away from Derry; you still felt an internal force driving you to achieve your dreams for his sake. You had left him to deal with your absence alone in Derry until he finally moved away, chasing his own dreams and desires. You felt terrible about leaving him at the time - and, not surprisingly, you felt the same way now.

You remembered the insecurity and doubt you had felt when you first arrived in New York. So many times you had wanted to give up on your dreams to work in the film industry. So often you had thought that pursuing a nine-to-five job would be much easier than working your ass off for no reward and even less money.

However, these thoughts always ended with a pull at your heart and a voice within you that screamed

“Do it for him. Make him proud.”.

For a while you thought the Him might have been God. You quickly realised however that if such a being did exist, he would be too busy to be concerned with your career aspirations. People are starving on an abundant planet and are dying of curable diseases Y/N, you thought to yourself, God is probably more concerned with that. It was only when that taxi had passed the sign, Welcome to Derry!, that you had finally realised who the Him was. And when you remembered, you couldn’t believe that you had forgotten.

~

Seventeen years old was a strange age, you always thought. Away from the sweet sixteens and too far from the looming adulthood of eighteen, seventeen was an age of awkwardness. Your future, something you had been forced to consider (and worse, plan for) in the last few months since turning seventeen hovered over you like a cloud before a thunderstorm. It taunted you with the uncertainty of just how chaotic it could turn out to be. And yet, as you sat in the movie theatre with Richie sitting next to you watching some trashy nineties film, the clouds had seemed to clear. In fact, the sky was blue and there was a nice breeze blowing through your mind. You were the calmest you had felt in months.

Calm before the storm. A voice within your head whispered, but you paid it no mind, reaching into the bucket of popcorn which sat in Richie’s lap.

“I don’t know why you get to hold the popcorn” you whispered, irritated.

“You’ll understand once you get to the bottom of the bucket” Richie said and winked at you.

You furrowed your brow in confusion before the innuendo clicked and you gagged. Richie laughed loudly before being shushed by two men in the row in front of you. One of the men, the one who looked much more irritated at Richie’s outburst than the other, had his arm secured around the other man’s shoulders. The other man whispered to the irritated one. He spoke in hushed tones and smiles, and you watched as the irritated man’s tensed shoulders began to relax. Thank god, you thought, the last thing I need is Richie getting the shit kicked out of him. Finally, the calmer man left a kiss upon the other man’s cheek, causing the irritated man to unwrinkle his forehead and smile. It was the kind of smile that reached your whole face. The kind of smile that softens the eyes and weighs down the eyelids. There were only two reasons people smiled like that; they had smoked just the right amount of weed or they were looking at the love of their life.

You smiled at the actions of the men (though the smile was not as strong as the one currently plastered on the man’s face), before moving your gaze back to Richie. The boy was staring at the couple, eyes wide but not due to shock or fear. He continued to stare at them, the movie on the screen no longer of importance to him. His gaze only broke when he noticed your own upon him. He quickly looked back at the screen, stuffing his mouth full of popcorn.

“I can’t believe people actually spent money making this trash“ he tried to whisper; his mouth still full. Bits of chewed up popcorn jumped out from between his lips as though they were trying to escape their fate within his gut. “You could’ve have made something a thousand times better. I mean, I’ve read your scripts, and even your shit ones are better than this”.

You snorted. “Thanks Richie, I think” you said, and reached into the bucket for another handful of popcorn.

~

 “So, this Fiancé” Richie said cautiously, and you felt yourself being yanked from your thoughts viciously. Your body froze and you knew Richie had felt your sudden rigidness as he began biting his lip nervously. “Sorry” he said “I just-“

“No. Its okay.” You replied. “We should… talk about this, I guess”.

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“David Johnson” you answered.

“David Johnson” he repeated, though his tone was mocking the man despite not being in his presence. You rolled your eyes at his childishness. “So, what’s his deal?”.

“He’s an actor” you said, and Richie scoffed.

“Why haven’t I seen him in anything then?” Richie said, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s a failed actor. He self-sabotages, you know? Every time he gets a role he fucks it up by turning up to set late or drunk or both” you rambled and you could hear Richie sigh from above you.

“Is that why you don’t want to be engaged to him” he asked.

You thought for a moment, wondering whether it was worth mentioning all the things he had done. All it took was a kiss on your head from Richie to let the flood gate open. “Partly” you said, “Also because I caught him screwing his agent in her office”.

A silence fell between the two of you. Richie was shaking his head, running his hand through his hair in frustration. You could tell he wanted to blow. He wanted to rant about your piece of shit Fiancé and how he was going to regret ever fucking with you.

He chose instead to take in a deep breath and attempt to diffuse the situation within his own mind with what he knew how to do best; joke about it. “Actor, Alcoholic and Adulterer. Wow, he’s a triple threat”. You could hear the bitterness in his voice.

Richie had never approved of the men you took interest in, even if they appeared to be God’s gift. Once, as a teen, you told him you thought River Phoenix was cute and from that point he had refused to see any movie he was in. You still weren’t sure if he had ever seen Stand By Me. However, this was different. He had good reasons to hate the man. And so did you.

You sat up and Richie’s face was painted with disappointment until he looked into your eyes. They were serious, gazing into his. The last time you had looked at him like this, you were about to leave for New York. You had stared into his eyes, just like this, and said you would see him again soon. “It’ll only be a few years; it’ll be over before you know it” you had said.

Your voice, low but strong, shook Richie from his thoughts. “I’m going to break up with him. If we don’t die trying to kill that fucking clown, I’m going to do it” you said, and Richie hoped that this time you would keep your promise.

Suddenly, you heard a banging at your motel door. You jumped slightly and groaned when you realised it was just Bill. “Y/N get up! We’re going to go meet Mike!”.

“Fine! Give me a minute to get ready” you yelled back as a reply.

Richie stared at you, his eyes shifting from a softness to a tightness that could only indicate fear was rising within him. The loud knocking of Bill’s hand upon your door had blown away the veil of comfort you and Richie had wrapped around yourselves within your motel room. This wasn’t a school reunion. You were here to kill a clown or die trying.

“We need to get dressed” Richie said. Just as he began to sit up, he scrunched up his face in irritation.

“What?” you asked.

“My clothes… are next door” he replied. The bliss of being held in each other’s arms had rendered you both temporarily amnesic it seemed.

You shook your head, taking a moment to think. You had no issue with the rest of the gang knowing that you and Richie had spent a night together in your motel room. Nothing had technically happened anyway. However, the questions and prying would be way too much to handle this early in the morning. Plus, there were more important things to spend your energy on, like that fucking clown. “I’ll keep watch at the door, and you can sneak out?” you suggested and Richie nodded his head, following you off the bed.

“I feel like a fucking teenager again” Richie said and you shushed him.

You opened the door just enough that you could gaze out of it and into the hallway of the motel. Seeing no one, you opened the door a bit wider and stuck your head out to get a better look. Seeing that it was completely clear, you turned around in order to motion to Richie that he could leave. As you turned, you bumped directly into his chest. He was standing right behind you, his hand now on your waist. You whispered a quiet “Fuckin’ hell Rich” and he smiled down at you apologetically.

You pulled the door completely open, allowing Richie to walk past you through the door frame and out into the hall. He stood there for a moment and you looked at him, confused as to why he hadn’t run to his room yet. Finally, he turned around towards you. Just as you were about to question him, he pulled you by your waist towards him and brought you into a passionate kiss. You accepted the kiss, kissing him back just as deeply, however your mind was still panicking at the thought of being caught.

He pulled back for only a moment before placing his face into your neck, kissing along the length of it sloppily. You considered pushing him back, but when reached the junction between your neck and shoulder and left a soft bite there you decided instead to shut your eyes and place your hand against his chest. His hands moved from your waist to your ass, and he pulled the bottom half of your body towards his. So he won’t do this in private, but he’ll do it in the middle of a motel hallway you thought. Such thoughts were cut short by Richie grinding himself into you, clearly excited by the current situation. You let out a gasp which Richie intercepted with his mouth once again, connecting his lips with yours in a kiss.

Another gasp was heard within that hallway. At first, you thought it was Richie. However, when his movements stilled and he removed his lips from your own, you realised it was most definitely not. Looking to your left, Eddie stood just outside of his motel door. His mouth was open in shock; his eyes wide. His hand was still on the handle of his room door, frozen. Richie considered running back into your room, but it was too late, Eddie had seen him. He had seen more than just Richie, in fact. You were not sure if Eddie had seen all of it, but he had definitely seen enough. “I fucking knew it!” he said, laughing to himself.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he began to make his way down the hall and past the two of you, towards the stairs. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that for my own sake” he said, moving quickly “but I am definitely going to hold it against you. Forever!”.

Both you and Richie were frozen in place, watching the small man jet past you and down to the others who were waiting in the lobby. To the eye that was untrained in Richie Tozier’s library of facial expressions, the face he was currently displaying would have merely appeared neutral. His mouth was closed into a thin line and his eyes, while wide, were not crying out with any particular thoughts or feelings. However, you had known Richie long enough to know that he was not thrilled about what had just happened. The face he wore was not just one of embarrassment. You had seen Richie embarrassed and he was much more bashful than this. No, it was more shameful than that. More apologetic. It was sadder.

You reached out towards him, but he backed away. He shook his head and his expression changed almost too quickly, as though he had pressed the reset button on his brain. “I should go get dressed. They’re waiting for us”. And with that he disappeared into his room, leaving you alone in the hallway for the second time in two days.  

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[prussianvenom]

Angels Mom

Rhys goes to her buddy Angels house for a college project Only to find out that her buddy's mom is not only a superstar But the superstar Rhys has been idolizing for years

(nsfw)

pls accept this hot garbage

“The teacher is such a dick!”

The brunette kicks over a small trash can in anger, 2 smaller figures following behind her in her warpath.

“Let's be fair Rhys, we do, do every other project or assignment together. It's reasonable for them to separate us.” Vana, bless her tiny heart, speaks sense.

Behind Vana was another smaller, mousier girl who followed with stacks of sketchbooks pressed to her chest.

“I’m sorry you can't work with your friend Rhys, but, I’m sure we can do alright on this project together.”

Rhys’ anger melts away. Now feeling like a complete jackass for being so unwelcoming to their other friend.

“Oh damn, no, sorry Angel, it's not that, I love hanging out with you, it's just. UGH, that guy is such a fucking dick.”

“It was pretty unnecessary to put you guys on the spot like that.”

“And make it seem like we don't have any other friends. What an ass!” Rhys stomps a little further ahead. “Anyways, no sense stewing about it. We should start planning out a schedule and stuff. Do you want to come to our dorm? Get a head start on everything?”

“Oh! Definitely, uh, but my mom is probably preparing dinner right now. If you'd like, I’m sure she’ll make enough for another person. If you don't mind coming over.”

Rhys’ face lit up at the promise of a home-cooked meal in lieu of whatever microwaveable shit she and Vana had in their dingy little dorm room.

“Oh hell yeah, are you on your way now?” Angel nods and Rhys turns to Vana. “Guess I’ll see you later tonite bro. Remember, Project Runways on tonite and I swear to God-”

“I won't tape over your stupid show again, it happened once ok!” Rhys chortles and waves her off and follows the other away.

“Ah, I don't have a car, we live pretty close by. That's ok?”

“Oh totally, good cardio or whatever. But like, wow? This neighborhood is like, ivy league houses. That must be like a small fortune, I didn't know you came from such rich blood.” Rhys jests.

Angel giggles. “I guess heh. Ma worked pretty hard to get where she is.”

“You don't say? Now that I think about it, this is the first I’ve heard you say anything about your family before.”

Angel stops and blinks owlishly at her friend.

“I haven't? Huh. I guess it never came up. I don't think I know much about your or Vanas family either.” Rhys nods in agreement. “In any case, since my mom is gonna be around I should let you know that she can be, a, well, a little eccentric.”

“Eccentric?”

“Bitchy.”

Rhys chokes on a sudden burst of laughter at her friend’s blatant rip on her own mom.

“It's true! I mean, according to a lot of guests we have had. She can be kind of abrasive, blunt. She has like no filter.”

Rhys smiles and turns to focus on the neighborhood. She holds back a gasp. They had wandered into the really, really nice part of town. Borderline mansions painted burgundy and trimmed with gold surrounded them. Bentley's and Mercedes parked delicately on gilded brick runways leading down to the road. Not only were these the people who went to their college, but these were also the people that could own the college if they pleased. The ones who did go to their college brown-nosed and bought their way in by the looks of it. Compared to Rhys and Vana who barely made it in by the skin of their teeth and several scholarships.

“Oh man, I was, I was kidding about the whole rich blood thing. You, you guys are like, loaded loaded.”

Angel deflates.

“I guess so, does that change things?”

“No no no! I didn't mean anything by it, it doesn't change anything at all. It's just, like, people that come from places like this aren't as humble and kind as you.”

Angel smiles wide and flushes under the compliment.

They stop at the biggest and gaudiest estate in the neighborhood. The mansion is hideous. It was yellow, trimmed with black, and topped off with both silver and gold accents. Even the gate to the driveway was overly ornate and encrusted with what Rhys hoped to god wasn't actual diamonds. The whole place exuded ‘fuck you’ money. Why else would go this much overboard unless you wanted people to know how much better they were than you? The disgusting palette tells you that they also didn't give a shit what you thought.

“Dear God,” She cocks her head, pleading with her eyes towards her friend. There's no way, there's no way she lives here. “This loaded?” Her voice strains in disbelief.

Angel grimaces and nods.

“It's bright yellow.”

“I know, as I said. She's eccentric.” She turns and pushes a button on a large porcelain keypad attached to the gate.

“Hello?” A burly deep voice answers.

“Wilhelm! Hi! It's Angel, we got out early today, I have a friend with me. Can you let us in?”

“A guest? Does your mom know?” Angel pouts and bristles.

“Well, no, but she's here to collaborate with me on a project for school, cmon.”

“Right, right. I'll be right out.”

“Your dad?” Angel cringes.

“Ew, no, Wilhelm is a family friend. He works as a sort of overall maintenance, security, assistant sort of guy.”

“Fancy.”

A moment later a big hulking statue of a man comes out from the garage on the far side of the house. Way taller than any dude Rhys had ever seen, covered in grease, and the bone structure that looked like it had been chiseled out of stone. He only appears more hulking as he approaches the gate. A shine catches her eye. They both were missing an arm. They share a small look of admiration towards each other's prosthetic, a silent camaraderie.

“Hey, Angel. How was class today?”

“It was alright, this is Rhys, the one I mentioned a while ago.” Wilhelm grunts in acknowledgment.

“Welcome to the Lawrence home, Rhys.” He greets as he opens the gate just enough to let the pair in.

“That guy is terrifying,” Rhys whispers as soon as they're out of earshot.

“Wilhelm? Oh, he’s a big ol sweetheart, once you get to know him. He’s not the one you need to worry about.” Angel carefully opens the door, closing it behind Rhys to make no sound.

“Angel?” A familiar-sounding husky woman voice calls out and Angel curses under her breath.

“Yeah, it's me Ma. I got a friend with me. Is that gonna be alright?”

“Of course baby,”

Then, sidling around the corner of the open dining room was the last person Rhys had ever expected to see in her lifetime. Hand on her hip, standing in the ray of sun, haloed like a golden goddess, was Rhys’ childhood-adulthood idol.

Jacqueline Lawrence.

An actress a long time in the making, recently made CEO some years ago of her own studio company. Not only that, but before her acting days she was a prodigy in the tech department, making her not only gorgeous but a genius beyond her years.

This woman bit and kicked her way to the top, embedded herself on the silver screen to be remembered and loved for generations to come. Adored and wanted by millions, billions even.

And she was Angel’s goddamn mother.

Rhys, knew, as a fan, that Jaq had a child, but it was always hush hush.

It was Angel.

Dear God

“Well, who’s this then?”

The silver fox approaches the duo, each move, each step, exuding confidence and power. Rhys nearly choked. She was floored, flabbergasted. This couldn't be real. She's never dreamed of being this close to this idol. Even at events she couldn't get this close, couldn't even get within arms reach. Yet here she was, even closer than arms reach. If Rhys reached out she could touch her. She briefly wonders if she’d recognize Rhys from all the events, and kind of hopes that she doesn't. She doesn't want to explain to her dear, dear friend that she's dreamed of meeting her mother since before she was even born.

“I’m, I’m, uh,” Rhys tries and fails to clear her throat. “R-Rhys, my name is Rhys. Ma’am”

Jacqueline bears her teeth in a wolfish grin.

“And what are you in school for huh, Rhysie?”

Rhys feels a cold sweat run down her spine.

“Coding and mechanical engineering ma’am.” Rhys mentally high fives herself for not stuttering, then again when she sees the appeased look on the actress’s face.

“Oh yeah? Did some coding myself back in the day. Little bit before I met Wilhelm. Kind of miss it. Maybe you can catch me up on all the new and improved bits, ey kiddo?” She winks and Rhys’ knees nearly crumple.

“I, I would be honored to miss.” Jaq chuckles and claps Rhys on the shoulder.

“Dear Christ this chick is more skittish than you are Angel!. It's freakin precious! Goodness, gracious. She's like a terrified mouse.”

“I'm just a big fan of your work.”

“Oh?” Jaq grins, and grips Rhys’ shoulder a smidge tighter which causes her to shiver, a reaction misinterpreted.

“Hey, kid, relax a little, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. You guys do whatever you need to do, lemme know if you need anything ok?” Jaq then turns to preen her daughter, pinching her cheeks comically before leaving.

The sharp turn throws long tufts of hair in their faces, and Rhys swears she could smell the overpriced conditioner she uses in her wake. She saunters, downright saunters off to where she emerged from and out of sight. The moment she's out of sight Rhys goes to throttle her small friend.

“Hey, Angel, quick question. Why. The. Fuck. Did you not tell me your mom is the goddamn Jacqueline Lawrence!?”

“I, I didn't think it was worth mentioning. I mean, she hasn't been on screen for a good while. Should I have said something?” Angel implores, looking up at Rhys with her big crystally eyes.

How she managed to elude Rhys’ obsession with her mother was astounding. At the same time, she's a bit glad though. There's a chance she wouldn't have invited her over otherwise.

“Just, surprised. Like, really surprised. She's famous, not to mention powerful. Like, make people disappear kind of powerful.”

“Oh, when you put it like that I can see why it could be a little alarming. She's just, never made it out to be a big thing, give me a sort of normal childhood and whatnot.”

“It's ok, crazy. You guys don't even look that much alike.” Angel giggles. “And I was honest back there, I am like a huge freaking fan. I kind of wished you invited me over sooner hehe.”

“Oh? So you can drool all over my mom?”

“No! No no no no, I wouldn't, I would never, I would still hang out with you! That wouldn’t change!”

Angel laughs loudly and gives Rhys a very incredulous look. For a second she could very much see the resemblance of her mother in her. She sets down her stuff and motions for Rhys to follow.

“I’m serious Angel, I do love hanging out with you. She's, she's just, she's my idol.” Angel gives her another dramatically tuned flat look.

“Mhhm, whatever you say, Rhys. You want to set up and get started, I’m going to go take a quick shower ok? Still got art 2’s lesson all over my skin and it's starting to get itchy.”

“Yeah, of course, I’ll sketch out some ideas and stuff.”

“Oh, also, don't be a spaz and weird my mom out.” Rhys mocks offense before flipping the bird at the giggling punk.

Rhys makes herself comfortable in the expansive living room. She makes a little setup, a little Rhys area for herself, to start working. She was so busy fucking around with various weird codes on her laptop that she didn’t notice the encroaching presence coming into her area.

“Quite the setup.” Rhys jumps a foot in the air from where she was sitting

Jacqueline laughs obnoxiously loud and plops across the other in a large lounge chair. She lazily swirls a glass of what Rhys assumes is whiskey in one hand, the other playing idly with the armchair. Rhys’s eyes bulge out of her eyes when she takes in Jacqueline's lounging attire. The shirt. The shirt was silk, buttoned-down to just above her navel, it was thin, white, and translucent. Quite translucent. It barely covered her breasts. She could see the caramel tan of her skin through the milky white. A living wet dream if Rhys ever saw one.

“Looking a little flustered there, kiddo. What’s wrong?~”

Jacqueline’s voice was dripping with accusation. It sent shivers racing up and down Rhys’ spine.

“It's, well, I’m a huge fan. And, it’s just, being near you, It’s crazy for me.” Rhys smiles weakly.

Jacqueline’s expression sours and her voice hardens.

“Is that the reason you hanging around my Angel?”

“Oh! Oh no no no no! Not at all. She, she never mentioned that you were her mother until today. We’re good friends. She just doesn’t talk that much about herself.”

Jacqueline smiles something bright and genuine. Though it’s their first meeting, Rhys feels like she’s seeing something rare and sacred.

“That’s good to hear.” She whispers to herself before chuckling low. The chuckles crescendo into full-blown laughter. “Oh man though, your face. Priceless. People, I’m used to them being antsy, but oh boy do you take the cake. Are you always such a spaztastic disaster?”

“No, well, it’s, you’re my idol. I know that must sound crazy. I’ve followed all your works since you’ve come onto the scene. For years I’ve tried my best to be as confident and stunning as you. I'm sorry. This sounds so cringy doesn't it?"

Already arched eyebrows arch higher.

“All my works huh?”

“Yeah?” Rhys swallows thickly. Jacqueline’s grin grows feral.

“Even the ones from my old coding days?”

Rhys’s eyes go saucer wide and her face drains of color.

So...so that’s why Wilhelm looked familiar to her.

“I..I don’t know wha-.” Jacqueline sits up straight, looking like the cat that got the canary.

“Oh my God! You have!” Jacqueline’s teeth exposed, looking Chesire-like, pure giddiness written all over her. “You’ve seen my pornos holy shit!”

“N-no, I, I mean, I-” Rhys wants to hide.

To run, to die, something to get away from this nightmare. Her first actual meeting with her idol AND her friend’s sister, for it to end up like this, there’s no coming back. She felt sick and buried her face into her hands for some solace.

“Aww, no need to be embarrassed. I was quite the bombshell back then, well, I mean, I still am now, you get what I mean. I’ve always been hot as hell. I’m impressed though. Thought I scrubbed every trace of those bad boys. Made sure none of them would see the light of day. You must have done some hard as hell digging to find those relics.

“They, uh, they were...I paid a lot to get some of them.” Rhys says meekly and confused.

“Holy shit, you serious?”

“To be fair, I didn’t know what was on the tapes when I bought them, I was under the impression they were old exclusives.”

“So what then? You only watched a bit?”

Rhys remains frozen and silent.

“Holy shit.” Jaq leans forward into Rhys space. “You watched all of them didn’t ya?” Rhys bites her lip nervously. Jaq gets even closer. “Did ya get off on them Rhysie?” When Rhys doesn’t answer Jaq continues. “Did you touch yourself?”

Jaq whispers it, with almost reverence. Joy in her voice, like a highschooler finding out her friend's crush. She’s not mad, not angry, not anything like Rhys imagined. She’s teasing her.

Rhys’ breath stills and clumps in her throat and chest. She’s on the border of panic and..arousal? She’s not quite sure. The cold sweat returns with a vengeance.

The silence drags on too long for Rhys’ liking, the way it lingers proving Jaq right about her assumptions.

“Ooo, Rhysie, Rhysie. Your silence speaks volumes.” She leans back, satisfied. Her legs spread wide, authority exudes from her broad form. Her aura reeks of smugness. “How would your friend react if she knew you got off to her mom, hm? That you beat off to videos of her mother getting pounded, huh?”

Panic

Jaq was mad. She deemed her an unfit friend. That or she was disgusted with her.

“God, you’re precious. I can smell your fear from over here. It's been a while since I found anyone this amusing.”

“W-...Really?” Confused again, Rhys chokes out a small reply.

Something flickers in Jaqs eyes, the tiniest bit. Something mischievous. She arches her back, shifts the smallest amount so her shirt falls a little more to the side. Rhys feels like her mind is melting. What the fuck is going on?

“Hm? Uh, yeah, you’re cute darling. Charming, in your own spazzy way. Own it. There’s nothing more dull and irritating than a dumb hot chick.”

“Huh? You, you think I’m cute?”

“Yeah I do, I don’t go around blowing smoke up people's asses unless they can back it up. You’re attractive. Hell, if you put some more work into it you could get heads spinning.”

“You think I’m hot?” Rhys is both stunned and highly incredulous.

“Not only am I saying you’re hot, but I’m also saying you’re sexy. Listen, Honey,” Jacqueline puts a foot on Rhys’s thigh, taking her by surprise. “I’m saying a whole lot more than that.” Jaq finally shrugs off the rest of the shirt, exposing herself to the other woman.

Rhys’s mouth is both dry and wet. If that’s even possible.

“So listen. Mama here hasn’t had any fun as of late. Would you like to change that for me Rhysie?~”

“But, but, what about Angel?” The protest felt weak even coming out of her mouth as she leaned against the foot and towards the woman.

“It’s pretty scummy of me ain’t it?” Jacqueline grins wickedly. “You can say no Cupcake...Just so you know, regardless of what she says, her showers always take half an hour or more. She wouldn’t catch us.”

“We...We shouldn’t.” Rhys has to force the words out.

“Ohhh, but when will you get the chance again?” She lazily draws a line across her chest down to the hem of her pants.

That was the straw to the camel's back for little ol Rhys. The brunette throws away the rest of her inhibitions and lurches at the woman. She shoves her face eagerly between the star’s breasts and grabs them by the handfuls. Jacqueline laughs at Rhys’s enthusiasm and tangles her hand in the silky brown hair. Rhys moans at the little tugs she's given as she sucks and licks the others tits.

“Ooh, hehehe. That didn’t take a lot of convincing did it, huh?”

Rhys doesn’t respond to the jab, just grunts as she licks a nipple into her mouth. Jacqueline purrs and tightens her grip in Rhys’s hair. Rhys whimpers and opens her mouth to moan, drooling onto Jaqs chest.

“You’re a sloppy little bitch yknow that?” Rhys whines against Jacqueline’s warm flesh. She rises on her knees to further bury her flushed face away. “Ohoho. Sounds like somebody enjoys a little demeaning.~”

Rhys looks up at the older woman with big glossy mismatched eyes. Embarrassment etched hard unto her young features.

“I-I-”

“Shh doll, I ain’t judgin.” Jaq waves dismissively and peers down at the other. “Besides, you’ve seen all the crazy shit I got into and got off to. No need to be coy.”

Her hand yanks Rhys head back with a jolt. Jacqueline leans in and kisses the center of Rhys’s throat and whispers. “Let go Babydoll. Go on and tell me what you want.

Rhys’s breath comes out in loud broken gasps.

“I wanna...I wanna taste you. Want to make you feel good.” Rhys manages to get through harsh staccato breaths.

“Oh? Fan of carpet munching are ya?”

Jaq leans back and spreads her thighs to accommodate the other. She waves her hand in a gesture to give Rhys the go-ahead. The brunette tentatively grasps powerful thighs. She takes a moment to savor the heat coming off her before going for the zipper. Jacqueline follows the movement with her eyes. Lifts her hips for the younger to peel off the jeans. Smiling, taunting, as Rhys’ pale hand snakes over her thighs, shaking and nervous. Yellow satin panties, expensive no doubt, was the last thing that stood in Rhys’s way. The last barrier to a fantasy she had been living out in her head for almost a decade now.

Jacqueline picks up on Rhys increasing tension and guides Rhys’s hands to the cloth.

“Don’t mean to be a bitch here cupcake, but huh,” Rhys’s hand is pushed against the crotch of the panties. “ Can we get on with it?”

Rhys nods her head frantically and pulls the golden fabric down toned legs. It was a lot for her to take in. Her idol, the centerpiece of her infatuation, was sitting naked in front of her, legs spread, wet cunt right there for the taking. Rhys had to take a moment to thank whatever God allowed this to happen.

Rhys carefully leans forward and licks between her lips. Jaq bucks up into the contact.

“Stop pussyfooting,” Jacqueline growls. “Get on with it.”

Jaq fists Rhys hair again in an attempt to bring the other in closer. A shame. Rhys wants to take her time though. Regardless of the sensitive time situation they’ve been handed. She wanted to live it out to the fullest, remember every little detail. The knuckles against her scalp insisted otherwise. The first real violent tug of hair had Rhys jaw unhinged and moaning loudly. The noise vibrated against the others clit, eliciting a delicious reaction. Jacqueline rolls towards the sensation and chirps.

“Oooh, there we go!~” Jaqs voice was dripping with sex and mirth. “You dirty masochistic bitch.”

Rhys whimpers, drags her tongue flat against her clit, closes her lips around the nub, and sucks hard. Jaq swears and grinds her pussy against the student’s face.

“Finally~ That’s a good girl.”

Rhys whimpers at the honeyed purr. Her hand itches to palm the seat of her pants. Something to ease her own need. Rhys decides against it, this was more about Jacqueline than anything else. The woman in question is humming languid moans while she continues to fiddle and thread Rhys’ mangled hair.

Jaq shifts her leg. Then again. Rhys doesn't pay attention. Figures she's trying to get comfortable and whatnot, that is, until she feels the heel of her foot press against her inner thigh. She detaches from Jaqs cunt when the pressure slides to her crotch. She gasps roughly when the older woman grinds her foot roughly against her. Rhys collapses unto Jacqueline's knee.

“You are a cute little thing Rhysie.” She jerks the young woman by her hair, pulling her back into a straight position.

“C’mon darling.”

Rhys feels tears building in the corner of her eyes. This was becoming increasingly too much for her. It was overwhelming. Rhys tries to yank herself out of her grip. She feels frantic, desperate to get back to what she was doing. Jaq lets her drop and Rhys eagerly pushes her face back in between the actress’s thighs. Tongue delving back in, this time straining to push it in as far as it goes.

“H, Hey Rhys,” Jaq breathes out hotly. “You gotta be dying down there. Go, go wild baby.” She slides her calves up in between Rhys’s thighs. Rhys catches on after a dull moment. She glances up at matching heterochromatic eyes, searching for any signs of deceit. Jaq sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically. She fists her hand against Rhys scalp, the tightest she's gripped this whole time, and pulls so violently that Rhys feels strands rip out.

“I want you to get off against my leg Rhys. I want you to rut against my leg like the little bitch in heat you are. Show me. Show me what a pathetic and desperate slut you are. I want you to do all that while eating me out. Do you understand me, you fucking whore? Show me how big of a fan you are.”

Rhys is frantic now. Her whole body feels like there's a live current going through her. Jacqueline's words have her reeling. Her throat was too dry and her mouth was too wet. She nods dumbly and quickly. Her technique is sloppier and quicker with the addition of her embarrassing humping. She clamps the calf in her thighs, one of her spare hands gripping the meat of her leg with an iron grasp. The contact is a wave of relief for the student. She's already keyed so far up to the edge she fears she won't be able to hold on for more than a couple of minutes of frotting.

The situation is beyond surreal.

Jaq laughs airily. Just as breathless as Rhys at this point.

“Fuc-Fucking disgusting. Like a goddamn d-fuck-dog. God.~ You love it don't you,” Jacqueline looks at her with almost reverence. “Love being a disgusting needy little girl huh?~ Love being treated like a worm? Like dirt?” Jacqueline's words were rough, barely there, overshadowed by gruesome thrusts against Rhys’s face.

Rhys whined. The words bounced around her skull like a malfunctioning pinball machine. It left her too hot, too wet, and too horny to think or care about anything else. The stimuli has tears near spilling down her ruddy cheeks.

“God, you even like being talked down to. That's so goddamn pathetic.” Jacqueline moans through a cruel laugh. “You’re even crying.” She titters with delight.

Rhys realizes she's right with a sob. The tears had started to stream down her hot, hot face. She could only imagine how she looked to her idol right now. Hair in disarray, face red and covered in tears and sweat, whining grossly, all while sloppily fellating her and humping her leg like a dog.

She couldn't deny any of it either. Every word, every hurtful syllable, was right. They were doing it for her. Doing it for her so deliciously. They only added to the hot pool in her belly threatening to spill. Through trial and error, inspiration drawn from Jaqs seedy movies, she had found she was indeed, a little more, if not completely into, being degraded and punished.

Rhys feels the time biting away at their heels, they need to finish this off, and soon.

Unfortunately.

She uses her robotic hand to thumb against the older woman's clit. The cold untouched metal makes the actress jump and gasp. She giggles in unfound glee, like she had just discovered something new about herself.

“That's it! That's a good girl~.”

Rhys didn't know if it was how she sounded or if she also responded well to praise, but she drooled more. She curls her tongue and speeds up her movements with her thumb. Jacqueline arches her back and throws her head into the plush cushions of the chair.

“F-fuck, faster. Faster, kid.” Jacqueline had abandoned her hair and was now pulling at her shoulders.

Rhys lets her grip with her flesh hand go and pushes 2 fingers in along with her tongue. She could feel now, how hot and wet the tan woman's pussy was. She could feel the fine ridges of muscle spasming and clenching deliciously around her fingers.

Jacqueline holds back a shout. She plants her feet on the ground and buck into the stimulus with wild abandon. Her hands hold Rhys’ head down as she finally and abruptly comes. Rhys makes a high pitch sound to accompany Jaq’s gleeful growl.

Once she goes slack into her armchair Rhys hastily shoves her hand into her pants to rub her need. She barely manages to get her hand into underwear in her rush. She was soaking through the cotton. She was wet, so very wet. She vaguely recalls hearing Jaq groan above her.

“Well, ain't that a pretty sight. You close cupcake?” Rhys nods, absentmindedly aware of the words coming out of her mouth. “You gonna come without even thanking me for all this?”

Rhys doesn't even pause her manic frotting when she lays her cheek on Jaqs bare leg. She rises to her knees, so she can slip a finger into her hot pussy.

“Y, yes, thank you. Thank you so, so much miss.” Jaq laughs.

“For what?”

“ Thank you, thank you for l-letting me eat you out, miss.” Jacqueline hums happily. Pleased.

She grabs Rhys by the short hairs on her neck to tear her off her knee. She knocks the younger woman to the floor, rises to tower over her. Before Rhys can react Jacqueline's hand comes to wrap around her throat. The sudden vice forces Rhys to stare into Jaqs predatory gaze. She looked even more feral than before. Running her tongue over her teeth and lips, she looks down on her like a hungry wolf.

“Come,” Rhys body jerks at the command. “Come for me, Rhys.” The fingers around her throat tighten ever so slightly.

The sudden cut off from air has Rhys’ eyes rolling into the back of her head and her body rippling with new sickening pleasure. Her body tightens up violently. Her hands stutter and shake as they try to keep up with the high that hits her like an off railed roller coaster.

When her body finally stops convulsing Jacqueline drops her like a sack of bricks. While she lay there, capturing her stolen breaths, the other straightens up and goes back to redressing. She does it slowly, contemplatively. Maybe it's because of the post-orgasmic hue, or the high from lack of air, or even because the dream-like state of it all, but Rhys found herself taking in the mundane movements with newfound reverence. The smooth calculated way she buttoned the silk shirt back up without fail. The modeled pose of her body as she leans down to retrieve her pants and underwear. The almost sinful way she pulls them back up smooth tan legs. It makes her want to undress all over again.

Jacqueline smiles when she turns back towards the puddle of woman that was Rhys. She sighs and straddles the destroyed woman. The expression almost looks like one of sympathy.

“Hey princess, you still there?” Rhys nods,” You should fix yourself up. Wouldn't want your friend to see you looking like a two-bit whore.”

She tries to smooth down the mess she had made of Rhys’s hair, to no avail. Rhys experiences the intimate touch through a fog, but she holds unto to it as much as she can before it's gone. Jaq frowns when the hair doesn't quite cooperate with her. It wasn't perfect but at least she didn't look like someone was trying to tear her hair out anymore. She grimaces again and wipes Rhys’s mouth and chin with her sleeve. A sleeve to a shirt that probably costs more than Rhys’s entire outfit. It was a very motherly touch, Rhys thinks warmly.

“God, you look like a dog. Do you always slobber so much?” Jacqueline stands back up and gestures Rhys to finish fixing herself up.

“N, no. I don't think so.” Rhys mumbles, finally coming back to reality.

“Like, for real. Do you give blowjobs like that? Or do you skip the middleman and spit on the guys' dick. Jee-”

While Jacqueline continues spouting some convoluted and insulting monologue Rhys carefully stands. She was still out of it. She felt like a newborn deer finding their footing. This had all happened and ended so quickly it feels as though it almost never happened at all. Why had it happened? Was something Jaq did often? Rhys feels as if she would know, given the tabloid’s involvement in the entertainers' life. Why Rhys of all people?

Rhys regards her mutely in the dim light coming through the windows. Her berating voice a smooth white noise.

She was beautiful.

Rhys had always thought so, long before any fragments of a crush began to form. She was an ideal. Even while she portrays herself as crude and unforgiving, an icy queen to be trifled with. Even now while she picks on the person she just accosted for sex.

But

She was never supposed to be attainable though. Nothing more than a perfected idol. Never more than a dream.

Rhys' heart twists uncomfortably in her chest.

“Ms. Lawrence?” Jaq turns, a cigarette loosely hanging from her lips, brows arched. “What…” Rhys fidgety plays with her sleeve. “What was this?”

Jacqueline's frowns and turns solemn. Quietly she lights it and takes a long thoughtful drag. She lets the silence grow and fester as she billows out smoke around her. With a cigarette between long fingers, she approaches Rhys. She gives Rhys an authentic smile and leans up to kiss the brunette softly. It felt out of character for the other. There was no heated fervor, no urgency. It was so delicate. Gentle. A kiss you give to a leaving lover.

It causes the uncomfortable feeling in Rhys’ chest to double. It makes her chest feel hot and sickeningly heavy.

“It can be what you need it to be.” Jacqueline delicately holds Rhys face in her hands. “A fling, a dumb wet dream, an anonymous letter to penthouse forums, whatever. But, above all, Rhys, it needs to be our secret.”

“Our secret?”

“Just for you.” A door shuts upstairs and both women startle. Jaq turns dead stoic and holds Rhys’ chin firmly.

“If she finds out, or if you hurt her, I’ll slit your goddamn throat, capiche?” Jaq winks playfully.

Footsteps approach down the stairs. Jacqueline moves to distance herself from Rhys, who hurriedly goes back to her spot.

“Mom! What did I say about smoking inside! You know how much it agitates Tammy’s asthma.” Angel chirps as she emerges back into the living room. Jaq rolls her eyes at the name.

“It's my own house,” Jaq mumbles. “But I guess I’ll go outside. Wouldn't want to upset Tamithas delicate lungs.” Jaq waves and leaves once again.

Angel shakes her head and plops down next to Rhys.

“She didn't bother you, did she? I told you she can be well, from what I’ve been told, a bitch.” Angel whispers and giggles.

Rhys still dumbfounded by what had taken place in the last hour and a half, shook her head no. Jacqueline's parting words between the two of them still echoed in her head.

A secret. Just for Rhys.

“Uh, no, she was giving me some insight into some code I was working on.”

“Oh yeah? That's great. She's usually not so nice to guests. It's good to see she hasn't run you off.” Angel laughs.

A secret.

yeehaw