#THIS WAS ALL TO HIDE THE LINE I WROTE- 'do not let fear consume you my love.'

[geometricalien]

talking and thinking about the themes of my wip <<<< weaving said themes into my wip

[thekisforkeats]

Ooh jm + shy kiss for the prompts?

Ohhh good one! I had to think about this a little and actually wrote up a bunch that didn't quite work at first. But! Here it is!

Set somewhere in the first few minutes of 160, in those weeks between arriving at the safehouse and Hazel Rutter. Featuring autistic Martin trying to navigate social situations because that is evidently what I write now.

(Incidentally the term "weak ties" was coined by a Stanford researcher in 1973. Link to the relevant paper. Credit where due, and all.)

(No beta no edits we die like archive assistants.)

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It takes Martin a week to convince Jon to come down into the village with him.

If he's being honest with himself--and he's trying very hard to be honest with himself these days, so he can identify any Lonely-type thoughts--he really just wants to show off his boyfriend to the nice lady at the little shop in the village where he's been picking up essentials.

Martin is a naturally friendly person, or maybe a naturally personable person. This was not always the case; he had to practice a great deal to memorize all the scripts to smooth social interactions that other people seem to navigate without thinking about it at all. It can be horribly exhausting, just going to the shops. It's one of the reasons the Lonely appealed to him; how much easier to just move through life without having to recite all those canned lines?

Now that he's out of its grip, he's come to realize how much those interactions matter. He's been reading a lot on the internet about depression and social interaction, about social circles, and one thing that caught his eye is the idea of "weak ties," those people we're not exactly friends with, but who we see on a regular basis and who help us feel connected to a larger community. People who don't really know us and yet know something about us that helps us feel seen. The bus driver who gives you a familiar nod every morning. the barista who's prepping your order as soon as he notices you in line, the shop lady who tries to keep your favorite tea in stock.

So Martin is trying to cultivate those relationships, to feel part of a wider community, rather than just relying on Jon. He thinks that maybe if he'd had more of that, before, if he'd tried harder to go through the world being seen, he might have handled Jon's coma and his mother's death in some kind of healthier manner.

Maybe not, of course, but he's going to use any tool he can to keep the Lonely at bay.

At any rate, even beyond being very good at social scripts, Martin does genuinely like people, he's a good listener, for an autistic guy he's practically a social butterfly. And Elspeth is a nice lady, maybe mid-40's, the kind of person who runs a shop because she actually likes interacting with a stream of customers on a regular basis. So she's just the sort of person for Martin to practice his "weak tie" skills.

Because, naturally, one of the key benefits of "weak ties" is that they are the sort of people you get to be public about your relationship with when none of your closer friends are around.

Yeah, no, all of the above is just flimsy justification, if Martin's being really honest with himself. He's just madly in love and wants literally everyone within a 500-mile radius to know.

That morning, Martin makes a big show of how badly he wants to spend time with Jon, no really, but he really does have to go down into the village.

"We're out of tea!"

"I don't think we have anything for dinner!"

"But I really want to keep listening to you talk about Scottish history!"

And so on.

Jon gives him a tolerantly amused look, and Martin flushes. Is he that transparent, or is Jon just that good at reading him?

"I suppose I can go into the village with you, Martin," he says, eyes glittering. "Since you're so terribly interested in the House of Stuart. I'd hate to leave you wondering what happened to James II."

Martin would feel guilty, but he can tell Jon is pleased to be "indulging" him, and it's not like Martin hasn't been listening to Jon infodump about whatever random facts Beholding's been given him all week.

They hold hands all the way down into the village, and it's nice, to walk through the place and be seen, together. It's comfortable. They'd held hands on walks before, long ago in London, before the Unknowing, but back then they hadn't been sure what they were, hadn't managed to broach the delicate barrier between "friends" and "something else." Now, they're "boyfriends," and Martin keeps finding himself wanting to go up to each person he sees on the street and shout, "This is my boyfriend, Jonathan Sims!!"

By the time they reach Elspeth's shop, he's feeling a little giddy.

He pushes open the door and the little bell rings, and Elspeth looks up from behind the counter and smiles. "Martin!" she says, and Martin's whole body warms in a very pleasant manner, that this woman he's only known a week remembers him. "Oh, and this must be the elusive Jon." She gives them one of those teasing smiles people give to new couples, glittering eyes and amusement at the silly things people do when they're in limerence.

"Yes," Martin says, and suddenly the words stick in his throat. "Yes, this is... is... umm..." Oh, why has he suddenly frozen like a deer in headlights? Why can't he remember the right words?

"Jonathan Sims," Jon says smoothly, stepping forward to offer the woman his hand. "And yes, I'm Martin's boyfriend."

It occurs to Martin, all at once, that neither of them have said that out loud to anyone else. No wonder he's frozen up.

Elspeth glances at the burn scars on Jon's hand only briefly, then smiles--and it's a genuine smile, not one of those pitying ones people sometimes put on when they see scars like that--and shakes said hand. "Pleased to meet you," she replies. "Elspeth Douglas." She has the Highland accent, but softened; she spent her 20's and 30's in London, she's said, and came back to take over the family store when her father fell ill. The similarity might be part of why Martin likes her--that and the fact that it seems that helping her sickened parent improved her life.

"Ahh, yes. The not-so-elusive Elspeth." Jon actually flashes a grin, which Martin finds remarkable. Since when is Jon... friendly? Well, maybe he's trying for Martin's sake. If so, Martin very much appreciates the effort.

The woman behind the counter laughs, and says, "How can I help you?"

"Oh," Martin manages, his brain catching up and letting his mouth work again, "we're just here for tea and things."

"Of course," Elspeth says. "I'll be here when you're ready."

They turn away, to go deeper into the aisles.

"She seems nice," Jon says almost absently. "Shame about her fa--" He pauses, and frowns. Shakes his head, looking irritated. "You didn't tell me about that," he grumbles.

"No, I didn't. But thank you for trying to keep it in," Martin says.

Jon sighs, lowering his voice. "It's becoming harder and harder to separate what I've learned on my own from what Beholding gives me. How much of my thoughts are mine anymore? Did I actually memorize all those facts about the House of Stuart, or am I getting the... mental Wikipedia page, as it were?"

"Seems like a thing you'd know," Martin comments offhandedly. He's focused on figuring out what kind of rice to buy. He wants to try his hand at sticky rice, which really should have calrose, but Jon likes jasmine rice. Do they get both?

He doesn't want to think about Beholding, and how much of it is Jon anymore. He prefers just thinking about it as something like a smartphone app Jon can use without having to actually have a phone in front of him. He does not want to think about how much of his boyfriend has been potentially consumed by some kind of eldritch thing that feeds on fear.

He really doesn't want to think about the idea that maybe soon, Jon won't even need rice anymore, and will just live off statements, no matter how much he jokes about his partner's "eating habits."

Jon has been talking as Martin's been staring at the rice, but Martin hasn't heard any of it. He's brought back to himself by a squeeze of Jon's hand in his.

"Hey," Jon says softly. "You okay?"

In Jon's voice, Martin hears all the concern that Martin himself has been feeling. He forces himself to look at Jon, and sees bright green eyes staring out of a deep brown face. He realizes he's gotten used to the color of Jon's eyes; before the coma, Jon's eyes were brown, like a deep carnelian, and so large and dark sometimes Martin thought he could fall right into them and be happy drowning there. Now they're green, bright and disarming, and Martin's pretty sure this is why Jon still wears glasses he no longer needs, to hide those strange eyes behind plastic lenses.

Those eyes are looking up at him intensely now, and Jon's brow is furrowed, and his mouth is pulled into a frown in a way that highlights one of the worm scars near his lip, and all of it is adorable, but it's also disconcerting for the contrast between the softness of his voice and the intensity of his expression.

Is Jon as afraid of losing Martin to Forsaken as Martin is of losing Jon to Beholding?

Martin frowns at him for a moment, then sighs. "I just..." He has to look away, back to the bags of rice. "I just... don't like thinking about that. Beholding, and... all of it. I just... I just wish..."

"You wish we could be normal." Jon's tone is still soft, and filled only with love and no sort of guilt or self-recrimination.

"Yeah," Martin says, still staring at the rice.

There's a hesitation, and then Jon says, softly and slowly, "You know... normal people deal with these sort of difficult things, too. There's so much out there that can hurt people... the things we deal with, they're weirder than most of the rest of it, but..."

"Yeah, I know, Jon, I just..." Martin hunches his shoulders. "Don't want to lose you again," he finally mumbles.

Jon hesitates a moment, and then he leans in to give Martin a soft kiss on the cheek.

Martin flushes bright red--Elspeth's right there!--and turns to stare at Jon. "W-what... what was... that for?!"

Jon, too, is blushing. "I just... ah... I just... wanted you to know that... that I'm... here. You haven't... lost me. Or anything."

"Oh," Martin says. "Well. Thank you."

There's a moment where they just look at each other, and then Jon blurts, "...Can I kiss you again? It's just, I haven't all morning, and I really sort of wanted to spend the morning cuddling, but you wanted to come down to the shops..."

"Here?!" Martin stares at him.

"We can go behind the shelves if you like," Jon says, blushing furiously.

For some reason, this makes Martin giggle, and then he leans down to brush his lips to Jon's. Softly, shyly, as if they haven't been kissing each other all week, because he really is terribly aware of the fact that there are other people around.

"Tell you what," Martin says as he pulls back, surprisingly breathless despite how short the contact of their lips was, "let's finish up the shopping and then we can cuddle all afternoon."

Jon smiles up at him. "Promise?" The smile widens. "You're not going to drag me around to introduce me to every villager individually?"

"I was not--!" Martin glares at him, but now Jon's smile has become one of those shit-eating grins he gets sometimes, and Martin can't stay mad at him at all.

"You knew," he accuses, but there's no heat in it.

"I had a hunch," Jon says, humming. "I didn't want to spoil your fun, though."

Martin rolls his eyes, and then reaches out to take Jon's hand again. "Well, then, we'd better get to it. Jasmine or calrose? Rice, I mean."

"Both, I think," Jon says. "I find myself very much desiring normality of late, and rice is a terribly normal sort of thing."

[moonlit-jeno]

evanescence (m.)

pairing: kim jungwoo x fem. reader

genre/warnings: ghost au, explicit sexual content, angst, fluff, mentions of death, some graphic violence/ gore, character death, brief mention of heights, i swear it’s not as bad as it sounds

word count: 7.8k

summary:

evanescence (n.): the quality of being fleeting or vanishing quickly; impermanence; i.e the evanescence of dreams

song to listen to: me & your ghost- blackbear, faded in my last song- nct, trampoline- SHAED, lonely heart- 5  seconds of summer, dreaming with a broken heart- john mayer

notes: evanescence i.e not the band who wrote my immortal <3 part of the almost collab!

The thing about fear is that it’s irrational.

Of course the doll in the corner of your room won’t suddenly come alive and kill you. Of course the spider on your ceiling is actually harmless. Of course nightmares won’t come true and haunt you in your daily life, won’t do more than bother you for a few minutes when you’re asleep. Knowing that doesn’t make it any less scary. Doesn’t stop the shivers from crawling up your spine, doesn’t ease your breathing when you curl into yourself in an attempt to hide.

Some people find comfort in crawling under their blankets, hiding themselves from the rest of the world as if the thick cloth will protect them. You don’t have that luxury. Because the thing you fear isn’t some axe murderer breaking into your house, or some mutant spider wrapping you up in a web. It’s not ghosts or ghouls or demons.

It’s sleep itself.

You used to love sleeping. Naps were considered a favorite hobby of yours, a way to escape from your obligations temporarily or lift your spirits during a bad day. But the line between like and dislike is thin, and the peaceful dreams you were accustomed to transformed into terrors that torture your nights and leave you shaking and sleep deprived when you wake.

Coffee becomes your best friend, the drink becoming a crutch that you use desperately to avoid reliving the nightmare that haunts you every time your eyes fall shut. It’s always the same scene: a basement, a young man being tortured by a masked figure. Punched, strangled, stabbed. It’s always in that order, with the exact same amount of punches and stabbings each time- six. It’s worse than any movie you’ve ever seen, worse than anything that you can imagine. And yet it doesn’t get any less horrifying as time goes on, as you relive the same thing over and over again.

The only thing that changes is the point of view. Sometimes you can see it from his perspective, begging for mercy from an expressionless figure whose ears fall deaf to the boy’s pleas. That’s the worst, you think, because you can feel everything. It leaves you frantically checking yourself for wounds and marks and bruises, the vividness of your dream leaving you shocked when you find your skin unmarred. Sometimes you watch from the corner of the room, able to see everything yet unable to help, your voice stuck in your throat when you attempt to cry for help. And sometimes, you’re the killer, repeatedly delivering blow after blow in a body you can’t control.

Tonight’s different. Instead of the boy strapped to the chair, it’s you.

You shake and cry out, trying desperately to free yourself of the restraints. They aren’t strong, and yet your limbs feel like jelly and you can’t break free of them. A shadow looms over you and you look up, expecting to see the killer, but you don’t. Instead, the boy stands over you.

His features are softer like this, not scrunched in pain or splattered with blood and bruises. He smiles gently at you.

“Hello,” He says, kneeling down in front of you. One hand lands on yours and the restraints fall away, your limbs now free. “I’m Jungwoo.” You just blink at him. “I’ve seen you in my dreams.” Jungwoo’s smile falters a bit, and he huffs a humorless laugh. “That… yeah. That’s less of a dream and more of a…” He trails off, shrugs. “Memory.”

It takes a moment for it to process fully. Memory? If that’s his memory, then that means that he had to go through all of that. “I’m- I’m so sorry. Who put you through that?” He shrugs. “Dunno. But I wouldn’t pity me too much.” There’s a tight lipped smile on his face. “I’m the one that’s made you go through it, too.”

You blink once, twice, and feel the sympathy in your bones turn to fury. “Why?” You ask, tears brimming at your eyes. “I didn’t do anything to you! And you still tortured me, every night. Do you know how terrified I was? I am?”

“I’m sorry.” Jungwoo says, eyes downcast. “I didn’t even know I was projecting onto you at first. I would just get so consumed with what happened that night, and I guess you would relive the scene with me.” He takes a slow step towards you and raises his head. “I never meant to hurt you, I’m sorry.” You nod, because what can you say? Jungwoo doesn’t seem to know either and he stands there, shifting from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at you. “So.” You start, head tilting to the side curiously. “How does this work?” “How does what work?” Jungwoo seems surprised, but whether it’s by your question or by the fact that you’re able to string a coherent sentence together is lost on you.

“I dunno. This. Like are you a ghost? Do you just like, live inside my head now.” “Yeah, I mean I’m dead so I must be a ghost. Haven’t had much time to talk to people and ask.” It’s not meant to be funny, but you can’t stop yourself from laughing. You clear your throat to cover it, trying to focus your energy on your next words. He doesn’t look too hurt at your amusement, though. His eyes are twinkling. 

“Hmm let’s test it. If you live in my head, you should be able to hear my thoughts right?” Jungwoo stares at you, bringing one hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he snaps his fingers. “Got it! You want pizza.” “Nope! I want you out of my head.” Your smile is sickeningly sweet. Jungwoo rolls his eyes, tongue sticking into his cheek briefly before laughing.

“Well, I want to be alive but here we are. Guess we’re at a standstill.”

Guilt fills you and you open your mouth to apologize, but Jungwoo disappears right before your eyes. You try to call out after him but it’s too late, the dream’s over. The annoying beep of your alarm replaces his soft laughter and you groan, fumbling with your phone to turn the sound off.

Classes pass quickly for once, although you’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t register any of the material. You’re done for the day before you know it, finding yourself at a cafe with Johnny. “You’re in a good mood.” He comments, looking at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “Did you get replaced by aliens?” You roll your eyes. “I can be in a good mood, Johnny.” It’s rarely true because you’re normally running off of approximately six minutes of sleep, but hey, it still counts. 

Johnny raises his eyebrows. “Y/n, you’re never in a good mood. Not even when your best friend is here.” 

“My best friend is here? Where?” Johnny gives you a deadpan expression and you laugh, popping a grape into your mouth. “Kidding, you know I love you. But guess what: I actually slept last night!” He gasps so obnoxiously loud that he inhales the chip he was holding and chokes around it, slamming his hand down on the table and hacking his lungs out. You put your head in your hands until he finally recovers. “You slept? You actually slept? Holy fuck, you did get replaced by aliens!”

“No aliens, John. No nightmares either.” Johnny, though he’s your best friend, doesn’t know the details of your dreams. He knows that they’re bad enough to make you cry and curl up in his arms from time to time, knows that you chug energy drinks to avoid sleeping, but that’s about it. No gruesome murders in sight for him.

“Holy shit, that’s great! We should celebrate.” Johnny reaches across the table to high five you, grinning from ear to ear. “Wanna come over and crack open a few cold ones?” He bites his lip and you know that it’s taking all of his effort not to finish that sentence. 

You appreciate it, but you shake your head. “I’ve got a lab report to finish plus like two papers due. I really don’t have time.” That’s only slightly true. Yes, you do have homework, but you normally wouldn’t let that stop you. The itch to see Jungwoo again, however crazy it may sound, is driving you crazy and for once in your life, you can’t wait to fall asleep. Seeing Johnny’s expression drop makes you feel a little bad for bailing on him with a ghost. “Maybe this weekend?” 

“Yeah, for sure.” Johnny grins again. “Hopefully you get to sleep tonight.”

The nightmares seem to go away permanently after that. Your dreams always take place in that one room, but Jungwoo’s always there to greet you. A month passes and you learn a lot about him, almost to the point where you see him as a friend. Almost. Because you can’t really be friends with someone who isn’t alive, right? But he feels real. His spirit is still alive, to the point where you forget he’s a ghost who you can only talk to in your dreams, and that’s what matters. Except tonight when you fall asleep, you open your eyes to sand and salt water, gentle waves calmly lapping at the shore. Strange. Jungwoo sits with his back facing you, knees drawn up to his chest. He doesn’t look up when you sit down next to him, but he does speak when you say his name softly.

“I think I figured out why I came back.” Jungwoo says, eyes concentrated on the water. “My brother’s in danger.” His head drops to rest on his knees and you pat his back, not knowing what to say.

You don’t learn what Jungwoo meant until the next night, the man so distraught that he isn’t able to form words before your time’s up. The scene is different again this time, a playground replacing the beach from the night before. Jungwoo sits on a red plastic swing, his feet dragging on the ground sadly.

“Hey Jungwoo.” You call out the greeting gently, taking a seat next to him. “Are you okay?” He nods, laughs a little. “Yeah, sorry for freaking out last night. It’s just. It’s a lot.” “Sounds like it is. You wanna talk about it?” You pat his knee comfortingly and he stares at your hand for a long moment before covering it with his own. 

He tells you about his brother first, about how much he misses Mark, about how bad he feels for leaving him on his own. Mark’s younger than him, but only by a year, and he was nowhere near as good as him at FIFA. He tells you that he doesn’t remember who killed him, but that as soon as he was transported to the beach, he knew his brother was in danger. There’s no explanation on how the beach told him that, but you have no place questioning the afterlife. You listen patiently throughout the whole story, and it seems to help Jungwoo, his shoulders sagging with relief when he’s done.

“So whoever killed me,” Jungwoo squeezes your hand, stares at the woodchips dragging around. “They’re going to kill my brother next.”

“So we find your killer. Easy.” You squeeze his hand back. “Mark’s going to be okay, Woo. I promise.”

~

Tonight’s dream takes place on a rooftop. There are lights strung up that lead you straight to Jungwoo, the man facing you with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. His arms are outstretched and you walk into them, sighing softly when he wraps you in his embrace. Lips press to your forehead and you swear you’ve reached heaven. “Dance with me.” He whispers it as if you have a choice to disagree with him when he looks this good. You nod and bury your face in his chest, swaying with him under the stars. There’s music playing now, music that you didn’t hear before, and he hums softly to it as you dance. A squeal leaves you when he spins you, dipping you down before pulling you close, your back to his chest. His lips graze your ear and he laughs before spinning you back around and pulling you into a kiss.

It feels so good and you find yourself getting lost in his touch. The warmth of him against you, the solidness of his chest under your palms. It’s so nice, so comforting, so… real. But it can’t be real. Because this is a dream, because Jungwoo is dead. The thought is enough to jolt you out of your haze and you try to pull back, need to pull back, but the hand on the back of your head holds you still and it feels so good that you almost don’t want to pull out of his embrace. “Jungwoo,” you mumble his name against his lips, not wanting to pull away from the kiss but needing to know the answer to your question. “Jungwoo, are you real?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jungwoo chuckles, pulling you back for more. “Don’t I feel real?”

A gasp leaves you when his hand slips lower to your ass, squeezing before slipping between your thighs. He finds little resistance, easily reaching under your dress and past the thin panties you’re wearing to swipe through your folds and enter you, stretching you out deliciously well. You cling to him as if he’s your life line and not the other way around, letting him take you apart with his fingers. His name leaves your lips in a sob and you press your face against his neck, clutch at his shoulders. “Please, Jungwoo, please.”

Both of his hands slide to your ass and he picks you up easily, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He carries you over to the ledge of the roof, setting you down on the cool stone. He barely gives you time to take in what’s happening before he’s dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes dark and so intense that you can’t look away from his gaze as he attaches his lips to your thighs. You slide one hand into his hair and he moans into your skin, the vibrations traveling through you as he kisses his way up your thighs and to your core. A sigh leaves you and you put your other hand behind you for balance, your heart dropping to your stomach when your fingertips wrap around the edge of the balcony. “Jungwoo!” You yelp immediately trying to stand up when you look behind you and see the darkness below you, decorated with lights from buildings so far down that they’re almost as tiny as the stars above you. “Jungwoo, I’m gonna fall. Ohmygod I’m gonna fall, Woo-”

“Shh,” Jungwoo hushes you, rubbing your thigh soothingly. He reaches for your hand and laces your fingers together, taking a moment to press his lips to the back of your hand. “Look at me, y/n. You’re not going to fall, okay? I’ll always be here to catch you if you do.” Something in his eyes looks so honest, so sincere, and you find yourself nodding slowly.

“Okay.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, too scared to raise it any louder and break the moment between you. “I trust you.” Jungwoo smiles up at you one more time before lowering himself down to your core. His free hand lifts the edge of your dress up and he takes his time rubbing slow circles into your clit, sighing out praises about how good you are when you shake from the unbearably intense sensation. His eyes stay on yours the whole time, even as he lowers his mouth to your pussy and eats you out like a man starved. It feels so good that you can barely process it, squirming against him and letting your eyes roll back. 

“Fuck, Jungwoo,” You whimper, feeling your orgasm build up in the pit of your stomach. “Shit, c’mere.” You use the hand buried in his hair to tug him up, pressing his lips to yours for a sloppy kiss that feels way too good for the moment. He rubs messy circles into your clit that have you clutching him tight to your chest, crying out his name so loud that you’re sure the entire city can hear you. “You like that?” Jungwoo asks, although his voice is so cocky that you’re almost entirely sure he knows the answer. “Fucking love it,” You pant out, orgasm so close you can taste. “Love you, ohmygod.” The end of your sentence cuts off with a whine as you come so hard you nearly black out, holding onto him so tightly you’re sure you would’ve broken at least one of his bones if this were real.

If this were real, if he were real. If this wasn’t a dream with a ghost. The realization washes over you like cold water and the dream disappears before you in a flash, leaving you trembling and empty in more ways than one. Your hand is tingling and when you look at it, you realize that Jungwoo didn’t let go the entire time.

You’re not in your bed when you wake up. It takes you a moment to realize it, the weight of your dream still heavy on your mind, but then you open your eyes and process your surroundings and realize that even though you’re awake, you’re back in your nightmares.

A scream leaves you and you jolt out of the chair, falling flat on your ass. You scramble backwards a good few feet before relaxing, realizing that your mind was just playing tricks on you. This is no nightmare place, it’s just your basement. Except…

That chair is definitely the chair from your nightmares- or well, Jungwoo’s murder. You’ve never seen it down here before, but then again, you never go into the basement. It’s been years since you’ve been down here, the room always giving you the creeps. And you’ve never sleepwalked- you can’t fathom why you’d be down here.

“Jungwoo?” You whisper, not even flinching at the gust of cold air as he materializes next to you. “Why am I down here?” “This is where I was murdered.” Jungwoo murmurs, his gaze distant, cloudy. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Here? Are you sure?” He nods strongly, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. You get to your feet and watch him pace around, tentatively poking at objects. A violent shudder runs through him when he touches the chair. “Jungwoo, this is my house.” He freezes. “This is your house? Then you must know who murdered me.” 

There’s a long second where you just stare at him, not knowing what to say. Thoughts abandon you and your mind goes blank, leaving you to shake your head and stutter out objections. “W- No, Jungwoo, I can’t-” A deep breath, a heavy exhale. “No one ever comes down here, and I can’t remember the last time I even had people here.”

“Well someone had to come down here!” Jungwoo presses, motioning at himself. “Y/n, I’m dead. You could help me find who killed me.”

You spend hours thinking through every person you know, mulling over all of your friends and anyone else who has ever been to your house. Parents are ruled out immediately- they live across the country, first off, and your mom nearly cries whenever she so much as swats a fly. Jungwoo tries to help, but he doesn’t know anyone the way that you do, and he’s a tad bit negative.

“Okay, but how do you know they’re not killers.” He asks, tone flat. “I mean, do you have hard evidence? Because somehow none of them are killers, and yet…” He smiles humorlessly and holds his arms out, doing a twirl for you. “I’m dead.” “I’m trying.” You say tiredly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s just hard. Literally no one ever comes over, and I can’t picture my friends as killers. Plus, no one has access to my house except for me.” You purse your lips, staring at your sad little notepaper list with dozens of names scratched out. “Is it possible this happened before I lived here?” Jungwoo shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” He doesn’t look convinced.

You purse your lips, groaning in defeat when your mind stays blank. “I’m sorry, Woo. We’ll figure it out eventually, I promise. I just can’t think right now.” “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for helping and not like, I don’t know, calling an exorcist.” Jungwoo presses himself to your side, poking your cheek when you laugh, and his presence is so comforting that it’s easy to forget that he’s not really there. You swat at him good naturedly, your laugh cutting off early when you realize that he’s disappeared. You call for him a few times, panic racing through your mind, until he manifests again a few feet away from you. 

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! Did that hurt you? I didn’t know that would happen!” You jump to your feet, reaching out to him on impulse before thinking better of it. 

Jungwoo laughs softly, but his form flickers. “It’s okay. I guess you can only touch me in dreams.” He smiles, but it’s with his mouth closed tight. The chair becomes visible through his form as he flickers again. 

The mention of touch jolts your memories and you scratch the back of your neck nervously. “Wait, Woo, I meant to ask.” He looks at you expectantly, humming for you to go on. “Last night, in the dream. Was that like, was that really you?” “Hm? Are you asking if it was real or not?” Jungwoo asks. You nod, unable to look away from his gaze. “It was me, y/n. I’m real.”

You nod, lips pursed as you think it over. Jungwoo smiles though it’s hollow, hard to see the usual light in him when he’s nearly translucent again. “I’ll see you tonight?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before vanishing, leaving you alone in the cold basement.

“Yeah.” You whisper softly, a dark cloud hanging over your head.

~

“What’s in the bag?” Johnny asks you, nodding towards your bookbag. It’s normally empty, save for a notebook or wallet, but today it’s stuffed full of newspaper clippings and binders. 

“Nothing.” You shrug. “Just some old articles.” 

Johnny thumbs through a stack of the papers before looking up at you, his forehead creased. “On murders?”

“Yeah. They’re interesting. Figured I should know the history of the town I live in, right?” You take a sip of your coffee, hoping you don’t look as insane as you feel. It’d taken you hours of searching to find those articles, digging through the library archives and reading murder after murder to find ones that seemed similar to Jungwoo’s case. They were unsettling, to say the least, and the fact that someone had taken a life under your own roof left you jittery. “I mean, I guess?” Johnny shakes his head and thumbs through a few more, hesitating at one of the clippings before shoving them back in your bag. “Kind of an appetite killer.” He says, pausing after a second and laughing. “Hah, get it? Killer…” The cold stare you give him has him sobering up quickly. He clears his throat. “Anyways. What else have you been up to? You’ve been kinda distant lately.” Have you been? Probably. “Sorry.” You shrug. “Caught up in my work, you know how it is.” Johnny wiggles his eyebrows. “Seeing a new man?” You shoot him a withering look. He throws his hands up innocently. “Woman? Person?”

The word ‘ghost’ is on the tip of your tongue, but that sounds insane even to you. You can’t be seeing someone whose body fades out of existence when you so much as blow air on him too strongly. “No, Johnny. I’d tell you if I was dating someone.” “Promise?” He asks. You hold your pinky out to him, interlocking the digits and offering him a smile. He grins back. “Good. You wanna come over tonight? Play some video games, order some pizza?” 

It sounds good, and you really don’t want to be alone at your house after discovering it was the site of a murder, but you don’t want to leave Jungwoo. He’s kind of counting on you for something big, plus you have all those articles to show him… 

At your hesitation, Johnny pouts. “Come on, I feel like I’ve barely seen you for like, a month. Please? It’ll be just like old times.” The promise of old times has your resolve fading, and you give into his whining. He cheers and knocks your coffees together, dramatically complaining when the liquid splashes onto his sleeve.

~

Taking a nap had seemed like a great idea when you had gotten home from lunch, but it’s the first time you’ve dreamt without Jungwoo in your dreams, and all of the nightmares were so genuinely disturbing that you wake up sobbing. Every room seems so foreboding that you can’t bring yourself to sit in the house any longer and you run out the door without any further thought. The rain soaks through your thin sleep clothes and you find that you have three missed calls from Johnny, but you don’t bother to call him back. You’ll be at his place soon enough, and the rain is starting to blue the screen too much for you to see. Or maybe it’s your tears, you can’t be sure, and you really don’t care.

You knock on Johnny’s door, stepping back and impatiently shifting from foot to foot before stepping forward and knocking again. Exhaling harshly, you raise your fist to knock again. The door opens.

A very disgruntled Johnny stands before you, one hand wiping at his face. His hair is disheveled and you have the conscious thought that he must have just woken up, but your brain is flying a million miles a second and you don’t have time to spend worrying about if you’ve interrupted his beauty sleep. “Y/n?” Johnny yawns out, opening the door wider. “You were supposed to come over like 3 hours ago.” His sentence goes unfinished as you push past him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the living room. With your hands on his shoulders, you push him down to sit on the couch. He looks less tired and more confused now, which makes sense considering he’s never seen you act like this- you’re not even sure that you’ve ever acted like this- but he keeps silent, trusting you enough to tell him what the fuck is going on. He patiently puts his hands on his knees, watching you pace around the area.

It takes you a while to formulate exactly what to say to him. How exactly do you tell your best friend that you’ve been helping a ghost solve his own murder without him attempting to send you to a psych ward? After a few moments of pacing, in which you accidentally leave a trail of muddy footprints on Johnny’s carpet, you pause.

“This is going to sound insane.” You start, facing Johnny. He nods encouragingly, motioning for you to go on. “I need you to believe me. Promise me that you’ll hear me out until the very end.” Johnny nods. “No, I need you to promise me.” Maybe it’s how frantic your voice sounds, or the fact that you’re soaking wet and still breathing heavily from your run, but Johnny promises without hesitation. His voice is soft and his eyes are wide and you thank God for giving you such a good best friend. You search his eyes with your own, and finding nothing but encouragement and trust, you begin.

“Okay, so. You know those nightmares I’ve been having?” A nod. “Okay, so apparently there’s a ghost living in my house that’s been like, projecting their memories onto me.” Johnny blinks, not even trying to hide the skeptical look on his face. “Before you say anything, I know it sounds crazy. But ghosts are real. Jungwoo- Jungwoo’s real.” Johnny inhales sharply. “His name is Jungwoo?” 

“Yeah. He was murdered 4 years ago in my basement. My basement, Johnny.” You take a deep breath, shuddering. “Whoever did it is still out there, and Jungwoo thinks that his brother might be in danger.” You shift anxiously from foot to foot, hands wringing together in front of you until Johnny takes them into his own, thumbs rubbing over the backs of your hands to calm you. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you help me find him? I just need to make sure that he’s okay, and I know it’s silly that I promised a ghost but-” “I’ll help.” There’s a reassuring smile on Johnny’s face when he interrupts you, and you breath out in relief. “It’s okay, y/n. I believe you.”

You launch yourself forward into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t deserve you.” Johnny laughs. “Yeah, you don’t.” He pulls back from the hug long enough to look you in the eyes. “For right now, let's go to bed, yeah? You really look like you need some rest.”

~

“Okay, so here’s his address. I mean, I think it’s his address.” Johnny looks over your shoulder at the satellite image of Mark’s house, nodding. “We can get there in about two hours.” Johnny hums, stepping away from the computer. “I can get us there faster than that, don’t worry. C’mon, let’s have some coffee and then we can go.” He makes sure you eat something that actually has nutritional value before you go, even going as far as to pack a bag before you hit the road. Johnny does his best to reassure you throughout the drive, but you’re a nervous mess. You compulsively take sips from the water bottle Johnny had forced you to take with and it’s empty in no time, leaving you to drum your fingers along your thighs and squirm with a full bladder.

The house looks so much bigger, so much more foreboding in person. Johnny gives you a reassuring look and after a deep breath, you knock on the door. It takes a few seconds before it creaks open to reveal a man around your age peering at you through black-rimmed glasses that sit crookedly on his face. “Hello?” “Hi, Mark?” he nods, looking you up and down. “Do you have a moment to talk? I just have a few questions, it w-” He’s already moving to close the door before the sentence is even out of your mouth. “Wait, Mark!” You manage to wedge your foot in the door before it closes and he groans, rolling his eyes.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood to buy anything, so if you could just please-” He tries again. “It’s about your brother!” You exclaim, finally succeeding in getting Mark to listen. He freezes and stares down at you dumbly. His eyes stay on you for a little too long before lifting to look behind you. 

“Johnny?” Mark asks, eyes widening. “Is that you?” You look over to find Johnny standing behind you, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah, it’s me. How you doin, kid?”

Mark lets you into the house after tackling Johnny into a hug, offering you tea and a seat on the couch. “I didn’t know you knew Jungwoo,” You whisper to Johnny, watching Mark grab cups from the kitchen. 

Johnny shrugs. “Never had a reason to bring him up.” He definitely could’ve brought him up earlier, like when you mentioned you were seeing his ghost, but you brush it off as nothing. Maybe he didn’t want to upset you.

Mark returns, offering you each a cup of tea before taking a seat on the couch opposite you. “Wow, it’s been so long.” Mark laughs, clutching his tea for dear life. “It’s so good to see friends of Jungwoo’s again. It’s like, it’s not the same as seeing him but. It’s nice.”

“Good to see you too, Mark.” Johnny smiles. “I looked all over for you after Jungwoo’s death, but I couldn’t find you. When did you move?” Mark sniffs. “Um, I think like a month after it happened. They arrested the guy that killed him and I dipped. It was too painful to see all those little reminders of him everywhere.” Mark sniffs again, and wipes harshly at his eye. It makes you tear up a little too, thinking about how fondly Jungwoo talked about his brother, how unfair it is that they got ripped apart so soon. One phrase sticks out to you and you manage to reel yourself back in before you start crying too hard.

“Wait, they caught the guy? Do you know who killed him?” You side eye Johnny because he must have known that the killer was caught already, and it doesn’t make sense that he didn’t tell you considering that was the sole reason for this trip. 

“Um, well. Jungwoo uh, he had a sort of accident.” His hands are shaking, you notice. Some tea spills onto his leg. “He used to go out to all these parties and he swore he’d be safe but I guess he slipped up this one time.” Mark takes a deep breath and his voice cracks. “He was driving home from a party and he probably thought he was fine but he was way too drunk and he hit a pedestrian. He drove away but her boyfriend saw the whole thing and followed him.” Mark drops his head down and sobs a little.

Johnny moves to comfort him and Mark calms down after a few moments, skillfully changing the topic away from his dead brother. All the water that you drank in the car finally catches up to you and you excuse yourself for a second. Mark’s laughter rings clearly from the living room and you can’t help but to laugh too, smiling at Johnny’s ability to make everyone happy. You fix your hair in the mirror, a little spring in your step at the thought of being able to fulfill your promise to Jungwoo. 

You wish he was with you right now as you walk down the hallway back to the living room. There are so many pictures on the walls, Mark’s accomplishments framed proudly. It sends an ache through your heart that you’re here to see all of this by yourself. It’s only then, when you’re picturing Jungwoo exploring the house with you, that you realize how quiet it’s gotten. 

Frowning, you call out Johnny’s name. You get no response and call out again, finally catching movement out of the corner of your eye. “Johnny, why’d you sneak up on me?” A laugh leaves you when you turn to fully face him, cutting off only at the flash of color that slowly fades to black.

~

Your head is throbbing when you come to, vision taking a few seconds to clear up. A groan leaves you and you shake your head softly, coming face to face with Mark. A Mark whose mouth is covered with duct tape. You freeze, eyes widening, then look down to find that the rest of him is bound, too. “What-” 

Panic surges through you when you realize that your hands and ankles are bound too, and you jerk your head to the side, frantically searching to make sure that Johnny’s okay. You don’t find him. It’s only you and Mark in the room. “Johnny? Hey, whoever the fuck has us down here better leave Johnny the fuck alone!” You might currently be tied up, but the fact that your best friend is missing and potentially hurt overtakes any concern you may have for yourself. Mark’s eyes widen and he shakes his head frantically. You furrow your eyebrows and go to ask what he means, but you don’t get the chance.

“Oh, don’t worry. Johnny’s just fine.” The sentence comes from the man himself, standing right in front of the door. Relief fills you, turning to dread the second he closes the door and flips the lock. “You however…” “Johnny? What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he rolls his sleeves up to the elbow. 

He tips his head to the side, looking at you with confusion. “Isn’t it obvious?” The glint in his eyes matches the knife he picks up, the dim light catching on the shine of the blade. “For someone who apparently experienced Jungwoo’s death dozens of times, you should be able to figure it out.”

You blink once, twice, and then your eyes bug so far out of your head you worry they might fall out. A soft wheeze leaves you as your chest constricts, panic blooming in your gut. Johnny wheezes too, but his is a wheeze of laughter. He’s amused.

His eyes slide down to Mark, whose eyes are glimmering with fresh tears. “Did you know it was me Mark? Did you know it was me who killed your brother?” The boy shakes his head frantically, tears free-falling down his cheeks now. There’s some muffled cries that you think sound like no, but the tape traps them and makes him incomprehensible. “Really?” Johnny asks, stepping forward until he reaches Mark and then squatting down in front of him.

“Liar.” Johnny whispers, dragging the syllables out. The point of the knife presses into the boys throat, and while the noise Mark makes is barely audible, you can feel his suffering. There’s a tense moment as Johnny increases the pressure, Mark leaning backwards as far as he can to get away, before Johnny pulls it away. Mark exhales strongly, relaxing a little bit. He’s still crying. “It doesn’t matter, though.”

Tears would probably be rolling down your cheeks if you could process what was happening. But shock has taken ahold of you, and you can only watch helplessly as Johnny turns to glance back at you. “Thanks to y/n, now you’ll never get the chance to tell anyone.”

Johnny whips back around in record speed and slices the knife right through Mark’s throat. 

A scream leaves you and you fall forward, unable to do anything but watch in horror as the line in Mark’s neck wells with blood, the poor boy convulsing in horror. A wretched gurgling noise leaves him as he chokes and frantically gasps for air, made even worse by the duct tape over his mouth. Johnny sets the knife down delicately and uses that hand to pinch his fingers over Mark’s nose, effectively shutting off his air-flow. The fight drains out of Mark’s body along with his life, and it’s just a few more seconds before he stills completely. 

You can’t think of anything to say, can just gape at Mark’s body as Johnny lets go of him and the boy hits the floor. Johnny turns to you next, picking the knife back up. 

“It’s a shame you’re always so curious, y/n.” Johnny sighs, shaking his head. “You’re my best friend, I’m going to miss you.”

There’s the faintest breeze against your cheek bone, your hair blowing to tickle the back of your neck. You try your best not to shiver when it starts blowing against your wrists. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s not a draft from an open window, but it’s Jungwoo. He’s not visible, probably because he’s focusing his energy on freeing you. If Johnny notices anything wrong, he doesn’t say anything. Your wrists aren’t free yet, but you can feel the rope loosening. If you can buy yourself some more time…

“Why are you doing this? Why did you kill Jungwoo in the first place?” Your question obviously catches Johnny off guard and he stops walking, glancing off to the side and sighing softly. He seems to have an internal debate but then he shrugs, settling down on the floor across from you. It calms you a little to have him seated instead of looming over you, and you try your best to stay absolutely still.

When Johnny speaks, there’s a hint of regret in his voice. It’s hard to tell if it’s manufactured or not. “Jungwoo and I were best friends. We always had each others backs, always told each other everything. Ride or dies.” His eyes lower to his knife and he smears the blood around the blade with his thumb. “I was the one who hit the girl. I was drunk and it was stupid, but when I called Jungwoo to help me get rid of the body, he refused. He wanted to call the police, y/n. The police.” His eyes are brimming with tears now, and he looks up at you with an urgency that tells you to believe him. You don’t of course, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to convince you of his innocence, or himself. “My own best friend wanted to turn me in, y/n. I couldn’t let him do it.”

“How did you even get into my basement?” 

“You were at a training retreat in the mountains for that job you ended up hating that weekend. I knew that your house was empty and where the spare key was, plus I knew that no one ever went into your basement.” Johnny shrugs. “His body’s in the backyard, in case you were wondering. Buried him under the dahlias.” The red dahlias, your mothers favorite plant. How many times had she gone out to water and tend to the flowers, unknowing of the poor boy who lay beneath? Your breath catches in your throat and you finally can feel tears pricking the back of your eyelids. 

“You’re sick.” The sentence is barely above a whisper, but it carries enough weight with it. Johnny’s entire demeanor changes, his face twisting into an ugly scowl.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one that was going to betray my best friend by letting him rot in jail! How fucking dare you.” The ropes fall off of your wrists and you grab onto them to prevent them from hitting the ground and alerting Johnny. All that’s left is the rope on your ankle, and then you can make your move. “Yeah? Aren’t you betraying your best friend right now? Just like you did last time?” “I should’ve used the duct tape on you.” He murmurs, tightening his hold on the knife.

There’s enough give in the ropes that you can wiggle your ankles. You just need a few more seconds. “Why didn’t you?” “Ran out.” Johnny breathes, lunging at you. You squeak and roll to the side, groaning when your legs refuse to function. Sitting on them for so long made them feel like jelly and they tingle as the blood rushes back to your limbs. “What the- you little bitch.”

Johnny attacks again and you dodge yet again, doing nothing but rolling around and avoiding him. You definitely can’t beat him in a physical fight, but you can probably beat him in other ways.

Johnny’s breath catches in his throat. “J-Jungwoo?” He stops moving, obviously trying to process how someone who is clearly dead can stand in front of him. Unfortunately, his body doesn’t quite get the memo, and he trips over Mark’s form. A sickly thud resonates through the room as he falls, followed by a deafening silence. 

When Johnny doesn’t move for a few seconds, you step closer to examine him. The first thing you notice is that there’s a little stain under his chest that’s steadily getting bigger, contrasting starkly against the wooden floor. The second thing you notice is the acrid stench of blood, too strong for the small room you’re in. Third is the tip of the blade sticking out of his back. After checking his pulse and finding nothing, you roll him over. You find the hilt of his knife sticking out of his chest and your breath catches in your throat. He must’ve landed on it when he tripped. You slump against the wall and try to catch your breath, staring at Johnny’s limp body and waiting for him to lunge at you. 

He never does. You look up to say thank you to Jungwoo, but you don’t get a chance. He looks right at his brother’s limp body and disappears, leaving you alone in the room.

You sleep as much as you can, hoping that Jungwoo will pop up in your dreams again. You cry when you sleep and you cry when you wake, until you get to the point where your eyes burn and your face swells and you can’t physically cry anymore. You cry until you’re exhausted and yet you can’t sleep, can only frustratingly toss and turn and scream silently through your raw throat, praying to a god that you don’t believe in to let you see Jungwoo, just one more time. That’s all you need. Just one more time to say goodbye.

Promises are mumbled into your pillow and chanted in your mind but there’s only so much you can do to keep them. You swear to never forget Jungwoo but the words are meaningless and do nothing to stop his face from fading. Slowly, his features become less clear in your mind, his laugh blending with countless others until you can’t differentiate them. You get him a proper grave in a cemetery, and you go from visiting his grave every day to going every few days, until weeks pass before you remember you wanted to leave flowers for him. The flowers last even less than your promises, wilting and rotting on the stone, becoming a sadly unrecognizable mess. You do your best to clean it, and you cry so hard the first time you see the mess that you almost black out, but it’s now a sight that doesn’t even phase you.

Time doesn’t stop to wait for you. It’s not long before you finish grad school and get a job offer in a city 1500 miles away, much different from this one. Your sister drives down to help you pack, easily helping you throw things that you need into a suitcase and counteracting your hoarding tendencies. Something catches your eye just as you’re leaving and you pick it up, frowning at the little resin flower. 

“What’s that?” your sister asks, leaning in over your shoulder. “Is that a dahlia?”

“I don’t know.” you furrow your eyebrows, trying to place why it seems so familiar, before shrugging. It makes a hollow sound when you toss it into the trash that seems to echo much too loud for such a tiny object.

She heaves your suitcase into your arms. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

You don’t look back.

[couchpotatoaniki]

Idol!ATEEZ: Their s/o secretly writes fanfics pt.2

A/N: This was a request from someone who wanted to read their reactions to dirty fanfics *wiggles brows* but cba coming up with more backstories, so this’ll be a continuation of the first reaction

Tag list: @lovelyrose014-blog​ sorry this took so long :((

WARNINGS: swearing, mature content, heavily suggestive

Part One

Kim Hongjoong:

Hongjoong made no effort to hide that he read your stories. It was as he promised; the first time he read them was not the last.

He’d been filling up his rare breaks with your works, powerful words contrasting your timid nature and no matter how many times he indulged himself in your crazy mind, Hongjoong never ceased to be amazed.

You had more sides to you than he ever could imagined.

Although, there was one thing he put off for quite some time now, and that would be reading your more popular fanfics. The fan favourites. After all, being the leader, he should know what his fans like, and as your boyfriend he should know what you crave.

Hongjoong was a smart guy despite the goofy act he put on--very similar to your intelligence and geeky-yet-quiet nature. He knew that you wanted to keep him away from the dark side of your account, not wanting to scare him away (which he would never let happen). Hence why he hadn’t gone on it since he wanted to respect your wishes to some extent.

Until now.

Hongjoong swears it was curiosity, nothing more, but deep down he knew. He still needed to see that side of you, the side you deem acceptable for a whole world of strangers to see but not him.

Drove him mad.

But he was still in denial as he chanted in his head that this was only for research purposes. Bullshit.

Late at night, when pretty much everyone had gone home and he still had some work left to do, Hongjoong decided to take a well-deserved break, lying on his sofa as he scrolled through his phone.

He was doing what he had planned--he was finally doing it and nothing made the adrenaline rush faster through his veins. He clicked on the one which had the most reads, the one that was the most popular among anything you wrote, and from the title, it appeared innocent enough.

Maybe this wasn’t the one...

Then again, you were adamant that he never read it.

“Never hurt to try...” Hongjoong mumbled, despite being the only one in the sound-proof room. He clicked on it, anticipation making him restless.

Long chapter, as usual, and everything started out fine enough. No sign of anything, nothing suggestive at all.

What was the big deal about?

The next few chapters were of a similar feel. Sweet, gentle, fluffy. But he couldn’t put his phone down, something about this story had him...unsettled. It was nothing like your usually ones--with sadistic characters and an intricate plotline.

No. This had him slightly confused. It felt too kind.

Then he carried on. And then he realised.

That was exactly your intention.

The filter you had put over the first few chapters was slowly startling to peel away, into something more twisted.

Hongjoong buzzed off this, knowing exactly that the earlier chapters were a trap, a false sense of security. How you managed to poison every reader slowly, like your words were mercury.

By the time he got to the first smut chapter in the series, he was already consumed, work forgotten . Every word felt like it sucked out a part of his soul, and the heavy themes in the scenes had him in an uncomfortable situation of rather tight jeans.

Right now, all Hongjoong wanted was you. He needed you. To do all those things you wrote, to be there with him and feel the things he was feeling.

Luckily, you were always awake at this time of night.

Just a phone call away.

Park Seonghwa:

Although he loved your shower time, there was one habit that Seonghwa didn’t like and that was you leaving your notebooks everywhere. It made his daily cleaning harder than it should’ve been.

Never did he look through them, caring too much about not invading your privacy (save for a few months ago where he accidently found out about your fanfic account on AO3). But today was a stressful day already.

All he wanted right now was to lie down with you and watch some cheesy romcoms, accompanied by some snacks. Hongjoong, ever the perfectionist, was under more stress than usual and that meant all the other members were too.

Seonghwa was the nurturing mother, and even he felt like he lacked the energy to be as such with the way things were going right now--a comeback just around the corner.

So, yes, the tall boy was quite peeved today. He needed his charger. He needed you. But you were taking your damn time in the shower and he had to pick up all your damn notebooks from the most random places.

What even was it about these notebooks that you had to buy--or try to buy--a new one every time you entered a shop? Seonghwa never understood your love for them as he had only linked the devilish little thing to his work, where Hongjoong would be composing or writing lyrics.

The last thing he needed right now was something to remind him of his job.

The stress continued to build as this argumentative thoughts accumulated in his head, causing him to drop the hardback in his hands. “Fuck’s sake,” he growled, too pissed off at the moment to notice that your book had oh-so-conveniently opened up.

When he did, however, his fiery anger cooled down at the page, which had a few words on it. Luckily for him, your handwriting was fairly neat (unlike your normal habits) so he could read your little notes.

Phrases, sentences, ideas, the plot line in general, that’s what he got from a first glance. Maybe he could have a peek, seeing as though he was exerting a lot of energy recently.

The words, the plot, everything on that page was something he did not expect. It was smut.

Surely his innocent sweetheart wouldn’t be writing those, right? He gave you the benefit of the doubt when he found out about your fanfics. But you were a sweet girl, and he had always thought you mind was as pure as your heart was.

Then again, no one���s heart is truly pure, and it wasn’t the first time you had been tainted by him.

His eyes scanned your words, finding that it was somewhat vanilla and gentle.

A sigh escaped past his lips when he found that you were still his soft-hearted princess.

Then he noticed it was an old entry. Flicked through the pages and saw that the smut scenes progressively got more frequent and dabbled a little more in the dark side of things. 

His heart plummeted. Not just because your innocence was slowly peeling away, but because he too found himself getting a little interested by it. Especially one of the last entries of that notebook, where he found himself blushing hard enough to turn his normal skin to resemble that of rubies.

Yet, he couldn’t stop.

That was until he heard your voice yelling, "Seonghwa!"

Eyes like those caught in headlights, his large hands shut the book with lightning speed. But you had already caught him snooping.

"What are you doing with my notebooks?" You cheeks a dusty rouge from both the hot water and embarrassment, you snatched away the book from his hands.

"N-Nothing! It fell and opened up and I just..." He sighed, afraid that he'd already broken your trust. "I'm really sorry..."

Exhaling softly when you saw Seonghwa looking like some sort of scolded puppy, you reached on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair. Calms him down a little.

“What,” you cleared your throat to rid your voice of fear, “what did you read?”

Now how was he going to play this? Was he going to lie and say it was only one page, or would he say that he had a peruse through the whole thing? As you had caught him already, it would not be a bad idea to tell the truth. “Um...bits and bobs. Just skipped through, really. I’m sorry.”

Smiling softly, albeit a little awkwardly, you patted his shoulder comfortingly. “It’s fine, I just... didn’t... expect you to... find out this way.”

He chuckled nervously. “Well, I’ve know for about two weeks now, about your... writing.”

“What?!”

Jeong Yunho:

One problem that you have, is that now Yunho knew you wrote fanfics, you became sloppy with hiding it. Not like there was a real need to because--as mentioned--he knew about it. How you loved to write thrillers and suspense and all there strange wacky things you’d find on a documentary about dangerous people.

Though that didn’t mean you never wrote other things as well.

Your works were obviously for a certain age and above (not like the warnings you put matter because the underage ones read it anyway), so writing the occasional smut was normal for you.

In fact, you were comfortable with it. Your personal experience with Yunho, combined with the ones you read online, all fuelled your creativity. Unfortunately, now that you became more open, Yunho had more opportunities to read what you wrote.

Not like it mattered much, you thought, because the words in your google docs were pretty much ineligible from the phrases only you could decode.

Sadly, when it came to smuts (what you wanted in them and what you didn’t), there wasn’t really a way to hide what you were talking about.

So when your tall and rather innocent boyfriend took a sneak peak at your latest entry, he was smacked in the face with the bullet points on there:

Fake dating AU

Cunnilingus

Blindfolds

Size kink

Hand kink

Sir kink

Power play

Complacent sub

(Because for some goddamn reason, every Yunho smut I’ve seen had either a hand kink or size kink...not that I’m complaining tho--)

Was this the stuff you were into? Because he certainly never never knew it. Your sex life with him had been somewhat vanilla due to the fact it only recently started and both of you were still a little too shy to branch out and dabble in other things yet.

His only thoughts until he next saw you were about this. If you were channelling your frustrations into your writing, then he could help you, right? After all, he wasn’t against trying this stuff out. It was a learning experience he was willing to go through. For you.

So when you came back from work, he sat you down on the bed, very nervous with his large hands engulfing your own. Concern would be a drastic understatement.

“Y/N?” You hummed in reply, now thoroughly scared. “I just wanted to let you know... that I’m not afraid of...expanding our experiences and neither should you be.”

Your heart dropped into the abyss of your stomach. “Y-Yunho, are you breaking up with me?”

“Wait, what?” The confusion of this situation seemed rather familiar. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just...” he bit his lip, still quite shy. He really didn’t know how to say this outright.

So he showed you instead.

As your eyes fell on the document of your plan for the next smut scene you had to write, your face dropped. Horror was evident in every part of your expression and he could see that.

“Yunho, I--”

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with you wanting to try some of this,” he said, before bashfully looking out the same window you had when you had been discovered. “Besides... I wouldn’t object.”

Now that the both of your faces were redder than roses, the air had become slightly more...still and heavy.

“Listen, Yunho, just so you know, I don’t often write my own preferences. But I suppose trying new things is a bad idea...”

Kang Yeosang:

Almost a year had passed since your boyfriend had found out about your writing (through your clumsy cousin, no less) and you were careful as to what you showed him.

He often helped you through tough times like writer’s block, and understood your strange little habits. Even threw you an idea once in while whenever you were struggling to think of something or even took you out--restaurants, landmarks, whatever would help.

Yeosang was looking after you.

But now? Now, he pampered you.

That had you lowering your guard. He was being so kind, so why not let him read more?

Here’s ‘why not’:

Because he kept pushing his limits. Yeosang and you never had done anything, despite the fact that both of you were living together--by your request, since you had been in quite a few bad relationships where sex was a major factor. So, for the past two years, Yeosang had been alone in his endeavours.

All his intention was to find out what you were into. That was it, he swears. Thought it might at least curb the growing need to have you begging under him--or above him--just have a small glimpse as to what was in store. Maybe even have them as company when he really needed you.

Mission Impossible, is what this felt like, buttering you up, making you feel safe and comfortable (this came naturally since he always wanted you to feel this way with him, horny or not). You were like a fortress, always giving him more but not the stuff that he needed.

So he tried the same tactic he used to get you confess.

Truth or Dare (alone, obviously).

“Seriously? Last time we did it like this, you found out my rather embarrassing secret.”

“Just answer,” he pushed, watching you carefully as you climbed into bed next to him.

“Okay... truth,” you mumbled as you buried your body between his arm and chest.

“How about ‘dare’ this time?”

Your lips released a tired chuckled. “That’s not how this works, Yeosang...” But after a long few minutes of silence, you caved into his request. “Okay, fine. Dare,” you grumbled after saying something along the lines of, “if you wanted me to do something, then just ask.”

His lips brushed against the lobe of your ear, sending electric shocks down your spine. “I dare you to send me one of your smut fics.”

‘Surprised’ wasn’t really the word you would use to describe the immense shock that hit you like a train. “No.”

“Can’t go back on a dare.”

“But that’s even more embarrassing than having you read my normal fanfics...”

“No, it isn’t. Not to me, at least.”

“Yeosang,” you whined but as it became more and more clear that he would not give up as time passed on, you caved once more. Hesitant, you pulled out your phone to scroll through your works. What was the best one to send to him, you had no idea. “Can I at least ask why?”

“Because I want to get to know you more. All of you...” That one sentence had you more excited than you’d be willing to admit.

After all, it wasn’t just Yeosang who felt alone at nights (and sometimes days) for the past two years. Arguably, it was harder for you since you used to be very...active. Hence why you had such a selection to choose from right now--it was your outlet.

Perhaps it would be best to let him see the one that had you more bothered than anything after writing it--since he wanted to get to know that side of you as well.

Finally making a decision, you handed over your phone with bated breath. What would he think? Would he be weirded out? Would he not be into any of it?

For the boy, however, it was a completely different story; he was too into it. The more he read on, the worse his boner got until he looked physically uncomfortable.

Immediately seeing the discomfort on his face, it was as if your worries became reality. Hand reached out to snatch the phone from his hand but his reflexes were much quicker than yours, pulling the slab away as he kept on reading.

By the time he finished, his breathing was heavy and ragged.

This, sadly, had only made his situation worse. Only purpose this served was to make him crave you even more. Certainly didn’t help to have you leaning over him, soft, bra-less chest beneath thin, stretchy cotton of your shirt against his bare arm, trying to see if he was alright. Definitely had you concerned seeing his pained self.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” he humourlessly chuckled, “didn’t know it would affect me as much as it had...”

For some reason, you leaned further down and kissed him. Whether it was because of seeing his hooded eyes or feeling the tension in his muscles as he restrained himself against your body, you didn’t care. Relief was the first thing you felt, knowing that he was just as frustrated as you when you wrote it.

No, he was worse. You could tell by the feverish movement of his mouth against yours. You could tell by the harsh grip he had on your waist. You could tell by the stiffness poking your thigh.

Yeosang pulled away with as much willpower as he could muster, while your lips chased after his. “N-No, we can’t, remember?”

Huffing, you were thoroughly pissed off at the promise you made two years ago with him when you first started out dating. “Yeosang, look at me.”

His gaze was even more reluctant, knowing very well that it would be much more difficult to have the eyes he loved so much staring back at him with as much lust as he had clouding them. But he listened.

“That promise was there so I could get to know you and see if I want to commit to this relationship, long-term, and we’ve had two years to think it--which is long enough for me.” Each hand cupped his cheeks, pulling him closer for a peck since you couldn’t handle being that touch starved anymore. “So, screw me.”

Yeosang didn’t need to be told twice.

Choi San:

It had been a little over a month and San had still not dropped his admiration. Didn’t look as if that was going to change anytime soon either, especially with one of your recent updates.

Your current story had a lot of pent up sexual tension and all your readers (your boyfriend being no exception) were at the point of begging in the notes of each update.

Finally, you decided to take mercy on all the poor folks and finally write that one scene which had them crying with gratefulness at the end.

As it was a long-awaited scene, it had to live up to high expectations. While you could do the most tooth-rotting fluff ever, that wasn’t your style. This scene needed to fit the vibe of your series so the whole bit flowed nicely.

The problem was, everything you wrote was ‘too much’. Too much fluff. Too much kink. Too much basicness. Too much weirdness. Too much awkwardness. Too much cringiness.

Unfortunately, this put you in a bit of a pickle and you were close to losing your damn mind. On the other hand, San--the caring lover he was--had noticed. Wanted to do something nice for you, not just because he could clearly tell it was a bad case of writer’s block and he wanted to you to write more things he could read, but because it hurt him a little inside to see you this frustrated.

Requested a day of, which he got considering how hard he had been working, an spent that day as your personal servant. First up was breakfast in bed--fried egg (sunny side up), beans, buttered toast, hash browns and a tall glass of cold, hand-squeezed orange juice. Not to mention a shirtless San in plaid cotton pants, the only coverage his torso receiving was the pink apron he had on.

Kissed you on the forehead and told you to take your time, then get ready or a day out while he made lunch.

The next two meals went by in a similar fashion, where he had put so much love and care for everything to be perfect for you. Your favourite sandwich and a fruit salad, water and a chocolate chip cookie before a walk in the park where you both fed the ducks in one of the nearby lakes.

Later was dinner--arguably the best one out of them all. Steak with roast potatoes, and steamed vegetables (much to San’s dislike, but he withstood it for you). The day’s activity had you more than tired, cheeks aching slightly from smiling too much. Then again, you didn’t even notice because all you could think about was how lucky you were to land yourself such an amazing boyfriend.

Even after dinner, he continued to treat you like the royalty you were in his eyes. Offered a nice massage to relieve the past week’s tension all pent up in your poor muscles. It was innocent enough...

Until it wasn’t any more.

Despite the cloths thrown about everywhere on the bed, neither of you had motioned to clean up and San had instead opted to run you a bubble bath. Scented candles and all. It was more relaxing than you had imagined it to be, and by the time your face rested on San’s now-clothed torso--both of you wrapped snuggly up--you fell asleep.

The man loved the sight, and for once, he actually enjoyed running after you, making sure your every need was fulfilled whether you expressed it or not.

Because throughout the day, you were the happiest he had seen in a while, and all his efforts let up to this sight: you cuddled up close with that beautiful, enchanting smile faintly on your plush lips that he had so gently attacked not two hours ago.

He found himself loving you even more; a pleasant surprise as he had thought his cup was close to overflowing.

Two days later, he found himself falling even deeper when you had finally posted your latest chapter. San found himself grinning by the end of it--a little turned on, but more happy than anything.

Because San’s magic had worked. Cured your painful writer’s block since the words simply flowed as you typed the scene that had been causing you hell.

And whole chapter was awfully similar to that special day when San decided to take care of you.

Just tweaked a little so it would be more smut than it was fluff, adding just the right amount of sweetness that allowed your story to continue to flow perfectly.

Which was why San had been more joyous than usual the past week.

You were a perceptive person so you caught the change in his usual demeanour rather quickly. The source of it, however, was beyond you (he was good at hiding his knowledge of your secret). Any reason you tried to pin down on him was a little off.

Stress? No, he was too happy for that. Upcoming event? None that you knew of, and he shared everything of importance with you. Feeling happy just because? San was the more emotional out of the two of you and none of his moods lasted this long.

So what was it?

It was frustrating to say the least, but your boyfriend wasn’t letting it out. And you don’t think he ever will.

“Oh well,” you mumble, “can’t be that bad if he’s so happy...”

Song Mingi:

The boys had made a pact when they began to read your stories: no reading smuts with the group. This was fairly easy since they would normally be oneshots and you generally weren’t one to write them often into your series. On the odd occasion you did, you often put up a warning and explained straight after if there were any important bits.

All in all, very easy to avoid.

Mingi was a gigantic baby, and with babies, comes curiosity. A sense of need to know what’s happening. An insatiable thirst for knowledge and experience. Suppose what is trying to be said here is, is that Mingi wanted to read the explicit stuff you wrote.

What went on inside that wonderous brain of yours, he wanted to find out. But he couldn’t do that with the boys, nor did he want to. No chance in hell he was gonna be caught with an awkward boner.

Never would he live that one down.

So his plan commenced at night, when everyone in the dorms were fast asleep, he opened up his phone.

Now would normally come the dilemma of what to read, but Mingi is not that patient; as mentioned before, he is a giant baby. The first post he found that fit his criteria was the one that he read. Coincidently, that was result of your ‘experimental’ ones.

Using metallic things wasn’t something you had tried yet with Mingi, but you though you’d take it for a test run through your work to at least see it clearly how it would run if something like that was to happen. Sometimes, you found, it’s makes more sense to write it out rather to keep in your head.

On the other hand, Mingi didn’t really know that your writings stemmed from mild curiosity rather than what your really into (not that you would particularly mind trying some of it out). In his head, this was what you wanted to do.

He’d be lying if he said that the idea wasn’t much of a turn on, and the time he  spent trying not to make a sound loud enough to wake up the other members would prove that. To him, this is was your wish and he would gladly comply to it.

The next day, he decided to run along with the theme, but to also add in a few twists of his own. You often liked that, both in and out of the bedroom.

Went out to buy some new rings for you, larger ones decorated with pretty gems for his pretty baby (even though he was one himself). Handcuffs, too, were ordered online, and a silver-chain choker--he made sure to double check it was safe to use. Next up was a little metal ball--he got this idea from the pokey challenge and something called the ‘passion fruit kiss’ on snapchat. Either way, he was excited to try it.

Babies like Mingi, as mentioned, have little patience and so he wanted to try it out as soon as possible, so the moment everything came, he quickly sterilised everything and waited for you to come home.

Made sure each metal piece was cold to the touch by keeping it in the fridge, and had a rolled up black silk tie stuffed in his pocket to act as a makeshift blindfold.

Sensory deprivation was the ‘twist’ he wanted to put on, since you both had tried something similar before with ice cubes and that went quite well...until it became too cold for Mingi’s mouth and that plan had to be scrapped sooner--hence fridge, for a little bit of coldness.

When you finally arrived, he looked like an excited puppy, and you had no idea why. Until he spun you around and tied a soft cloth over your eyes. “Mingi, I’m really tired and I just--”

“Shhhhh,” Mingi lulled right next to your ear, warm breath fanning over the nape of your neck which felt more sensitive than usual, “trust me?”

Sigh escaping past your lips, because yes, of course you trusted him. And now that you felt slightly more awake from his action, maybe you were willing to hear him out. ”Baby, what are you doing?”

Chuckling that followed your question was deeper than normal. Had it always been like that or was it your mind playing tricks on you? Either way, he didn’t answer and all you had heard was the fridge opening.

“Seriously, baby, what are you doing?” Now you were just nervous, all intentions of a lazy evening down the drain as your heart sped up.

It closed, and shortly after your lips were met with his, a faint taste of strawberry attached to them. Then something smooth and cold slipped past from him to you.

The metal ball was passed between the two of you in a playful game of which only your boyfriend knew the rules of.

When he could tell your guard was down and now you became a little more comfortable, Mingi slowly took your hands behind your back.

You had not paid attention, but you should have. Cold, tight restraints pressed against your skin, shockwaves making you gasp from the low temperature. But Mingi kept on going, kissing you to ease your tension.

Two metal things, so there must be a third, right? You knew about people’s strange obsession with threes so you completely expected another cold metal object to come into play. But the question was, what?

You soon found out when a thick chain choker brushed against your neck, clasping around it snuggly. This was it. This was the third and final one. And your suspicions seemed correct when you had not felt another chilly accessory grace your skin.

You wouldn’t have, not when the coldest of all the items--the rings--were being slipped onto your boyfriend’s fingers. You were in for a surprise in just a few moment.

Needless to say, there was only one thought swirling around in your head.

Maybe he isn’t that much of a baby.

Jung Wooyoung:

Ever since Wooyoung found out your fanfics were not about him, but his favourite K-Pop band, BTS, he had been...difficult. Moping around, trying to play for your attention a lot more than normal, not letting you have some peace of quiet with your computer.

It was almost as if he was jealous. You knew how needy the boy could be, wanting skinship with you more than he did with San. Knowing that you were fawning over men that weren’t him had certainly done something to him.

But Wooyoung knew you were no-nonsense. The complete opposite of him. It was exactly why he fell for you, and it was exactly why he wasn’t being as petty as he wanted at the moment.

He knew deep down you were his and he was yours.

Then again, that still didn’t stop him from feeling jealous, and had even gone so far as to decrease the amount he listened to BTS’ songs--especially around you.

At first, you didn’t notice the change since Wooyoung was often spontaneous so his behavioural pattern was difficult to decipher. Eventually there came a point where the clinginess increased so much, you couldn’t feign ignorance anymore.

Looking back, maybe you should not have burst his bubble and let him think that your fanfics were about him... Actually, no; either way, the moment he found out about your hobby, it was going to be hell. But now you just feel bad.

Yet, you don’t feel bad enough to stop. You never actually fantasised about being with them--it was just fun to write about. Clearly, he didn’t understand.

Your boyfriend seemed to be at his tipping point when he came back to you after a long day of dance practices that went sideways, typing away intently on your computer.

This was his time. You usually spend time with Wooyoung when he came back, but you were too busy to comfort him in his desperate time of need. Too busy with fantasising about Taehyung’s large hands or Namjoon’s dimpled smile.

Wooyoung was as cute as Hoseok and Jungkook. He had a unique laugh like Seokjin and was as flirty as Jimin.

He had all your favourite qualities in a partner so why spend time thinking about other men? He was literally right there, begging for your attention and yet, now it seemed as if you gave him none (which wasn’t true since the only thing you’ve done is become less secretive about writing).

When his attempts at distracting you from writing had fail, he tried to see what exactly it was you were writing about. Unfortunately, you had tried to hid it from his sight; the only thing that helped in doing was pissing him off even further.

Only after a tough struggle did he finally see what you had been so focused on that you had neglected him.

It was more BTS fanfic, but this one was worse. This one had him fuming--skin hot red and ears pooling out steam. This one was smut.

It was about no other than Yoongi, and by God, was it a rough.

That was how you liked it, and so did Wooyoung. Probably why he was so angry while reading about mirror sex with one of his fellow idols; you were just twiddling your thumbs in the corner, not sure about how badly your boyfriend was going to burst.

Wooyoung, no matter how mad he was, he had to admit... it did turn him on. Although, he was a prideful boy--not liking how you thought about others and more importantly, how threatened he felt while reading it.

Suddenly realising that it wasn’t enough just being all the perfect parts you liked (even if it came naturally to him).

He had a point to prove; Wooyoung could go beyond your wildest fantasies--and boy was it a wild fantasy.

Throwing your phone haphazardly somewhere (making you wince in prayer that it was not broken), your boyfriend gripped you by the wrist and dragged you across the room. You had barely enough time to realise what he was doing, only feeling a cold surface against your back as his lips ravished yours.

At some point, he broke away--lips swollen and slightly more red than normal. To say the sight had not affected you more than you already were would be a lie.

Still not giving you enough time to speak, Wooyoung turned you around so you could finally see what he had you pressed against.

A mirror.

If an idea of what he was planning hadn’t dawned on you, having his fingers tug at your clothes certainly gave you one now. His free hand had clasped around your jaw, making you look right into your reflection, seeing how your boyfriend’s lips were dangerously close to your ears as he looked at you dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Let me show you that I can be better than your imagination. Let me show you that you need to think about no one but me. Let me show you how good you’ll feel and who is the sole reason behind it.”

Yes, Wooyoung has all your favourite qualities in a partner while exceeding all expectations. That’s why you’re dating him.

Choi Jongho:

Ever since the release of your first movie and publication of the book it was based on, your career had blossomed. Finally, you quit the job that had been draining the life out of you to work full time at the publishing company.

Everyone around you could tell you were much happier, and the one who noticed it the most was Jongho.

Sure, your eyes were less sunken in, your cheeks more red, your step more bouncy. But he could feel that you changed on the inside too.

Your smile didn’t feel so forced after you came back from work and he had asked you how the day was. Now, your boyfriend found himself talking less and listening more to what you had to say.

If there was an expression more powerful to describe how he loved this happier version of you, he would use it in a heartbeat.

Sure, there were still times when the both of you couldn’t hang out as much as you would like to, but that was always in the job description, and the both of you were more than happy with it as long as the bed had both of you in it at the end of the day, both metaphorically and literally.

Then came along your second movie deal of a completely different story. In fact, it was based upon a movie you had watched at the time, and you hated it so much that you simply redid the entire thing.

In fact, it had irked you to the point no one could even tell it was based off of something since you had changed so much of it. However, there were still concepts you kept in the story--intimate scenes, for example (even if they too were completely changed).

You wrote such concepts before, and you would continue to do so since it was just interesting to write. Jongho, however, did not know about it.

At all.

So once your second movie was released, he was in for a surprise.

It was miraculous how terrible your memory was, since you had forgotten that you had not told him about the scene that would come up as you both watched it at home just before it’s release in the cinemas.

‘Surprise’ wasn’t really the word Jongho would use when it did come up, nor would it be ‘shock’. He was... mildly curious? Not that either... Well, all he knew that whatever he was feeling was not overwhelming.

“Did you know they changed this scene?” you spoke up.

“Really?”

Humming, you nodded your head. “They said the original scene was... Let’s just say they thought it was ‘too much’.” Then you scoffed under your breath. “Don’t know why they thought that though. It was fairly vanilla. Just some wall sex is all,” you confessed.

Now he felt a little overwhelmed. But he was mainly amused. “I don’t remember doing that with you.”

“Hmm? Oh... that’s because we didn’t.”

Chuckling under his breath, he cocked his head to the side, the paused scene in the background long forgotten. “Have you ever wanted to try it?”

“Once upon a time. Suggested it to my ex once before but he couldn’t lift me up since I was ‘way too heavy’,” you recalled with air quotations. “Didn’t bother trying after that.” You laughed at the memory, finding it to be hilarious back then and even now.

But your boyfriend on the other hand had not. In fact, he was no longer amused.

He was pissed.

It wasn’t about the fact that you had mentioned your ex--he never felt even remotely threatened by him. It was because he had called you heavy. He called his precious darling ‘heavy’. And you just laughed.

That was who you were--no matter how mean another person was being to you, you took it as a joke and moved on. You saw no point in dwelling over the bad, and that was one of the many genuine things he had fallen for. This time was different; it annoyed him.

Sure it might have been a dumb little memory for you, yet simply hearing about it had his blood boiling.

“Get up.”

“Wha--why?” The dark look in his eye had your lips sealing within the second. As if on autopilot, your body stood from the sofa you two were so comfortably perched on.

He followed you up, wrapping his hands around the back of your thighs, which only meant one thing. “Jongho--no. You won’t be able to.”

“Am I or am I not the strongest man you’ve ever met?”

“You are, but--”

“‘But’ I don’t care.” Forcefully, he lifted you up as you yelped, legs wrapping around his waist. “See? I can pick you up completely fine.”

Scanning his face, you saw that what he said was true. He picked you up as if you were as light as a feather, no tension in his neck, face, or arms to suggest he was having a hard time either.

It had you leaning against him, forehead touching forehead, laughing even more than you did before. Smile once again etched on his face, Jongho pecked your lips, walking slowly with you in his arms.

“Now shush and let me fuck you against the wall.”

[animatedarchives]

LIFELINE

— 𝐊𝐎𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀

author’s note: so i had this dream a few days ago and i wrote this self-indulgent comfort fic. if you’ve experienced this before, i’m so sorry for the hurt you’ve been through and i’m here if you need to talk :) i hope you like it <3

genre: BiG aNgsT, comfort fluff wew

warnings: toxic relationship (mental abuse, manipulation, guilt tripping etc.), slightly coarse language

word count: 2.1k words

“Argh, I missed again!” you whined, the water gun gently hitting your thigh as you swung your arms down in defeat. You only had one last chance to knock all 5 metal cans over, and you knew you’d never make it. You sighed as you glanced at the life-sized teddy bear you’d been playing for, reluctantly giving up the idea of ever being able to hug its plushy form. Kenma watched you silently, gazing at you the same way you were looking at the bear: with intense longing.

“Here, let me,” he said gently, reaching for the water gun in your hand. His fingers briefly brushed yours and your breath hitched, turning away slightly so he couldn’t see the blush creeping onto your face. You had both been friends for the longest time, but you knew it was more than that. Although neither of you had explicitly confessed, there was a silent understanding that you both harboured feelings for one another, but were too shy to do anything about it.

You watched sheepishly as he brought the gun up against his shoulder, looking into the crosshairs. His eyes fixed themselves on his target, pupils narrowing into cat-like slits. You loved seeing the competitive side of Kenma. The resolve in his eyes, the fierce air of determination and the silent power he held was so different from his usual nonchalant self, you couldn’t help but be allured.

Finally, he pulled the trigger, releasing five precise spurts of water. You barely had time to process what happened as you heard the metal cans clattering to the ground. His muscles relaxed and he smiled with satisfaction, his usual laid-back self returning while you stood there in utter disbelief.

“Kenma, that was amazing!” you exclaimed, turning to face him. He watched as your eyes sparkled, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. It was a sight that warmed his heart, and something he missed so dearly. Reluctantly tearing his eyes from yours, he turned back to the stall owner to claim his prize.

“I’ll take the bear, please. The big one in the back,” he said, pointing to the one you wanted. You squealed in delight as Kenma retrieved the toy and handed it to you. Bursting with child-like joy, you pressed your face into its large squishy head as you hugged it, your body swinging from side to side. Kenma watched you amusedly, unable to wipe the smile off his face. He loved seeing you like this, the brightness you emanated rivaling that of the sun. Your genuine joy was one of the little things that truly made him happy, and it was blissful moments like this that he wished you could live in forever.

Beaming, you bowed at the stall owner to thank him, eager to explore the rest of the carnival. However, as you turned around, your eyes landed on someone in the distance and your heart seemed to stop. Gone was the excitement bouncing within you, now replaced with an unsettling heaviness. The light in your eyes was being sucked away, dissipating into nothingness. Sensing the air around you shift, Kenma looked at you concernedly, then followed your line of sight. And there stood the person he hated the most, the one who had caused you so much hurt and emotional turmoil for two years: your ex-boyfriend.

“Well well well, look who it is,” he smiled smugly as he sauntered towards you. His eyes flickered to Kenma, who stood behind you, and he laughed bitterly. “Moved on to another boy already? You always were such a slut,” he spat. Kenma tensed up behind you, clenching his jaw and balling his fists. He was never the type to be violent, but your ex’s disgusting remarks made him want to punch that sick smirk right off his face.

“P-please go away,” you whimpered. Your voice was strangled and your chest tightened as the overwhelming scent of your ex’s cursed cologne invaded your nose.

“Awww, but why? You wouldn’t want to break my heart again now, would you?” he pouted in mock sadness.

This was what you dealt with for two years: him taking advantage of your kind heart and twisting it for his own entertainment. He criticised every little thing that you did, from what you wore to who you hung out with. He convinced you that it was your fault you upset him, that it was you who failed to please. You began to question every decision you made, doubting your ability to make the “right ones” and eventually resorting to asking for his permission instead. He had you choking on a leash, but you were too nice, too forgiving, to acknowledge his manipulative ways. You were losing yourself and eventually became an empty shell of the cheerful girl you once were, no longer taking pleasure in the things you loved. It had been six full months since you came to your senses and broke up with him, trying so hard to regain the light you had lost, with Kenma encouraging you every step of the way. It had taken so much time and effort to recover from the toxic relationship. Yet at the mere sight of him returning into your life, everything came undone in an instant.

“What’s the matter, darling? Cat got your tongue?” he hummed. You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out. You desperately tried to move, to do something to show he no longer held that power over you. But your mind was plagued, and your body remained frozen in the presence of your abuser.

“Oh darling, there’s no need to be scared,” he said, cocking his head to the side. He took a step forward and you couldn’t help but tremble in fear. Dark memories from the past you tried to bury resurfaced as his menacing gaze bore into you. You shrank back in terror and your back hit Kenma’s chest, causing your hold on the huge teddy bear to loosen. The impact pulled Kenma out of his heated thoughts, his eyes clearing to reveal the pointed daggers within them. He gently wrapped an arm around your waist and twisted your bodies so that he was between you and your attacker.

“That’s enough,” Kenma’s words cut through the toxic atmosphere. The change in his demeanour was subtle but terrifying. His voice remained quiet, but now held an edge that was sharper than a sword. His gaze pierced through your attacker, cutting him down to the bone.

Your ex scoffed, unintimidated by Kenma’s physical build. “No, she knows exactly what she did,” he hissed, looking straight into your eyes. “You love to toy with people don’t you darling? Go on, say it. Admit it, you bitch!”

You don’t recall the mistake you made; you only knew that you’d made one. A baseless sense of guilt consumed your mind, and all you could think of was how horrible of a person you were as you looked down at the ground in shame. The lack of words leaving your mouth angered him further. He took a step towards you, but stopped short as Kenma suddenly grabbed his forearm.

“I said,” his grip tightened as anger boiled inside of him.

“That’s enough.”

Kenma looked at him through the strands of hair that fell across his face. He was like a feline crouching behind the tall, dry grass, eyes fierce and unblinking as he stared down his prey. His unrelenting gaze made even your ex shudder, his mind going blank as Kenma seethed silently.

“Leave.”

Kenma’s voice was practically a growl at this point, the finality in his voice apparent. His golden orbs glowed like a predator’s, daring your ex to challenge him. Although no one said it, it was obvious Kenma owned the court and held the game in the palm of his hands.

Knowing he was beat, your ex yanked his arm out of Kenma’s iron grip and scoffed. “Whatever. You’re worthless, anyway,” he sneered at you before walking away. You didn’t know what you did, but you felt like you deserved it. That’s all you ever were anyway: just another piece of garbage.

With the threat no longer present, Kenma eased up and turned to you, significantly concerned for your mental and emotional wellbeing. “Are you alright?” he asked, unable to hide the urgency in his voice.

“I- I think so,” you stuttered. But you weren’t. You knew you weren’t. You were slipping again, back into your old submissive mindset as your head spun with your ex’s lies. And Kenma could see it, the thought of your incited self-hatred causing his knuckles to turn white.

“You deserve so much more than him, Y/N,” he said. You smiled weakly at his words but couldn’t bring yourself to agree.

“I don’t know… Maybe he’s right,” trying to keep your smile, only to fail miserably. “Maybe I really am worthless… Maybe I’m just an awful human being… Maybe…” you thought aloud, voice breaking as you started to believe his words. This experience took you back, remembering how your ex would constantly poison your conscience, leaving you to cry into your pillow every night as your thoughts consumed you alive.

“Y/N, stop,” he said, reaching for your arm. You flinched involuntarily, the action causing Kenma’s heart to break. “Y/N, look at me. Please,” he begged. You slowly lifted your head to meet his gaze, a thin film of moisture forming over your eyes as you slipped further into darkness.

“You are the kindest, sweetest soul I have ever met. You are beautiful and gorgeous, made perfectly as you are. You are the furthest thing from a bad person. He’s a liar, a manipulator and a toxic person overall. He’s the bad one. He’s the one that doesn’t deserve you,” he said, desperate for you to see reason.

You looked into his eyes sadly, searching for something to hold on to, to stop you from spiraling down deeper into your thoughts. And then you found it. Something that was different between him and your ex. Something that was always there but Kenma tried to hide. It was his unwavering love for you.

Something finally clicked and a spark was ignited between you two, causing your heart to beat faster. You could barely understand what was happening, too many things going on in your head at once. But one thing was certain. You knew the person in front of you was genuine.

Trustworthy.

Safe.

“Kenma… I…” your words lost their sound as your faces inched closer. Your eyes drifted down to his soft, thin lips. Your mind was screaming at you, saying that you didn’t deserve his affection and that you were completely unlovable. But your heart argued back, eager to prove them wrong as it reached out for the one it knew it could call home.

You watched earnestly, breath caught in your throat as his lips got closer and closer to your own. Finally, your eyes fluttered shut, your sight unneeded as you savoured the flavour of his sweet lips against yours. The bear you were holding was long forgotten as your fingers unfurled and dropped it to the floor. Your heart was now set on a new prize, your hands moving up his arms and clenching the fabric of his jacket underneath them.

Your reciprocation to his actions made him brave; he kissed you harder, more intensely, as he rested his palms firmly on the curve of your waist. It was an area tainted by the hands of your previous boyfriend, but Kenma’s touch was so pure, so gentle, and so loving, that all you could do was melt into his hold.

Your lips parted all too soon and he rested his forehead against yours, quietly gasping for air. The jarring voices in your head quietened and eventually disappeared as Kenma’s delicate fingers intertwined themselves with yours.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he chuckled, his warm breath adding to the heat on your cheeks. “I love you, Y/N. Every single piece of you. You are absolutely perfect in every way imaginable and I don’t ever want you to believe otherwise.”

You gave a genuine smile as you grasped onto the lifeline of hope Kenma was throwing out to you in the sea of darkness. You wrapped your arms around his torso and buried your face into his shoulder.

“Thank you. I love you too, Kenma.”

Your muffled whispers against his clothes put a gentle smile on his face, his heart soaring as you returned his affection. Kissing the side of your head, he embraced you tighter, wanting to show you how deeply you could be loved.

Breathing in his comforting scent, you came to a realisation.

It wasn’t the bear you longed to hug the most that day.

It was Kenma.

© written and published by animatedarchives 2020. please do not steal or repost. thank you.

[justice4harwin]

Darklina prompt

Inspired by Taylor Swift’s Champagne problems

A/N: TBH, I’m not sure this is the actual assigment, but the lines of the song that I choose are just too lovely for me and I could’t help it. It wrote itself, i swear

I don’t know if this is what you had in mind @mayatried but I hope you like it :)

Set during S&B

“Your Midas touch on the Chevy door

November flush and your flannel cure”

Alina treaded carefully through the dark. Night seemed to be abandoning its deepest cycle, but there was yet time before the sun arose. Everyone at the Little Palace slept, even Baghra in her hut -she suspected the woman slept, at least-, and Alina had begun to take advantage of such lonely hours to practice.

She walked around first, rounding part of the lake before taking a turn into a maze.

She liked the place. The polished bushes bloomed with flowers of various colors carefully planted within by the gardeners, and there were stone benches here and there.

A part of her wanted to get lost in there and never be found.

She shuddered and rubbed her arms, wishing she had taken a thicker kefta with her instead of the one currently upon her more rounded figure.

It was still strange, looking in the mirror and no longer seeing the bones of the ribs through the soft skin, or seeing her cheekbones softer and pink and full.

Her hands went up. She liked her new cheekbones. She felt pretty.

Deep into the maze, she shook her head to rid it of such frivolous thoughts and took a firm stand.

She closed her eyes and called the power inside of her. She had been able to summon after letting it all go at Baghras hut, but her progress was slow.

She supposed once couldn't heal a lifetime wound in a few weeks, but everyone had their eyes on her now, so maybe she'd have to suck it up.

A small bulb of light appeared in her hand, taking the shape of a sphere. She smiled softly, feeling its warmth.

Gently, she disentangled a hand and created another sphere of light.

Doing her best to ignore the cold and the sleepiness, she willed the spheres to stretch and join.

Trembling, they did.

It's a start.

She then forced them to unify into one long stick of light, flexible like a whip, and then she stretched her arms, elongating the light.

Next, she tried to grab a solid hold of the light with one hand and let the other drop.

To her surprise, it didn't burn her; it just filled her with a sense of power and surety.

Hesitant, lifted her arm, the light going with her, and slashed.

The flowers  on a big stone vase banished as if they had never existed, yet the stone remained practically untouched; a black, long spot its only scar.

"Impressive."

She jumped, turning to see The Darkling stepping forward, that blank expression on his face making it hard for her to believe him.

"I thought it wasn't enough." She said, remembering his words.

"It's not." He said, matter-of-factly, and Alina felt a small sting on her chest. "But you managed to get a solid, physical hold of your power already, however short lived it was, and that was impressive. It should have taken you more time."

She felt herself blushing under his praise.

"How did you find me?"

He remained silent for a moment or two, calculating probably as he always seemed to do. She couldn't really distinguish his features that well in the dark.

"Sometimes I like to sit at the edge of the lake to think. I find the still water most calming."

"You have a lot on your plate, don't you?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

He seemed to have huffed a laugh.

"You don't have to worry about me. Your only job is to strengthen your power."

"But I do!" She hurried to say,cheeks red. "I-I mean, I worry about you."

She looked down, and barely felt him approach as his boots stepped on the grass.

"You do?" She wasn't sure what to make of his tone, but Alina felt the need to reach out and take his hand.

Instead, she took a step forward and summoned her light, delicately running it over his face. He looked perfect, as usual, yet she wondered…

"When was the last time you slept?"

He chuckled, not turning away from her light.

"Do I look tired to you, Summoner?"

"No, but Genya is a miracle worker."

His lips quirked up.

"She is, indeed."

"A pity her talents are wasted on the queen and king." Alina said before she could even think of holding her tongue.

She tensed, but The Darkling nodded slowly, a shadow passing over his face.

"It is. She looks like a candle with her white kefta, but she'd be a walking flame in red."

Alina couldn't hide her surprise. Would he dare to promote her?

The Darkling stretched his arm out.

"But no more talk about that. Come, I shall teach you something."

Learning from The Darkling himself? Alina would never miss the chance. 

She eagerly followed him deeper into the maze, into a spacious area occupied only by grass.

Gracefully, he sat down.

"Next to me."

Much less gracefully, she did as he commanded, trying not to get grass or mud on her kefta. She placed her legs underneath her body and her hands on her lap, more than ready to soak in all the information he had to give.

She looked at his profile and felt her breath caught. Even in the dark, his pale face seemed perfectly clear to her.

She leaned her back against the wall of bushes, wincing only slightly as some small sticks pinched her back.

“Now what?”

“Are you afraid of your powers?” he asked.

“No.” she was too quick to reply.

“Do not lie to me, miss Starkov. I don’t take kindly to deceit.” he spoke calmly, yet she felt a small flicker of fear roll over her body.

“I am.” she muttered, so quietly she herself almost didn’t hear the words. She bit down on her lip and then opened her mouth: “I’m scared to not be enough to destroy The Fold. I feel like I’m not advancing fast enough. I’m also scared of how powerful I could get if I,...if I unleash it, and I’m scared it’ll consume me and I’ll let it.”

And that was only part of it. What if she accidentally hurt someone innocent? What if she failed? Why did people keep watching her in such various ways?

“A power, a gift like ours, is not bestowed upon just anyone. We have it because we were meant to wield it; because we are the only ones strong enough.” he leaned towards her, his expression almost gentle. “You will be magnificent, miss Starkov. I am well aware of what you could accomplish, and if you do get too lost, I’ll be right there to pull you back.”

“Do you promise?” she felt silly asking, like a child, but she needed some reassurance.

Everyone was so expectant of her, of great achievements she was terrified of, that having someone who could understand her and seemed to genuinely believe in her capabilities -without making a fuss or calling her a Saint- sent a tidal wave of reassurance that could’ve dropped her on her ass if she hadn’t been already seated.

“I do.” he replied, his voice filling the entire space they occupied. He leaned back, face blank again. “Now, close your eyes.”

Alina did as he said.

“Deep breaths.”

She slowly took in a big gulp of cold, late-autumn air. She shivered.

“Now,” he said, and his voice sounded right by her ear, his beard brushing against her soft skin and threatening to ruin the whole process. “Feel the light.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s inside you, miss Starkov.”

“Alina.”

He said nothing, but she felt him tense. “Feel it.”

She reached down, deep within herself for that almost familiar warmth, and smiled softly when it answered her with an enthusiastic twinkle.

“Now, imagine it all over your body, every inch of it, warm and gold.”

That twinkle in her chest seemed to have steadied, and with the utmost focus, Alina began to picture it covering her chest, travelling down her arms and legs, all the way to the tips of her toes. 

She shivered again, the sudden change in temperature taking her body by surprise.

She opened her eyes and looked down, and found a faint glow on her hands. She felt the currents of wind but they didn’t affect her. She was as warm as if she were well sunked in a hot bath.

She looked up at The Darkling, who almost smirked; she was sure of it!

“Well, now I know I won’t freeze to death on the mountains.”

“You plan on going to the mountains?” he asked, almost amused.

She flushed.

“N-no, it was,...um, it was a joke.”

He chuckled silently, and Alina tilted her head as he shifted in his place.

“You’re cold.”

“I am perfectly fine;  thank you, Alina.” he answered, the perfect liar.

The use of her name made her falter, and after a second it made her feel more secure, however odd that may sound. She scooted closer to him and again, bought her hand up to his cheek. It was cold.

The Darkling almost seemed startled for a moment, but then, when Alina thought he might push her away, he slowly lifted his arm, bringing her to his side.

She looked up at the stars shining down on them, at the full moon, so beautiful and unreachable, just, or so she thought, as the man next to her.

“Can you feel the warmth too?” she asked softly.

A moment passed and she felt his lips ghost over her hair.

“I can feel you, Alina.”

She couldn’t help but smile and cuddle even closer, daring to press her front to his side and take a hold of his dark cloak.

Slowly, he placed his chin atop of her head.

Alina didn’t move, enjoying the moment. Cheeks red as they could be and her heart beating faster than a rabbit’s. She just enjoyed the silent environment, the quiet rustle of leaves and the voices of night.

Cuddling with the most powerful, dangerous man in all of Ravka, Alina felt the pressure set upon her shoulders since she arrived at the Little Palace fade away, like it didn’t matter. Yes, it was a tough task; but just like with anything that proved difficult, she’d advance little by little.

She dared to wrap an arm around his midsection, his own free arm engulfing her as well as he muttered something.

His breathing had slowed and steadied, his heart beat strong inside its cavity.

Carefully, she lifted her eyes as best she could without moving him, and realized he had fallen asleep.

With a contented sigh, she buried her face into his chest and closed her own eyes.

Somehow, the feel of his cloak around her, his frame against her, and her dim light keeping them warm felt far more comfortable than the luxurious bed all but forgotten in her bedroom.

[atombombbibunny]

The Shop

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x Reader

Word Count: 5215

Warnings: Some cussin’

Summary: Y/N’s uncle had offered her, her first job knowing she was saving up in advance for college. It just so happened that The Thomas Jefferson is working there and will be training her.

A/N: Omfg, this is my first time writing in third person, its probably shit. It took so much strength not to write in first person. Anyways, this is a story I wrote forever ago with a different fandom (Harry Styles.) I thought this would work, does this work? I hope this worked.....I had no idea how to end this..........................

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the first day of Y/N’s first job and she could only hear the pounding of her heart in her ears as she entered the small grocery store. Living in a small town proved to have some perks like everyone knowing everyone, and the fact that her uncle owned the store itself. He knew she was attempting to save some money for school as she would be graduating in two years.

She had no reason to be freaking out, her uncle like her and she liked him.

Everything would be fine.

Oh god, what if she started a fire? The whole town would know it was her.

As a hand fell down on her shoulder she practically leapt out of her own skin.

“There’s my favorite niece!” She spun a full 180 degrees to be eye to eye with her uncle, she shook her head before shooting him a look. “I’m your only niece uncle Jack.” He flashed her a goofy smile before patting her shoulder. “Come, I’ll show you around.” Before the two of them could move an inch, the door rang out as someone entered, her uncles face went straight as he stared down the entering being. “Little late there Thomas.” Y/N glanced behind her at the person getting scolded by her usually easy-going uncle.

To her surprise it was Thomas Jefferson, the so-called god of her high school. The man looked exhausted. “Sorry, mom needed me.” He muttered, his eyes on his shoes. Jack raised an eyebrow. “She okay?” He questioned as his face was now filled with genuine concern. “She’s fine, I guess.” He finally raised his head, his eyes flashed at Y/N before looking directly at her uncle.  After a nod from Jack he rushed past the two of them barely grazing her shoulder but still enough to earn a mumbled. “Sorry.” From him.

“That was Thomas.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she tilted her head to the side, she glanced to the door Thomas was now closing and locking behind him. “Really, I would have never guessed.” She felt like he forgot she was hear and didn’t just hear their whole conversation. “His moms been sick.” She quickly lifted her head and dropped her shoulders; her heart sank in her chest. Now she felt like shit. “He uh, goes to my school. Hes a senior.” Jack smiled lightly while leaning against the cashier counter. “So good you know each other, he’ll be training you.” His smile spread to a full grin.

Y/N didn’t actually know Thomas, she knew of him. But the two had never held an actual conversation. He was basically (as cliché as it sound) the school heart breaker, and an apparently amazing kisser. (Said information passed onto her from her friend Katie who had one to many wine coolers and got a taste.)

Thomas soon exited the room now in a bright blue polo with the stores name stitched into it, he made his way back towards Y/N’s uncle who looked rather short next to him. Y/N’s eyes couldn’t help but wander over the boy’s body, his arms looked practically stuffed into the shirt’s tight sleeves, his curls bounced with every small movement. It was only when Thomas’ arm moved forward did she realize her uncle was introducing the two of them.

A tight grip: was met with Y/N’s small hand as they shook hands for a second. “Hi.” She murmured as the burning sensation on her neck grew. After Thomas moved to behind the counter Jack smirked. “Well, I have to run, I’m sure you’ll do great today.” The last of his sentence was a mere whisper of encouragement to Y/N.

Just as Y/N began to turn to Thomas to say something a shirt was thrown at her head and covered her face. “Get changed.” He ordered while stifling a chuckle. Y/N tore the suffocating shirt from her head and stormed to the door she had originally seen Thomas enter.

Once she exited the back room and was now in the rather itchy blue polo, Y/N noticed that Thomas was now nowhere to be found. She soon found him stocking shelves, a rather pain in the ass smile resting on his face. “Get lost?” He teased, his eyes never leaving the inventory he was placing on the shelves.

“No.” Y/N grumbled, her glare unnoticed or unfazing towards Jefferson. She pushed on as she watched his every movement. “So, what are we doing, stocking shelves?”

“No.” Thomas began as he placed his last can on the top shelf, Y/N raised a curious eyebrow as there were plenty of boxes still placed on the floor. “You’re stocking the shelves.” He said leaning against the shelving behind him. “You’re really going to just sit there and watch me?” She asked before slumping down on her knees and pulling open the closest box. “Yep.” A smug smirk broke across his face as she let out a light groan. Y/N rolled her eyes while facing the shelf, she was regretting taking this offer already. “Like this?” She asked coldly while setting down can after can of peas down.

Thomas just nodded and continued to watch.

They were stuck in and awkward silence, the speakers only playing quiet music around the storm, and fading in and out of static from the rain now pouring outside.

“We go to the same school don’t we.” Thomas finally said, causing a slight jump from Y/N, he chuckled softly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya.” Y/N attempted to hide the heat creeping up her cheeks and continued to work, refusing to look back at the lazy body behind her.

 “Yeah, we do.” She answered quietly. The ambiance of the store felt like a library, and Y/N felt like she needed to be just as quiet. “I knew it, I’ve seen you around.” Y/N smiled gently at the acknowledgement.

Another moment of silence broke between the two.

“You- You hang out with that John kid, right?” Y/N shrugged. “Little bit, why?” Thomas cleared his throat before moving positions, he crossed his arms and leaned back once more. “Are you two like, datin? Cause I don’t need anyone coming in here to distract you” Y/N could hear his embarrassment.

“Uh.” She began, goosebumps growing on her arms. “No, I mean we’ve been on a few dates, but no, we aren’t dating.” She quickly cleared her throat as she moved to unbox the rest of the cans. “He’s… not really my type.” She fought internally at shooting a look at him but stayed focused on her work.

After their awkward one-off conversation, the two stayed pretty quiet. Thomas made his way to the front counter to help the few people in the store, some there to shop, some to congratulate Y/N on her first day.

After a few hours of almost pure silence the doorbell rang out as one of Thomas’ friends entered the store. Though Thomas greeted him like usual he practically b-lined over to Y/N who was stood in almost pure fear.

“Hey, you just started today right?” He asked flashing a bright smile almost causing Y/N legs to give in at the sight. She could barely remember his name; she would always see him and the rest of Thomas’ group smoking at the front of school before classes started.

“Uhm, yeah.” Y/N said her voice coming out like a squeak, another smile broke across his face, his teeth were almost blinding. “I’m Alex, I’ve seen you around school before.” All Y/N could functionally do was nod. “Right, I’m Y/N” she mustered enough to get her voice clear to him. He let out a light chuckled, Yeah, I know.” Cursing herself internally she shook her head. “Right, duh.” She giggled.

Just as Alex opened his mouth to speak once more Thomas’ voice rung out from behind them. “Alex.” His voice was low and close to sounding angry. “Can I help you with something?” Alex glanced back at Thomas’ stature and shrugged. “I’m just… looking.” He said winking towards Y/N who gave a small smile.

Thomas looked between the two. “Well, Y/N can you go make sure the milk isn’t spoiled.” Y/N wanted to protest, she knew there wouldn’t be anything wrong, but didn’t want to piss off the wrong person on her first day.

Alex gave a quick confused look at Thomas whose eyes were now hardening. “Y-yeah, of course.” Y/N began, she took a few steps forward before glancing back at the two boys. “See you later Alex.”

Once done the mundane task the store was completely empty. She walked to the front to see Thomas leaning against the counter reading. “Are you going to teach me the register?” She questioned; her boredom was almost consuming her.

Thomas shrugged, his eyes never leaving his book. “Not much to know, scan here.” He said pointing to the glass with the scanning mechanism in it. “We take cash or credit, if its cash press this.” He moved his hand to a blue button on the register. “If its credit, push this. Don’t forget their change or receipt.” Y/N stood patiently, only to realize he was done talking.

“Oh, okay.”

Though it was getting late the store didn’t close till 9:30, it was one of the only places that stayed open past 8:30 in their small town.

“What are you reading?” Y/N questioned, unmoving still, Thomas lifted his book to reveal the title The Glass Castle. “Oh, I’ve read that before.” Thomas hummed in response, his eyes scanning each word. “Do you like it?” He nodded, Y/N felt an annoyance grow in her as he was unresponsive and shooed off the one person that was talking to her.

She sighed, resigning to leaning on the shelf closest to her.

Luckily, the door rang out, her head snapped towards it to see John entering wearing his normal happy smile. “Y/N, hey!” She quickly made her way over to him, grateful for the new company. Thomas was still reading, basically ignoring any other goings on.

She grabbed at Johns arm and began to lead him down an aisle. “How’s the job?” He asked, shrugging Y/N glanced back at Thomas who was now eyeing the two of them, a shiver ran down her spine. “Its okay, just been really quiet.” Johns eyes followed Y/N’s to Thomas who looked back down at his book again. “Am I going to get you in trouble? I can go.” Y/N’s grip tightened on Johns arm. “No, please don’t. Plus, Thomas is harmless.”

“Okay, well I was wondering if you wanted to go-.” “Y/N” A deep voice came from behind them once more, and once more causing Y/N to jump, her arm pulling away from John’s. She spun on her heel, trying not to glare at him.

“Its gettin’ late, we should start cleanin’ up.” Thomas looked down at her like a child getting talked to by a parent. She nodded then looked at John who looked like he was damn close to shitting himself. “I’ll, uh text you.” She said watching as John scurried out of the store, as did Thomas.

“I thought you said you two weren’t goin’ out?” Y/N finally glared at him, who was still watching the long since closed door. “Eavesdropper.” She accused as he looked back at her. “No distractions.” He warned and turned to go back to the front.

Y/N flipped him off once his back was turned and stormed over to the small closet in the back, she assumed held cleaning supplies, she was correct. “No distractions.” She mocked in her worst Virginian accent.

Its not fair, she thought. He gets to just sit up there with his stupid hair and muscles. He’s the distraction.

She began to sweep a little to aggressively at the floor.

“Easy there cowgirl.” Thomas uttered, she spun. “How are you so quiet?” She asked in a harsh tone. “How are you so easily scared?” He mocked.

Y/N rolled her eyes as she continued to sweep at nothing. “You know we’re closed right?” Y/N’s eyes shot around the store till it fell on the clock now showing 9:35. He could have told her sooner. A slight blush grew on her cheeks as she placed the broom away.

Once changed into their street wear, they met outside, she watched as he locked up the shop, he turned to face her. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked, Y/N nodded before turning to go down the street. “Night.” She shouted over her shoulder. “Night!” Thomas yelled back.

 -------------------------------------------------

Y/N jogged into the store, closing her umbrella, the floor gave way from under her and she quickly grasped onto the door handle before hitting the ground. She stood once more and slammed the door shut, fed up with the rain.

She peeled off her soaked jacket before turning to see a smiling Thomas. “Quiet the entrance there.” He said biting back laughter as Y/N bowed. “You’re five minutes late though” He warned raising an eyebrow. “Sorry, the wind pulled my umbrella back and I got soaked.”  She pushed back her hoodie to show a head full of dripping hair.

Thomas released his laughter. “D’you need a towel?” She nodded and one was tossed quickly in her direction.

After she went back to change and scrub some rain out of her hair, she made her way back to the front not one customer in sight. “Any customers yet?” She questioned. “Gunna be a slow night.” Thomas said whilst shaking his head. Y/N let out a long groan. Dead nights were the worst.

She had now been working there for a month, she knew of everything she needed to do and was already bored of it. On slow days she’d clean while Thomas read.

Once the store was basically spotless and everything was faced, she made her way back to the front to see Thomas squinting at a turned around cereal box. She crossed her arms as she leaned against the same shelf. “What, no book tonight?” She asked as he stayed still, he reached under the counter and pulled up a ruined rain-soaked book. “Fell out on my way here. Rain ruins everythin’ I love.” He muttered. “So, you’re reading… a box?” She asked as she looked at it, there was nothing of actual interest on it other than the history of said cereal and nutritional facts. “Nothin else to do.” A sly smile broke across her face as she lifted one finger and slowly pushed the box off the edge, sending it slamming to the floor. “Oh, you are the worst kind of person.” Thomas groaned, he turned to face the empty wall crossing his arms like a child throwing a fit.

“Y/N I’m bored, tell me something.” He whined, still facing the wall, Y/N sighed at his grumpy demeanor. “What do you want to know Thomas?” She asked leaning against the shelf once more.

“Just tell me about you, did you go on a date with that John guy?” Y/N let out a laugh, she knew he wasn’t just asking due to boredom. “No, I didn’t. He’s not my type, remember?” She blushed lightly at the thought of him being genuinely curious about her love life.

“Alex asked me out though.” Thomas’ back straightened and tensed before he turned back around. “Oh.” He mumbled. “What?” Y/N asked as she crossed her arms in curiosity, an eyebrow raised up as she watched him closely. “Nothing.” He said, his eyes on the counter as he picked at the chipping paint. “Bullshit, what?” She demanded; Thomas scrunched his face. “Well, are you going to go out with him?” She quickly shrugged as she looked out the front door, the rain still pouring. “I don’t think so, he always ends up going back to Eliza, or Maria… or John.” She laughed lightly at the now realization on how such a player Alexander truly was.

Thomas broke out into a smile. “I knew you were a smart one.” Y/N picked up the box from the floor. “Gee thanks.” She shot back sarcastically.

They talked for the rest of the shift.

Not one customer.

But Y/N got to learn all about Thomas.

  --------------------------------------

Alex leaned in to press a quick kiss to Y/N, something she still wasn’t used to. “I’ll see you after work.” He mumbled against her lips. “Of course.” She said pulling back and hopping out of his car.

As she walked into the store, she saw no body presence at the front. “Thomas?” She called out into the empty store. She walked towards the back room pulling her work shirt out of her bag, she opened the door to see a shirtless Thomas there. “Holy shit! I’m so sorry!” She announced before slamming the door shut behind her.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest. It wasn’t fair that her boyfriend’s friends, (well sort of friend she had now learned.) were so good looking. Not that she didn’t think Alexanders body wasn’t hot, just, damn Thomas.

Thomas exited the back room a smiled glued to his face. “Smooth.” He said as he passed her to get to the front counter. “Oh, shut up.” She warned hitting him on the arm. “It was an accident.” Thomas chuckled. “Don’t worry darlin’ I won’t tell your boyfriend.” Y/N let out a sarcastic laugh before entering the back room. “Get to work, you ass.”

 ----------------------------------------

 Y/N walked in practically pushing past Thomas. “You’re late.” He mumbled, she ignored him. “I said you’re late.” Thomas said standing straight. “Y/N!” Thomas shouted, stopping her in her tracks. “What, I’m here now so just leave it!” She marched into the back room and changed before making her way to the back of the store.

Y/N kept pulling her phone out, sighing when it came up blank, no new messages, no phone calls, nothing.

Alexander and she had gotten into a fight and it felt like their relationship was near its end, something that was bringing her to her breaking point at the thought. The shift had flown past her before she even knew.

“No phones on the floor.” Thomas’ warning voice came from over her shoulder, she knew he was ticked off with her. She quickly wiped the tears threatening to spill over and turned to him. “Sorry.” She mumbled.

“Oh, um, no I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He questioned, his eyes watching her small trembling body. She shrugged before falling into his chest, a sob broke through her. It was 9 and Thomas knew no one else would be coming at this time. He wrapped his arms around her as she cried into his shirt. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked resting his head against her head which shook and buried deeper into him.

He just squeezed her before sitting the two of them down.

Once it was 9:30 Y/N had calmed down a bit, her body was tired and aching but she sat and explained that she feared Alex was cheating on her, they were barely seeing each other and every time she brought up her fears to him he would kiss her or fight with her on it. This last time they were basically screaming at one another, she knew she was late for work, so she pushed herself past him he had attempted to grab her, but she shook his grip and stormed to the shop.

Thomas Hugged her into his arms. “ ‘M sorry I shouted at ya when you came in, I didn’t know.” Y/N shrugged content in his embrace. “You didn’t know. But, thank you for listening.” Thomas gave her a gentle smile, just as the butterflies rose in her chest, she felt her phone ring against her hip.

Thomas quickly let go and she jumped from his arms.

“Hello?”

It was Alex.

Y/N changed and left on her phone, leaving Thomas behind to close the store.

  ----------------------------------------------

Thomas was late, his mom wasn’t doing well. But she told him to go to work.

They didn’t talk all shift.

His eyes held a sadness as he watched Y/N work.

Everyone knew about his mom and knew better to leave him alone.

Y/N didn’t know what to say to him.

 ----------------------------------------------

“Thomas?” Y/N asked as the two restocked a shelf. “Yeah?”

“Do you think Alex and I are a mistake?”

Thomas tensed and stared straight for a moment.

“Don’t bring me into this.” He muttered putting his last can of soup on the shelf and began to walk away.

“Bring you into what?” Y/N asked bitterly.

“Don’t bring me into your relationship bullshit.” He grumbled.

“I’m not, I’m just asking.” Y/N said, shooting him a glare.

Thomas shook his head and turned back to face her; her heart leapt into her throat at his hardened look. “No, you’re not. ‘just askin’ me;” He raised his hands for the quotations. “You want me to comfort you like last time, then just fuckin’ walk away from me again.”

She had never heard Thomas swear like this before, it gave her a cold chill.

“I didn’t just walk away, you let go of me.”

“Sorry for making sure you were okay.” He scoffed.

Y/N kicked her empty box down the aisle towards him.

“I didn’t ask you to Thomas!” She shouted back, her blood coming to a boil.

“Well I did, and you just left.”

“Why did you even do it!?”

“Because I care about you!”

“Then why are you so upset now!?”

“Because he doesn’t fucking deserve you!” He shouted, he huffed out his next couple of breaths like he had just run a marathon. He rolled his eyes at Y/N’s frozen stature, as he turned to storm off Y/N finally shook off her fear of his anger and march towards him.

“Thomas don’t just walk away.” She demanded, before she could graze his shoulder, he was spun to face her, his hands on her waist as he pulled her against his lips, taking her breath with him.

Her heart skipped a beat from the feeling of his soft lips against hers, something felt like it had exploded in her heart, lungs and brain. Before she could process a thought, before she could truly kiss him back. He pulled away. “Yes, is the answer to your question.” His voice was low and rumbled against her body.

He released her and walked back to the front

She stood there

She stood there till they closed.

 ----------------------------------------------

After the kiss Thomas had their shifts changed, she worked with her uncle most of the time.

Graduation season had come and past, Y/N was now a senior and knew she would never be seeing or running into Thomas at school again.

Alexander and her eventually broke things off, it wasn’t more than a few days till he was with someone else. Thomas was attending college in town, still caring for his mother full time.

He was barely working anymore.

One night in autumn it was pouring rain. Y/N had to close alone, the air hung with something, it was almost like Y/N could feel something bad was going to happen. Her uncle had left his shift muttering something about Thomas’ mom.

Since it was so quiet Y/N was just sat at the front counter running the register, her mind drifted to the memories of Thomas always up there, reading, or helping customers, or just simply talking to her.

After a customer had come in and brought their items to the front Y/N regained focus and began ringing in the items. Once they had finished paying Y/N was just about to hand them their receipt when Thomas came crashing through the door.

He collapsed onto his knees, his hair wet falling onto his face. The customer shot her a look of worry before she ran towards him. “Thomas are you okay?” He shook his head as Y/N began to lift him from his spot on the floor. As she led them to the back room, she heard the ring of the door. She sat Thomas on a chair before running out to lock the door behind the customer.

She quickly made her way back; Thomas had not moved an inch since she set him there. She began to look for a towel, as she turned to check a certain shelf, she felt his arms wrap around her waist. “My mom died.” He sobbed out, shattering her heart and confirming her worst fear. “She’s gone, Y/N.” Y/N watched for a second as the tears slid down his already wet face. She dropped down to the ground before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Thomas. God, I’m so, so sorry.” She held him tightly as he buried his face in her shoulder. “I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t see her like that. I just ran, I came here, you’re the only person I could face.” He cried out as he gripped her harder. “Its okay.” She whispered against his wet hair. “I’m not ready for this. I’ll never be ready for this.”

She held him there till he calmed down as best he could. She took him back to the hospital.

She held his hand at the funeral.

 -------------------------------------------------

Y/N had graduated, she was ready to leave her small town, she had gotten into her dream college and was just months away from getting out of there, she hadn’t worked much due to her studies for exams and applying for all types of colleges.

As she began to pass the shop something in her told her to go in, plus she was a bit peckish.

The door rang out as she entered, her eyes instantly snapped to the front counter, but she was left with disappointment as it was empty.

She absentmindedly made her way through the aisle trying to find something she was in the mood for. Once her eyes landed on a pack of mac and cheese, she picked it up. She glanced up to see Thomas walk behind the counter. The sight of him caused her to fumble with the box and it went crashing to the floor.

Thomas’ eyes flashed up to see Y/N blush and go to pick up the box. Once picked up Y/N looked back to the counter to see it empty once more. She shook her head wondering if she had imagined him. “What are you doing here?” She jumped, once more sending the box tumbling to the ground.

Thomas chuckled behind her, she spun back around and smiled. “Very funny” She glared.

“Its been a while, huh?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I graduated, so I haven’t really been working .”

Thomas broke out into a bright smile. “Well congratulations. When do ya work next?”

She shrugged attempting to hid any creeping feeling of red on her face. “Its staggered for the next few months, then I’m off to college.” Thomas’ eyes dimmed. “Oh, well I’m glad you got in, I’m assuming its not in town?” She almost felt guilty as she shook her head no.

“Then I guess I’m going to have to get our schedules fixed so we can work together again.” Y/N couldn’t stop the smile the broke across her face. “I’d like that.”

 -------------------------------------------------------

They laughed.

They goofed around.

They shared food nearing its expiration dates.

They bumped hands and blushed.

And they just had quiet days.

 ------------------------------------------------

 It was her last day. She had her bags packed for the airport and had told her family she’d meet them there.

She had said goodbye to everyone.

Everyone but him.

As she pulled up to the shop and entered, she couldn’t help as a knot grew in her throat.

Once the bell rang out Thomas had jumped up from behind the counter, his eyes landed on her and saw the hurt resting in them, his soon matching hers.

“Well…let the goodbye begin I guess.” He began as he walked towards her, he reached past her and locked the door, placing a sign on it stating he’d be back in an hour.

“Go to the back, I’ll be there in a second.” He practically ordered as he made his way down some aisles. Y/N watched him as she moved to wards the back door, she closed it behind her and sat in an empty seat. Her eyes wandered over the stuffy old room. A towel hung on the edge of a shelf, stiff from not being touched in a while. The copy of Thomas’ Glass Castle book sat opened to dry. But it was never picked up again.

The door soon open and Thomas came in with an arm full of chips and soda, a smile broke through Y/N’s face as she watched him struggle to put the items down. “I’m not lettin’ you leave till you absolutely have to.” She let out a light laugh as she opened a bag of chips. “Okay, but I do have a flight to catch.” Thomas smirked. “They won’t leave without ya.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she popped in a few chips. “Sure.” She said mouth half full.

They sat in a silence for a minute, almost causing Y/N to sink back into her heartbreak of today.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Thomas suddenly said, his eyes gazing  into hers. She fiddled with the tab of her pop before setting it down. “Are you gunna visit?” He asked hopefully, her heart rose as she watched him. “Of course.”

Another wave of silence engulfed the both of them, this time it left the feeling of words unsaid, their eyes never leaving each other. “Y/N.” Thomas began gently. “Can I try something?” He moved forward, she nodded and watched his every movement. His hand slid against her now burning cheek, he leaned closer, his lips hovering over hers for a moment before pressing into her.

Y/N could feel that same feeling she had the last time she kissed, but this time it left her wanting more and this time she could kiss him back, his lips molded against her as she gripped at his shoulder.

He moved back and looked away from her. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Y/N wasted no time to grab at the blue collar of his work shirt and pull him back into their kiss. She slowly stood from her chair and moved to straddle him, their lips almost never breaking from one another.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” He mumbled against her mouth and his hands rested on her hips. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long and now you’re leaving.” Y/N could care less about her flight, about her college, about anything. “You have me now.” She sighed out against him.

Thomas groaned lightly, his fingers gripping into her hips harder, his lips smashed into her, his tongue nudging against her which she quickly let into wrestle with hers. His lips then left to trail down her neck, his teeth grazed against her skin sending a shiver down her spine. Thomas moaned at her body movement into her skin.

She could feel him growing against her thigh. “Thomas.” She whispered in a breathy voice. “I have to go soon.” As much as she wanted to stay in this world of it just being him and her, she had to face reality. “God no.” He growled.

[artsyxloner]

Not Just a Monster

Warning: lots of blood, Violence, gore, voices

1: Monster Troubles

Min Soo-Nico P.O.V

Standing in front of the shattered glass mirror I held on to both ends of the bathroom sink. As my nose was gushing blood staining my face it getting all in my lips.

I didn't dare look up at my reflection to be scared of what I would see. I could hear its voice inside my head, I wanted it out" Come on Soo-Nico, this isn't so bad just let go." The monster told me, as I heard its low chuckle.

It sent a cold chill down my spine.

" No, leave me the hell alone!"  I shouted out loud, not caring because there was no one here or anywhere as a matter of fact.

" Why there all gone, it was your fault after all wasn't it Soo-Nico?"  It spoke again to me reminding me of what I accidentally did.

" It wasn't my fault I didn't mean it!" I cried out, as tears fell making my cheeks feel moist.

" That's not what they thought!"  I then heard a 'tsk tsk' noise like it was scolding me. " you can forget all about them so you don't have to suffer. Anymore let me in."

I felt my chest puff out as my breathing became unsteady. " What do you know about family? You have none your just a hallucination!" I spit gritting my teeth.

" Maybe but I'll be real soon, the desire is too tempting to resist."  Those were the monster's last words that were imprinted in my mind.

"The desire was too tempting to resist."

I have to keep it in I have to stay in control I told myself sighing, Finally able to see my reflection all that was left was blood.

Turning on the water, I splashed my face rubbing it all off, spitting it all out leaving nothing. If only they were here maybe this wouldn't be so bad to endure?

I vividly remember their faces contoured in pain as they screamed. I watched them die, a gruesome death but I just stood there in a daze not doing anything.

Swallowing back my tears and a loud sob that wanted to escape my lips I walked out of the bathroom stepping into the lobby before it could happen.

I was going to turn into one of those things sometime soon an ugly creature that roamed the earth. I'm trying to stay in control for as long as I can but I don't know why?

Maybe it's because I'm wishing so hard to survive this and continue to remember them. They don't deserve to be forgotten for my mistake.

I made my way to the elevator pressing the button that said open. Before Stepping in I took out my weapon from my belt raising it high in the air ready for an attack.

The metal doors open revealing nothing. I let out a sigh of relief lowering my weapon, walking in I hit the top floor button.  I was going to go to the roof to scout out the area from above.

I needed to make a run since I'm low on supplies. And I wasn't going to sneak into any rooms in this building to find anything because I wasn't going to risk it being killed.

They're mostly empty anyway because it's a low-rated motel building.  I watch the numbers on the top corner of the doors count up to the top as it reached the 15th floor which was the roof.

Holding my weapon up again, I knew this wouldn't kill the monsters but it would distract them long enough for me to get away. That's the thing I hate about these things they don't die no matter how many times I slice, stab, or shoot nothing works.

At least that I know of? But I try to stay clear and never let them see me. Because if they did its game over. This isn't a disease it's a curse that we humans plagued on ourselves it's kinda like the seven deadly sins if you ask me.

The doors finally opened as I felt the rush of hot air hit my cheeks. I sucked in a breath being still because there's no telling what will be up here even though I've been up hearing a couple of times these monsters can come in any form, shape, or size so I had to be ready.

I walked out searching my surroundings trying to find anything out of the ordinary. Finding nothing, I relaxed going over to the edge, and sat down but not so far where I can fall off.

Putting my knife in my belt sheath, I grabbed my pair of binoculars and my field Journal along with my pencil. I had sketched out all the monsters I had seen and wrote down their strengths and weaknesses.

Most importantly where they stay at so I make sure not to go there or cross paths with them on my runs. This is why I mostly go at night so they won't see me. 

Flipping through the pages the images of the drawing Disturbed me a little. Even so, I was impressed with how detailed they turned out.

If shit didn't hit the fan I could have went to college to be an Art Major? Well, I guess that dream is over so I'm going to have to use it for this for now.

I frowned peering over the city with my binoculars in hand seeing the creatures climb the different buildings, some jumping on cars ripping the doors from the hinges dragging human belongings out.

One had a body of a human with a long extendable neck that had a huge eyeball attached to the top of it. The eyeball was appearing in front of windows staring inside them. That was the green roof apartment building. I started to sketch it out it being new to my notebook.

I figure the only way it could harm you is if it's a long body wrapped around you like a python and crush you to death if provoked. I wrote it down as it could be the only form of attack other than the human body it inhabited but not so much.

That was my routine going to sleep, eating, keeping hidden from monsters, trying to contain myself from turning into one of them, coming up here and looking over the city, and doing some new pages in my Field Guide.

My routine didn't change, and that's how I liked it. But I knew it wouldn't last for long so I prepared myself for the worst or at least trying to.

After a while of looking out at the city, it was time I had to go out on my run. Seeing I ate my last pack of kimchi noodles a day ago and my stomach was growling in hunger.

Getting up I had stuffed all my belongings in my bag hurrying to the elevator but stopped seeing what was in front of me. Its back was facing me thank God but I knew which monster it was.

It was the one that was tall with a slim figure that had its lower jaw and throat open up down to its chest. With a long like tongue that moved in different directions detecting ways to find its victim the suction cup on the end of it opened and closed.

Leaving a trail of its saliva and blood but I was pretty sure it could have been someones else's. Slowly getting on my hands and knees trying not to make a sound I took out my knife and crawled my way over to one of the air units and hide behind it.

Holding my weapon close to my chest I felt my heart in the pit of my stomach. Fear consumed me I hope and prayed that it didn't look or get a glimpse of me.

Just as my mind thought I was good its tongue shot out through the metal-air unit.  Making me scream, I jumped out of the way with no choice but to go. It knew I was here.

Going back on my hands and knees I scrambled to get away but then felt its slimy tongue-like thing wrap around my legs dragging me away towards it.

I shook my head I wasn't going to end like this. I searched for my knife I had dropped on the ground, I tried to grab it having my fingers so close to the tip of the blade.

But it was no use when I had gotten jerked up. My body swaying from side to side. I felt like I was going to puke but nothing would come up except water.

I knew my face was turning red I felt all of my blood rush to my head. As The Monster Tounge slammed me down. Hearing my bones crunched as it made contact with the concrete.

I sucked in a breath, not able to scream. My vision began to blur this was how I was going to die I thought feeling being lifted back up and slammed down again.

This time it released my legs, I laid there not able to cry because I couldn't feel any pain at all. Maybe it was because of my adrenaline pumping?

I slowly opened my eyes seeing the monster walk towards me. I turned my head not wanting to look by the time it gets here. I hope I am gone so I don't have to watch it stab me and suck all my insides up.

I cringed at the thought, this has to be one of the worst ways to die. I would still be awake feeling it. I had to do something I just couldn't lay here?

But then I saw something that gave me a sliver of hope. I had an idea it was a stupid idea but if nothing else could kill this monster then I'm perfectly sure this will do the job!

•••

I don’t own the characters, story line or plot all the credits goes to the creators of this masterpiece Sweey home. Carnby Kim/ Youngchan Hwang

[time-and-souvenir]

Dazzled is an Understatement Part II

Summary: Curious about what happened to Victor and MC’s after the end of the Dazzling Date? A continuation from Victor’s POV. Part 2/3 of Dazzled is an Understatement. 

FYI: Some NSFW, spoilers for chp 10 and beyond, spoilers for Dazzling Date and as always I chose a random name for MC.

Wordcount: 3053 words.

Notes: It’s crazy to me that some of you wanted more of this fanfic? Lol! Dazzled was supposed to be a one shot but I decided to write a second part to it to wrap it up. THEN I wrote this and decided, you know what? I’m making this into THREE parts 😂❤️Thanks to everyone who suggested this, liked, commented and reblogged the first part of Dazzled is an Understatement! & thank you for being SO PATIENT, reading and supporting my writing ♥️ Part 3 is coming soon! I hope you guys like it❤️

“Yes, yes. I know Goldman. I am aware of that,” Victor replied in annoyance as he sifted through the progress reports of several projects LFG had planned in the coming week. He had spent many hours writing up the perfect proposal for this new company he was about acquire, it was an offer they wouldn’t be able to refuse. Working together with Goldman everything was moving very smoothly, until the company somehow started to get cold feet. For reasons he didn’t understand, and he wasn’t happy about it; the company knew who he was and what his company did, what in the world possessed them to do this?

“We could rework the offer and add in another department they might like, sir. I’ve been looking over their assets again and it would be very lucrative---“

“No. The offer I gave them was plenty, we don’t bend to someone that is inferior to our company, especially a company we are trying to acquire Goldman,” Victor responded, irritation lacing his tone. The more he kept discussing things over with his assistant, the more heated his blood became and not in a good way. Goldman changed tactics and suggested another way LFG could make things work and the ravenette listened intently. He clicked on his email, looking over the different graphics, information on the company’s growth and some articles of the company’s achievements that Goldman sent him. It was a decent size, but with proper funding, patience and the guidance of LFG it would succeed. A new plan started to form in his head.

“Here is what I want you to do Goldman,” Victor leaned back in his chair and started to rattle off what he needed his subordinate to do. Ten minutes later as their phone call started to wrap up, he felt much more confident with what was discussed. The ravenette had always gotten what he wanted, one way or another and this small little company was next. He stood up and stretched slightly, keeping his phone tucked into his shoulder so he could continue to hear Goldman. He walked over to his home office window, the sun setting in the distance. He had been working from his penthouse for a couple of days now, work had become…somewhat distracting.

“I need you to finish up that proposal within the hour, type it up and bring it over with the other data that we’ve discussed. I’ll give you the final approval so you can take it to their office tomorrow,” Victor paused, shutting his laptop closed and turning towards the door of his office. It had gotten rather late and he needed to make dinner. “If that’s all, I’ll see you----"

“Uh actually, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Miss Juliette has been insistent on trying to schedule an appointment with you. She’s been calling me nonstop for the last three days, almost demanding to talk or see you,” Goldman trailed off, sounding nervous. The CEO paused in the doorway of his home office, his breath almost catching. He closed his eyes and a sigh escaped his lips.

“Do she happen to mention what was so urgent?” He asked as he left the room, heading towards his gourmet kitchen.

“She said she needed to speak to you about something important but did not elaborate beyond that. I am sorry, sir. What would you like me to do?” His assistant asked, he didn’t sound nervous anymore instead is tone was curious.

“Do as I said before, write up the proposal and bring me that data in one hour, Goldman. That is all,” Victor snapped and hung up the phone, he set the device down on his kitchen island and ran a hand down his face in annoyance. He had been dodging Juliette’s calls for almost five days now, five days since their date and the night they had kissed. He swore he could still feel the heat from her mouth on his own and the warmth of her skin as they slept together in her bed. His cock twitched at the thought of her wrapped around him, suddenly remembering how soft and wet her mouth felt.

Groaning, the black-haired male shook his head and walked around the kitchen island, going to one of his cabinets and opening it. He took out his favorite glass and went to fetch a bottle of wine, on a mission to pick out one of his most expensive ones. With the way he had been feeling, he might end up drinking the entire bottle. Victor had no idea why he felt this way, not only had Juliette been his long-lost childhood love, they had somehow found their way back to one another and their relationship was starting to blossom. There was no reason to feel down or disappointed by anything, he had finally found her, and everything was falling into place. Then why did feel so horrid about it? He grabbed a bottle of wine from his collection and went back to the kitchen island, searching for a wine opener from one of its drawers. He found what he needed and made quick work of the bottle before pouring himself a glass.

Juliette had made the first move between them, she had initiated and kissed him. The CEO had been so worried to do anything at first, there was a lot that had happened between them and the years they spent apart stacked between them as well. Everything had been exactly like he wanted with Juliette and more, but he didn’t want to ruin it by pushing her into a direction she didn’t want to go into or wasn’t ready for. His little idiot was a strong and stubborn woman, but he had seen the fear and questioning in her eyes sometimes when they were together, so he decided to be careful. Besides, they had all the time together in the world, his evol made sure of that. Closing his eyes, he downed the glass of wine and poured himself another. He was in complete and utter misery. One, he had missed Juliette desperately. He missed talking to her and frankly he also felt anxious not talking to her. Something he would never admit aloud, but it was something that hovered over him like a cloud. Two, how in the world could he face her after the dream he had? Yes, they had kissed and touched on their date and fell asleep together but having that type of dream while she slept next to him was so mortifying.

Victor took a sip of his dream, letting his thoughts consume him for a few moments. He had been so happy she had kissed him first, it gave him the permission he needed that she wanted that from him. It was still hard for him to do anything, let alone truly touch her because he was afraid something would go wrong. It was as if he thought of her as some expensive artwork and if he hadn’t locked up and put that artwork something horrible would happen. Somehow the artwork would be ruined, or someone would try and steal it; but Juliette wasn’t artwork, no she was the precious little girl he had been desperately searching for years and years. She was real and in front of him, but he was so afraid to touch her, so afraid she would disappear.

Sighing, he downed the rest of his and set the wine glass down. Two glasses should be enough for now, he still needed to eat. Shaking his head, he walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. He scanned the different shelves, trying to come up with something quick but fulfilling, it wasn’t too late but still. Something heavy wouldn’t do. Suddenly, the sound of his doorbell went off and he blinked looking up. Victor shut the fridge and grabbed his phone off the kitchen island, it hadn’t been thirty minutes yet and Goldman had already finished and arrived? And he had a key, why in the world wasn’t he using it? All of a sudden feeling a bit annoyed, the CEO left his kitchen and walked towards the entrance of his home.

Once he got there, he paused and opened up his phone bringing up the old proposal for tor company LFG was soon to acquire from earlier. He unlocked and opened the door, stepping aside. “Goldman, I appreciate your quickness, but why aren’t you using your key?” He spoke without looking up from his phone.

“Maybe because I’m not Goldman, Victor.” A sweet, but irritated feminine voice rang out in front of him. The ravenette started to feel his pulse race a bit and he looked up from his phone, trying to hide the shock from his face. Juliette stood before him, her arms across her chest as her foot tapped ever so slightly on the floor. She was so tiny in comparison to him, yet she looked like she was ready to take him down at any moment. Blinking, he shook his head and ushered her inside, thankfully she didn’t put up a fuss as she entered his home. He swiftly closed the door, the sound of the lock filling up his foyer.

“One moment.” Victor looked at her and tried not to stare, but she shrugged and turned her back to him, making her way into his main living place.

Trying to snap out of his shock, he shook his head and dialed Goldman’s phone number. “Finish the proposal, recheck the data and have everything ready to be discussed tomorrow. Tonight, is no longer available.” He spoke with absolution as he heard Goldman start to stutter in disbelief on the other line. Before his assistant could argue or say anything further, he hung up on him. Goldman had dealt with bigger issues before, he would be fine.

The CEO quickly followed Juliette into the living room, where he found her sitting on his couch waiting. She looked beautiful and lovely as always, even with the annoyance rolling out of  her in waves, nothing could stop how gorgeous she was to him. Victor couldn’t help but smile a bit at how she was acting, the woman before him looked like a very annoyed, fluffed up kitten. He sat down beside her, setting his phone on the coffee table before turning to her, giving the brunette his full attention.

“Why have you been avoiding me? My calls?” Juliette spoke angrily, a confused look into her chocolate colored eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this, it’s one thing to ignore me for work but…” She trailed off, her expression suddenly becoming vulnerable. “We had that wonderful date, I thought we had grown closer. I know you didn’t mean to spend the night on purpose, but I enjoyed waking up in your arms. I know you did too, so I don’t understand,” the producer shook her head back and forth before stopping to look at him again. “I don’t understand why you aren’t talking to me.” The irritation she had come to his home with vanished and a look of hurt crossed her face instead.

Gently, Victor reached out and cupped her face. Moving close to her, his fingers stroked her skin and his pulse quickened slightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” He spoke softly as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against his. Juliette sniffed and he felt her slender arms encircle his neck. His breath caught slightly, and he closed his eyes for a moment, only to open them to find her gaze focused on his own. Without thinking, the ravenette gently tilted her face up to his and pecked her lips against his. Juliette gasped against his mouth and he smiled in return. He angled his head slightly and kissed her once more, deepening it.

“Victor…” the brunette murmured his name and it was as if the spell that been cast on him broke. He pulled away from her, enough to look down at her face. His fingers still lingered on her cheeks and a look on confusion filled her now flushed face. He had to get better grip on himself and his thoughts, his annoying, tortuous lewd thoughts of her. They had just found one another one again and after seventeen years of searching for her, he still couldn’t believe he had finally found her and the little girl who had saved him all those years ago. He couldn’t risk ruining what they had because of his own carnal, selfish desires. Reluctantly he let go of her face and started to pull away only to find the front of his shirt being grabbed and pulled back toward her. He started to say her name but closed his mouth and repeatedly blinked several times at the look on her face. “I am not a doll or a piece of glass. I’m the woman you love.” Juliette pulled him so closed to her that their noses barely were inches apart. Her dark hues kept moving from his eyes to his mouth and something just snapped inside of him.

The CEO wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her neck, he felt himself shaking a little. “Is it so wrong that I want to cherish you Juliette?” He murmured into her skin, kissing the spot beneath her ear. He felt her hands move into his hair, her delicate fingers stroking through the strands. “Cherishing doesn’t mean keeping me at arm’s length or ignoring the fact that we want one another.” Juliette’s hands suddenly disappeared from his head and he felt a gentle nudge underneath his chin, he obliged her and looked at her. She kissed his nose and pressed her forehead against his own, her arms immediately wrapping around his neck. “I love you and I want you.” Victor fought the urge to stop and rewind time, but he also didn’t want to make Juliette have to wait any longer either. His little producer had gotten quite bold, maybe all his heavy teasing and business advice had finally gotten through to her.

“I have always loved you,” He murmured against her mouth before pressing a chase against her mouth and a small murmur was her response, her nails digging lightly into the back of his neck. Smiling Victor kissed her again, sliding his tongue past her lips and into her mouth to meet her tongue. His hands cradled and angled her face up to his as they kissed. Juliette sighed and moaned into his mouth as kept his lips against her own, his fingers stroking the sides of her face. Victor pulled away after what seemed like hours from her panting ever so slightly, his cock throbbing and beginning to harden as he stared at her flushed face and wide-eyed gaze.

“Have you ever done anything like this before?” He asked as his hands left her cheeks and moved down her neck, his fingers tracing her body downward until they rested against her hips. The brunette stared up at him for a few moments not saying anything and he was about to say something when she dug her nails gently but with purpose into his neck.

“Some of it. Does it matter?” She asked holding his gaze and ignoring his hands moved and gripped the backs of her legs, he swore he saw her chest rise and fall faster at the movement.

“Hold on tight to me.” Victor replied and lifted her off the couch making sure that her legs wrapped around his torso. She made a small sound of distress, but he kissed her cheek and chuckled. “I’m not going to let you fall, Juliette.” She adjusted herself a bit against him and once she settled into his arms, she pulled out slightly and looked down at him. Her eyebrows rose when he didn’t move, he just stood there holding her.

“Are you sure you want---?”

“Victor,” She cut him off and one of her hands grabbed his chin and pulled his face closer to her own. Her chocolate orbs seemed ablaze with determination, the same gaze he had seem her do many times before either when presenting a report to him or eating one of his meals. He pecked her mouth and moved his hands from her hips to his ass, squeezing the delicate round. The earlier bravo she had had shown him all of a sudden faded and her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. Smirking, he kissed her again making sure to press his middle especially hard between the spot of her legs. Her hands dug into his shoulders and she let out a low sound against his mouth. Pulling away, he kissed her nose and started to walk away from the couch and living room and moved towards the stairs. “Just wanted to make sure you know what you’re getting into.” Victor kissed her again, breaking apart only for a few moments to angle his face towards her. He reached the stairs and carefully went up them one by one, his fingers kneading and squeezing the brunette’s ass. Juliette kept letting low moans escape her mouth and into his own, her voice was getting louder with each passing moment and he wondered if she had even realized she was making a sound.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, the CEO carried her down the hallway and paused at his bedroom door. Victor broke away from her lips only to find himself pressing his forehead against her own. His dark hues looking into her own gaze as they looked at one another.

“When we go in there I’m not going to stop, so I need to know…” He paused, reaching up one of his hands and caressing the side of her face. “Are you sure?” His thumb traced her mouth before he leaned in and kissed her again. Pulling back his hand left her face and back down to her side, squeezing her there. His hands tangling in the fabric as he took a step forward, pausing in the doorway of his bedroom.

“I’m sure,” Juliette spoke her voice seemingly out of breath, and he smiled in response. Kissing her deeply once more, Victor moved them into his bedroom using his back foot to shut the door firmly behind them.

[residentlesbrarian]

The Fourth Book I Read In the Dark: Of Expectations and Other Relatabilities

Of Gryphons and Other Monsters by Shannon McGee

Hey, guys, sooooo...this is aaaawwwkward. I wrote 95% of this review when I wrote the other Books I Read in the Dark series for the blog, but the ADHD hit me and COVID was still you know...a thing! So I am gonna post this review, finished of course, OH, but also pay extra close attention to the conclusion alright! Hmm...this is a bit like a time capsule...here are my concentrated thoughts from 6 months ago while I was slightly delirious on books and darkness. So go forth and uh yeah this one is...you can just feel the feral “I haven’t had access to proper internet so I’ve been curled in the corner like Gollum with my books” energy coming off it so...enjoy?

Okay, so yeah, I really didn’t have a reason to end my last review that way I just wanted to, so sue me for injecting a little excitement into a series of posts about me literally sitting in my house reading nonstop for 2 ½ days, my reviews my rules. Back to manufacturing my own excitement shall we!

It’s Day 2! I’ve just finished my last library book, whatever will I do! I could always reread The Neverending Story for the 1,273rd time, but I have a need. A need for GAY! I rack my brain, there has to be a solution. My town is without power, my local library won’t be open, but then it hits me. It’s so simple! It’s meant to be really! Like the universe knew this was coming and it made sure I was prepared! Like a prepper stockpiling mental SPAM for my stimulus needing ADHD riddled brain! I have an entire shelf of books that I haven’t read yet! Way back in Clexacon 2019 my best friend (Lookin at you @justalifelongphase) gave me way too much money from missed birthdays and Christmases all at once before the con started because the world has deemed it impossible for us to live geographically close to one another. Anyway, I went a little book-buying-crazy and have not had the time or opportunity to read any of them since then. Their time has finally come!

I figured after going full whimsy with The Lost Coast and sci-fi superhero with Dreadnought and Sovereign why not take a dip into more traditional fantasy, also this one was first in line on the shelf, yay for not having to actually make a decision! No more dawdling, let's get right into the review!

Unicorn Rating:

Blurb: Taryn always loves and hates gryphon season. She finds the lesser gryphons more cute than anything but the ever present fear that a greater gryphon might be just out of sight is terrifying, and this gryphon season proves to be the one that will change her and her families lives forever! Just let a girl herd her sheep in peace!

Disclaimer: I will try my best to not spoil anything from the book, but my book loving rambles may give more away than a traditional review. Here we go! Ramble time!

Review:

I genuinely enjoyed this book. It took me a bit longer to get through it than the others, but I think that was a combination of three things: A. I was starting to feel the fatigue of reading so much in such a short amount of time. B. Our local Wal Mart had power restored on Day 3 and our entire household went on a trip to buy non-perishable food stuffs and I was like a solitary confinement prisoner being let out into the yard for the first time in months when my phone picked up a wifi signal and it was a bit hard to get back into the swing of reading after talking to other humans, even virtually, that weren’t imaginary or in my head. C. Our power was finally restored on the afternoon of Day 3 so yet again I was inundated with the draw of technology and all of my friend-os I hadn’t talked to, but the book had drawn me in enough I did the most unmillienial thing and left my phone in a different room to charge while I finished this book before going back to the land of technology and interwebs. That should tell you something.

McGee was able to write this story in a way that pulls you in so you care about what happens to these characters and this little mountain town. You learn just enough about the world to understand where they fit within the overall weave of it, but you aren’t given a Tolkein-esc dissertation on the world lore. I felt the worries and the fears. I was concerned when the routines had to change. I mean she made me care about the freaking sheep! Sheep, people! One of the reasons I think this works so well is we are so firmly rooted in the head of our protagonist, Taryn. Imma use that lovely bridge I just built to skip right on over the plot section of the review to get to the characters first, don’t worry we’ll circle back round to the plot. I always do, but I just wanna talk about my newest set of brain babies.

Taryn is a character that, if the title of this post is anything to go by, I found very very relatable. Now I know relatability can be pretty subjective, some people can latch onto something with the all consuming, “It me!” While others just stare on dead eyed not understanding the appeal. I feel like Taryn could be that kind of protagonist. You are either going to really relate to her or you won’t understand where she is coming from at all. I obviously fall in the former category. I was the quintessential middle child, still am really, though my relationship with my parents has shifted now that I’m an adult. More mutual respect and friendship than parent to child. I always did my best to pick up the slack, if ever there was any, and just tried my best to be as little of a burden as possible to my parents. I see so much of that aspect of myself in Taryn and how she sees her place at the farm and even in the town, she has her place and her role, but those expectations are heavy. One of those expectations being that she will inevitably get married and help take over the farm from her parents and have kids to continue the line. The fact she finds the lesser gryphons that flock near the farm far cuter than any of the local boys that she will eventually have to choose from to fulfill that inevitable expectation is just...sad at best and down right tragic at worst. And her family doesn’t help matters either. They won’t let her forget that she will have to settle down with one of these local boys, a boy who would make a good husband and take good care of her and the farm. She knows that, logically, but she also wants to be in love, like her parents, and she just doesn’t feel like that for any of the boys in town. She doesn’t know how to make those two things line up. It’s a struggle between her head, the obligation of what she has to do, and her heart, what she really wants for her future, to be happy in doing what she has to do. Wow, I went off a little bit there, but this was my long winded way of saying I have never read a protagonist that really captured the utter confusion of being raised in a heteronormative environment without it being drenched in internalized homophobia and fear. Protagonists like this seem to always know something is off but just don’t have the words for it so they just hide it because they know it’s “different” and out of the norm, but Taryn is just livin’ her sheep herding life and ain’t got no time for these boy crazy fools. She knows her mom wants her to find a good boy to court her so she can marry someday but she’s still young. She’ll think about that tomorrow, and she just repeats that ad infinitum. The thought that maybe she doesn’t fancy any of the boys because well...girls...never even occurred to her. It's not how things are done in this small mountain town, not because of homophobia reasons, but just stubborn tradition reasons. We are even told there is a gay couple living in town who are staples in the overall dynamics in town, instrumental even, but the idea of having a lineage, being able to pass your land down is so ingrained no wonder poor Taryn was so in the dark about her own probable gayness till it slapped her in the face. As someone who was raised in a medium sized Oklahoma town...girl I feel you. I was 22 and in the middle of Appalacia, way up in the mountains for college when my gay awakening popped up and said “Hello!” Everything that never quite made sense in my life came into perfect clarity. Not quite what happened with Taryn, but the arrival of Aella surely helped, as pretty girls are want to do. Oh look a segue, good, cause I could talk about Taryn for literal hours and I’ve already gabbed about her too much for this review.

Aella, you smooth motherfucker. Like I wish I could possess a quarter of the smoothness that you do. Like I’m lucky to string sentences together around a pretty girl, but here you are just strutting about being the smoothest of smooth. Honestly, I just...I can’t with you Aella. On a serious note though Aella is a character that served as showing Taryn a glimpse at the world beyond her small mountain town, as much as she had no desire to leave, unlike her brother. Nope, sit down, we’ll get to you, Michael! Oh, we’ll get to you. She’s traveled and has stories from all over and she is fairly open about the fact that she only likes girls, but she doesn’t have land, responsibilities, and a family line to continue. She just gets to live her life the way she choses. And y’all know I am a sap for the hard dark characters that are totally softies underneath that rough exterior. I think Aella was a great foil to Taryn and great at showing her what she could have if she was willing to leave, to stretch what she was allowed to wish for, but of course the biggest issue with her wishing for anything was...Michael.

Michael was such an interesting character. I loved him. I hated him. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to punch him. Again as with the town and the people of the town I was so deep seated in Taryn’s head and feelings that her conflicted feelings about Michael and how he was acting became my feelings on the matter. Not enough to not separate a tad and see what was coming or at least try to predict it as I always do when reading, but emotionally I was right with Taryn the whole way. The one thing that really pushed Michael from just a character I was conflicted about to one I really wanna give a swift kick in the nads to, is that he knew. He knew all about Taryn’s absolute lack of romantic inclinations toward any of the boys in town and her doubts that she would ever find someone to love and marry to take over the farm. He was the only person she confided these fears in and he still selfishly followed his own pursuits with little regard to her or her worries. You sir, are a terrible brother and overall a shit human, so sit your ass down and shut your mouth.

The plot for this book was so embroiled with the characters and their journeys that I can’t talk on it much but the twists at the end and the final climax was very satisfying for me and left me excited to dig into the next book. Also something of note that I didn’t talk about in the character section cause I felt it was dragging on a touch, I really only talked in depth on our three biggest players but there is a very colorful cast of side characters ranging from Taryn’s nervous pony to the boy-who-cried-gryphon neighbor no one can stand to the troupe of hunters led by Aella’s mother to Taryn’s best friend Nia, all of whom play important parts in building that sense of caring about the people of this town and the town itself, which in turn made me deeply care about the outcome of the plot at the heart of the story. And the sheep! The god damn sheep!

One thing I do want to say before my final thoughts is that whoever designed the cover of this book in a genius because as I dug into the story I found myself constantly closing it to spout off about theories of what I thought was happening on the cover and what it all meant, I was kind of reader fatigue delirious for most of those theories but some of them I was right! I might have reenacted the Captain Holt “Vindication” gif IRL just because it felt too good not to. I just love when a “cool” cover turns out to be so much more than that once you’re “in the know”. So yeah, now y’all know to pay attention for that.

My final thoughts on this book are pretty positive. I can tell the author is building us toward so much more, hence the name of the series, Taryn’s Journey, and it feels like it. This is only the beginning and I honestly can’t wait to take the next steps with her.

Queer Wrap-up:

Hey it’s me from the future...present...whatever...so, this is when I stopped writing the review six months ago and there is a reason for that. I, kind of, agonized over what to rate this book on the scale. Multiple times having to call my brother and go back and forth just to then repeat the same arguments with myself as soon as I got off the phone. Now why was this such a hard terrible no good awful back and forth well...SPOILER WARNING...seriously anything past this point will be spoiling some character beats for the majority of the book...okay? We understand one another. DANGER ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE...or you know scroll on.

So, Taryn is never confirmed to be queer in the text of this book. Now you would have to be wearing the tightest hetero goggles in known history not to see the heavy HEAVY subtext saying THIS BITCH GAY! It’s basically a full grown elephant painted sparkly rainbow trying to hide behind a dead shrub aka not hiding at all. I so desperately wanted to give this book four of those darling unicorns but in this rare case I just don’t think I can justify it. We have a protagonist that is still figuring herself out, which is amazing that we get to see that and go on the journey with her. Some of the things Taryn does and thinks are queer coded as hell, especially if it involves Aella who is explicitly gay on the page, but Taryn herself never express whether she herself is queer. Which, fair, other really important and traumatizing things were going on and I love that about her as a character, she didn’t meet Aella and suddenly that was all she could think about. Aella, of course, is representation who I’m counting because even though she shows obvious interest (you smooth motherfucker) in Taryn she is so much more than just a love interest and her character isn’t just boiled down to her sexuality. Now in this wrap up I’m also including the doctor and his husband in the town. They are very minor characters but they give us interesting insights into the town and the people. They are accepted and treated well in town even if some do almost, pity isn’t the right word, but they seem sad that they won’t be able to have any kind of legacy or lineage. As I said in the review it’s not homophobia it’s being stuck in your ways and it’s an interesting take.

Links:

Shannon McGee Website

The Storygraph

Okay so this one is a bit of a mess. Pieces of it were written 6 months apart and most of it was written while I was kind of delirious but hey at least I can say it’s honest. I still stand by everything my past self wrote and I still really enjoy thinking and talking about this book and am excited for whenever I get around to reading the sequel to continue on Tayrn’s journey with her. This is a book I probably would never have known even existed without ClexaCon and trolling through artist alley for literally every table that had books on them. I guess, moral of the day is maybe you won’t just find great books on library shelves but on unassuming convention tables too and it never hurts to look. Trust me, I’m a lesbrarian.

Oh bet you thought this post was over. I did the sign off and everything but oh no no! I have some info and such to impart. I am WELL AWARE these reviews have been fairly inconsistent to down right sporadic. Well, this is just a little info dump letting you guys know I am gonna be putting up one more review after this one that I wrote ages ago and I mean AGES (think years, as in multiple) and just never got around to posting and then the old blog is probably gonna be going through a PLANNED dormancy while some pretty big stuff is coming down the pike. You may notice visual changes and other stuff before anything else is announced but just keep an eye out. To quote the Fates from Hercules, “It’s gonna be big!”

Okay now for the actual sign off, I got shit to do! No one look behind the curtain, it’s a surprise!

[skiller0dani]

Hollow Grave | Dean Winchester

M A S T E R L I S T Supernatural Masterlist

smut (v sad though) requests info listened to ‘dumbledore’s farewell’ by nicholas hooper when I wrote this. just btw xx

The sun had set hours ago but the tears were still wet on your cheeks. The aching in your chest hadn’t lessened, you feared it never would. Your fingers curled around the steering wheel of the pickup truck you hot wired in your frantic attempt to leave the Bunker. Your hair was wet from the rain which battered down on the roof of the truck. The strands stuck to your face and neck as you cried, you couldn’t see through the tears or rain but you didn’t care- you needed to go. Dean didn’t- there’s no way he did what he said he did. Panic settles deep into you, if he did it then not only did he lie but he is exactly what you feared he was. A man who sees nothing more than what’s in front of him, that things in this world are as easy as black and white. Wendy is fine- she’s in North Carolina. That’s the last place a postcard was sent from, she’s okay... Dean didn’t. He just didn’t. Tears fly down your cheeks as you speed down the road going much faster than is safe for how heavily it’s raining. 

Dean stood with his back to the door, you and Wendy stood in front of him. “Y/N you need to let me do this.” Dean says, his eyes hard and his jaw clenched as he eyed the two of you. You stood protectively in front of your little sister, a pleading look of pure panic strewn on your face. “She’s not a monster baby please you don’t have to hurt her. She steals blood from the morgues and hospitals.” You try to keep your tone sharp and hands steady but the fear coursing through you overrides anything else. Dean still holds the gun pointed firmly in your direction, but you know he’d never pull the trigger with you standing in the way. “Dean if you hurt her I will never forgive you. She’s all I have left.” You plead, the tears in your eyes threatening to fall. When Dean lowers his gun Wendy makes a beeline for the motel room door, not even throwing a fearful glance in Dean’s direction. 

He didn’t hurt her, but he didn’t promise not to eventually. You feel nearly lightheaded as you frantically drive to the address Dean gave you. He didn’t look up as he did so, a somber expression laid over his face. Not happening. This isn’t happening. You love Dean but how could you ever look at him the same if he hurt her? If he killed Wendy? You don’t want to believe for a second that your faith in Dean was misplaced. You pull into the parking lot, barely making sure the truck was in park before you were throwing open the door and rushing into the forest. You glanced around for the trail start marker before sprinting down it, the rain chilling you to the bone. The water soaks through your clothes but you don’t notice as you keep an eye out for the tree with a yellow scarf tied around the trunk. Dean knows how much Wendy means to you, he knows that if you were to lose her then you would lose yourself. “No,” The word falls past your lips like  a broken promise when you catch sight of the yellow scarf. Your feet move on autopilot as you collapse to your knees at the trees base. You begin to scoop up the ground with your hands, desperately clawing at the dirt as tears blur your eyes once again. 

The Bunker was quiet, save for the steady ticking of the clock in the Library. Dean sat across from you, stubble lining his jaw and a tired haze in his eyes. Your socked feet stretched across the distance under the table to rest on his lap, and you felt his thumb rubbing circles onto your inner calf. He had a book in his hands but you could tell he wasn’t really reading it. “Where did Wendy end up?” His voice was ragged, it matched his appearance. You eyed him suspiciously, but saw no hidden motive in his eyes. “One of the Carolina’s.” You tell him, flipping another page of the book you were pretending to read. Dean turned his attention back to the book in his hands, but the hollow look in his eyes worried you. “Baby, are you okay?” You asked knowing it was more like that he would lie to you. His eyes turn up to meet yours and expression on his face has all the answers you need. “Been worse.” He quirked the corner of his mouth up, but that glimmer in his eyes never sparkled as he smiled at you. 

You’re frantic as you dig away at the ground, the tears in your eyes making it hard for you to see what you’re doing. When your hand hits something you curl your fingers around it before yanking an arm out of the ground. “No, no please-” You gasp as you continue to pull the body out of the sodden Earth. Eventually you get another arm free and soon you’re yanking the body up by the shoulders. A scream erupts from your dry throat as you make eye contact with your little sister, her blue eyes glazed and empty. Dead. “Wendy! God please not Wendy.” Your tears are thick as you sob, clutching her to your chest. Her body is heavy like dead weight in your arms as you cry out. The pain overwhelms you. It consumes you and for a second you’re worried it’s going to swallow you whole. Dean- Dean. You feel anger first, the betrayal making your skin itch. Then the pain comes rolling in waves, each time drowning you more than the last. You gather Wendy in your arms, the pain turning into a boiling rage with each step. You trusted Dean, you love Dean. He killed Wendy. 

As the weeks went on there was no further mention of Wendy from Dean, which you were grateful for. Every once in a while you’d receive a post card from her, a way for her to let you know that she’s okay. “Got another.” Dean said as he tosses the card down onto the table in front of you. His expression was sullen as he knelt to kiss your head. With a firm hold on your chin Dean tilted your head to press a searing kiss to your lips which you responded to with fervor. “Baby?” you questioned when he pulled away, his hand digging into your hair to drag your lips back onto his. Dean reached for you frantically, a desperation twitching underneath his palms as he lifted you around his waist. Your lips met his once again as his hands gripped your hips with a bruising force. You’re not sure where this sudden desperation came from but you know whatever demons he’s battling in his head- he needs you to chase them away. Which you gladly will. Dean’s hand slid up your bare thigh to graze his fingers over the soaked crotch of your sleep shorts. 

There are no words spoken as he presses your back to the wall of the Library hard, his lips are still pressing to yours. You can feel the tension like an aura radiating off his body as his hands fumble to yank his belt loose. There is a quickness to this that makes you feel as though you’re running out of time. “Dean what’s going on?” Your voice is hoarse between the kisses and his hand has slid into your shorts. His eyebrows are pinched together, as though he’s trying to bury a painful memory. “Need you.” His sentence is simple, and while those are words you’ve heard him say before you can’t recall the last time they sounded so empty. It’s like he needs you because he has nothing else, or because he knows something you don’t. You feel like he’s saying goodbye- you want to understand. Dean’s fingers pull your panties aside and you feel the head of his cock nudging into your opening. His face is buried into your neck, breathing in deeply when he pushes all the way in. His cock immediately goes balls deep and you can’t control the strangled moan as it falls past your lips. 

Dean’s lips find yours as he begins to thrust into you, his grip firm but his movements gentle. The way he kisses you, the way he holds you tightly but thrusts sweetly and slowly, it’s as though you can physically feel the breaking of his heart. Dean’s breathing is labored as he slides all the way out and then pushes all the way back in again, each drag of his cock against your walls causing you to flutter around him more. The burn is built slowly, that desperate aching to release growing stronger as Dean’s lips tangle with yours. Your mouth hangs open as he snaps his hips into you slowly but forcefully, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge. “God, fuck-” Your cries are muffled by Dean’s mouth as you cum, your body convulsing as you remain impaled on his cock. He swallows up all your cries and groans with his lips as he stutters slightly before you feel him going soft inside you. When Dean lowers you to the ground again and redoes his belt, you can’t take your eyes off him. He looks hollow inside, distant. “Baby-” You begin but he gives you one of his Dean smiles that makes your heart melt. He’s trying so hard to show you he’s okay but you know better. You know him better and when he sends you a wink and turns out of the room- you’re terrified of the secrets hiding in his head.  

You nearly blast through the door of the Bunker, your dead sister laying in the back of the pick up. The Bunker is dark save for one lamp on in the Library where Dean sits with an open bottle of Tennessee Whiskey. You stumble down the stairs, your clothes and hair soaking wet as you tremble before him. The look of horror on your face and betrayal in your eyes is all the answer Dean needs before he even questioned if you found what you were looking for. You found the truth, but not all of it. Wendy’s necklace is held tight in your closed fist before you slam it against the table in front of Dean. The silence in the air is deafening, and it says much more than words ever could. You’re both aware that any relationship you had is destroyed, and that the love you share is in tattered pieces. “Wendy-” Your throat closes as you close your eyes to push the emotion back down again. Dean’s hand stays curled around the bottle, that familiar haze in his eyes. He’s been waiting for this nuke to go off. “You... you’re dead to me.” The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you see the shadow of emptiness cross onto his face once again. 

“You’re heartless- soulless. I wish I never met you, I wish I could stop loving you. I never want to see you again.” Each harsh word spills out one after the other. It’s as though a tidal wave of pain and anger has begun to rush in your head and there’s no dam to hold it all back. “You’re a monster Dean, you only care about one thing: the next thing you get to kill. As long as you’re shooting something or cutting something’s head off you’re good. You’re a brainless grunt Dean, there’s nothing more to you. You’re only good at ending lives, and destroying the lives of people who are still living.” The tears are hot as they traverse down your trembling cheeks. Your words seem to bring out no immediate reaction from Dean- no anger, no defensiveness, just nothing. You turn on your heel and make a beeline for yours and Dean’s room, you need to leave. You need to bury Wendy, and then you need to drink yourself into a coma. Cas watches with heavy eyes from the end of the Library, and none other than Dean knew he was standing there. “You need to tell her what happened, what really happened.” Cas said, a look of sorrow crossing onto his own face as he took a seat next to Dean. 

Dean shook his head, taking a long gulp from the bottle. You knew what Dean wanted you to believe because the truth is much worse than that. “Dean- she hates you... and you didn’t even kill Wendy.” Cas is confused, why would Dean let her believe a lie? What could be worse than allowing Y/N to believe that the love of her life killed her sister? Dean swirls the Whiskey in the glass, hearing you tossing things around in the bedroom. Your cries and words of hatred will haunt him forever, but he would rather shield you from the truth and just let you believe a lie. “Who are you protecting?” Cas asked, his eyebrows furrowed and it’s only now that Dean looks over into his eyes. “I’m protecting her.” No further words are spoken as Dean turns back to the bottle, his palm twitching as he reaches out to grasp it again. When you come stumbling from the hallway you’re dragging an assortment of bags up the stairs. Cas can’t let this continue, Dean already shoulders more guilt than he needs to. 

Cas finds you outside, “Y/N there’s something you should know.” He says and you turn, eyes swollen and near dry clothes soaking again in the rain. You watch him expectantly, your thoughts flying and swirling in so many directions. “It might be easier to just show you.” Cas explains before his eyes glow and he reaches up to press two fingers to your temple. Your eyes glow blue as the vision starts nearly a month ago, during that hunt where you and the boys took down a witch in Tallulah, Louisiana. 

Dean listens to the witch as she yells Latin. He’s safely hidden behind a fallen bookshelf, but you’re hit with the spell full blast. “Y/N!” Dean’s voice has panic in it when he watches you fall to your knees. He emerges from his cover when the witch smiles but before a spell can be blasted at him, Sam shoots her with a witch killing bullet. The brothers rush to your side as your eyes flutter open thinking that whatever spell has been broken by the witches death. But this is a spell of the witches own creation, the Hollow Grave spell. It needs to run it’s course before it is broken, but the flame in your eyes left by the spell grows dimmer but still simmers. Dean helped you to your feet before lecturing you about staying behind cover while checking you for injuries. After deeming you unharmed Dean pulls you close to his chest while whispering how he loves you. It was 2 days later when you disappeared. Dean had no idea where you went so he tracked your phone, where you just so happened to be in North Carolina. You didn’t tell Dean or anybody else that you were leaving so as soon as Dean received an exact address he left with Sam. 

After stepping closer to the abandoned house at the end of the road, Sam and Dean were immediately alarmed to find the door ajar. Dean pulled his gun out, senses heightened by the possible danger and panic in his veins. Were you hurt? Sam stood behind Dean, staying close as to not become separated. A shadow is cast across the kitchen floor and a pool of dried and sticky blood pools into the living room. Coming around the corner into the kitchen Dean stops in his tracks when he sees Wendy, slashed and dead on the ground. It was you standing over her, arms and hands covered in blood and your breath was heaving. “Y/N? Baby?” Dean calls out gently, eyeing the knife in your hand and the wooden stake driven through the center of Wendy’s chest. “No loose ends.” Your voice sounds dissociative, almost as though it’s not your voice. When you turned Dean knew by the red glow in your eyes that this was because of whatever that damn witch did to you, and when you collapsed to the ground Dean called Cas. He needed Cas to wipe your memory, you would never forgive yourself if you knew this happened. Dean would rather you believe he killed Wendy. 

When Cas released you it was as though your world came crashing down for a second time that evening. Wendy- Dean- you. You killed Wendy, it wasn’t Dean. It never was Dean. You turned your eyes back to the Bunker, “you’re a monster Dean.” The words haunt you as they come back, and the look that was on Dean’s face haunts you more. Dean, oh that man. That man you love so dearly, the man who has taken the blame for something as catastrophic as this so that you wouldn’t have to face this guilt. Before you can stop your feet you’re rushing inside, finding Dean still drinking in the same place. There are fresh tears on your cheeks as you take heavy footsteps towards him. You push him back in his chair before sliding into his lap, your arms curling around his shoulders and wet face buried in his neck. “I love you,” Those are the only words that make it through the sobs as you clutch tightly to him. Dean’s arms wrap securely around you, hand brushing through your hair as he whispers soft loving words into your ear. “It wasn’t your fault,” “I know you didn’t mean what you said,” “I love you,” Nothing can ease the pain, and the pain grows deeper still when you remember Wendy’s mutilated body in the truck. 

-cavum sepulcrum unum eritis quem tueri desidério-  for you shall hollow the grave of the one you most desire to protect

[artificialqueens]

Urgent Exit Required (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

fic summary: "She’d always thought, really, how bad could a relationship between two colleagues ever be?

She supposes now, standing on the flyover with a rifle in her hand, she sees exactly why that rule is in place. Usually she has problems falling for straight girls, this time her error’s been falling for a bent one."

(In which Lawrence works in anti-corruption, and Ellie is the corrupt officer wrapped up in an organised crime gang.)

a/n: please in the name of Jesus, Mary and Joseph and the wee donkey, read the trigger warnings!!!!

this is a Line of Duty AU based entirely off of the final episode of season 3 because apparently i'm unable to consume any media without turning it into a fic! big big thanks to Juno who was chill about me posting this as she's also concieved of a Line of Duty AU that looks like it'll be AMAZING so keep an eye out for that!!

if you enjoyed then feel free to leave some love, even if it's just to scream at me xo

trigger warnings: because it's based off a gritty tv show, please be mindful that this fic features gun violence, injury and death (to be absolutely clear: one of them dies) so if you feel this fic is not for u then don't force it and please click off it!

if uv made it this far then pls enjoy this heavy slice of angst that has absolutely 0 grounding in reality whatsoever xo

***

Lawrence doesn’t think she’s ever been more aware of her heart than she is now.

She means that in every sense. Physically, it’s all she can feel; it’s swollen in her ribcage as it batters in her chest, working overtime to keep up with the adrenaline that’s coursing through her veins like a forest fire as she pounds across the dual carriageway, hurdles over the central reservation and sprints past cars as though they’re nothing less than flies that simply need swatted away. She’d normally conduct more of a mental risk-assessment before essentially playing professional chicken on a busy main road. She’d normally think through every move carefully; strategise, stack up the options, Sherlock in slow-motion. It’s what’s got her to where she is today, but today isn’t a normal day. And where she is now is on a road bridge, positioning an AR-15 onto a high railing so it looks down onto a near-silent residential street. The blood’s roaring in her ears and her mouth’s so dry that she can taste the inexplicable tang of metal and her heart , Jesus Christ she never knew it could beat this fast.

Lawrence has been in situations like this before. It’s not like she’s never held a gun; in anti-terror she’d become as desensitized to them as one human could be, and she’s come to regard them as a grim necessity to her job just like her badge, her lanyard, her pocketbook. As stress levels- adrenaline levels- go, she’s been exposed to her fair share. High speed chases, hurtling through the city in a Vauxhall with an ART on her way to arrest a potentially dangerous criminal. She’s been ambushed in a warehouse and tied to a chair and had her hand forced into a vice by a gang of men in balaclavas, and that still , as insane as it sounds, didn’t have her heart beating like it is just now.

Because this is all different. Because she knows it’s only a matter of time before that car appears, and she knows who’s travelling in the passenger seat.

She’s not religious, so she hopes instead of prays. For what, she doesn’t know.

For both of them to come out of this alive, perhaps.

***

It’s always strange to watch one of their own crack in the interview chair. The bravado they begin with, the smug cushioning of their own status within the ranks rendering them completely disbelieving of the idea they could ever be brought down.

Then comes the little telltale signs. The sipping of the water, the clearing of the throat. The slight pause that starts to come before their answers, on stage in the middle of the dress run forgetting their script and the only lines they’ll be fed are the standard infuriating “no comment”. And then comes the shattering of the glass. When the three of them kick down the sandcastle and watch it crumble and whichever bent bastard they’re charging this time leaves with their tail between their legs and metal around their wrists.

Except it’s not the three of them. It’s just Superintendent Black and DC Chaney. Because DS Boyle (Aurora), her colleague (her friend), is being held in a cell. Framed for the armed robbery she hasn’t organised, framed for the attempted murder of a woman Lawrence knows she’d never even so much as say a bad word about, let alone lay a hand on. The fake number plates on her car, the drug money banknotes found in the boot.

Things that Lawrence would never in her wildest nightmares have considered Ellie Diamond to be capable of orchestrating. Things that don’t match up with the Ellie who bought her coffee and left it on her desk in time for her starting work. The Ellie that wrote shite jokes on pink post-its and stuck them to her monitor (What do you call a happy penguin? A pen-grin). The Ellie that held her close and whispered condolences and apologies and words of comfort after they’d interviewed and arrested Aurora.

Lawrence has tried to separate the two in her mind, but she knows she can’t. She knows that the Ellie she’s come to know and the Ellie that’s done all these things are one and the same, and that’s still something she’s trying to wrap her brain around. But she’s in the chair in front of her in a muted baby pink suit, the colour clashing so violently with the matter at hand, with her solicitor and a glass of water and her pink acrylics tapping against the table, and she’s cracking just like they always do. The evidence against her is piling up, and suddenly she is just another criminal.

Joe leans forward against the desk, eyes narrowing. “DI Diamond, I think we have earned the right to ask you the question...will you kindly tell us your whereabouts between ten and eleven am on the morning of the fifteenth?”

The morning that Tayce Szura-Radix was struck by Aurora’s car in a brutal hit-and-run. The morning Tayce had thought she was about to meet Aurora. The morning that Tayce emailed Joe a list of names linked to the OCG. They all know it wasn’t a coincidence.

The morning that confirmed all of Lawrence’s worst fears.

Ellie holds Joe’s gaze, the stubborn glint in her eyes contrasting with the tense energy she’s emanating from every pore. There’s a silence before she answers in which Lawrence holds her breath.

“I don’t think I need to answer that question.”

The urge Lawrence fights to roll her eyes is a battle between David and Goliath.

“Don’t you?” Joe smiles patiently at her, blinks calmly in an almost reptilian way. Joe knows they’ve not played their ace yet, and the pair of them have got all the time in the world.

(Well, they don’t. They’ve got an hour until Aurora is either charged or released, and it’s looking like it’ll be the former. Lawrence can’t let that happen, even if it is Ellie in the chair opposite her.)

“It’s a voluntary interview,” Ellie explains. Her voice is fast and breathy as she speaks again, almost choked with nerves. “And I’m only here because it’s my lawful duty as a police officer to assist in a criminal enquiry.”

“Of course, DI Diamond, of course you are,” Joe nods, calm and placating. “In fact, we can stop this interview right now if you like, but of course it would leave this question hanging over you, hanging over your career. Or you could do the honourable thing and offer us an answer. Exclude yourself from our enquiries. That’s assuming you have nothing to hide.”

Ellie looks down at the table, frozen for a moment in time. She looks to her solicitor as if he’s the last liferaft off the Titanic, leans over to him for advice. What she receives doesn’t even seem as if it’s the equivalent of a rubber duck from the way she reaches across for her glass of water again, sips for a second, clears her throat.

As she leans back in her chair and folds her arms, Lawrence finds herself wondering if Ellie’s ever played poker. She hopes she hasn’t, for her dignity’s sake if nothing else.

“I was at my flat,” she says quickly, as if she’s trying to make up for the time she’s spent in silence. “I was on surveillance until late the night before, and I slept late.”

Lawrence’s heart jumps as Joe continues questioning.

“So you were in during those hours.”

Ellie nods quickly. “Yes.”

Lawrence can’t help herself. She’s bitten her tongue through most of the interview, not trusting herself to speak. Silence is a virtue she rarely possesses, and somehow she’s managed to keep her resolve til now. But whatever Ellie was to her before, whatever her feelings were (are?), she’s still a detective that’s being handed an opportunity to catch a criminal on a silver platter.

“Say that again,” Lawrence says, calm but insistent. When Ellie’s gaze is ripped from Joe to fall onto her, Lawrence can’t read her expression. Her mouth moves slightly as if she’s about to speak, then clearly elects not to.

Lawrence keeps her own face blank as she continues, no telltale signs of her broken heart on display. “You’ve just said you were in your flat between ten and eleven am on the fifteenth. We’ve got that on tape.”

Ellie’s eyes dart between Lawrence and Joe. “Wh…”

Joe, for her part, is still fixing Ellie with that patient expression. “It’s a very simple matter, DI Diamond-”

“No, no. DI Diamond’s already answered the question,” Lawrence interrupts, leaning forward against the desk. She selfishly allows an angry glint to appear in her eye, one that sets off a flicker of fear in Ellie’s in turn. “Haven’t you?”

Ellie’s like a statue as she stares at Lawrence, unable to answer. The only sign she’s still sentient is her sporadic blinking with her long lash extensions that Lawrence examines every detail of as she continues to stare at her. Eyes that Lawrence had once looked into and felt butterflies that now only turn her stomach in the worst of ways.

“You’ve mentioned, when questioned, something you later intend to rely on. In court,” Lawrence states, the ‘t’ of ‘court’ bouncing through gritted teeth and making Ellie’s gaze dart back to Joe, clearly a less threatening option.

There’s a silence where Ellie sits, slack-jawed and cornered, before she shakes her head, rubbing her perfectly made up face with her hands quickly. “No, look...I might have made a mistake, just...give me a second to think.”

“Take your time, DI Diamond,” Joe says, humouring her. They both know there’s no hope for Ellie to pull an alibi out of her ass at this stage of the game.

“I’d been up late, so I…” Ellie stammers.

Even after everything, Lawrence still fights the urge to feel sorry for her.

There’s a moment where Ellie freezes for a second, then looks to Joe with what appears to be renewed confidence. She reaches into the inside pocket of her suit jacket, pulls out her phone.

Lawrence narrows her eyes, question marks immediately appearing in her mind.

“If I just check my phone...you know, times of texts I sent and that. That’ll probably help me remember…” Ellie mutters, looking down into the screen.

She keeps staring at it. Her finger is poised over something, something she’s waiting to press. Something she’s waiting to send? Immediately there’s a red flag wrapped around Lawrence’s thoughts.

Ellie’s eyes are stuck to her phone as she opens her mouth again.

“You wouldn’t, um. You wouldn’t have gone into my flat that morning, Lawrence?”

The red flag is joined by alarm bells. She knows. She knows that Lawrence knows that she wasn’t in her flat that morning. Lawrence can see Joe look to her, but she’s not answering. Instead, she’s got her eyes on that phone just as much as Ellie. Watching. Waiting.

And then Ellie’s finger hits the screen and she looks up at Lawrence. There’s an assurance to her gaze that Lawrence doesn’t like. “Like...alone?”

Lawrence isn’t answering her. She doesn’t owe her anything. They’re staring at each other- no warmth, just steel- and it’s so intense that Lawrence almost doesn’t hear anything.

But then there’s the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking outside that cuts through the silence. The starting pistol for all hell breaking loose.

***

Lawrence supposes a lot can happen in a minute. She rests the rifle against the railing of the bridge, flicks the safety off with her thumb and holds her breath as she waits for the blacked-out Range Rover to appear from its hiding place within the identical red brick houses. She wonders how she'll live with herself if her shot hits Ellie. She's a good aim, but she's not that good. Regardless, if the car appears she's taking the shot, decision-making process be damned.

She also supposes a lot can happen in a year. Ellie's transfer from the AC-9 Witness Protection Department to AC-12 in order for her to help aid the investigation into the ambush of former DI Tayce Szura-Radix was an unwelcome one at first. It had always been Lawrence, Joe and Aurora, the dream team with insurmountable trust in each other. A new girl from outside that circle wasn't exactly going to assimilate well into that, no matter how cheerful or friendly she was.

Or how beautiful.

But, little by little, Ellie fell in with the department as naturally as the seasons changed. The more interviews Lawrence conducted with Ellie she got to see how sympathetic she could be towards victims and indeed how steadfast and unforgiving she could be with witnesses. The more time Lawrence worked with Ellie she got to see how efficient she was, the quick turnaround on any of her tasks and the way she followed up enquiries like a dog with a scent easily impressing her. The more late-night surveillance ops they spent together Lawrence got to find out how funny Ellie was, the other girl making her snort with hysterical laughter as they played silly games of snog, marry, avoid in the lull between any suspicious activity.

The thing is, there’s only so much time someone can spend with a girl like Ellie before they start to fall for her. At least that’s Lawrence’s theory, although maybe she’s just talking from experience. As much as she’s committed to her career and as much as she wants to rise through the ranks (and yeah, she’s earned the right to boast about how much she’s achieved so young), she’s still a lesbian in her twenties who’s never had a girlfriend. Okay, she’d never do what Aurora did and spark up something with a witness and disgraced corrupt officer, even though she supposes it doesn’t matter now that poor Tayce is fighting for her life in a hospital bed, God love her. But she’d always thought, really, how bad could a relationship between two colleagues ever be?

She supposes now, standing on the flyover with a rifle in her hand, she sees exactly why that rule is in place. Usually she has problems falling for straight girls, this time her error’s been falling for a bent one.

It hurts to remember. As much as those memories of falling for Ellie make her happy, they’re tainted now. Knowing the girl she’s fallen for could’ve ended someone else’s life. Knowing how much she’s wrapped up in armed robberies, drug trafficking, organised crime. But there’s still the ridiculous part of Lawrence that screams, she’s just a pawn. She’s not to blame. She’s small fry, and there’s bigger fish out there.

Fighting past those thoughts and digging deep, Lawrence narrows her eyes at the street below her and curls her finger around the trigger. A lot can happen in a minute. A lot of memories can fly through her head.

***

It all happens so fast. One guard turning his firearm on another outside the interview room and then shooting through the glass walls, the gunshots loud and pummeling Lawrence’s ears as she ducks down under the desk. When they stop, she can only look up to see Ellie sprinting over the carpet of broken glass, running across the office with the guard following behind her. Not in pursuit. As protection.

Lawrence doesn’t think. She dashes up from behind the desk, snatches up the assault rifle from beside the guard who’s bleeding out on the ground and sprints after Ellie, only stopping to snatch up her tactical vest and shrug it on whilst she’s running.

She is not letting her get away.

As she leaves, Lawrence can hear Joe shouting; ordering someone to CPR the wounded guard, to lock down the building. When Lawrence reaches the balcony of the atrium just before she takes the stairs, she can see Ellie hurtling through the main doors, the police officer following behind her pointing his gun at anyone in their way.

She can’t believe Ellie’s wrapped up in all this. Still, that’s the nature of the job. Sometimes it’s the ones that were blatantly bent from the start, sometimes it’s the ones you’d never expect. Sometimes it’s the girls who wear the diamante hair clips and sing along to the radio in the office and squeeze your hand with a gentle smile when you’re tired and flagging. Life’s not like the kids’ movies Ellie loves so much, the bad guys aren’t always clear cut. Although she supposes Ellie’s the perfect modern-day Disney twist-villain if ever there was one.

As Lawrence runs out into the street her heart sinks to find that Ellie and the guard are already a fair distance down the road, their guns ensuring that shocked passers-by leap out of their way quickly. She doesn't think she's going to be able to catch them on foot, and her mind makes the risk assessment of trying to shoot at them in such a public setting.

The truck that's fast approaching on the road makes the decision for her.

Lawrence runs out into the street, wielding her badge (as if the driver can see it from high up in his cab) but luckily the truck stops anyway, and she hoists herself up to cling to the side door, commands the driver to follow Ellie and the guard as fast as he can and not to stop.

The driver obeys and Lawrence shouts directions at him through the window as Ellie frantically pounds the pavements in the rapidly decreasing distance. The lorry keeps up well thanks to the lack of traffic lights on the road, and Lawrence eventually hops off as Ellie sprints down a pedestrianised side street with the guard at her tail.

Lawrence narrows her eyes, aims…

And then a family steps into her path. Dad, Mum, boy, girl. Perfect little nuclear setup smack bang in front of her target line. Lawrence curses loudly, sprints past them and down the scrub of industrial wasteland parallel to the one Ellie disappeared down with the guard. With a pang to her heart, Lawrence considers the barren dirt that frames the path and the washed-out colours that surround her. Old warehouses and scrap metal and the brown of old grass. Insipid and sepia and so Not Ellie.

She skids to a halt, though, when she sees two figures running across the way; baby pink suit, firearms uniform. They’ve slowed to a jog now, it’s no longer the fast-paced marathon it was before. Lawrence takes advantage of their unsuspecting position, and she cocks her gun as she shouts from the distance between them.

“Armed police!”

Both of them whip their heads round as they freeze in fear, and as the guard aims his own gun Lawrence fires two shots towards him in panic. She knows any injury (or death, God forbid) would be lawful, but it never makes it any easier. The guard falls to the ground, disarmed and no longer a threat.

And then it’s just her and Ellie.

Ellie’s got her glock trained on Lawrence as she stands rooted to the spot, blinking at her with those huge lashes and breathing heavily. Her eyes are wide and frantic, panicked. She shouldn’t be in charge of a gun.

“Drop your weapon!” Lawrence shouts, adjusting the gun for emphasis.

“Drop yours!” Ellie retorts childishly, not backing down in any sense. It’s fitting, Lawrence supposes, that they’re still bickering to the bitter end.

They could both fire at each other. Well, Ellie could fire at her. But as Lawrence keeps her aim steady, Ellie suddenly drops her arm to her side, sprints off as fast as she’s able down the alley again. Lawrence could shoot her like she did the guard. But the evidence Ellie can give is too valuable, too precious. She needs her alive.

And as Lawrence runs after her in pursuit, she pretends that’s the only reason she’s sparing her.

***

Selfishly, Lawrence allows herself to think about what could’ve been. She still judges herself heavily for how much she thinks about that night; the night of Ellie’s commendation award, when Ellie had been tipsy off free champagne and Lawrence had been drunk off just walking her home, the pair of them sharing a styrofoam carton of chips with their arms linked together. Ellie had been wearing this mid-length silver dress that seemed to drip with little jewels, and the way she sparkled under the streetlights had matched the stars in the sky and the twinkle in her eyes as she agreed with Lawrence about how these didn’t compare to the chips in Scotland.

As the empty carton was chucked in a bin, Ellie had begun to chat about how much she missed her home city. She told Lawrence about how she’d always dreamt of opening a hair and beauty salon on the high street in Dundee, or maybe even moving to Glasgow and opening it there. Her lips had taken on a dreamy, wistful smile as she spoke about how she’d wanted to paint the outside pink and have hanging baskets with plastic flowers hanging over the windows. How she’d keep glass jars full of sweets on top of the desk and a gingham-patterned feature wall where she’d take pictures of her clients’ hair for Instagram.

“And then I became a police officer,” Ellie had laughed humourlessly, and Lawrence hadn’t missed the disappointment in her tone. It had been Ellie’s big night, a highlight of her career. A commendation for defending herself alone against a member of the OCG with a firearm.

(Lawrence now knows that the situation had been manipulated to fit Ellie’s agenda and that self-defence couldn’t have been further from the truth.)

But it didn’t make sense that Ellie had been so hung up on this pipe dream of owning a hair salon.

“So why didn’t you?” Lawrence had tilted her head, struck by the beauty of the girl by her side all over again.

Ellie had turned to blink in confusion at her, Lawrence immediately snapping her gaze to the pavement in a show of uncharacteristic shyness. “Why didn’t I what?”

Lawrence had laughed, unable to resist the urge to poke fun at her friend-slash-colleague-slash-crush. “You are a fuckin’ goldfish! Three-second memory! Why didn’t you open the salon? Y’know. What made you join the force instead?”

When Lawrence looked at Ellie again, there’d been a frown making furrows between her perfectly carved-out eyebrows. There was a pause as their heels continued to clack against the concrete paving slabs of the street, a pause filled with words Ellie hadn’t seemed to be able to say.

“Sometimes life just has different plans for you, I guess.”

Something in her answer had troubled Lawrence but, as ever, she deflected with a joke. The night had been so perfect, and she hadn’t wanted to shatter the unspoiled crystal moment just yet.

“What a classic fuckin’ Ellie Diamond answer. No grand speeches about wanting to protect the vulnerable, no humble brags about wanting to help people, no Miss World speech about preserving life. Just life having other plans. Like your whole career’s been an inconvenience in the way of you getting to play hair salons with people like they’re fuckin’ Barbie dolls.”

Ellie had snorted a giggle, shaking her head as she brought her other arm up to rest in the crook of Lawrence’s elbow. “Playing with Barbie dolls. Girl, I am the Barbie doll!”

Lawrence had laughed along, the smile still on her face as she spoke again. “Nah. She’s plastic and out of proportion. You’re far too pretty to be her.”

“Jesus,” Ellie had muttered, the ghost of a smile still there on her lips. “An actual compliment from DC Chaney. Fuck a commendation, that’s the highlight of the night. Maybe I can take early retirement.”

Lawrence’s heart had fluttered as she’d looked at Ellie with a smirk. “Quite frankly flattered to know a compliment from me means so fuckin’ much to you.”

Ellie had only returned her smirk, a brazen glint in her eye that turned Lawrence’s insides to butter. “Too right, hen.”

Something electric had begun to charge between them from there, something magic and organic and real. Lawrence has spent a lot of time since she discovered Ellie’s involvement in the OCG trying to figure out what between them had been real, and she still argues in favour of the authenticity of that moment. The memory of reaching Ellie’s door and standing beside her as she fumbled under the mat for her spare key (having lost her original somewhere in her clutch bag) is so searing that it almost throws off Lawrence’s concentration. She grits her teeth, trying to ground herself as she adjusts her aim so that it’s right in the middle of the road. Any second now…

But the way Ellie had looked at her from under her lashes with a coy smile on her face when Lawrence had asked her if she’d had a good night still remains branded in her mind.

“I mean, apart from the fact I had to spend it with you,” she’d teased, laughing as Lawrence’s mouth had dropped open in outrage. “...yeah. I had a good night.”

“Stop talking shite. I was the highlight of your evening,” Lawrence had poked her in the arm, stupidly delighting in the way Ellie giggled in response.

“Yeah, a chippy in the middle of the street! You really know how to charm a lady. Remind me why you’re single?” Ellie had joked, Lawrence choosing to roll her eyes dramatically instead of growing offended.

“Ellie Diamond, a lady? That’ll be right,” Lawrence had snorted, only prompting Ellie’s grin to grow bigger. “And I’m single by choice, I’ll have you know. Obviously I’ve got lassies throwing themselves at my feet, but none of them meet my outrageously high standards.”

Ellie had giggled, but her laugh had faltered as she’d met Lawrence’s eyes. There’d been something unsure in them, something nervous, but even looking back Lawrence is sure they’d held a certain amount of honesty that couldn’t have been acting.

“I know you’re taking the piss, but honestly…” Ellie had said quietly, breaking eye contact to look down at the ground and the glittery silver heels on her feet. “...I don’t know how you’ve not got girls falling over themselves to be with you. Because, well. Fuckin’ look at you.”

The butterflies in Lawrence’s stomach had sprung to life so hard she’d felt ever-so-slightly ill. Deflecting, she’d shaken her head in self-pity. “Aye, right. Think it’s looking at me that’s causing the problems, doll.”

“Fuck off , Lawrence. Have you seen yourself tonight?” Ellie had laughed breathlessly. Lawrence can still remember how close they’d been, how little distance there was between them.

“Unfortunately.”

Ellie had shaken her head in disbelief, and when she’d moved to take Lawrence’s hands in her own Lawrence still swears the world had stopped turning on its axis. “Oh my God, shut up.”

Maybe that had been another time Lawrence had been so aware of her heart, the way it had thumped violently in her chest in a way that made it seem it was about to give out. She couldn’t stop the way she’d flicked her gaze down to Ellie’s lips for a split-second even if she’d wanted to.

“You gonny make me?”

And just like that Ellie had leaned in and kissed her outside her door in the pitch dark with only the streetlamps to illuminate them, a scene from a movie that Lawrence had always thought only happened to other people. The kiss hadn’t felt fake; the way Ellie had dropped one of Lawrence’s hands to cup her cheek and the intensity after the split-second of initial hesitation had only driven home how much it had seemed to mean to Ellie. How much Lawrence seemed to mean to Ellie.

Lawrence wonders if that’s still true.

Lawrence had known she should’ve pulled away sooner. She knows it would’ve helped maintain the illusion of professionalism, the illusion that the kiss had somehow been a mistake. But the smoke had been cleared and the mirror had been shattered (and Lawrence supposes now she’s got the bad luck to show for it) and she’d kissed back, matched the other girl’s longing because Christ knew she’d wanted the same thing for months.

She’d made sure to pull away first, though, and at least that had been something she’d done right, but the way Ellie had smiled sheepishly at her and loosened her grip on her hand only made Lawrence want to take it all back, hit pause instead of stop and lean in to meet her lips again.

“Sorry,” Lawrence had said, before trying not to pull a face because, Jesus Cartwheeling Christ, Chaney, apologising to the girl right after you kiss her? Nae fuckin’ wonder you’re single.

Ellie, in fairness, had shaken her head. “No, you’re fine. I’m sorry, I know how seriously you take all the regs and stuff-”

“Yeah,” Lawrence had agreed, regret coating her words. “But, y’know, we can...we can see what happens. Who’s to say further down the line…”

“Sure, sure,” Ellie had nodded, smiling as she turned back to her front door, turning the key in the lock and pushing it open ever-so-slightly. “Well. Thanks. For walking me home. And, uh. I’ll see you at work, I guess?”

“Yeah,” Lawrence had nodded, looking from the ground and back to Ellie.

It must have been the way they were looking at each other that had made Ellie begin to lean in again but Lawrence, in all her ridiculous, law-abiding glory, had stepped back awkwardly, not trusting herself to meet Ellie’s lips again only because she knew that once she started kissing her she’d never be able to break away. They’d blushed awkwardly at each other, and as Ellie pushed her front door she smiled gently.

“I do really like you, Lawrence.”

Lawrence hadn’t been able to trust herself to speak in case she said something she’d regret. Instead she’d smiled bashfully at her shoes before Ellie finally said a quiet goodnight, and then Lawrence had disappeared down the road to hail a cab, not daring to turn back and look at Ellie’s door.

She wonders if Ellie meant any of it. Felt any of it at all. If it was all just a plot to get the sad, fat wee lesbian onside, to try and get her into bed so the stupid cow would fall in love with her and tell her all the department’s secrets. She wonders if Ellie closed the door behind her that night and laughed at how simple it had been, made some calls to whoever low-life she reports to and had a good giggle about how easy it was to wrap her round her finger.

But then under the bridge not even two minutes ago…

Well. Ellie had still got in that car and sped away.

Lawrence’s arm is stinging in pain but before she can dwell on it, something enters her line of vision. A blacked-out Range Rover making its way across the road she’s pointing the rifle at.

Her finger is pulling the trigger before she can even pray the bullet doesn’t hit Ellie, and in the distance the car swerves out of control and out of her sight.

***

The first thing Lawrence sees when she rounds the corner is Ellie. Middle of the road, under the bridge, houses on either side. Her blonde hair in her face, mouth slack as she breaths frantically. She’s scrabbling at the screen of her phone with one hand- of course she’s impeded by those fucking pink acrylics- while the other is curled around the glock at her side. Lawrence knows she writes with her right hand. She’s chosen it to send the text, meaning the gun’s in her non-dominant hand.

Lawrence throws all hope of strategic thinking out the window as she skids to a halt, points her own gun at Ellie, and all of a sudden she’s shouting across at her.

“Drop your gun, drop your phone!”

She’s only managed to get two words out when Ellie’s arms switch position and the gun is suddenly trained on her. Her blue eyes are wide and panicked, but her arm’s straight. Steady. The distance between them is metres and yet it seems like nothing at all.

“Lawrence,” she says, her voice flimsy and paper thin and without any conviction. It makes Lawrence’s heart want to crack in two, but it’s past that. It’s already broken, as is her trust.

“They’re not here for you then,” Lawrence sneers, casting a glance down the empty road.

“Not yet,” Ellie scowls, a fresh sense of confidence to her words. “But they will be. So you should run while you still can.”

“I am too fuckin’ shattered to run, drop the gun!” Lawrence insists with a yell, keeping her aim steady despite her heavy breathing.

Ellie’s still got the glock trained on her, but her eyes are filled with something that doesn’t match the hardened criminal image Lawrence has to acquaint herself with. It’s something akin to betrayal, and Lawrence would snort at the audacity if the situation wasn’t so tense.

“You went into my flat that morning. You saw I wasn’t there.”

Lawrence pauses, shrugs slightly. “Not like I needed a battering ram, I knew where you kept the spare key.”

Ellie seems to remember that night as well, judging from the way her stony expression falters and the betrayal on her face only becomes more apparent. “When did you know? About me.”

Lawrence refuses to crack under the kicked puppy expression Ellie’s choosing to deploy. Instead she only hitches her rifle so it’s steady in her grip. “A lady never tells.”

Ellie gives a single snort, regret painted on her face like her perfect makeup. There’s a smirk on her lips and a slight sadness to her gaze as she speaks again. “Well now I see why we never slept together.”

If she wanted to hit Lawrence where it hurts, she’s succeeded. Lawrence pauses before weighing up her tactics, willing that Ellie’s feelings for her were real enough for her own words to touch a nerve.

“Wasn’t that I didn’t want to.”

Ellie falters. The gun’s limp in her hand now, and she takes a few steps towards her before seemingly remembering they’re both holding firearms. “Look, please. Just go before they get here.”

“I get it,” Lawrence disregards her, keeps her talking until the ART (where the fuck is the ART?) can get here before Ellie’s guys can. “Frame Aurora Boyle as the bent copper, as the one who pulled the hit and run on Tayce. She goes down and you can retire at the tender age of...thirteen and three quarters, Adrian fucking Mole. With the emphasis on mole.”

“I'm not bent!” Ellie protests in anguish, beginning to grow visibly upset. She’s cracking just like she’d done in the interview room, only this time it’s ten times harder to watch. “Tayce Szura-Radix was...I had to, she was going to leak the list of names and I...I couldn’t let her do that. It was going to be bribery originally, but then they told me to get rid of her and-”

“And she still managed to hit send on the fuckin’ email before you hit her with the car. So how did that work out for you?” Lawrence bites back bitterly. Ellie squeezes her eyes shut, her arm lowers ever so slightly. It’s the picture of a girl who’s too wrapped up in a world she knows so little about, a kid in the deep end with no armbands. She regrets hitting Tayce. Lawrence can see that.

“They picked you out,” Lawrence continues. “Made you feel special, made you feel clever, guided your career. I know what it’s like, Ellie, we're young, this is a tough fucking game. But you know everything. You really think they’re going to let you just stop, let you go have your wee happily-ever-after fairytale ending?”

“Lawrence, I know what I’m doing,” Ellie sniffs, switches the arm that’s holding the gun and aims it steadily at her with only the slightest tremble.

“Bimini,” Lawrence says simply, and Ellie’s face flinches in recognition. “They’re saying they’re going to get off their charges. You know names, dates, places. You know as well as I do they’re not at the top of that fucking tree. We’re so close to cracking this whole OCG. Money laundering, drug trafficking, more armed robberies.”

Ellie is faltering. Her eyes dart down the road behind Lawrence and when there’s no relief to her expression, Lawrence continues.

“You were just a kid. They picked you up off a Dundee scheme, got you into the force and then you had access to operations, evidence rooms, kilos and kilos of currency that can get used to frame people, blackmail people, get them off the hook and make them money. Ellie, do you honestly think you were the only teenager they’ve trained up? You know how wide-reaching this is. How many other kids lives’ have they ruined? How many other dreams have they thrown on the scrapheap? How many other wee girls aren’t ever gonny get their hair salon?”

Ellie’s expression is blank, supposedly steadfast apart from the tears that’re making tracks down each cheek. Lawrence can feel the lump in her own throat before she swallows it, narrowing her eyes to stop the tears that are threatening to spring up in them.

She’s part of the OCG. She’s corrupt. Her actions have resulted in lost lives.

And yet she’s not a killer. She’s in too deep and she’s drowning. She deserves a second chance.

“Do the right thing,” Lawrence pleads, having to readjust her own gun as she realises she’s lowered it while she’s been talking. “Tell us everything you know. Confess.”

There’s a flicker in Ellie’s eyes that makes Lawrence think perhaps this is it. She’ll put the gun down and run away with her, back to AC-12 and then to a protected witness safehouse and maybe Lawrence can still visit her, maybe they’ll work something out.

And then there’s a screeching of brakes and tyres behind her, and before Lawrence can turn around she’s struck to the ground, the side of an ugly blacked-out Range Rover scraping her left arm. Lawrence can hear herself groan in pain, couldn’t prevent her own cries even if she wanted to because fucking Jesus she’s hurt, and as the car screeches to a halt she’s willing herself with every fibre of her being to get up, catch the fuckers because she can’t let them away with this.

She can’t let them away with what they’ve turned Ellie into.

As she rolls over onto her side, though, the sight that’s in front of her is strange. The car hasn’t yet sped away, and Ellie doesn’t appear to be in a rush. Instead she’s rooted to the spot, staring at Lawrence with her jaw slack and helplessness smacked across her face.

They lock eyes, and Lawrence knows she wants to help her.

Then something takes over; whether it’s a realisation that she can’t help her or a change of heart, Lawrence doesn’t know, but suddenly Ellie’s wrenching open the side door and scrambling into the back seat, and the accelerator is getting slammed as the car drives away in too low of a gear.

Lawrence looks at the bridge she’s just run down the stairs from and knows that this isn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

***

She’s audibly gasping. How pathetic. Countless years in the police service, the exertion she’s had to go through in fitness training, and yet this is the thing that’s got her the most out of breath in her whole career.

Sprinting down to an OCG car to see if she’s killed the criminal she’s fallen in love with.

The Range Rover has crashed into a parked Citroen, and there’s a car alarm piercing through the air as Lawrence runs up to the scene. Which car it belongs to, Lawrence doesn’t know. She supposes it doesn’t matter. There’s smoke pouring out of one of the vehicles under the bonnet which makes her panic, wonder if suddenly one of them is about to burst into flames action-movie style. She supposes the last hour couldn’t be much more beyond parody if it tried.

The doors to the Range Rover are closed. That is until Lawrence runs up parallel to the vehicle and the passenger door swings open, Ellie falling out of it with a pained grunt, bent double with her palms against the ground. There’s a nasty cut on her head that blood is already pouring out of, but Lawrence knows it’s not a gunshot wound. That seems to have been reserved for the driver of the car, and Lawrence is grateful with every embryo she possesses that Ellie wasn’t the target.

Even in Ellie’s shaken state she’s still holding her glock, so Lawrence keeps her rifle trained on her as Ellie aims messily, sways from left to right a little like she’s drunk. Even though Lawrence wants nothing more than to just drop her weapon and wrap Ellie in a hug. To tell her it’s over now, that she’ll be okay. Protected, safe.

Although the illusion that she could be any of those things is beginning to crumble to the ground as the gravity of the situation hits Lawrence like a freight train.

“Ellie, drop the gun. Put it down,” Lawrence commands from behind the gun.

Ellie disobeys her, stubborn til the bitter end. They look at each other, their gazes challenging but holding an equal amount of hurt and regret. As Ellie stumbles towards her and lowers her weapon, Lawrence in turn lowers hers. She’s giving nothing away on her expression, but the action lifts Lawrence’s heart. As she catches her breath her heart is in her mouth, wondering if Ellie’s going to drop the gun, if she’ll say something, if she realises this whole mess could be over if she just-

Click.

Lawrence’s face drops as she seems to take in what’s happening at a thousand miles an hour. The passenger seat of the Range Rover, a man in a helmet with the visor up aiming a rifle straight at her. This is it. Ellie was just a decoy to distract Lawrence long enough to be offered up like a lamb to slaughter. The dread and panic and sheer realisation that her life’s about to be ended by a round of bullets grips Lawrence to the point of paralysis.

And then she sees Ellie’s head turn, and where once before everything was fast, events suddenly slow to half speed.

There’s a raw, visceral, almost animalistic “ NO!” that’s ripped from Ellie as she steps in front of Lawrence, and then the BANGBANG, BANG of three bullets that fire through Ellie’s body before she falls to the ground. Without any prior thought and as though her body is being controlled for her, Lawrence aims her gun at the man who’s just killed the girl she loves and fires three right back, only satisfied when his helmet thrashes against the passenger window in defeat.

Lawrence’s face contorts into one of horror and disbelief as police sirens enter her consciousness, and the ART arrives. She stumbles a little on the spot as firearms officers spill out of the van and aim at her. Her voice shakes as she produces her badge.

“I’m AC-12!” she yells over to them, her words cracking as she lowers her weapon and finally, finally rests it on the ground. “I’m AC-12.”

She can barely stand to look at Ellie, but she does. Her body isn’t horrifically mangled or contorted; there’s just three red circles that’re bleeding through her baby pink suit and crisp white shirt. Her eyes have fluttered half-closed, and Lawrence’s heart shatters at the thought of never getting to see that blue again.

She races to her side, presses two fingers against her neck. She’s no paramedic, but she thinks there’s a faint pulse.

And then Ellie’s lips are moving.

“Lawrence,” she whispers near-silently, and Lawrence kneels down next to her, brings her face close.

“It’s me. It’s me, Ellie.”

Ellie takes a heavy, laboured breath. “...’m sorry.”

“It’s...it’s okay, you’re safe now. You can get to hospital and we can get you a safehouse and you can help us and we’ll help you. And we can…” Lawrence takes a second to breathe, swallowing her tears as she fights the helpless feeling that all her hopes are dying in front of her. “...we can be happy, the pair of us. I mean you canny fuckin’ die on me, you bitch, eh?”

Ellie takes another shaky breath in, not a single trace of any emotion apart from a dying light on her face as she speaks. Her eyes seem to shut further. “Loz, look at me. I’m fucked.”

Lawrence feels her face fall and her heart drop. “No, Ellie…”

“Declaration,” Ellie says quietly, and like an obedient fool Lawrence just nods, fishes her phone from the pocket of her vest.

“Get away from her!” one of the firearms officers yells at her; cold, professional. Lawrence supposes they’d never understand.

“I’m taking her dying declaration, for fuck’s sake, Sargeant, you will stand down!” she shoots back. She turns all her attentions to Ellie now, and her heart hurts and her chest aches and she’s forcing herself to look at her painted face and the wings of her eyeliner and every little lash that frames her eyes and the pink of her lips and not the ugly, leaking holes in her body because Ellie isn’t ugly, not a single part of her.

Lawrence is ashamed to admit it, but she still loves her for everything she is.

And as if she reads her mind, Ellie’s eyes flutter slowly open as if the action takes all the strength in the world, and she looks deeply into Lawrence’s as she gropes blindly for her hand, which Lawrence rushes to take. “Before...the recording. Want you to know that...us. It was real. To me.”

Lawrence doesn’t know when she began crying, but suddenly her cheeks are wet and her tears are dripping onto the lapel of Ellie’s suit. She leans close to Ellie’s side, murmurs into her ear.

“I forgive you. And I love you.”

Lawrence hears Ellie as she whispers out. “I love you too.”

And as Lawrence tells herself she needs to get it together, and that she’s still a police officer in the field and she needs to get evidence from a key witness before she…

Well. Before the worst case scenario.

...she turns her face, presses an urgent kiss to Ellie’s cheek that she doesn’t give a fuck about anyone witnessing. The implications of that can be something for her to worry about once she’s healed, grieved for a girl she both knew inside out and didn’t know at all. Instead, she sniffs, straightens up and holds the phone to Ellie’s lips.

“Come on, Ellie. Say it.”

And as Ellie’s eyes drop closed and her lips move, Lawrence tunes out the chaos of the police presence around her and condenses the moment to Ellie’s hand in hers, and the gentle wind that plays with her hair splayed out on the grass, and what could very well be her final words.

“DI Eleanor Diamond...in the hopeless expectation of death...I record my dying declaration…”

[rvmmm21]

Could u please consider a yandere wenseulrene story where Irene and Seulgi are aggressive/obsessive and tries to play nice but eventually just pins Wendy and takes it from her whether she like it or not ? Thank u so much !

oof yes i can try. seulgi’s a new one for me haha. it’s been a little while since i wrote yandere. (i don’t condone this irl! just fiction).

[yandere!seulrene x officegirl!wendy]

tw : noncon, harassment.

...

For the most part, Seungwan could ignore it. The passing compliments, little winks here and there, the ‘accidentally’ brushing themselves up against her when they were waiting for the lift. If it were anyone else, these not so subtle hint drops and attempts at flirting wouldn’t have stood. But Son Seungwan was the kindest girl at work, shy and non-confrontational, making herself the perfect target, heaven-sent, for the disturbing infatuation of her two creepy, obsessive managers.

Bae Joohyun and Kang Seulgi; for two women who worked hand in hand to run a nation-wide corporation, you’d expect them to know how to share by now.

Of course, it was all happiness and sunshine when they had Seungwan alone in their office to discuss the monthly revenue or any potential liabilities; the women were content to share amongst themselves. But it came to a point where any interaction between Seungwan and anyone who wasn’t either Joohyun or Seulgi was downright unacceptable. Stealthy pupils would follow her every movement every day, stalking from the shadows, the sound of someone else making Seungwan giggle or sigh igniting a raging jealousy deep within. Call it frightening naivety, but Seungwan didn’t really pick up on any of it. Not initially, anyway. But very slowly, she began to pay closer attention to what lay behind those eyes, the hidden suggestiveness when they had her in their office for something as simple as a cup of water, the creepiness behind those ‘you look really cute today, Ms. Son’s’ and ‘you should wear that more often’s’ that should’ve been blaring red alarms in her face a long time ago.

However, not having been the subject of an obsession this strong before, Seungwan was at a loss when it came to how she’d handle it. Could she just tell them to bugger off and leave her alone? Of course not! There was no way on earth she was going to be rude to her superiors; plus, personal inclination aside, she really wasn’t planning on getting fired anytime soon.

It was all part and parcel of being an adult in the workplace, wasn’t it?

… …          

It was late, and Joohyun had the younger woman wrapped in her arms as they sat on the sofa, just talking, like they did almost every night. After a while, Seulgi shifted to face Joohyun, who hummed questioningly.

“Unnie… Seungwan seems pretty blur. Have we not done enough? Is she purposely ignoring us, do you think? I’m getting tired.”

Seulgi watched as a familiar darkness flickered in her girlfriend’s eyes.

“Quite probably, yes,” she replied, pushing herself up and away so she had space to think. Furrowed brows, chin in palm and a fixed gaze meant that Joohyun was in action-plan mode, and the other girl couldn’t stop her growing smile as she waited for a taste of her girlfriend’s brilliant mind.

Seulgi waited till Joohyun had finished before chipping in, “Oh my… you don’t think that’ll scare her too much? She seems so fragile.”

“She just needs a little push,” the latter insisted, already devising another potential plan, “sweet girl like her? Probably hasn’t even had her first kiss yet. We’ll show her how it’s done.”

“Hm, okay yeah. Little push,” Seulgi parroted, slowly nodding.

How ‘little’ that push would be, however, was entirely dependent on how easy their victim made it for herself. They were quickly losing their patience, despite having done everything right. They’d been nothing but nice thus far, so if Seungwan still wasn’t chomping down on the bit, they’d just have to yank harder on the reigns.

Enough playing nice.

… …

It was past 5pm, and everyone had left.

Except for Seungwan, naturally. Joohyun had given her work to keep her back late after everyone had checked out.

“Such a good girl,” Seulgi whispered, both of them watching the back of their hardest worker through a creek in the door, “no complaints?”

Joohyun shook her head. “Not one.”

The task she’d been presented with wasn’t difficult. It was just filing. Something they both knew Seungwan was miles too overqualified to do but was simple and time consuming enough that she’d be the last one in the building. If the girl was upset or offended in any way, she certainly did a good job at hiding it, because she’d just accepted the work with a graceful ‘of course, miss’.

Joohyun secretly smiled. Sweet girl really did take whatever came at her.

… …

“All done, miss.”

The bright voice had both women snapping their attention to their pretty little employee, who was stood in the doorway, neat pile of folders balanced in one arm.

“Ah, very good,” Seulgi said, swiftly transferring the folders over to the desk as the other woman rounded it, leaning against its surface, long, lean legs crossed over one another and an imperceptible look on her face. It was an extremely attractive look, no lies, but Seungwan felt a quirk of unease at the way her manager’s eyes were studying her so… thoroughly.

The girl did her best not to let her eyes linger anywhere inappropriate for too long.

“Uh…” she paused to clear the thickness in the throat, anxiously twiddling the sleeves of her cardigan behind her back, “i-if that’s all, may I be excused?”

“Not quite, Ms. Son,” Joohyun said, arms crossed out in front of her, creasing her suit jacket ever so slightly, “please shut the door.”

Confused but complicit, Seungwan did as she was told.

“Lock it.”

“Oh s-sorry, wh-what?”

It only took about two seconds of silence before she ended up clicking the lock into place, the nervous pang in her stomach, wrenching.

Both women approached her in an instant, crowding her, more and more until she found herself backed up against the wall, a hollow thud sounding from where she’d hit her head on the faux wood. Seulgi spoke first.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

The girl in question flinched when Joohyun closed the remaining distance between them, reaching a hand up to stroke her hair, lightly, as if she weren’t touching her at all.

Seungwan bit the inside of her cheek, unsure, “I-I’m not sure I understand, miss.”

She suddenly gasped when fingers dug into her jaw, deeply gripping, hard enough to bruise the soft skin. She met Joohyun’s leering gaze with frightened eyes, unable to speak from how strongly the woman was clamping down.

“Hope you enjoyed yourself, sweetheart. Because we’re done playing.”

She never got to ask what that meant. As soon as she opened her mouth, Joohyun’s lips were on hers. Seungwan’s eyes shot wide open and she immediately renewed her efforts at shoving her away, but the older woman couldn’t be budged, not letting up for a second as she stole the air from the girl’s lungs. She didn’t stop until Seungwan was a dishevelled, flushed mess, the arm across her chest, the wall and the thigh wedged between her legs the only things keeping her upright.

The poor thing was just so overwhelmed; every which way she turned was just more unwanted attention from the two people she wanted to get away from.

They didn’t even grant her the opportunity to catch her breath after Joohyun detached herself from her lips. Seungwan panted, trying to pull away, but that only resulted in a firm grip turning her head to the side. It was Seulgi’s turn. The rising panic caused the smaller girl to instinctively struggle but Joohyun’s free hand had already found her wrists, pinning them painfully into the girl against the wall. The older woman sneered at the sight of Seungwan being ravished like this, the power she had over her, keeping her defenceless, absolutely helpless as Seulgi selfishly took what she wanted.

Just for fun, Joohyun promptly gave her thigh a firm thrust, loving the way it elicited a surprised mewl from her, Seulgi eagerly swallowing every sound she made.

This wasn’t a kiss. She’d been violated. Kisses didn’t leave you feeling the way Seungwan felt; frozen with fear.

Just as she was trying to block it out, a hand fell to her hip, flush against the wood she was pressed into. She couldn’t see whose it was, but did it really matter at this point? Cold fingers slipped past the waistband of her skirt, bunching her panties in a fist and giving it a harsh upward tug. Seungwan jerked at the tightness. Then hands, too many to count, roamed all over her body. The touching, the groping; they were all jagged around the edges, punishing and greedy.

Seulgi grabbed a handful of blonde, roughly yanking sideways, exposing the column of her neck. She moved her attention to the girl’s throat as Joohyun kept up her assault, latching on to suck hard, violent marks into pale flesh, ignoring Seungwan pitifully begging her not to. The spots of indigo would be too fresh, too tender to even touch, let alone hide from her co-workers. But perhaps that was the point.

It didn’t progress any further, though. Clearly this was just the beginning. Seungwan was in for a lot more down the line. This was a sneak peak, as you’d have it.

Joohyun and Seulgi stepped back, composed for the most part, admiring their mess of a victim; tangled hair, lipstick smears, uncontrollable trembling. It was a wonderful thing to behold. Poor Seungwan was incapable of supporting her own weight. Her legs, tired and shocked, gave out, and her backside hit the floor. She gave a weak grunt, shakily glancing up at the lascivious women who had given her a gracious little teaser of what else they had in store.

Suddenly, she felt small and scared and confused and so, so helpless.

[berkmansimagines]

seven

A/N: This was inspired by the Taylor Swift song. I’ve been listening to folklore way too much. Anyways, nobody asked for this and I wrote it for me.

Summary: After you threaten a mean girl at school, Barry realizes that you inherited some his anger.

tw: mentions abuse and bullying

You anxiously pace around Barry’s parked car outside of school, waiting for him to finish talking to your guidance counselor. Your fists are clenched so tightly that you can feel your nails dig into the palms of your hands. That usually helps cool you down when you get upset, but it’s not working now. You’re so angry and your body is still reeling from everything that just happened.

You were in the locker room after gym class when the school’s mean girl, Tori, made a crack about you growing up in foster care. Then something inside of you just kind of snapped. You shoved Tori into a locker as hard as you could and you threatened to kill her. Before Tori could fight back, your gym teacher broke it up. You were sent to the guidance office and got suspended for three days. Barry was called to pick you up.

You don’t remember the last time you were that mad or lost control so violently. You didn’t have an easy past and deep down you’re still pretty raw about it. Growing up you never really knew how to control your anger. You used to scream ferociously and get into fights with other kids from school or foster care. As you got older, you became better at controlling that anger. Until today-

“Y/n!” 

You see your father approaching. He looks concerned and disappointed.

“Hey dad,” you avoid eye contact.

“What happened, kid? It’s fine to get mad, but hitting somebody? That’s not you,” Barry shakes his head.

“You don’t really know me,” you say quietly, nervously shifting your weight onto one foot.

“Don’t let someone lower you to that kind of behavior. Okay? You’re bigger than that,” he tries.

“Dad, you are the last person on the planet that should be lecturing me about anger and violence,” you coldly reply.

Barry sighs. He knows you’re right. He’s played out this dad pep talk scenario in his head countless times and it always worked. But this is reality and you’re not naive. It’s going to be a much more difficult conversation.

Your father pulls the car keys out of his pocket. He doesn’t want to continue talking about this in public. As Barry unlocks the car, he notices you straightening your posture. The mean girl, Tori, and her parents walk by. You cross your arms and give your bully a cold stare down. 

The look on your face unsettles Barry. You have your father’s eyes and that was never more apparent than right now. They were so wide they looked like they could pop out of your head. He’s never seen you look so angry or serious. It’s the same face Barry has when he’s about to do a hit.

“C’mon get in the car, y/n,” your father quickly opens the driver’s side door.

You follow his lead. You get in the car and throw your bag in the backseat. While putting on your seatbelt, you notice a manilla folder in Barry’s hand.

“What is that?” you ask.

“It’s your old file from social services. Your guidance counselor gave me a copy,” he explains.

Your heart sinks into your chest. You had a copy kept away in your room but you never really shared it with Barry. There were some things in that file that you didn’t want him to see. And, for the most part, your dad has respected your privacy. The one time Barry looked through the file, he tracked down one of your old foster parents. You had to find a new hiding place for the file after that.

“What!? Why would she do that?” 

“Because she knows more about you than I do,” Barry tells you, and then his voice drops, “She told me about the first abusive home you were pulled out of when you were seven. Did you really hide in the closet?” 

Your eyes widen and your face turns white. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.

“That house was haunted…” you quietly stutter, “You… you weren’t supposed to know about that.”

“I have the right to know what happened to my own kid,” he says coolly. 

When your guidance counselor told Barry that story, he was quietly seething. He’s now anxious to read the rest of your file, determined to find out everything. What else have you been hiding from him? The thought of someone hurting you makes his blood boil.

“Did she say anything else?” you cross your arms protectively against your chest and look down at your lap.

Barry senses how uneasy you are. He takes a deep breath and calms himself down. His facial expression softens.

“No,” Barry shakes his head, “She just made me the copy so I could read it myself. I’d prefer to hear it from you though.”

Your father puts his hand on your shoulder and gives you an encouraging smile. You look up at Barry and meet his eye. He’s really making an effort trying to be supportive. You’re reluctant.

“Dad, I hate talking about that stuff. Especially with you. I don’t want you to look at me differently.”

“I won’t! I promise,” your father tells you.

“Yeah you will,” you sigh.

“Y/n, none of it was your fault. You were placed in shitty foster homes-”

“I wasn’t talking about that,” you interrupt, “I mean like I was in some bad homes, but there’s other stuff too.”

Barry raises his eyebrows, concerned. Then he takes another deep breath and quietly nods.

“I promise I won’t look at you differently,” he repeats.

You shrug and uncross your arms. You start digging your fingernails into the palms of your hands again.

“Earlier you said that getting into fights wasn’t me… you were wrong. Growing up, I wasn’t good at controlling my emotions. I used to get so mad and lose my temper… and sometimes I got violent. Like I would get so angry at someone that I couldn’t think straight, I just wanted to hurt them. That’s how I felt today. I thought I was getting better at controlling the anger, but I was wrong. It’s like I have this darkness inside and it really scares me. When I get mad, I don’t like who I become.”

Barry gives you an empathetic look. Your father understands more than anyone. He’s struggling with the same demons as you. His anger often leads to violence. In his line of work it’s seen as a positive, but having that type of rage terrifies Barry. Now he fears that he passed his anger down to you.

Barry has no idea what to say in this moment. He doesn’t know how to fix it or make it better, he’s still trying to figure all that stuff out too. 

“Dad…”

You unclench your fists and show him the palms of your hands. There are little bloody cuts where you dug your nails in. Barry’s jaw drops. 

“Who did this to you?” he asks in a low, serious tone.

“I did,” you feel tears well up in your eyes, “I think something is wrong with me.”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head, quietly muttering to himself. 

Barry takes your hands and examines them closely, before gently closing them together. He kisses your forehead.

“Nothing is wrong with you, y/n. You got mad and lost your cool. Everyone has that moment… I know I have. It doesn’t make you a bad person… it means you’re human.”

Your father isn’t just trying to comfort you, he’s also trying to reassure himself. He’s done some terrible things but he’s not a bad guy. Barry pulls you into a big hug. You hug him back and cry into his shoulder. You didn’t realize how much you actually needed to hear that. 

“Thanks, dad,” you breathe.

“I love you to the moon and to Saturn, kid.”

“Love you too.”

You pull away from Barry and wipe away the tears on your cheeks. Opening up to your father about your anger felt like a weight being lifted off your shoulders. Before you had always kept those feelings bottled up and let them consume you until it reached a breaking point. You don’t want to do that anymore. It was better talking about your feelings than acting on them.

“I’m sorry I kept my file from you for so long. I should’ve told you about this stuff sooner. I just...”

“I know,” Barry nods.

He looks down at the manilla folder. When Barry first got the file, he couldn’t wait to get home and read it. But now he’s not so sure. What if he gets angry and is tempted to go after someone who hurt you? He doesn’t want to lose control, especially after everything you just told him. You have more than just your father’s eyes, you’re fighting the same inner struggles that he is. And its Barry’s job, as your father, to set the right example on how to control those emotions.

“What do we do now?” you ask.

Neither of you know what else there’s left to say. The conversation is far from over, but it’s done for now. You both still needed to deal with your anger and had a lot of work to do. At least you started a dialogue, an important first step.

Barry gives you a small smile, the same one he always does. He isn’t looking at you differently, just like he promised. No matter what he would always love and be proud of you.

“Let’s go home.”

[artbyfuji]

R,,,Reincarnation AU; Summer and Raven keep meeting each other (and falling in love ofc lmao) everytime. 🏃

I think my ass just wrote a whole fic up in here lol:

1341

You were the heir to the throne. I was assigned as your personal guard. You hated this life, your family formed you into the perfect being. The smartest. The wisest. The best fighter. But you hated it. They saw you as an object. Just like the subjects of their kingdom. They cared only for status, willing to sacrifice them all in a moments notice. You said I was the first person to view you as something more than a name. More than just the heir to the Rose Kingdom. One day in the royal library, you suggested it. “Let’s run away.” You showed me an old map of the castle, secret tunnels leading outside of the kingdom. 

I was loyal to the kingdom that gave me a chance to be something. But my loyalty to them couldn’t compare to my loyalty to you. We ran away. Crept through the tunnels and fled as far as our legs would take us. We were free, just the two of us, and in that moment, we shared a kiss. It was just us for maybe a year, but forces beyond our control wanted to break us apart. Enemy kingdoms were on the hunt for us, if you were killed it would benefit them immensely. They found us in the cottage we built by the river, it was two assassins intent to slaughter us. We fought but you were always stronger than me, I never understood why they would make me your guard if you could so easily defend yourself. Perhaps it was so I could take the fall in your stead. Maybe that’s what your family viewed me as, not a person, just a shield.

I was over powered, laying by the river bed bleeding out, wouldn’t make it much farther. The assassin grinned as he scraped his blade along the ground. He charged to stab me, but instead of hitting me…. the blade pierced right through your abdomen. I never noticed that you killed the assassins partner, never noticed you jumping into his path. Until it was too late. He pulled the blade from you, and the sound you made hurt me more than these wounds ever could have. But with the last of your strength you killed him, sliced his throat while he was mid swing. You then limped over and laid down beside me. We stared up at the sky, stars were visible and the dusk began to slip away. The sound of the river flowing drowned out our weak breaths.

Your bloodied hand grabbed for mine squeezing it as tight you could manage. Then we turned to look at each other, your lone silver eye piercing me to my core. Your smile barely masked the pained emotions creeping under the surface. I wanted to be angry with you. for taking the blade for me. But some reason, I felt nothing…. I was just lost in your presence. You looked me in the eyes and said it “we’ll find each other again.” It was a statement like you were positive this wouldn’t be the end of our story. I smiled… because I believed you. We both looked at the sky again. Watched the stars shine in the dark blue night sky.

Until it was black that consumed us both.

1674

Seeing you again shocked me to my core. We lived in the same town, I worked as a carpenter with my brother. You were an apprentice to a tailor. You wandered into our shop in hopes of getting a stool repaired. We looked each other in the eyes and just knew… knew of our past lives, of our struggles. Of our promise. We were finally together again. “I didn’t want to lose you again,” I said as we held each other in a tight embrace. “I didn’t want to lose you again,” I said as our lips pressed together for the first time, under that oak tree outside of town. “I didn’t want lose you again,” I said as we laid in the same bed, clothes long abandoned on the floor. “I wouldn’t lose you again,” I said as knelt in front of you holding a ring up. You laughed, and confusion flooded my mind, until you knelt down and showed me the ring you were hiding….. it made our love grow that much more.

We were set to be wed. We decided on late spring, the ceremony would be held on that cliff side you loved so much. The way the sky looked at sunset was a true marvel, with brilliant hues of orange and purple that would dance across the sky. Was this the happiness we deserved in our past lives? I remember regretting asking myself that. Because two months before our wedding, I fell ill. double pneumonia, they said i should cherish the days I have left because it wouldn’t be many. 

It was the eve of our would-be wedding when my body lost its battle. You sat beside the bed everyday soothing my pain. But this day was different, I could barely keep my eyes open, I knew the end was coming, and maybe you did too. Because you reached for my hand and squeezed it tight. You delicately brushed hair away from my eyes and through ragged breaths, I parted them as best I could. your lone silver eye piercing me to my core. It felt familiar. You smiled, leaned down and pressed a kiss against my forehead.

I spoke one final request. “Lay beside me.” I knew you wouldn’t deny it. You got up and walked around the bed, it dipped to my right. You lifted my head and placed it against your chest. Your shirt was soft against my sallow skin. You cradled my weak form. That’s when you whispered it. “We’ll find each other again.” I believed you. I closed my eyes and listened to your heartbeat.

Until i didn’t have the strength to even do that.

1856

Maybe the frustration of how unfairly my life played out in my last incarnation is what caused me to pick such a violent path in the new one. My brother and I were bandits. Robbing train cars and stage coaches to make a living in this cruel world. When we met again I never expected to be looking down the barrel of your gun. It seems you too chose a dangerous path in your new life. You were the leader of a group of train robbers Ivory Rose, and we both had the same idea of robbing a train delivering gold. 

My brother and I joined your group. We took on whatever the world threw at us guns blazing. It was such a thrill, the rush of adrenaline as we dodged bullets together. I remember every close call we had, how the thrill of survival would sometimes turn to lust, how our bodies would meld together whenever we shared a bed in a heady mix of sweat and arousal. This life wasn’t going to end in a happily ever after. But we didn’t really care. We were just happy to find each other again.

Our dangerous life caught up to us. Wanted posters plastered in every town. wanted dead or alive. We stole from one too many of the wrong people and the Pinkertons we encountered chose “dead”. They trapped us in an abandoned lumber factory. They wouldn’t leave until they knew we were dead. You laughed as you reloaded your guns counted how many bullets you had left. I did the same, we both knew we wouldn’t make it far, but we weren’t ones to cower in fear. Everyone outside ceased fire for a moment, and if felt like the world ceased spinning for a moment, maybe giving us one last chance to say goodbye. We used that time to look each other in the eyes, your lone silver eye piercing my very core. We shared a kiss. Your lips burned like fire against mine. You said those words again. “We’ll find each other again.” I believed you. We ran out into gun fire. I can’t say I remember much after that.

But i’m sure you lasted just a bit longer than me.

1915

Our time together lasted long this time. It was the turn of the century when we met, we were just children, I was 5 you were 6. And we became close friends. “Inseparable,” as everyone in town liked to call it. I remember all the days we spent under that weeping willow just outside of town. Picking flowers, or blowing dandelions in the wind. Sometimes I wished for simple things. Money to buy a pastry from the bakery, or a pair of shoes I saw the shoemaker putting on display. But in my teenage years I almost always found myself asking the same question. “Please let her love me back.” 

I sometimes wondered if you wished the same thing. A few years later, my wish came true and we chose to be more than friends. I was 20 and you were 21 when we shared a kiss. I would never forget how soft your lips felt against mine. But things were soon going to test our love.

In 1914 the great war began. In 1915 it was right outside our town.

Our love was strong even as air crafts flew over our town dropping bombs. Our love was strong even as we stood in the middle of destruction. Our love was so strong when enemy soldiers grabbed us and forced us to kneel down with other survivors. They shot down the line killing everyone until it was just the two of us left. It was so easy to see what we meant to each other so the leader of the group played a game. A fucking game. “Eenie” the barrel of his gun pointed to you. “Meenie” it pointed to me. “Miney” back to you. He stretched it on and on and ON until he said the final “moe” and the barrel landed on you. 

I remember screaming. Remember him tell the other soldiers to hold me down. I was scared but you just smiled. You looked towards me and just smiled. Your lone silver eye piercing my very core. That gaze, that beautiful gaze, it always had a way of erasing my fears. That’s when you said it “we’ll find each other again.” I believed you. I had to believe you. I would always believe you.

You died first. And the last thing I remember was how wrong it felt.

1982

I was far older than you this time. The more decades that passed, the more convinced I was that I would never find you again. I sat in the gardens of the hospital, how curious it is knowing that you’ll die. They gave me three months to live. I craved your presence. What would you look like? Did you dying first in the last life break the chain? Would i never see you again? Would I be born again over and over cursed to never find you? Lost in my thoughts, a ball rolled towards me. Almost didn’t realize it at first but I could never forget that silver gaze. The child that came to retrieve the ball…. was you. Eight years old and just as sick as me. Was the universe laughing at us? Trying to finally separate us for good? For weeks we talked to each other. Right here in the gardens. You had the memories of past lives, but you were so young and you couldn’t understand what they meant. You called them “sad thoughts” memories of how you died in past lives would turn up in your dreams and it scared you. But you said once we met, they stopped. I enjoyed your company, but i hope you could forgive me for wondering what our time together would be like had we been the same age.

I remember always wondering how you died in our second lifetime. But maybe its better that I never asked.

One day you looked nervous. I asked what was wrong. You said you had a surgery in a few days, the doctors told you it would help your heart. I would grab your hand and squeeze, it was about the only thing I could manage to do for you in this lifetime. You looked up to me, your silver eyes pierced my very core, it was the first time I saw you without an eyepatch, there was such an innocence to them. I smiled and told you to everything would be okay…. and you believed me. 

A few days later I asked some nurses about you, about the child in Room 207. The somber looks on their face told me everything I needed to know. You died first again.

And this time you never said that we’ll find each other again.

2004

I sit in these college classes everyday. Lessons these professors teach barely process in my mind. In my philosophy class I always look down at the woman with dark red hair tied in a half bun, her eye patch, her breathtaking silver gaze. We pass each other in the halls, on campus. Her dorm is right next to mine.

Sometime’s when I pull up on my motorcycle at my spot on the campus parking lot, she is there. Talking with a friend. Some guy with blond hair. The first time we met she admired the paint job on my bike. She attempted to introduce herself. “By the way my name is-”

“Summer.” I said. Was I smiling? I think so. But I remember concern clouding my mind when she looked confused.

“How’d you know? Have we met before?”

I remember you. I remember all your past lives. I remember that child with the ball. The woman knelt in front of the barrel of a gun. The train robber that took on gun fire. The tailor’s apprentice. The heir to the Rose Kingdom. 

So why don’t you remember me?

[schaddenfreude]

Lay With Me

This is a continuation of the post-bridge scene drabble I wrote. It's going to be 2 parts, so I guess including that drabble you could consider this the 2nd of 3 parts. This one is fluff and a hint of smut. Part 3 is gonna be full on SMUT. I will also probably post both parts into one complete story on AO3.

-------------------------------

The metaphorical Earth shifts under them again when they enter Eve's tiny apartment. As the quaking subsides, Villanelle and Eve are left on two sides of the fault line, encompassed by a growing sense of awkwardness that neither knows how to approach just yet. It's the kind of discombobulation that new couples feel when they sense an incoming next step in their relationship. It settles around them and somehow, there is room among Eve's tiny, cluttered apartment for the elephant in the room.

Eve distracts herself by setting about the task of gathering a small duffel bag for the trip ahead. Villanelle pretends to inspect the apartment, looking around as if it's the first (It isn't) and the last time she'll ever see Eve's home.

They both need space to work out the feelings coursing through them before the new dynamic in their relationship can be explored.

Villanelle plops herself down rather unceremoniously onto Eve's mattress and the springs underneath groan in protest. She picks up the nearby picture frame and examines the photo inside. Eve and Niko are pictured in happier times. A honey moon, maybe? Eve looks considerably younger.

Villanelle decides she doesn't want to ponder that and turns the photo face down on the window ledge, curling her lip in displeasure.

She sprawls herself back against Eve's pillow, turning to borrow her face into it. Eve's scent overwhelms her senses on her next breath and she relaxes deeper into the mattress.

Home.

The word turns itself over and over again in her mind. She is home and she is safe for perhaps the first time in her life. Well, maybe 'safe' is still to be determined, if indeed she ever will be, but being in Eve's presence provides her with an undeniable sense of security.

She wonders if Eve feels the same.

Her arm shifts underneath pillow and catches something solid. Curiously, Villanelle curls her fingers around it and slips it from it's hiding place.

It is a heart. Not just any heart. It's the heart she gave Eve nestled inside of a teddy bear. A physical representation of her own heart, which already beat for Eve Polastri long ago, she thinks.

"Admit it, Eve. You wish I was here."

Her own voice pours from the heart as she toys with it in her hands. The sound brings Eve to step slowly out of the bathroom where she had been collecting toiletries. She takes a moment to watch Villanelle, who looks thoroughly fascinated by the object she holds in her hands. Eve wonders what she must be thinking.

"You were right." Eve steps forward and Villanelle sits up, intently meeting her gaze. Suddenly Eve feels a weight on her chest and she struggles with the conflicting emotions that have been brewing inside her since before that first dinner with Villanelle in her kitchen. She thinks she catches the ghost of smug satisfaction in Villanelle's eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it comes.

"I did wish you were here. God....even-even after everything, after Rome. I was furious. I wanted to hate you so badly, but I could never escape wanting to have you with me."

Villanelle lets out an audible, quivering sigh at the admission. She sets the heart down in the window and focuses solely on Eve, like she wants no distraction from the moment that is developing between them.

"I...um" Eve stutters. "I just think about you. All the time."

"I thought about you all the time." Villanelle admits. She remembers feeling regret for the first time after shooting Eve. Everything that came after: the wedding to a woman she didn't love, throwing herself into her work. It was a distraction from the gnawing regret of killing the woman she loves more deeply, more purely, than anyone before.

"I masturbate about you a lot." Eve says as she comes to stand in front of Villanelle. Both of them smile at the callback to Paris and then Villanelle scoots over, patting the empty space beside her.

"Lay with me? Please?"

Eve complies, shimmying into her side of the bed and then they're laying on their sides facing each other. It's another callback to Paris and both can feel the deja vu.

Eve remembers what it was like to look into Villanelle's eyes then. God she was so arrogant. And ignorant, really. She thought a handful of files could show her everything she needed to know about the psychopath looking back at her. But she learned that she had only just scratched the surface of what it meant to be Oksana Astankova.

In a weird way, she thought that she deserved to be shot for her hubris just as much as Villanelle had deserved a knife in the gut. Like a zoo keep forgetting his place in the food chain and getting mauled by a tiger.

The pair of hazel eyes looking back at her are different than they were then. The touch against her cheek is softer. Villanelle radiates the same genuine love and devotion that Eve feels herself, and there's not a trace of possession to be found in her eyes. This Villanelle feels so warm, so familiar, and yet she's a complete stranger compared to the petulant, spoiled Villanelle Eve last knew.

There is that pull again. The one that drew them back to each other on the bridge. The one that always drew them back together, as if the cosmos itself refused to separate them. Eve found her eyes flickering to Villanelle's lips. They are so impossibly close. Just one tiny move and this tension between them would snap in the most glorious way.

"What do you want, Eve?" Villanelle sighs in a voice thick with barely contained desire. She knew what she wanted. And she knew what Eve wanted. Now Eve just needed to admit it out loud to herself.

Eve is tired. Tired of running tired of games. Tired of bullshit.

"I want this. You. A future. With you."

And Villanelle springs forward, surging into Eve and crashing their lips together for the second time that night.

Someone, maybe both of them, moans into the kiss. They can't really be sure. All of the waiting. All of the anticipation. All of the confined intensity and heat between them. It all melts into this moment.

Villanelle allows Eve to turn them over as their mouths dance against each other, pulling Eve into her lap before the kiss breaks with an audible smack and her lips burn a scorching path down Eve's neck. Eve's hands find purchase in Villanelle's hair, both threatening and promising to ruin the perfect bun on blonde hair.

This is what home feels like.

Both of them think that as they feel their hearts beat together where their chests are joined.

Eve lets out a wanton groan as Villanelle's hands find tender purchase on her backside. Then she's scrambling to tear her own shirt of and Villanelle stops. Eve finds her staring in awe, positively marveling at Eve's uncovered body with a dopey, slack-mouthed expression full of desire.

She's seen Eve topless before, but she finds that the cheap light bulbs of Eve's kitchen pale in comparison to how luminous Eve looks in the moonlight.

As if from some form of muscle memory, Villanelle's fingers automatically trail up Eve's body, and she delights at the tiny shivers they leave in their wake on the way up to the shimmering, glossy looking scar tissue on the left side of Eve's chest.

Acting on some unknown instinct, one of Eve's hands mirrors the action. It leaves Villanelle's hair and trails down her body stopping above her yellow cloak on the spot where she knows the scar from Paris is. She can almost feel the heat from it radiating through Villanelle's cloak and scorching her fingertips if she tries.

Their eyes meet again and Villanelle nods, allowing Eve to remove that ridiculous cloak. Then her fingers are on the faded knife wound. The skin of Villanelle's stomach shudders at her touch; shying away in fear of being marred again. She runs her thumb over the scar on a delicate, tender promise.

Never again.

And just like that, Eve finds her self being flipped back onto the mattress. The scales of their balancing act are tipped yet again.

Push and Pull

Pleasure and Pain

They both think that if this is what consuming each other feels like then they'll gladly spend the rest of their lives trying.

Villanelle's lodge lodges in between Eve's thighs in just the right way and she gasps. The younger woman pulls back to marvel at her again. She's spent countless hours invested in fantasies of this very moment, but it is so beautifully different from anything she had conjured up in her mind's eye. It makes her feel like a virgin again; experimenting with uncharted waters in a sea of sexual possibility.

She grinds herself experimentally into Eve once again and Eve groans out in frustration again.

"Get on with it. Please..." She hisses with desire.

"You're sure?" Villanelle asks, hands hovering over Eve's trouser button like she's about to unwrap the most precious treasure imaginable.

Eve grabs her by the t-shirt she is still wearing and brings their lips together, sliding her tongue into the waiting hotness of Villanelle's mouth. She breaks the kiss to trail seductive kisses up Villanelle's neck and stops to nibble at her ear lobe.

"Yes."