#alright whose ready to tag all the characters??

[ripplethepickle]

HAPPY (Possibly??) BELATED ANNIVERSARY HTF!! I redrew the Complete Disaster cover art but with my silly designs :]

This is late cus uhhh I was busy with the holidays <333. Anyways fun fact, this is kinda a mix of the finished art, concept art and my own preferences lol. This took me so long so uh pretty please reblog <333 I don’t do full pieces often,, (Alsoooo if there’s anythin htf ya wanna hear me yap about the ask box is always open and I constantly wanna talk about these critters that infest my brain <333)

[hannieween]

opening night | backstage series | l.sm

“Just play along,” he said softly, his lips curving into a playful smile as he leaned his head to kiss you deeply in front of everyone who, until that night, thought you were heartbroken for someone else.

♡︎ pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader ♡︎ genre: smut. 18+ mdni you'll get blocked ♡︎ word count: 9.3k ♡︎ aus: theatre performer!seokmin, fake dating with benefits

₊🎧: love me a little – shownu x hyungwon

₊ nsfw tags under the cut

♡︎ a/n: i am only posting this for fun, but do let me know if you like it pls pls pls. thought of this idea while doing the dishes, quite literally.

♡︎ warnings: swearing, alcohol use, minor mentions of drugs, pet names: baby, noodle (hers), smut with plot, soft dom seokmin, big dick seokmin, seokmin is kind of a simp, teasing, making out, sexual tension, unprotected sex, couch sex, creampie, hand kink, fingering (f), oral sex (f), reader is quite dramatic, might contain some minor spelling or grammar mistakes and for that i'm sorry.

part 1

Nothing could compare to opening night jitters. There were some shows in which you didn't feel this nervous, small shows, small audiences or those times you had to act in front of other colleagues. It always made you jittery in some way. Tonight, the feeling of not being able to breathe was worse.

It was as if a bubble of air got trapped in your chest, and no matter how much you breathed in and out, nothing could get rid of it.

And not to mention the inescapable tunnel vision. It was something you suspected that it only happened to you, though. You could not focus on anything at all. Food? Not hungry. Thirsty? Maybe. But those were things that you could tend to once the first show is over.

"Shit. I think I forgot my lines," you blurt out with a shaky sigh.

The script was lying on the single chair propped in front of the vanity mirror. But the dressing room was so crowded with people getting ready that you just didn't see the chance of reading out some of it again.

"You know," someone started behind you, "for someone who has been doing this for years, you certainly can't control your pre-show emotions."

You didn't have to turn to know whose voice it was. "Sorry," you reply shortly. "I haven't done this in a short while."

"Well, put yourself together. We begin in five." Minghao told you. He was just finishing dressing the supporting cast, so he gave you a look.

"What?" you say, and look down at what you were wearing, thinking that somehow you had managed to ruin your dress that he carefully confected for your role.

Minghao grabbed you by the shoulders, a soft smile began to show on his lips and he said. "You're going to do alright. Just breathe, and show them what you're worth. It'll be over in two hours."

And with that, you released a long sigh. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he nodded, patting you on the head. "Is that Soonyoung's vest?" He said suddenly, snatching the vest from a chair and exiting your dressing room. "Soonyoung, come here you little rascal!"

It has been about five months since you stepped on a stage. So, there were a few things you need to get a hold on before the show begun. You used to have a pre-show ritual, which consisted in getting into character as much as possible.

However, things changed when you had to take a break after you and your ex called it quits. Now, you don't feel as connected to that ritual anymore. Besides, you haven't had a lead role in a play since your final year at uni.

It usually got really quiet backstage when the show was about to start. Everyone was aware that voices carry all the way to the audience, so movements were quiet, and noises kept at minimal. You closed your eyes for a moment before going to the stage and play your part.

Opening nights were always a challenge. Despite rigorous rehearsals, you were faced with doubt, often believing you could spot the smallest flaws and exaggerating them to fix them.

But this opening night was sort of different. You felt at ease. Exhilarated, even. Once the play was over and you finished bowing to the audience, you went back to the dressing rooms to get rid of your dress and make up.

You changed into something more comfortable. And as you were cleaning your face, you listened to the other girls in the dressing room gush about the people they saw at the seats. Apparently some more renowned actors had come to see the play, as well as some journalists.

That made you think that you didn't invite someone to come see you. You did your part to promote the play in social media, but nothing more.

However, you did see some familiar faces as you made your way out of the dressing room. Seokmin and Seungkwan were bantering loudly about something unbeknownst to you, their voices and laughter were so sounding that you were quick to locate them.

Seungkwan had Seokmin on a playful chokehold when they both saw you. Before you could ask, Seungkwan snapped his head at you. "We're settling a matter like men. Be there with you in a sec," at the same time that Seokmin blurted through his teeth: "Help."

"Ah, they're at it again," you turned to see Soonyoung who was throwing a backpack over his shoulder. "Seokmin has been teasing Kwannie a lot these days."

"What else is new?" you hummed.

You two watched for a brief moment, only to Soonyoung turn to you and chirp. "Anyway, want to leave these two behind and go buy some booze? 'S on me."

You watched his cheeks grow fuller as he pursed his lips. He had one thumb raised, pointing towards the exit.

"That sounds great," you say, grabbing him by the arm.

You turned to the exit, leaving your two other friends fight over yet another stupid thing.

The cold air of autumn hit your face as soon as Soonyoung pushed the door open.

"So," Soonyoung begun and suddenly you knew what was coming, "how you've been?"

The question was simple. But you knew what he meant.

"I've been doing okay, Hoshi," you replied shortly. "You don't need to worry about me."

He hummed. "You can talk to me anytime. You know that, right?"

You two arrived at the liquor store. It was friday night, so there was a couple of people buying alcohol for the night.

"You have done enough for me," you gave him a reassuring smile. "Letting me crash in your apartment for months until I found something for my own is something I will always be grateful for."

He sighed. "You don't have to do that. And you don't owe me anything, you dumbass."

"Do what?" you objected.

"You're avoiding it," he shrugged. "But hey, you don't wanna talk about it, fine. I'll wait."

You smiled and slapped the front of his cap down. "Come on, Soonyoung. Don't get all sappy on me. This is supposed to be a fun night."

He finally smirked, fixing his cap. "Right. Soju."

When Seungkwan and Seokmin finally got to the liquor store, they were sweaty and panting, they probably had to run to catch up with you and Soonyoung. But they were laughing about something as you reunited with them on the sidewalk outside the store.

"Hi there, noodle," Seokmin raised his hand and patted your head at the same time that his other hand reached for the six pack of beer you were holding to carry it himself.

You cringed at the name he used to call you. Which was born after a professor called you only by noodle arms in a dance class you four had to take at uni.

"Dk, it's been ages since you called me that," you whined, but as soon as he propped his arm around your shoulders you couldn't help but smile in his familiar warmth.

"Well, I've suddenly forgotten your name. You're Noodle now," he spoke in an old man's tone. But broke in a laugh as you poked his rib with your finger. "Sorry."

You walked in pairs towards the fancy apartment building down the street.

"Were you in the audience?" you asked.

"Yeah, obviously. Soonyoung wouldn't shut up about the play for weeks," he pressed his lips into a smile. "Besides, it's your first lead role in a while, I wouldn't have missed it."

"Did you like it?"

Seungkwan turned, and you understood he could listen on everything you and Seokmin were saying. "He fell asleep. Obviously," he sassed.

"I dozed off for two minutes!" Seokmin bellowed, but a wide smile formed on his face. "I did get to see your parts, though. And Soonyoung's."

"Thanks for coming, guys."

"No problem," Seokmin smiled briefly. "Hey, I heard that you moved out of Soonyoung's. Why didn't you tell me? I could've helped."

Just five months ago, your world turned upside down when you found out your ex had been cheating on you for weeks. To make matters worse, it was with that one girl he told you not to worry about.

You had to move out of the apartment you shared with your ex, leaving behind many things you couldn't take with you. That is when Soonyoung came to your rescue and offered his place for you to crash for a while.

"Well, I didn't need much help anyways. It was just a few boxes, really."

"I was still sad you didn't call though. You haven't even shared your new address," he pouted as he spoke, and you could tell he was joking. "It made me contemplate the whole meaning of our friendship, you know."

You snorted. "Not you too," you exclaimed. "First, Hoshi gets all corny with me and now you."

He showed a downturned smile. "You know I'm only playing with you. Soonyoung, however, thinks you're still a ticking time bomb."

You glanced at your friends, who were walking some steps ahead of you. Soonyoung was showing Seungkwan some TikToks he recorded for the company's official account, so you were out of their earshot.

"And you don't?" you asked.

He shrugged, looking at the floor as you made your way towards the tall building's lobby. "I think you're doing alright. Better than any of us would in your position. Honestly."

You let out a long sigh. "I just wish that people would stop asking me about it. I'm tired of it, the pity treatment, the tiptoeing around the subject."

"Well, you can't just expect us to not worry," he said softly.

"I know," you coincided.

You were still walking together, since Seokmin had his arm in your shoulders. Lately he did it often, and you didn't mind. You liked the the warmth with which he always treated you.

"I sometimes think that I was emotionally checked out from the relationship some time before I found out," you say, and felt that you could've dropped a bomb with that confession.

"So that's why you don't want to talk about it," he reasoned, his brow furrowed, deep in thought.

"I think so," you shrugged. "But I'm being honest when I say that I'm okay."

"And I believe you," he assented, pulling you closer for a brief moment and then dropped his arm from your shoulders. "I won't bring it up again."

The four of you entered the elevator that took you to the large apartment of the show's director, who was a young man you knew from your early days at uni. He had suddenly found his way through and had started to direct full plays in local theatres. His name was Yoon Jeonghan. And he hosted a party for every opening night.

It was your first time in that apartment. You knew the director in person, however, the three guys riding with you in the elevator knew him better, as they have had more roles than you these past few months.

You feel a slight tug to your side. "You know he's most likely going to be there, right?" Seungkwan said quietly, eyeing you with caution.

"I know," you mumbled. "'M going to be alright."

Now, why would you go to a place where you probably would encounter you cheating ex? Some part within you was deeply uninterested to see him again. And the other part was just enraged that he somehow mattered in your life still.

The opening night after party was almost like a tradition now, at least for most of the people who were close to Jeonghan.

The apartment was crowded, and you could tell it was set up to avoid bothering the neighbours. It had cushioned, soundproof walls, shaded windows, speakers kept at a reasonable volume, and many guests were congregating on the spacious terrace.

Jeonghan was a great host. He was kind of shy, but eager to meet everyone personally. He welcomed you with a warm smile, however he did hug the boys as they stepped into his large apartment.

You were quickly left to your own devices as your three friends were absorbed into the group of partygoers. Then you remembered how popular they have been since you met them.

The trio kind of took you in from that point forward because you were the one who organized university projects and stayed on top of schoolwork. But short after that, you found a close group of friends who were always there for you.

You decided that the only way you were going to get through the night was with some alcohol in your system. You weren't either an introvert or extrovert, you always thought you were in some middle point.

But your ex was there, sitting outside in the terrace with a girl beside him. You never knew the girl he cheated on you personally, but you knew it was her.

You snorted.

Suddenly, you felt a hand at your back. Seokmin looked at you, wariness in his eyes that dissipated quickly. "Want something to drink?"

"Yeah," you nodded.

"I feel like a bad influence," he simulated a shudder. "It's exciting."

You two downed your first glass of soju.

A few moments, the one glass of soju turned into the whole bottle. You drank while singing karaoke with strangers or with your friends. You drank while meeting new people and getting to know those who were part of your cast.

As you said, you were alright.

You just finished singing a song in the karaoke with Seokmin, who could hold his liquor a lot better than you. Both of you laughed at the way you couldn't keep up with the lyrics anymore and became a slurry mess.

"Never again," you say as the karaoke score marked a 10% on the screen.

"Remind me to never let you do this again," he agreed, teary eyed and red on the face from laughing with you.

The microphones were passed to other people, and soon after that, the party settled for just music.

Your chest still hurt from laughing.

"I'll go get some air," you announced a bit breathlessly as you made your way to the terrace.

Suddenly, Seokmin's hand made its way to your waist again and you glanced at him, his face had hardened.

And then you understood why.

As you were heading outside, your ex was leaving the terrace with his new girlfriend causing an awkward encounter. Your ex gave you a casual nod as if you were friends still, and his new girlfriend shot you a sly smirk as your arms brushed past each other.

"Hey, y/n," your ex goaded as they made their way inside the apartment.

You didn't reply.

Within this awkward exchange, you don't know how Seokmin's hand ended up intertwined with yours.

The air on the terrace smelled like a mixture of weed, vape and cigarettes. But it was cruelly cold enough to cool your body.

Seokmin mumbled something under his breath. And you noticed he was glancing at the back of your ex's neck with a scowl on his face.

You squeezed his hand, still not knowing how he grabbed you.

"How drunk are you?" he asked, his face was still serious.

"A bit. I think I'm beginning to sober up."

"Good," he breathed, pushing his bangs from his forehead and with them his furrowed brow. "Can you do something for me, noodle?"

You hit him in the shoulder. "Don't call me that," you smiled. "What do you want?"

"How about," he begun, not letting go of your hand, "I pretend to be your date for the night? Make the bastard realize he has no room in your life anymore."

"What," you blurt out and blinked feeling a bit perplexed at his offer. "You've finally lost it, Seokmin."

"I'm sorry. I know I said I wouldn't bring it up again. But I hate the way he thinks you still give a shit about him."

"I don't," you blinked.

"Then why would he go out of his way to even speak to you?" he countered.

"Seokmin, are you angry?" you gasped.

You could count on the fingers of your hand the number of times you'd seen Seokmin angry. And the other times it didn't matter because he was more the sulky type when something was bothering him. But at that moment, he was pissed off.

"A bit, yeah," he admitted with a sigh, but immediately flashed a sincere smile, almost as if his anger was a little embarrassing to him. He raised his brow. "But my offer still stands, though."

"D'you think it will work?" you mused.

"It might tell your ex a thing or two about leaving you alone. And as a plus, everyone else will also stop asking you about what happened between you and him." Seokmin added, almost casually.

You glanced towards the other end of the terrace briefly, and realized that Seungkwan was eyeing you too, a worried look on his eye as you caught him.

Licking his lips, he grabbed you by the shoulders. "What do you say?" He seemed relaxed, even focused; he tilted his head slightly as he looked into your eyes.

You held his gaze, listening to his words. Realizing that they were very much real and that Seokmin was dead serious about it.

Then, you realize how close you were to his body. His hands slid from your shoulders to your arms, where he traced soft lines with his fingers.

"Just for tonight," you murmured, but it came out sounding like a question.

"As long as you want," he offered. One hand found your chin, his fingers pressing softly on your hot skin.

You looked at his dark brown eyes. The relaxed look on his face was almost unsettling. As if he knew your answer already.

"Deal," you breathed.

His fingers angled your face towards him. "Just play along." He said softly, his lips curving into a playful smile as he leaned his head to kiss you deeply in front of everyone who, until that night, thought you were heartbroken for someone else.

Your hands found the back of his head, burying your fingers in his soft copper hair. You couldn't ignore that it had been a long while since your body felt so ablaze. Maybe it was the remaining alcohol on your system doing its part.

But even before you and your ex split, you felt kind of longing for the touch of someone. Something real. And although Seokmin was playing a role as he did on stage, kissing him felt different. It felt good.

As the kiss deepened, his tongue brushed your lower lip almost hungrily and you thought your knees might buckle under the shudder. A moan was quickly supressed in his mouth when his hand moved from your face to the back of your hair, his fingers tangling in a soft fist.

"I never imagined you'd be this good of a kisser," you confess.

Your chests were now pressed together, so you felt him chuckle. "Well, you know now," his demeanour had changed completely.

You wanted to look if anyone had seen you. But Seokmin was quick to read your intentions. He grabbed your chin again softly, forcing you to keep looking at him.

"Act normal," he ordered quietly with a look of endearment on his face, as if he were saying something sweet to you.

"I've never done this before," you sighed.

"I can tell," he smiled sweetly.

"Don't tell me you've done this before!"

He removed his hands from you, and made a gesture with his head, pointing towards the couch on the terrace. "Come with me."

You sat next to him, and as you did so, you saw Seungkwan's face, he was looking over at you both with an expression on his face that clearly read, 'what the fuck?' to you.

Seokmin scooted close to you on the couch, and placed one hand on you thigh and his other hand rested on his own thigh.

"I haven't done this before either," he confessed. "But you're an actress, and I'm an actor. We can act this out."

You snorted. "Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Lee Seokmin," you said drily.

Seokmin was smiling sweetly at you. Your shoulders were pressed together and your thighs were also so close that you might as well just sit on his lap. You fought against the thought.

"Then, act like you're my girl," he said idly, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek.

An exhilarating feeling roused deep within you. You fixated on how comfortable his hand on your thigh looked, and the ease to which Seokmin took your face with his other hand and captured your lips with his.

Your hand met the one that was holding the side of your face.

"Afraid to put on a little show?" he coaxed.

A smirk crept on your lips, almost involuntarily you find yourself saying. "What do you want me to do?"

He blinked slowly, almost as if he was a little startled by your new demeanour. "Just relax." he put in softly. "And if you don't like something, tell me. Okay?"

You nod. "Okay."

His thumb caressed your jawline softly, before pressing his lips with yours. What started as a sweet kiss, slowly evolved to a enticing one. His mouth explored yours, biting softly at your lower lip, and his tongue lapping yours, testing what made you whimper or what made your hand clasp his.

You rested your forehead against his for a bit, catching your breath. "I hate that you are so good at this."

He laughed, taking one strand of hair and tucking it behind your ear. "Why is that?" he asked quietly.

"Dunno. I never thought of you as anything other than my friend."

His eyebrows shot up. "You never thought of me doing this?" he asked almost amazed.

"You did?" you quipped with half a smile.

Then you thought of doing something with your hands, since they were laying flat on your thighs. You pushed some strands of hair from Seokmin's forehead, and brushed the hair that you had messed up when you kissed.

His eyelids fluttered briefly. "I mean, I did wondered."

You pointed a finger to his face. "Don't lie, Seokmin."

He smiled sheepishly. "I just wondered what you'd be like. Honest."

"And?" you ask.

Seokmin shrugged. "You're not terrible."

The tingling sensation in the lower pit your stomach only intensified. Almost as if Seokmin had just challenged you. You laughed at his words, seeing his chapped lips smile at your reaction.

You locked your lips with his again, but this time more confidently, and your slipped your tongue to meet his. Your hands grabbed his face, and travelled to the sides of his neck, earning a small moan from him.

Feeling embarrassed, you broke away to breathe. If Seokmin noticed that you were getting all worked up, he said nothing about it. Yeah, you were both actors and have known each other for years, but you were human. And somehow Seokmin knew where to put his hands and how to kiss you perfectly.

You pulled out your phone from your pocket and opened your camera. Seokmin understood immediately and took your phone from your hands and angled it to capture you both for a few photos.

He took photos of you leaning your head on his shoulder, one in which you kiss him on his cheek and he smiles, and another one of him kissing the top of your head.

The photos would be kept in your album, as you didn't intend on actually posting them. Not yet anyway.

You tried not to think too hard about how crazy this all was. A part of you didn't feel awkward, as if the familiarity of his body near yours was meant to be this way anyway.

Testing your own boundaries, you turned to him, grabbing his chin to kiss him again, and you realized just how much you liked his lips on yours. But you didn't think it was anything else.

You nuzzled to his side softly. "D'you think that was enough of a show?" you mumbled to his ear, feeling embarrassed that you were so breathless from kissing.

You felt Seokmin smile again as if you had just spoken sweet nothings to his ear. "I think. Wanna get out of here?"

"Sounds good to me."

You stood up from the couch at the same time as Seokmin. He promptly grabbed your hand and interlocked your fingers in his. As you made your way out of there, you and Seokmin waved at your friends goodbye. Making a show that you were leaving hand in hand with Seokmin.

As soon as you stepped on the elevator, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Before you saw the screen, you knew what you were about to read.

[10:39 PM] boo: hello ??? [10:39 PM] boo: wtf are you doing? [10:40 PM] you: wdym? [10:40 PM] boo: with dk ?? [10:40 PM] boo: since when ?

"We have to come up with a story," you tell Seokmin, who was leaning his back against the wall of the elevator.

He was looking at his own phone. And you couldn't help but eye at his lithe fingers. You sighed, pushing your thoughts away.

"I agree," he said and showed you his screen. Messages from Seungkwan and Soonyoung were popping on the screen so urgently that you couldn't read any.

You buried your hands in your pockets along with your phone. "I think we did stir up some waters," you muttered.

Seokmin pressed his lips into a content smile. "Hopefully they stop nagging you with questions of your ex."

"They're going to ask questions about you now," you countered with a smile. "Though I rather talk about you than that jerk."

"That is the plan," Seokmin smirked.

"Why, though?" you find yourself asking.

Seokmin eyed you for a second. "At first it was because I really despise your ex," he confessed. "But I think I'm obligated to tell you that I really liked it. The attention."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Promise?" you insist.

He came to a full stop on the sidewalk and you were force to stop too. Seokmin held out one pinky finger towards you wordlessly.

You breathed out with a smile. "This is not necessary." You say, linking your finger with his.

It wasn't just a pinky promise. It was something your group of friends took too seriously. You didn't lie to each other, and promising it with your pinkies could very well serve as an oath.

It was childish. But your friend group liked it that way.

Seokmin walked you to your apartment building, which also served as a way to show him where you lived now.

"Talk to you tomorrow," Seokmin said as he pull you into a bear hug and patted your head affectionately.

"Sure," you said.

He watched as you entered the building, and waved at you goodbye before disappearing behind the elevator doors.

Someone peeked over your shoulder to look at your phone screen to the point where you can feel their breath on your neck.

That someone was Boo Seungkwan.

You've been typing nonstop for five minutes, your fingernails snapping at the screen in a frenzy.

"Stop snooping," you tried to tell him while typing.

The coffee shop where you both work part-time has been quiet, as it's almost 9 p.m. and you're both about to clock out. There have only been a couple of passing customers during the last hour of your shift, so your attention has been diverted elsewhere.

You hear a sigh and then, "So you're not going to tell me what happened yesterday?"

"'Bout what?" you said absentmindedly.

"About what happened with Seokmin," he answered pointedly.

"What about it? We just kissed."

You heard him scoff. "You two did not just kissed, you made out on a dirty couch. And then you both disappeared for the rest of the night. Yeah, you're not fucking fooling me."

You didn't find it strange to hear him curse. He's been your friend for years, ever since you met at university. But he's lately been expressing his annoyance with you for your decisions, so you hear him cursing a lot more lately.

That is what pulled your gaze from the phone screen. "Don't put it like that. The couch was decent."

He rolled his eyes, and cursed some more. "Now, you're trying to be coy. The couch doesn't matter. What matters is that you kissed with your friend, our friend!"

"And? We're two consenting adults," you shrugged while trying to keep a straight face. But you couldn't help feeling a little embarrassed.

"Are you guys a thing then?"

You stared at him, racking your brain to come up with an answer.

A customer entered the shop at the same time you opened your mouth to tell Seungkwan everything that happened last night. Somehow, you didn't see far up ahead your actions and didn't think Seungkwan would react like this. So you feel secretly grateful that the customer drove you away from that conversation.

"Listen," Seungkwan said as soon as you two finished closing up. "I really don't care what you two are, I just hate it when you keep me in the dark on important stuff like this. Before last night, I though you were still broken over Youngho."

You two usually walked home together whenever you had to close the shop. Seungkwan lived a couple of blocks away from you so you kept each other company.

You contemplated sharing with him that what happened with Seokmin was improvised on the spot. That you were just as surprised with the turn of events as he was. But, telling him would just trump the deal you had struck with Seokmin.

And you were a bit too greedy to let that happen.

"I'm sorry, Seungkwan. I know it was shitty of me to not mention anything," you found yourself saying with a small shrug.

"That and playing dumb," he said, shooting a resentful glance at you.

"Yeah, and playing dumb or whatever," you said, rolling your eyes but couldn't help but smile. "How can I make it up to you?"

"Can you cover me on monday morning?" he answered a bit too quickly.

You snorted. "Sure. But only if you promise to stop berating me."

"I am not berating you."

You continued walking to the apartment complex in silence. For a short bit, though. You knew what was coming.

"So you two are a thing or not?"

"Sorta," you shrugged again.

"Sorta," he parroted.

You stopped at the door of the building where you live.

The weather was cold, to the point that Seungkwan's breath could be seen as he sighed with a weak smile.

"Well, just don't fuck this up, okay?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "I know that you are a big girl and can take care of yourself but, just don't do something stupid just because you can't move on."

"I got it, Kwannie," you tried to brush off with a hand gesture. "I promise not to fuck it up, okay?"

"See you tomorrow." He turned around and walked towards two buildings down the street, where he lived with his roommate Vernon.

"See ya!"

In the elevator, you scrambled for your keys, which were in the pocket of your jacket. You tried to play it cool with Seungkwan, however couldn't help but feel anxiety pulsating on your stomach as the elevator doors opened with a ding noise.

Seokmin lifted his head to the sound, he was leaning back next to your apartment door, phone in his hand. "Hi there," he said with a soft smile that reached his eyes.

"Hi. Have you been waiting long?"

He stood up straight and pocketed his phone as you walked to the door and opened it. You glanced sideways at him, he was wearing the oversized hoodie from last night, but instead of jeans he was now wearing grey sweat shorts.

"Nope. Just ten minutes."

"I couldn't shake off Seungkwan's prying," you informed, as you both entered your apartment.

You closed the door behind you two, removing your boots at the entrance. Seokmin followed suit and removed his Nike's, carefully placing them next to your boots.

"I imagined as much," he hummed. He still had a content smile on his face.

You two held each others gaze for a moment. Only to realize that you hadn't even turned on the lights, or fully invited him to your apartment.

"Make yourself at home," you chimed, turning on the lights of the living space. It was empty except for the lone large sofa, a TV screen perilously propped up on a plastic table, and a pile of boxes from when you moved out of your ex's apartment.

Seokmin smirked.

"I haven't had the chance to unpack yet... or buy more furniture," you murmured briefly.

He noticed the pillow and the pile of blankets that were tossed in the couch. "I assume that you don't have a bed yet, either."

"I just have the bed frame," you reply as you remove the pillow out of the way and fold the blankets in half. "It's still packaged, though."

"Hey, don't think I'm judging you," he raised the palms of his hands innocently. "I use to sleep on the floor at a friend's place when I got to this city, remember?"

Seokmin was a great friend. If you could describe him succinctly, it would be that. A great friend. You knew he wasn't judging you, since the curiosity in his smiling eyes didn't fade as he sat on the couch and eyed the piles of boxes that were labelled with your name in your ex's handwriting.

You also knew that Seokmin sleeping on the floor when he moved to the city to study was not the same as being kicked out of you and your ex's apartment after he cheated on you. But you were glad that his mind didn't go there, evidently.

"Can I offer you anything?" you sighed heavily. "I may not have furniture yet, but my fridge is full and the rent is paid."

"Well, that is what matters as far as I'm aware. I'm fine, thank you," he pressed his lips. He then scooped to the side and patted next to him on the couch.

Right.

"So..." you breathed, sitting down next to him. "You wanted to talk."

You were now sitting next to each other. Being so close to him sparked something deep within you, something that last night made you feel alive.

Then, you knew that you were in trouble. It was alarming the fact that you couldn't take your eyes off of him. You were aware of every gesture, every movement Seokmin made. You gulped.

Seokmin sat with his knees spread slightly apart, his hands resting comfortably between his thighs. "About last night," he begun.

"I, uh-"

"If we're going to do this, we need some ground rules," he declared.

"Wait. Seriously?" you blurted out.

"Wha- what did you think I was going to say?" He looked up to catch your gaze.

"I thought you were going to back out."

"Oh, you want to call it off?" Seokmin retorted, his eyes searching your face.

"No. Not really. Last night was..."

His eyes lit up along with a playful smile. "Fun?"

"Yeah, exactly," you matched his smile. "Well, I don't enjoy lying to Seungkwan, but at least I didn't get the pity treatment, for once."

"Wait. What did you say to him?"

"That we are sort of a thing," you mumbled.

His eyebrows pushed up. "And he believed that?" Seokmin laughed, brushing his hair hastily with his lithe fingers.

"He seemed to," you shrugged. "He stopped questioning me after that."

"Well, that is what you wanted, isn't it?" he shifted beside you, so that he was facing your body. Then he took that same hand to fix his watch on his other wrist.

You mirrored his movements, and now the two of you sat facing each other on the couch. You leaned your head on your hand, with your elbow resting on the couch's headrest.

"So what happens next?" you asked.

Seokmin shrugged slightly, a relaxed look on his face. "Whatever you want, I told you."

You bit your lip for a second, aware of the fact that Seokmin was gazing at your mouth and your eyes, silently waiting for your response.

"I'm still thinking of last night," you confessed, the act of being that blunt made your cheeks heat up.

"Me too. I couldn't think of anything else," he smirked. Your eyes lingered a bit on his lips too.

He toyed a bit with the sleeves of his black hoodie, and pulled them up to his elbows, then crossed his arms across his chest. You swallowed at the sight of how veiny his forearms looked.

"D'you think that we could talk about the ground rules later?" you asked sheepishly.

Seokmin couldn't help but notice the way you inclined towards him slightly. And you couldn't help but notice him swallow hard. "What do you want to do?"

"I really want you to kiss me again," you mumbled, feeling something rouse within you.

His eyes twinkled with excitement. "Oh, yeah?" he hummed.

He seemed as if he were waiting for you to say something inviting, you noticed the moment he smiled when you nodded a bit too eagerly with your head.

He lifted his hands to grab you by the sides of your head. "C'mere," he whispered, his lips quickly finding yours in a soft kiss.

You felt his breath on your neck as he pulled away slightly. "Again?" you sighed.

His mouth was smiling as his lips found yours again, and as the soft kisses turned more demanding, you couldn't ignore how your body responded.

This felt different from the make out session of the night prior. It was entirely carnal, at least, Seokmin kissed you with more eagerness, unafraid of being seen and judged. You heard his breath catch in a gasp and his lips smack. You both were not acting.

You broke away from him, all thoughts in your head quieted down when in a sudden movement, you moved in the couch to sit on his lap, straddling him. Seokmin said nothing either, and you silently thanked him, as his hands returned to the sides of your face to kiss you deeply.

The sizzling feeling at the lower pit of your stomach, the warmth all over your skin when one of his hands slipped from your face to the back of your head and fisted your hair softly, sending chills down your spine and making you moan in response.

"Yeah, I thought you liked that last night," Seokmin mumbled gruffly.

"Shut up," you smiled.

"Make me," he whispered back.

You leaned in to kiss him again, a rush of adrenaline filled you as his hands that were on the sides of your head moved to your back to press your body against his. Fingertips trailed softly on the sides of his neck, you felt him shudder as you made your way to his collarbones where you shyly touched his skin like never before.

Seokmin left a trail of kisses from your lips, to your jaw and ended on your neck. You gasped when he found a sweet spot effortlessly, and made something flutter in your stomach. Hearing your reaction, Seokmin sucked on the spot gently, eliciting a moan from you.

It had been a while since you felt like this. Even with your ex, you felt that the last few times you were together like this were more of a obligatory act from both of you.

So, being close to Seokmin like this was like unearthing feelings that your body had long forgotten. And it was really hard to control.

You let your hips sit fully on his lap and started grinding on him suggestively. Seokmin groaned in your mouth and broke away.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice sounded raspy.

"Oh, fuck—sorry. You don't like that?" you whimpered and made a gesture to move out of his lap.

But Seokmin grabbed you tightly to his body effortlessly, since his hands were still on your back. "No, it's not that," he put in briefly.

You stared at him, puzzled. "What is it then?"

"What do you want?" he countered.

He watched you swallow hard. "I want you," you muttered, hoping that the emphasis you put in the word was enough for him.

A few strands of hair had stuck to your wet lips, and Seokmin pulled them away with gentle fingers as he asked: "How do you want me?"

You couldn't help but smile. "Don't tease me like that."

Seokmin just shrugged calmly, but his eyes were burning with lust. "I won't do anything unless you tell me."

You planted a soft kiss on his jaw, then one on his lower lip. "I want you to fuck me, Seokmin," you whispered into his lips.

He reciprocated the slow, wet kiss. And groaned again when you grinded your hips one more time. "I didn't bring any condoms," he mumbled.

"Really?" your voice sounded obnoxiously high.

"I just came here to talk," Seokmin laughed. "It never crossed my mind that we'd fuck."

"Really?"

"Really. I didn't think you'd be this needy," he started laughing when you landed a playful smack to one of his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes at him. "I'm on the pill."

His hand grabbed your chin and he pulled away to look at you in the eyes. "Are you sure you wanna do this?"

You both understood what this meant for your friendship. Seokmin didn't seem concerned at all about you being on his lap, or that you were practically begging him to fuck you right there and then. He seemed willing, but like the good gentleman he was, he needed you to say what you wanted.

You nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure."

Seokmin's lips parted briefly as he scanned your face with his eyes one last time. "Fuck," he groaned, and pulled you to his mouth again.

Your lips latched onto his, hungrily, teeth grazing, tongues clashing. You could feel the wetness from his saliva beneath your mouth as the kiss turned sloppy and more fervent.

His hands casually made their way from your back to your hips, where they rested comfortably before giving you a gentle squeeze.

"Take these off," he murmured in your lips, his fingers pinched at the fabric of your jeans.

You stood from his lap to take your jeans off, aware that Seokmin had his eyes on you. He rest his head on the back of the sofa, his hungry eyes watched your body up and down. His hand grabbed yours and tugged you his way to gesture you to straddle him again.

Your lips explore his neck, licking the spot below his ear, and he breathed out a moan. His fingertips dug slightly on your hips, and then he cupped your ass when you left wet kisses and sucked in the spot again.

Seokmin pressed your body back and forth, rubbing your clothed pussy against his hard cock. You moaned and hid your face in the crook of his neck and grinded some more on him.

"Let me see you," he muttered in your ear.

Your lips searched his tentatively, kissing him with haste as his hands moved from your backside to underneath your top. You broke the kiss again, and let him remove your shirt entirely.

Seokmin revelled at the sight of your half naked body, his fingers trailing softly from your collarbone, to your sternum, all the way to your bellybutton.

"Pretty," he mumbled when his fingers tugged at the band of your pink panties.

He looked at you, as if asking for permission. But he quietly trailed his fingers to your clothed core, and there he found that your panties were already soaked. You could feel yourself grow more aroused at the mere act of him feeling you without breaking eye contact.

You shuddered a sigh when he pushed the soaked fabric aside and had to bite your lip from moaning loudly when his fingers found your wet core.

Seokmin sighed. "You're so fucking wet," he smiled softly.

"God, Seokmin–," you breathed and your eyes fluttered close when he slowly moved one of his fingers inside you. And then, he pushed another finger in.

He bent his head and planted a kiss on your shoulder. "Ride my hand, baby," he said hoarsely.

A shiver went down your spine at hearing what Seokmin called you. You started moving on his hand almost immediately grinding on his fingers the same way you had done on his lap.

Your forehead found his, a tingling sensation travelled your body when you his breath caressed your face. "Seokmin."

His lips were formed into a smile when he pressed his lips on yours in a chaste kiss. "Mmyeah, that's my name, baby."

His other hand unclasped your bra expertly, and you helped him with the straps and threw it somewhere on the floor. You felt his breath on your skin and your nipples grow hard.

It was almost embarrassing to you to hear the squelching sounds you were making against the hand between your legs. But you could barely pay some thoughts to it, all you could think of was the way he moved his hands on your body. And that you wanted more.

He rubbed his thumb around your nipples, and you watch him do it, watched the hand buried in your pussy as you grinded on him, close to your release. Then, his hand rested on your neck for a bit and you shuddered when his thumb caressed your skin and curved around your throat.

"You like them?" he asked peering at your face. "My hands? I've seen the way you look at them."

"Yeah," you breathed. "I wondered what they would look like on me."

"Oh, yeah?" he smiled. Then pulled out his fingers from your core, just about when you were about to cum. You blinked at him, confused.

"Lie down," he muttered, pointing to the sofa. You did as he said, and moved your back to the sofa, your knees pulled up.

"I knew you'd be bossy," you confessed, feeling hot on your face.

Seokmin's eyebrows raised a bit. "Been thinking about me a lot, huh?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. And then his hands reached up to the collar of his hoodie, he threw it over his body in one swift motion and tossed it aside.

His bare chest was the first thing you saw, it was wide and lean. You also got a good look at his strong thighs when he undid his shorts, and step out of them.

A shiver shot up inside you when you saw the outline of his hard cock pressing against the tight fabric of his black underwear.

His toned arms as they came to the sides of your head to lean and kiss you fervently. "Stop looking at me like that," he groaned softly in your mouth.

He placed his knees on the sofa and patted you on one of your knees gently. "Spread your legs for me," he placed himself in between your legs as soon as you did what he ordered.

Seokmin left a trail of open mouthed kisses from your neck, to your collarbones as he palmed and squeezed your breasts with his hands. Your fingers tangled in his soft hair and moaned his name again when he sucked one of your nipples gently as his fingers pinched the other one.

He stood on his knees, hooking his fingers on your panties and dragged them along your legs, and dropped them to the side of the sofa.

Seokmin held your legs with his hands, as he placed kisses on the inner side of your thighs, sucking and licking softly on your skin. He gave you a glance one time before lowering his mouth to your core.

A whine reverberated on your chest quite loudly as your back arched almost involuntarily. Feeling his tongue lapping on your core, licking almost hungrily but patiently too, as if he wanted to take his time pleasuring you.

Seokmin revelled in your taste, in the sounds you made. He groaned when your fingers tugged at his soft hair again, he groaned when you whimpered his name as you neared your orgasm.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you muttered with eyes shut. Just as when you thought you couldn't feel any closer, Seokmin slid his two fingers inside you, pumping in and out. Your hips rutted desperately against his face and he was quick to hold them down with his free hand.

"Be still," he said softly, before dipping his head down on you again.

"Sorry," you replied breathlessly.

He hummed in response, and you could tell that he was amused at the desperate mess he made of you. But all you could think of was his mouth on your clit, as he had quickly found out how you liked to be stimulated, eliciting moans and half pleas.

You heard him moan with you when you reached your climax, as if he enjoyed the noises that you made, along with his name. Seokmin pulled his fingers out and placed sweet kisses on your clit.

You watched him lick his lips and fingers clean, and you could see that the tip of his nose was slightly wet with your arousal, making you grin at the sight of it. You cleaned it with your fingers as you brought his mouth to yours to kiss him fiercely.

"You taste so good," he muttered lazily on your lips and you could taste yourself in them.

You started tugging at the band of his underwear, pulling it down as best as the position of your bodies let you. Seokmin sighed, and you noticed that he was smiling.

"Be patient," he groaned, his demeanour seemed elated still. But he stood up from the sofa, and quickly got rid of his underwear, revealing his large cock.

You gulped almost involuntarily. "You have a pretty cock," you mumbled once he was between your legs again.

That took him off guard. He gave you a breathy chuckle. "Well, that's a first," he confessed.

Yeah, you were quite sure he didn't get the word 'pretty' as often as 'big'.

He gave you a small peck on your lips, pulling you out of your trance. "You're ready?" he asked.

You winced in anticipation the moment you felt his cockhead align with your entrance. Your fingers cradled his face as he watched you nod.

"I need to hear you, baby," he crooned, placing another sweet kiss on your lip.

"I'm ready."

He held one of your legs angled for him as he eased himself inside you painfully slow. You grabbed at his shoulders, letting your fingertips dig at his skin.

"F-fuck," you whispered, releasing the air that caught between your teeth and Seokmin sighed deeply too as he stretched your pussy slowly.

It had been a while since you last had sex, so the feeling of having someone, let alone someone as big as Seokmin took a bit more from you than expected.

"Good girl," he muttered through gritted teeth when your hips met fully. You felt your walls flutter a bit around his cock, easing from the sting at having him stretch you open.

His eyes searched your face briefly, but wasted no time and started moving slowly and with shallow thrusts until you both adjusted to each other's bodies. Then he effortlessly picked up his pace and his thrusts started coming and going deeply inside you.

He kissed your moans with wet lips and released your leg from his grip. "Wrap your legs around me," you did as he said, also wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed your lips again.

His hands buried in your hair, closing in a tight first and his forehead leaned on yours. "You feel so fucking good, baby," he gritted his teeth. His hips buckled once before taking a faster and harder pace on you.

"Fuck! Right there," you moaned on his mouth. And gripped him tighter with you hands.

The grip on your hair tightened and he turned your head to the side slightly to make way for his lips on your neck where he had found a sweet spot.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself on the reflection of the tv screen. You hadn't noticed it before when you were so busy staring at Seokmin, but now, you could see your face wild with lust, and your body entangled with Seokmin's; as his hips rammed against yours.

You almost fell in love at the image of him fucking you, passionately, hard and fast. Just seeing your bodies melted like this made your body quiver almost sending you to the edge.

He lifted his head and found you staring at both your reflections, he smiled at you and cooed. "Look at you, so flustered and pretty."

His thrusts quickened, but they didn't relent on their depth. And it was exactly what you needed. Your hands travelled down his back and dug your nails in his ass, earning a throaty moan from the man above you.

You were panting, feeling all sanity lip out your mind and you could hear yourself call his name in whispers, but couldn't make out another word.

Soft, wet kisses trailed down your neck to your mouth as the lewd noises you made filled the room.

"Are you going to cum again, baby?"

"'m so close," you whimpered. You closed your eyes, savouring the feeling as you reached your second orgasm.

"Look at me, baby," you heard him whisper and opened your eyes to find his.

"God. Seokmin. Don't stop, please," you cried as your body trembled with hot waves of pleasure.

A long moan escaped your mouth but was quickly supressed by a wet kiss. "I know baby," he whispered as you came on his cock, whimpering and twitching uncontrollably under his body.

Then he sat back down on his knees, grabbing you by your hips with a tight grip, and the change in position made you moan lazily. You didn't think you could keep going, but the sight of Seokmin's face riddled with pleasure made want to chase after a third orgasm.

Seokmin threw his head back before letting out a deep moan with his eyelids shut, his lips parted and twitching slightly once. You could feel your body tremble again at the thought of his cum inside you, and moaned at the same time he did, his thrusts on you not relenting until your cream started dripping at the base of his cock, mixing with his cum.

As his hips came to a stop on top of you, he glanced down to where your bodies remained connected and sighed in pleasure at the sight.

You also could feel yourself get lost at the sight of him for a bit. His heavy breathing made his chest and shoulders move up and down in a languid manner, a light layer of sweat covered his neck and collarbones.

He moved to rest his head on your chest for a moment, without saying a word. You knew he could hear your heartbeat, as you could feel his own heart stuttering against your body.

His forehead also glistened with seat, his hot breath caressed your breasts and even though you could see his relaxed features, you noticed that he was lost in thought.

You pushed his wet bangs from his face, drawing his attention to you. "We're still friends, right?" you asked jokingly.

His lips rose in a lazy smile and nodded. "Still friends."

♡︎ Final notes: I haven't posted fanfic for years sooo... well, if you liked it please show it some love, a reblog or leave a comment, i'm all eyes. click here for part 2 ( · ❛ ֊ ❛)

[lightdancingwords]

Breaking The Wall - Part One of ?

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Original Female Character

Series Summary: When Sergeant Tim Bradford is partnered with Officer Rachel Grace—a sharp, emotionally guarded transfer with a reputation for pushing the limits—tension ignites from day one. Rachel operates with cold precision, often disregarding protocol in the name of efficiency, while Tim, shaped by trauma and discipline, clings to order and control. Though their approaches clash, their results are undeniable, forcing them into a reluctant partnership that slowly deepens through shared pressure and unspoken understanding. As they navigate high-stakes calls, moral boundaries, and the weight of unresolved grief, what begins as friction evolves into trust—and eventually, something neither of them expected.

Word Count: 6,355

Tags/Warnings: Cop procedures, police work, angst (so much), tension, violence

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: This is my first foray into The Rookie universe! I'm still playing catch up on the series itself, but I was too excited about this idea to wait! So take it as an Alternate Universe where not everything will be to precise detail of the series! Enjoy!

Also: Posting schedule will be 1 to 2 times a week for this series. We'll see how it goes!

Dividers: credit to @firefly-graphics

Chapter One: Breaking Regulation

The briefing room was its usual controlled chaos—officers filtering in with coffee in hand, the quiet shuffle of gear, the occasional bark of laughter as partners caught up from the weekend. Tim Bradford leaned against the wall near the back, arms folded, his face a calm mask of readiness. He’d already read over the assignment roster posted outside, and his name hadn’t moved. As far as he knew, it was another standard patrol cycle.

Until the back door opened.

Every head in the room turned.

Rachel Grace stepped inside like she owned the air around her. Her dark uniform was crisp, her auburn hair tightly knotted at the nape of her neck. Her expression was neutral—no smirk, no warmth, no apology for the shift in the room’s temperature. She made no move to introduce herself or even look around. She simply took a seat in the far corner, spine straight, eyes ahead.

The murmurs started almost immediately. Quiet, but not quiet enough.

“Is that her?” “From South Bureau?” “I heard she ran an op in Boyle Heights alone…” “Wasn’t she the one whose partner—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Sergeant Grey said sharply, stepping up to the front. The room went silent at once.

Tim shifted his weight slightly, eyes narrowing just a touch. He didn’t like rumors. He liked facts.

Grey’s gaze swept the room. “We’ve got a few reassigned patrol pairings for the next two weeks as part of a precinct integration initiative. First up—Officer Grace.”

Rachel stood, hands behind her back. The move was practiced, almost military. She faced forward, composed but distant.

“Officer Rachel Grace is transferring in from the 77th Division,” Grey said, his tone brisk. “Fifteen years on the job, fluent in multiple languages, tactical certification, and an extensive history in gang intervention and undercover work. She’ll be partnering with Sergeant Bradford for the duration of her integration period.”

That sparked a new wave of glances—this time aimed at Tim.

Tim didn’t blink. “Understood.”

Rachel gave a single nod. “Sergeant.”

No handshake. No small smile. Just clipped professionalism.

Grey gave the room a hard look. “I don’t expect chatter or games. Officer Grace has earned her place here. That’s all there is to say about it. Now—assignments.”

As the roster went up on the screen, Rachel resumed her seat. Tim didn’t move until the end of the briefing, when he stepped over to where she stood collecting her notes. He stopped just short of her personal space.

“You don’t like small talk,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him. “No.”

“Good. Neither do I.”

For the first time, the slightest twitch of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth—but it never fully formed.

“Then we’ll get along just fine.”

Tim didn’t wait for Rachel as he exited the briefing room, just assumed she’d follow—and she did. Her boots echoed evenly behind him, no hesitation in her pace, no need for directions. When they reached the cruiser, she slid into the passenger seat without a word, pulling the seatbelt across her chest with a practiced snap.

Silence settled like fog. Not awkward, but heavy.

Tim started the engine. Checked the mirrors. Glanced at her once.

“Radio’s yours,” he said.

Rachel nodded, adjusting the dial and responding with calm precision when dispatch called in their unit number. Her voice over the radio was crisp, almost detached. Everything about her screamed control.

They pulled away from the precinct, both staring ahead, the city of Los Angeles unfolding in its usual blur of movement and noise.

Still no small talk.

Tim didn’t mind the quiet—he was used to rookies who filled the air with nerves or questions. Rachel wasn’t that. She was a wall. Cold. Impenetrable. But efficient. He could respect that.

A call crackled through the radio.

“7-Adam-07, we’ve got a disturbance reported at 4172 West Melrose. Caller says there’s shouting, glass breaking—possible DV situation. No weapons mentioned at this time.”

Rachel leaned forward, voice steady. “7-Adam-07, en route.”

Tim flicked on the lights, taking a hard turn onto Melrose. “DV call first thing. Welcome to Mid-Wilshire.”

Rachel didn’t respond. She didn’t smile. Just watched the road with that unreadable expression.

When they pulled up in front of a narrow apartment building, the sound of shouting was immediately evident—even from the street. A male voice. Loud. Agitated. Something crashing.

Tim stepped out first, scanning the windows above. “Second floor, looks like.”

Rachel was already moving, her hand near her weapon but not on it. Controlled. Professional. They reached the building’s main entrance in sync, then climbed the narrow staircase side by side, neither needing to coordinate. Both used to the rhythm of the job.

Outside apartment 2B, the yelling intensified.

Tim glanced at her. “You take lead?”

She gave a single nod.

Rachel knocked hard. “LAPD. Open the door.”

No response.

Another crash.

Rachel didn’t wait. She stepped back, motioned to Tim. One nod.

He kicked in the door.

Inside, a man in his forties whirled around from the shattered coffee table, chest heaving, face flushed. A woman stood behind him, trembling but uninjured, hands raised in surrender.

“Get the hell out of my house!” the man shouted.

Rachel didn’t flinch. “Step away from her. Now.”

He took one step forward. Aggressive. Stupid.

Tim moved to her right, just behind her, ready.

The man lunged.

Rachel reacted fast—faster than Tim expected. She twisted around him, grabbed his wrist, and sent him to the floor with a clean, practiced move that was all muscle and training. She had a knee in his back before he could even curse, cuffing him with efficient, brutal calm.

The woman sobbed. Tim moved to her quickly, voice soft. “You okay? Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No. He just… he lost it. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You did the right thing.”

Behind them, Rachel hauled the man to his feet like he weighed nothing. Her expression hadn’t changed. No flicker of emotion. Not even anger. Just cold, detached precision.

Tim watched her a moment too long.

Later, after they handed the man off and wrote the report in silence, Tim finally said something.

“Where’d you learn that takedown?”

Rachel didn’t look up from her paperwork. “Jake taught me.”

That was all she said. No elaboration.

Tim didn’t press. Just nodded.

Enemies might’ve talked more by now. But this? This was something else. A quiet storm brewing—contained. For now.

The doors of the cruiser shut with the familiar weight of habit. Tim glanced at Rachel as she settled in beside him, already jotting down notes from the domestic call. Her handwriting was neat, almost surgical in its precision—no hesitation, no wasted movement.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

Rachel didn’t offer anything either. The silence between them wasn’t cold—it was clinical. Efficient.

Finally, he said, “You handled that call like you’d seen it before.”

She didn’t look up. “I have.”

“Didn’t hesitate on the door.”

“There was no time to.”

His eyes stayed on her for a beat. “Some would say you moved in too soon.”

Her pen paused briefly. “Some don’t know what happens when you wait.”

Tim didn’t argue. Just nodded once, a simple acknowledgment. She didn’t flinch from criticism—but she didn’t explain herself, either. She didn’t need to. It was clear she’d made peace with how she did things.

The radio buzzed to life.

“7-Adam-07, possible 211 silent alarm. Gas-N-Go on Western and 3rd. Clerk pressed the panic button. No call-in. No visuals from outside.”

Rachel reached for the mic. “7-Adam-07, en route.”

Tim turned on the lights and sirens, guiding them through traffic.

“Silent alarm could be a glitch,” he offered.

Rachel’s response was calm. “Or someone’s bleeding behind the register.”

They rolled into the lot three minutes later. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. One car idled at a pump. The front door of the convenience store stood slightly ajar.

Rachel was out of the car before Tim fully braked.

He followed quickly, scanning the windows. “We wait for backup—”

She held up one hand without turning. Not a dismissal. Just a signal. Trust me.

Her sidearm came out, held tight and low as she approached the entrance from the side, body close to the wall, head angling toward the interior. She didn’t move recklessly—she moved like she’d already mapped the entire store in her mind. Calculated. Clean.

Tim circled wide, covering her blind side.

Inside was quiet.

Too quiet.

Rachel gave him a quick glance, barely a nod, then slipped inside.

Her eyes scanned, noting the open register drawer, the half-empty chip rack tipped over, and the clerk—barely visible—curled on the floor behind the counter.

A figure ducked behind an aisle.

Rachel was moving before the suspect even realized they’d been seen.

“LAPD!” she called, not shouting—just enough authority to freeze the wrong kind of panic.

The suspect—a teenage male—spun halfway, raising what looked like a pistol with unsteady hands.

Rachel didn’t hesitate.

She surged forward with precision, deflecting the weapon with a controlled strike, guiding the kid to the floor with a practiced twist. Her knee landed between his shoulder blades, just enough pressure to keep him still but not enough to damage.

Cuffs were out in seconds. Efficient. No excess.

Tim came in just behind her, covering the space, sweeping for any other threats—but there were none.

The kid was hyperventilating.

Rachel wasn’t even breathing hard.

She radioed it in. “One suspect in custody. No injuries. Scene secured.”

Only once the clerk was safe and the weapon—a cheap plastic replica—was secured, did Rachel stand and brush her sleeves clean.

Later, back in the cruiser, Tim finally spoke.

“You move like someone who knows the script before it’s written.”

Rachel didn’t look over. “I don’t believe in waiting for the third act.”

“You also don’t believe in backup, apparently.”

“I believe in minimizing casualties.”

“Even if it means pushing the edge of protocol?”

She paused, then turned to meet his gaze, her expression unreadable.

“If you’re asking whether I’ll do it again,” she said, “the answer is yes. If it saves someone.”

Tim studied her a moment longer.

“You don’t flinch.”

“Neither do you.”

He gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah, but I’m not trying to set the tone on day one.”

“I’m not trying,” she said evenly. “I just am.”

The silence returned, but it felt different this time. Not cold. Not clinical.

It was a standoff of mutual calculation—two officers learning the shape of each other’s boundaries.

And Tim realized something.

She wasn’t reckless. She wasn’t emotional.

She was control, weaponized.

And she was going to be a challenge.

He wasn’t sure yet if that was a good thing.

Back at the precinct, the air inside the bullpen buzzed with low conversations, the way it always did after a tense call. Tim typed out the incident report at his desk with steady hands. Rachel stood a few feet away, delivering her account to Sergeant Grey, her posture rigid, tone clipped and professional.

“Suspect was a teenager. Weapon was a replica. Clerk confirmed the panic button was hit when the kid flashed the gun and ordered him to empty the register. No injuries on scene. I moved in once visual was confirmed.”

Grey nodded slowly, scrutinizing her. “You didn’t wait for backup.”

“I didn’t need backup.”

Tim watched the exchange from his desk, silent.

Grey didn’t press it—not now. He just nodded. “Write it up. I want the report on my desk by end of shift.”

Rachel turned, already pulling up the notes on her tablet.

Around the bullpen, voices started to stir.

“She still moves like she’s got something to prove.” “You’d think after two years she’d slow down.” “It’s O’Hare. That messed her up more than she lets on.” “Not surprised she acted like that. She’s never waited for backup—not once.” “I heard she walked out of a hostage standoff once because command wouldn’t let her breach.” “Is she even trying to be part of this team, or…?”

Rachel ignored them.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t look around. She just typed.

The eyes that followed her weren’t hostile—but they weren’t welcoming either. They were watchful. Curious. A little wary.

Rachel Grace didn’t smile. Didn’t make conversation. Didn’t pause to ask about anyone’s weekend.

She was here to work. That was all.

Tim watched her across the room, noticing how the space around her remained clear. No one asked to grab coffee. No one joked around her desk. No one pulled up a chair.

It wasn’t fear—it was distance. A wall she built without ever laying a single brick.

Lucy slid up beside Tim, sipping from a paper cup. She kept her voice low.

“So that’s your new partner.”

Tim didn’t look away. “For now.”

“She’s… intense.”

“She’s disciplined.”

“Right,” Lucy said carefully. “But, like, in a ‘one wrong look and she’ll break your arm’ kind of way.”

Tim smirked faintly. “She’s not reckless.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “She’s not friendly either.”

“She doesn’t have to be.”

Lucy tilted her head. “You’re defending her?”

“I’m not judging her on gossip.”

Lucy leaned in a little. “You know the story, right? About her partner?”

“O’Hare. Yeah.”

“Some people say she still acts like it happened last week.”

Tim finally turned to look at Lucy. “You ever lost a partner?”

Lucy hesitated, caught off guard. “No.”

“Then don’t assume you know what that feels like.”

Lucy held his gaze for a moment, then backed off. “Okay. Fair.”

She left him alone, but Tim’s eyes drifted back to Rachel.

She didn’t look like someone grieving. She looked like someone who couldn’t afford to.

Someone who’d built her entire survival around staying sharp, staying fast, staying in control.

He respected it. He also knew it couldn’t last forever.

But that was her wall to maintain—or tear down.

He wasn’t there to fix her.

Still… he couldn’t help watching.

And wondering what it would take to see even one crack.

Rachel stood at the printer, retrieving the hard copy of her report, when Grey approached her from the side. He didn’t say anything at first—just waited until she was finished. That alone said enough: this wasn’t going to be casual.

She turned, report in hand, already anticipating what was coming.

“Sergeant.”

Grey gave a slight nod. “Grace. Walk with me.”

She followed him toward his office, but he didn’t go in. Instead, he stopped just outside, arms folded, voice low enough not to carry.

“I read your report. Watched the body cam footage too.”

Rachel said nothing. She didn’t offer justification. She didn’t need to—yet.

Grey continued, “You executed the takedown clean. No unnecessary force. Clerk’s alive, suspect’s in cuffs, no one’s bleeding. That’s what we like to see.”

“But,” Rachel prompted, neutral as ever.

Grey met her eyes. “But this isn’t South Bureau. What might’ve passed for standard operating procedure over there… doesn’t automatically fly here.”

Rachel’s jaw didn’t tighten, but her eyes sharpened just slightly. “I adapt to the field.”

“I don’t doubt that. You’ve got instincts. Control. You move like you’ve got ten seconds to save a life, every single time.” He paused. “Problem is, that edge? It cuts both ways.”

She said nothing.

Grey continued, tone quieter. “You’ve got a reputation, Grace. One earned, not given. People respect it. They also talk about it.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow, faint but pointed. “Let them.”

Grey’s expression didn’t shift. “I’m not asking you to make friends. I don’t care if you never set foot in the break room. But I do care about the way you carry that badge in my precinct.”

He let the words land.

Rachel nodded once. “Understood.”

Grey leaned in just a fraction, his voice low enough only she could hear. “You’re not still out there trying to prove something to a ghost, are you?”

Silence.

Rachel didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just met his gaze, level and unblinking.

“No, sir,” she said.

Grey watched her for another beat, reading her like only a seasoned cop could. Finally, he gave her a nod and stepped back.

“That’s all.”

Rachel turned and walked away, her movements fluid, unbothered.

But as she passed the bullpen, she felt the eyes.

Still watching.

Still whispering.

And she didn’t care.

She never had.

The apartment was dark when Rachel stepped inside, the only light a muted glow spilling in from the city beyond her high-rise window. She didn’t flip a switch. Didn’t need to. She moved through the space like a shadow, setting her keys and badge on the small dish by the door, shrugging off her jacket with practiced indifference.

The place was immaculate. Uncluttered. Everything in its place. Sleek, modern furniture. Cool tones. No signs of life save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of sirens drifting up from the streets below.

She walked straight to the kitchen, opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and twisted the cap. No wine. No takeout. No signs of comfort or indulgence.

Just control.

The kind of control that extended beyond the job and into the silence she lived with when the uniform came off.

Rachel moved to the small living room and lowered herself onto the edge of the couch, not sinking into it so much as perching there. Still upright. Still alert. Even here, her posture never relaxed.

On the shelf beside her, tucked just behind a few well-worn books and a polished box of old case files, sat a framed photo.

A man with tousled blond hair and a warm, mischievous grin had one arm looped tightly around her waist. Rachel stood beside him, not in uniform, but in jeans and a soft, cream-colored sweater, her hair down and catching sunlight.

She was laughing in the photo. Fully, freely. Her head tilted just slightly against his. Her arm draped casually around his back.

Jake O’Hare.

Not just her partner.

The kind of man you didn’t just lose on the job—you lost him from every part of your life.

Rachel stared at the photo, unmoving. No change in expression. No outward reaction. But her hand reached for the frame. She picked it up gently, thumb brushing the edge. Not the glass. Not his face. Just the frame.

She didn’t sigh. Didn’t speak.

She simply stared.

And after a moment, she set the photo back in its place with quiet precision, as if anything more would feel… indulgent.

Then she stood, unscrewed the water bottle cap again, and drank half of it in one go. Her eyes drifted to the clock.

0500 wasn’t that far off.

Sleep couldn't wait.

Rachel moved to the bedroom. Folded clothes sat in a neat stack. The bed was made—tightly, like a habit. She stripped off her shirt and pants with military efficiency and pulled on an old department-issued t-shirt. No pajamas. No softness.

She lay down, arms crossed over her stomach, staring at the ceiling.

And when her eyes finally closed, her breathing stayed even.

Disciplined.

Guarded.

Even in dreams, Rachel Grace gave nothing away.

The second week began much like the first: silent mornings, reports filed with precision, the occasional clipped exchange in the cruiser. Rachel remained as unreadable as ever, her walls unbroken, her posture immaculate. But the calls were different this week. More unpredictable. More charged.

And so was she.

**

Tuesday: Suspect with a knife, cornered in an alley behind a pawn shop. Tim had been halfway through calling it in when Rachel moved, cutting a wide angle through the back route and taking the guy down with a hard slam against the dumpster before backup had even arrived.

When Tim got there, breath caught mid-sentence, she was already cuffing the guy with clinical efficiency. No injuries. No mess.

“You didn’t clear it with me,” he said afterward.

“I had eyes. I had opportunity.”

“You didn’t have confirmation.”

She didn’t even blink. “Didn’t need it.”

**

Thursday: Stolen car, suspect fleeing on foot through a crowded market. Tim went high, using the patrol vehicle to cut the guy off at the end of the alley.

Rachel didn’t wait for the block—she vaulted a vendor’s stand, cornered the suspect mid-run, and brought him down with a shoulder tackle that was borderline excessive.

The suspect howled about brutality.

Rachel didn’t flinch.

Tim pulled her aside as they waited for the transport unit.

“You could’ve let him run two more feet. I had it.”

Rachel stared at him. “He could’ve grabbed a civilian in two more feet.”

“Or you could’ve ended up in a misconduct hearing.”

“Then they’ll have to spell ‘restraint’ differently in my file.”

Tim exhaled through his nose. “That supposed to be funny?”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

**

Friday: Armed robbery, three suspects fleeing on foot. Rachel pursued one through a construction site, moving fast, weaving between scaffolding. Tim had barely finished coordinating units when her voice came through the radio, calm and cool.

“Suspect detained.”

By the time he got there, she had the guy face-down in the gravel, weapon secured, blood on his lip from where he’d resisted.

Too much force?

Maybe.

Borderline?

Absolutely.

Tim didn’t say anything in the moment.

Later, back at the precinct, he dropped the door shut to the report room a little harder than usual.

Rachel looked up from her tablet. “Problem?”

“You ever think that maybe the rules are there for a reason?”

She blinked slowly. “I follow procedure.”

“You skirt it. Constantly.”

“If the results are clean—”

“Then it’s luck,” he cut in, voice low, firm. “And one day, luck’s gonna run out, and it won’t be your record on the line. It’ll be mine too.”

That stopped her—not completely, but enough for her to set her tablet down.

She looked at him then. Really looked.

Still calm. Still composed. But something sharper behind her eyes.

“If you can’t handle the way I work,” she said evenly, “you can ask for reassignment.”

“I can handle it,” Tim replied, tone clipped. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Neither of them moved. The silence thickened, heavy with unspoken tension. Not quite enemies. Not quite partners.

Yet.

Finally, Rachel picked her tablet back up.

“We’re done here.”

Tim watched her go, jaw tight, chest full of frustration that had nowhere to go.

She was good. Too good, maybe.

But that edge she danced on? It was getting thinner by the day.

And he was starting to realize… he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to pull her back from it—or follow her straight to the drop.

The hum of the bullpen was steady, officers returning from weekend calls, typing up reports, sipping lukewarm coffee. Tim stood at the threshold of Sergeant Grey’s office, one hand lightly knocking on the open door.

Grey didn’t look up right away.

“That bad?” he asked, flipping a page on the file in front of him.

Tim stepped in. “Depends on what you define as bad.”

Now Grey looked up.

“You and Grace,” he said. “Trouble?”

Tim hesitated. That pause was answer enough.

“She’s a solid cop,” Tim admitted. “But she’s not a partner. Not in the way this job needs.”

Grey folded his arms, leaning back in his chair. “Define that.”

“She makes the call before there’s time to make a call. No communication, no coordination. I’m there to react, not work with her. That’s not a partnership—it’s damage control.”

Grey watched him for a moment, expression unreadable.

“And yet,” he said slowly, “in the last ten days, you’ve brought in four suspects, recovered two weapons, deescalated one active DV, and stopped a gas station robbery before it escalated. No injuries. No civilian complaints. No IA red flags.”

“Yet,” Tim said pointedly.

Grey didn’t argue. “So what are you asking me for?”

“Reassignment. Let her ride solo for a while, or pair her with someone who doesn’t care how many lines she toe-dances around.”

Grey shook his head. “Not happening.”

Tim’s jaw flexed. “She’s not going to change.”

“I’m not asking her to,” Grey said. “And I’m not asking you to like her, Bradford. I’m asking you to keep doing what you’ve already been doing—balancing her. Holding the line when she pushes it. You’re one of the few people who can.”

Tim let the words hang there. He didn’t argue, not out loud. But it simmered in his expression—contained, barely.

“She doesn’t talk,” he said after a beat. “Not about the job. Not about the calls. Not even about the debriefs unless she’s asked. She’s a wall.”

Grey nodded. “And you’ve built a career on knowing how to get through those. Figure it out.”

Tim huffed out a breath, half a laugh, but without humor. “This isn’t Chen.”

“No,” Grey agreed. “It’s not. Chen needed shaping. Grace is already forged. That’s harder to work with—but not impossible.”

Tim gave one slow nod. “Anything else?”

“Just this—” Grey leaned forward. “You think she’s ice now? Try giving her exactly what she wants: distance. Let her operate in a vacuum, and one day, it won’t be just a bad call—it’ll be a headline. She needs a partner, Tim. Even if she won’t admit it.”

Tim didn’t answer. He just turned and walked out.

He didn’t like it.

But Grey was right.

She wasn’t going to change.

Which meant if anything was going to shift—if the line was going to hold—it’d be up to him.

And right now, Tim Bradford wasn’t sure whether he was holding her back… or getting pulled into her gravity.

The patrol cruiser sat in its usual spot outside the precinct, gleaming under the sharp California sun. Tim leaned against the hood, arms crossed, watching the front entrance. He’d already checked their assignments, already clocked the usual suspects on the board. He wasn’t waiting for Rachel—he was waiting for the moment.

She walked out exactly on time, not a minute early, not a second late.

Her uniform was perfect. Hair tied back, clean lines, no visible tension in her stride. Just the same measured presence that had defined every day of the last two weeks.

She approached without hesitation.

“Ready?” she asked, unlocking the passenger door.

“Hold up.”

Rachel paused, not impatient, just still. Her gaze met his—cool, unreadable.

Tim straightened off the hood. “We need to talk about how we’re working.”

She blinked once. “We’re not.”

“That’s the problem.”

A beat of silence.

He kept going. “You make decisions without input. You push boundaries. And if something goes wrong out there, it’s both of us answering for it.”

She nodded once. “I’m aware.”

“That’s not the same as changing it.”

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to.”

Tim’s jaw clenched. “That’s how partnerships work. Communication. Coordination. Trust.”

Rachel stared at him for a long moment, then said, “Do you not trust me?”

He hesitated—not because he didn’t have an answer, but because he didn’t like how easily she’d pinned him to the wall with that one question.

“I trust your training,” he said. “Your instincts. Your control. But that’s not enough if you’re acting like I’m not even there.”

Rachel tilted her head slightly. “So what do you want, Sergeant? A conversation every time a suspect twitches wrong? A committee vote before I move in?”

“I want a partner who doesn’t treat me like I’m just backup.”

That landed, but not in the way he wanted. Rachel didn’t flinch. Didn’t bristle. She just… accepted the statement and filed it away like data.

“Noted,” she said simply.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Then she opened the passenger door, slid in, and pulled the seatbelt across her chest.

Tim stood there for a second, frustrated—not by her dismissal, but by how effective it was.

She wasn’t arguing. She wasn’t defensive.

She was just… unshakeable.

And it made him want to shake her.

He got in the driver’s side and started the engine. The radio crackled.

“7-Adam-07, respond to a 459 in progress—possible break-in at a residence near Fairfax and 8th. Caller reports movement in the backyard. Suspect may still be on scene.”

Rachel grabbed the mic. “7-Adam-07, responding.”

Tim didn’t say a word as he pulled away from the curb.

Neither did she.

But the silence between them wasn’t neutral anymore.

It was full.

Of questions.

Of lines still being drawn.

And of one slow-burning fuse just waiting to find a spark.

The cruiser turned onto Fairfax with its lights off, engine low. The street was quiet, lined with narrow hedges and stucco houses, the kind of neighborhood where break-ins weren’t supposed to happen.

Tim parked two houses down from the address. The sun had dipped just enough to cast long shadows across the sidewalk.

“Backyard entry,” Rachel said, already unbuckling. “North side’s got more cover.”

Tim checked the radio. “Units are five minutes out. We wait. Contain the perimeter.”

Rachel didn’t respond.

He glanced over.

Her jaw was set, eyes focused on the alley running along the side of the house. Her hand hovered near her vest—waiting. Thinking.

“Grace,” he said firmly. “We wait. That’s a direct—”

She was already moving.

Tim swore under his breath and jumped out of the cruiser, tracking her through the shadows. She moved fast but silent, her footing practiced on uneven gravel. The back gate creaked slightly as she slipped through, weapon drawn, body low.

Tim followed—less to support her now than to keep the fallout from getting worse.

By the time he rounded the back corner, Rachel had already swept the yard and spotted the suspect—a man crouched under the patio table, crowbar in hand, eyes wide with panic.

“LAPD!” she barked, leveling her weapon. “Drop it now.”

The man bolted.

Rachel lunged.

Tim was two seconds too far behind to stop her.

She intercepted him before he reached the back fence, knocking the crowbar loose with a precise strike to the wrist and slamming him to the ground with a force that was almost too clean to criticize. Her knee pressed into his back as she cuffed him, calm and without excess.

Tim caught up just as the guy groaned beneath her weight.

Rachel didn’t look up. “Suspect secured. No injuries.”

Tim didn’t say a word.

Not until they walked the guy back out to the front and handed him off to the responding unit. Then, as she turned back toward the cruiser, he stepped in front of her.

“You ignored a direct order.”

Rachel gave him a look—not cold, not defiant. Just steady.

“And I stopped a suspect mid-felony without injury or escalation. Would you rather we’d stood around until he hopped a fence and disappeared?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s not?”

Tim took a breath, forced his voice lower. “You can’t keep doing this—making calls without me. If something had gone sideways—”

“But it didn’t.”

“That’s not a justification.”

Rachel stepped closer, her voice level but unyielding. “Then write it up. File a complaint. Grey already expects it from me, doesn’t he?”

Tim stared at her, frustration churning. “This isn’t about Grey. This is about me. About trust.”

Rachel’s jaw tightened for the first time. Just slightly.

“You’re right,” she said. “You don’t trust me.”

He opened his mouth—then closed it.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

And yet… every time she made a move, it worked. Every suspect down. Every call resolved. She hadn’t once crossed the line—but she danced on the very edge of it, daring gravity to pull her under.

Tim wanted to call her reckless.

But he couldn’t.

Because she wasn’t.

She was methodical. Controlled. Smart.

And that made her more dangerous than if she were just sloppy.

Rachel turned to head back to the car.

Tim didn’t follow right away.

He stood in the yard, hands on his hips, staring at the worn space where the suspect had fallen.

He didn’t know if she was going to get someone hurt one day—or if she was the only one who could prevent it.

And he hated that he couldn’t decide which scared him more.

Tim Bradford – Cruiser, 9:42 PM

He gripped the steering wheel with one hand, staring out at the city lights through the windshield. The suspect was gone. The report was clean. No injuries, no use of force complaint, no body cam footage that would raise flags with IA. By all measurable accounts, it was a win.

So why did it feel like a loss?

Rachel sat next to him in silence, typing the incident report on her tablet. Like nothing had happened. Like ignoring a direct order was just another calculated choice in a long string of acceptable deviations. Her face was unreadable, her body language calm.

Tim clenched his jaw.

She didn’t just ignore him—she overrode him. Made the decision without a glance, without a question. Like she didn’t need a partner. Like he was just there for paperwork and protocol.

And the worst part?

She was right. The takedown was textbook. Controlled. Clean. No one got hurt.

That’s what kept throwing him. If she were reckless, it’d be easy. If she were emotional, careless, erratic—he could point to it, call it out, shut it down. But Rachel wasn’t any of those things. She was deliberate. Efficient. Scary-good. Every call they took ended the same way: suspect down, scene cleared, Rachel walking away like it cost her nothing.

But he knew better.

Nobody carries that much control without bleeding for it somewhere.

He’d seen that kind of tightrope before—in the mirror, in Isabel, in the soldiers he used to lead who held it together right up until the exact moment they didn’t.

He stole a glance at her.

She was focused, methodical, probably halfway done with her report. Not a trace of emotion on her face. Not anger, not smugness. Just business.

And maybe that was what pissed him off the most.

Because it made him question himself.

He was the one following orders now. The one playing it safe, holding the line, protecting careers and reputations and department policy. The same guy who used to clear rooms before backup arrived, who once ran toward a chemical weapon because no one else could recognize what it was.

She was doing what he used to do.

And part of him hated her for it.

Part of him envied her.

And part of him—God help him—respected the hell out of her for it.

Tim turned his eyes back to the street, took a deep breath, and forced the tension out through his hands, one slow exhale at a time.

She was a walking violation of everything he preached.

And somehow… she still made him feel like maybe he was the one on the wrong side of the line.

LAPD Parking Lot – Late Evening

Tim leaned against the hood of his truck, arms crossed, staring out at the night like it had personally offended him. His gear bag sat by the bumper, untouched. The shift was over. Reports were filed. Calls cleared. But something about today was still sitting heavy on his chest, like body armor he hadn’t taken off.

Footsteps approached from behind.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” Lucy said gently.

He didn’t turn, but his shoulders dropped a little. Familiar voice. Familiar presence. Like a weight lifting without ever being named.

“Just needed a minute.”

Lucy came to stand beside him, close but not crowding. She didn’t say anything at first—just let the silence breathe between them.

After a beat, she said, “You do that thing when you’re spinning.”

He shot her a sidelong glance. “What thing?”

She gave him a wry smile. “You stare at the middle distance like it owes you an apology. And you flex your jaw every four seconds.”

Tim exhaled through his nose, a small, dry laugh escaping. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me? Always.”

She waited, giving him space to fill the silence if he wanted. And he did.

Eventually.

“It’s Grace,” he said.

Lucy nodded slowly. “Trouble?”

“Depends who you ask.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then dropped his hand. “She ignored a direct order today. Just blew right past it. And it worked. It always works.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“I hate it,” he admitted. “Not because it’s reckless—because it’s not. It’s calculated. Controlled. She knows exactly what she’s doing. And that’s the problem.”

Lucy tilted her head. “You think she’s dangerous?”

“No.” He paused. “I think she’s me. Ten years ago. Before I learned what it costs to live like that.”

Lucy studied him for a moment, then spoke softly. “So what are you really afraid of? That she’s gonna get someone hurt? Or that she won’t?”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

And for a second, he didn’t have an answer.

Lucy’s voice stayed quiet. “You’ve spent so long trying to do it right—by the book, by the badge, by the code. And she shows up doing it her way, making it work, and it’s making you question all of it.”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Lucy bumped his arm gently with her elbow. “That’s okay, you know. Being rattled. You’re human, Tim. You’re allowed to wrestle with it.”

“Even when I don’t want to?”

“Especially when you don’t want to.”

A long pause stretched between them. Not uncomfortable—just honest.

Finally, she added, “You trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Then trust me when I say this: you’ll figure her out. Might take time. Might take a few more violations of protocol. But you’ll get there. You always do.”

Tim nodded slowly. “I’m not trying to save her, Lucy.”

“I know.” She smiled faintly. “That’s why you might actually reach her.”

They stood there a few moments longer in the quiet.

And for the first time all night, the weight on his chest didn’t feel so heavy.

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[monocytogenes]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @nirikeehan! Got two recent WIPs out and have been picking here and there at the Pravin and Theron longfic project, so here's some character work with the two of them getting ready for an op, ft. Theron doing hacker shit and being the most bachelor dude to bachelor, Pravin trying to shake his stimulant addiction, a joke about the metric system, and some inconvenient Gay Thoughts.

This premise is loosely 'what if SoR but it's the Star Cabal?'; you can find some previous WIP posts here:

“Everything is fine,” he heard himself say; distantly, as though through water.

“Oh, look at that.” Theron snatched it from him. “My unused PTO.”

“Yeah, nobody’s going to notice that.”

“Alright, I’ll get that taken care of. Thank you so much for your help. ...Bye.” Theron spun in his chair with a smug smile. “Got the credentials for the comms server. I need to check to confirm, but—” “That was fast.” Pravin tossed a bag of clothing onto the bed. “Wove a great story about a side-channel attack to a low-level tech and freaked them out so bad they didn’t bother transferring me,” he explained, turning back to where his datapad was docked on a table. “Let’s see…” “I have the uniforms,” Pravin declared. “I hope I got your size right; they’re using something called inches and I had to convert.” “Okay, sure, I’ll check in a few.” Pravin wandered across the room to the kitchen. Theron’s rented flat was prefab worker housing—little more than a bedroom and a bathroom, with tiled floors and plasteel walls resembling those of a ship. It was well-insulated from sound, though, and the man had intimated that he’d sliced the exterior camera system weeks prior to make his movements more difficult to track; the latter couldn’t be said of Pravin’s hotel, so they’d mutually agreed it would be better to continue their meetings here. He set the kettle to boil, sifting through Theron’s odd collection of teas: a few herbs common in Hutt Space, something floral that he didn’t recognize, and one called yarba whose packaging assured him it contained caffeine. Doubtless better than the powdered caf the man apparently drank, which somehow managed to be worse than the shipboard rations Pravin had endured in the navy. For fuck’s sake, you’d be better off with a stim, he’d thought derisively, a notion he’d then had to actively distract himself from for the following few hours, stretching against the lingering ache in his muscles. “Sweet,” Theron murmured to himself as the kettle pinged. “I’m in. What’s the number we want to forward to?” “Great question.” Pravin poured himself a cup. “Could your people take it?” “Let me ask if they’re available, given the time difference. Darok said 20 hours local, right?” “Yeah, we’ll get there maybe a half hour beforehand to be safe.” Pravin tapped out an inquiry to Shara, then rejoined Theron, setting the cup on the nightstand. Theron pulled a uniform shirt out of the bag, checking the tags. “Bigger one’s mine, right?” “Yes,” Pravin said flatly.

Theron yanked his shirt up over his head. He had a few scars on his back—faint, uneven abrasions that spoke of a nasty fall. The SIS clearly held a different perspective about such injuries than Intelligence; back in the day, all of Pravin’s comparable marks had been buffed out via the best plastic surgery the Empire had to offer lest they prove potentially identifying. Either that, or the Republic agency simply lacked the funding for comparable care. As Theron reached for the uniform shirt, Pravin’s gaze lingered on his shoulders, the ripple of lean but defined muscle around his spine. Theron’s eyes flit up to meet his; he quickly busied himself with the tea.

[camillathe6th]

OC Speech Mannerisms: TAKE TWO

I'm so sorry for this--we didn't need a third one, but I'm jumping on @punkranger's invitation and running with it. I won't tag people because at this point I'm just spamming, but if you're into it do it for your OWN (@/yugocar I saw you and I would like to see your OCs)

Anyway, this is my creature for a coming DnD campaign; his name is Astrit (you can call her Ass, Tits, Asstit, Asshole, Assface, Titbrain, you get me), they're a Yuan-ti and a Pact of the Fiend failcringe Warlock, and generally a jerk (they're a noble, of course they're a jerk) (sorry, was that biased?)

The art below is, of course, by Punk, whose art fucks all the way to the moon and you can find @punkrangerdraws

SER ASTRIT OF ESELEMAS

NO. OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES: 1 / 2 / 3+ (Yuan-ti, Common, because they have to talk to COMMONERS, ugh, Draconic, Infernal)

TONE OF VOICE: high / average / deep (fairly mid and slinky, but liable to slide into high pitch when they throw a tantrum, which might be 75% of the time)

ACCENT: Yes / No (I mean. They hiss their s's, obviousssly.)

DEMEANOUR: confident / shy / approachable / hostile / other (haughty as fuck)

POSTURE: slumped / straight / stiff / relaxed (very good, fencer training posture: straight-backed, high chin, wide stance, with a foot ready to slide perpendicularly at the drop of a hat. That's what an education GETS YOU @/ANGLER you pathetic los--)

HABITS: head tilting (up) / swaying / fidgeting / stuttering / gesturing / arm crossing / strokes chin / er, um, or other interjections / plays with hair or clothing / hands at hips (and quickly at his rapier) / inconsistent eye contact / maintains eye contact (aren't you going to lower your eyes in the face of the Slitherer Supreme's Ambassador amongst Wo/Men?) / frequent pausing / stands close / stands at a distance (probably because you smell)

COMPLEXITY

VOCABULARY: ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤

EMOTION: ⬤⬤⬤⬤〇 (Oh he emotes alright. Much too much for a Snake, if you want her dad's opinion. And probably her god's opinion, if that guy wasn't busy having a life)

SENTENCE STRUCTURE: ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤ (Please. They went to Snake School. They can syntax their way out of a sentence like they were born to it and it serves them never)

PROFANITY

FREQUENCY: ⬤⬤〇〇〇 (they prefer scathing insults built on multi-syllable metaphors)

CREATIVITY (in regards to profanity): ⬤⬤〇〇〇 (points for creativity, but not for profanity)

BOLD ALL THAT APPLY: arse. ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. chicken shit. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. son of a bitch. twat. wanker. pussy. Coxcomb. Fopdoodle. Gutter-Bather. Slow-Wristed Knave.

IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME HEARING OR UNDERSTANDING YOUR CHARACTER? - almost always / frequently / rarely / never (oh you'll hear and understand her (threat))

DOES YOUR CHARACTER'S INTENDED POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK? - almost always / frequently / sometimes??? / rarely / never (points lost because his party's cumulated INT points hover around a measly 8 and I'm second guessing the syntax answer rn)

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS? - almost always / frequently / sometimes / never (depends. Are you rich?)

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS? - almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never. (You're DiSSSSmiSSSed!!!)

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE 'WHOM' IN A SENTENCE? - yes / no / only ironically (of course because that's the only pronoun you should use when the relative pronoun is the object of the relative clause, were you raised in a BARN?)

YOUR CHARACTER WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE? - but / though / although / however / perhaps/ mayhaps / are you STUPID???

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS? - walk away (with an elegant swish of their capelet, bonus points if the capelet hits you in the face) / ask if that's everything / say that's everything (You're DiSSSSmiSSSed!!!) / give a proper goodbye (lmao no) / tell their company they're done here / remain quiet / they don't.

WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR CHARACTER BELONGS TO, HEARING THEM SPEAK? - upper / middle / lower (almost as upper as the stick they got stuck from ass to skull)

IN WHAT WAYS DOES THE WAY YOUR CHARACTER SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS? - accent (snobby, snakey) / vocabulary (flowery) / tone (haughty, usually mean) / level / politeness / brusqueness / it doesn't

[xplot-buni]

April 24th, Sensory Overload | Don’t Yell At Me… Please

Relationship: Logan & Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: whumpster-dumpster's Whumpril 2025, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Sensory Overload, Original Character-centric

Word Count: 660

Summary

Lily-Anne's developing mutation comes with a lot of sounds and smells. For Whumpril 2025 Day 24 - Sensory Overload

Read on AO3

@whumpril

She hates being a mutant. Hates, hates, hates it! It came with so many problems that probably no one knows how to solve. Like just how loud the world really was.

Lily-Anne’s always been sensitive to sound. Always seemed to hear a bit more than others. It was awful.

But now? Now she really could, and it sucked ass. Not to mention the smells. Grass, asphalt, the rubber of the balls being passed around, and about three dozen sweaty kids.

She feels like crying. Or screaming. And as the kids around her continue on with their games, making so many noises that she just can’t stand, she needs to get away.

She gets up from where she was sitting on the side of the basketball court and runs, hands covering the two round ears on the sides of her head that were ruining her life. She can already hear the kids whispering about her, probably laughing and making fun of her. Like all the other kids at her old school did.

She’s glad the property of the mutant school is so big. It’s easy to get far away from everything. Easy to just find a spot far away and tuck her small body between the branches of a tree.

It’s only when she knows no one can hear or see her that she lets herself cry.

---

Lily-Anne’s calmed down a bit, her sobs and crying now quiet sniffles and tears slowly running down her face. Just a few more minutes to pull herself together, and she’ll get back to class.

Footsteps. Getting closer. Heavy. Smells like leather and smoke.

She turns her head, seeing one of the professor’s approaching. Wolverine, if she remembers correctly. She’s never directly interacted with him before, but she always hears kids talking about him and how cool he is.

He stops beneath the tree and looks up, right at her. She tries to obscure herself more. “Lily-Anne. That’s your name, right?”

Shit. She’s going to get yelled at. Of course she is, how could she think for a moment that she could just run off and hope to simply sneak back in. She’s so stupid, of course this was going to happen. Sooner or later she always got yelled at for having running off, or having one of her tantrums, or both.

The tears start again. Lily presses herself up against the trunk of the tree, her spotted tail wrapped tightly around her waist. “D-Don’t yell at me… Please…”

“I’m not going to yell at you, bub.” Wolverine’s voice is rough and raspy, but it’s also gentle, calm. “Come on down, I have somethin’ for ya.”

Lily looks over to him, slowly revealing herself from her hiding spot, and thinks it over for a moment before deciding to come down. She climbs out onto one of the branches and prepares to slide off of it. “Need any help there?” She shakes her head, then drops down, landing on her hands and knees.

She looks up at Wolverine, whose pulling a hand out of his pocket. Now that she’s this close, he’s a lot bigger than Lily first thought.

“Here.” He holds out a pair of earplugs to her. She looks at them for a moment, glances up at Wolverine, before quickly moving to grab them. “There’s some mutations that are more common than others. Like enhanced senses. Hank’s been tryna find something to help mutants like us. Those aren’t perfect, but he’s gotten it down pretty damn well.”

She places them in, cringing slightly at the feeling, but once she gets settled, all the background noise disappears. She can only just make out what Wolverine’s saying through the earplugs. She takes them back out, her ears flicking automatically. “Thanks.”

He nods. “You ready to get back now? I can show you some of the quieter routes.” Wolverine offers his hand out to Lily, who nods with a murmured ‘alright’ and lets him guide her back.

[lynamei]

One big 'NO' when you put politics (in any form) in your story

There are dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands of little things you should know and remember when writing the social and political side of your story. Of course, it's too difficult to keep in mind all the different advice, clues and details that are supposed to help you achieve success. Meaning, that you should set your priorities straight and move from there.

The thing I will caution you against is your own political beliefs seeping into the story.

I often see it as poor taste and poor skill because if the author cannot make their readers at least see some points of the ‘bad’ guys, they’re telling a one-sided story with little to no value. The exception is self-indulgent stories the main purpose of which is so-called face-slapping or bashing. And those things should be tagged accordingly.

As long as I know that the focus of at least half of the story would be on the protagonist wiping the floors with abusive relatives, bullying co-workers or jealous friends, that's alright. But only because I know what to expect and I consciously go there to read that.

So, yes, if you’re not ready to post your work on a website with tags warning your readers about the specifics of your story - namely, your protagonist getting back at his offenders as much and as hard as your creativity allows you - try give your story more than one side. And that means no judgement of characters’ beliefs.

No, obviously, some things are just morally wrong, like genocide, racism or repressions. Though if you can build a character whose clearly racist ideas have some merit or background, that's all the more interesting.

Take for example Magneto (film version). He clearly is an extremist and borderline racist, though a less violent one at times. But seeing him as a powerless boy who loses his mother in a Nazi camp and then undergoes inhumane experiments at the very least gives one some understanding of his views and ideas. I might not like what he fights for but I can clearly trace the ways his worldview formed. I can understand why and how he became like that. Perhaps I can even sympathise with him to some extent.

But that's not exactly the point. The point is that if you want to tell the world about your political views, write a treatise with arguments, do research, write a series of articles on social media, start a blog. Whatever strikes your fancy. But don't force your political views on your readers.

The prime example of what happens when you put your political views at the forefront is Harry Potter. And I don't mean that your book would get the same level of popularity. In fact, I would pray to all known deities that it doesn't.

The problem with Rowling's world is that she started her series as a children's story and then started adding more serious and adult elements. Including sociopolitical divides and implications of people’s allegiances. And it just so happened that all the ‘good’ characters are obviously ‘left’ while the centre of the evil side is glaringly ‘right’. I guess it has something to do with her personal experiences and the trauma of her life, but I’m not a psychologist.

Still, I know that it cannot be healthy for society when entirely normal sociopolitical divides are painted ‘good’ and ’bad’. I cannot recall even one significant traditionalist person on the light side in the entire series. And I mean in a political sense, not in the ‘stay at home and have kids’ sense.

In fact, all depictions of ideology in Harry Potter are so crude and primitive that one would think they were created by a child. Traditional wizarding culture practices are mainly so atrocious that no one could've agreed to them.

The prime example is house elves' situation, that is essentially slavery, and the good progressive and light girl Hermione is appalled at their treatment. Follow my hands: ‘many old families’ own house elves - most old families are supporters or at least sympathisers of Voldemort - elf owners are evil.

Even those traditionalists who don't support Voldemort are depicted as not exactly nice people. Here we have Amos Diggory, one of the most irritating side characters in the entire book 4, and Barty Crouch senior, the man who decided he was above the law. The only good people from traditional families are those who understand their lifestyle is wrong and leave it. Just like Sirius and Andromeda Black. And of course they must despise everything their family previously stood for.

And that's why I say it's crude. Even if someone tried to argue that the genre called for clear distinction of sides and battle between good and evil, I’d say that there was no reason to equate political views with moral compass. Especially when political ideologies are overly simplified, full of stereotypes and polarised, with author’s clear preference towards one side.

Why am I so against it?

Because it's obvious for me. It's not the same for many other people. And what we read influences us, especially if we like it. So, here we have a whole generation that grew up on ‘left’ ideals - my generation by the way - because those ideals were spread and reinforced by a book we all read.

(Remember that 'right' doesn't only mean racists and fascist, there are also simple conservative people. Remember that 'left' are not only nice and good democrats, my ancestors lived decades in a 'left' hell called Soviet Union).

Of course, no one wanted to be like the cowardly and whiny Draco Malfoy who ran to his father at every sign of trouble. Or like the sneering bitch Pansy Parkinson. Kids grew up wanting to be brave and kind and loyal like Harry Potter and his friends. And it's nothing wrong, wanting to be loyal instead of cowardly, but once again: good and loyal kids are ‘left’ (Weasleys are poor, Hermione and Luna are outcasts, Harry doesn't want to be a rich snob), bad and cowardly kids are ‘right’.

And so we learn to despise one side and strive to be on the other.

You know, that's a truly sinister way of propaganda, influencing the minds of children who don't have skills of critical thinking yet. Though I don't think that's what Rowling was aiming for, at least not consciously. Otherwise we probably would have a subtly (or not-so-subtly) transphobic monstrosity on our hands. Either way, even unintended efforts set the tone for children upbringing for decades and cemented ideological notions alongside eternal ideals like friendship and loyalty.

Now think about the amount of damage your story can do if you aren't careful with what you put in there. Simply because, should your story become successful, you'll be shaping the minds of hundreds of people. And that is responsibility no one could take too light.

Of course, there are great examples of political satire or political thrillers or other similar stories where authors consciously and knowingly put some political views on the forefront. But one should have a good grasp on social ideas and political behaviour as well as a true mastery of word to attempt criticism in the form of fiction.

As long as it's not criticising totalitarianism. That one is always easy and necessary, I guess.

[witch-hazels-musings]

scaramouche, diluc, and childe with a [gn] reader whos terrified of needles?

Needle Fear

Warning -> General, sfw (mention of needles, getting a shot, cussing (S), sudden kiss (Ch))

Character X GN Reader | Anthology 

Includes: Childe, Diluc, Scaramouche 

Childe

Not only has Childe seen many sicknesses and many healers, but he’s also had to help his siblings through any and all visits they had to take - so it wasn’t unusual for him when you nearly begged him to visit the healers with you

There was something adorable about the way you tightly gripped onto his hand, the way you hid behind him just enough when you walked down the hall to the examination room, the way you glanced at him or turned to him every time you heard a person walk past the door. How could he not think you were adorable? 

“Childe, it’s gonna hurt.” Your fingers curled around his shirt as you pulled him closer to you. His comforting scent and tall frame were like a barrier between you and the door you didn’t want to see. 

“It’ll be okay, I have to do this all the time.” 

“Really?” He nodded his head and lifted your chin. The smile on his face was reassuring and, for a moment, as his fingers rested against you, you forgot where you even were. That was until you heard the click of the door and the sound of footsteps. 

“Hey there, are we ready?” They entered the room and set their items on the small table next to you but all you could respond with was shifting closer into the shield you’d made out of Childe. 

“Hey, it’ll be alright. Wanna know why?” He leaned down, his arms spanning either side of you while his palms pressed into the mattress you sat on. The soft cool of his eyes brought you a reprieve, a distraction from the current environment and as you looked at him, you shook your head signaling him to continue. “I’ll be here the whole time, right here, that’s why it’ll be okay.” 

After a moment, you gave in - how could you not when he was so comforting to you. “O-okay, I’m ready.” Your hands moved to grab onto his wrists and as you heard the healer begin to prepare their items, you continued to stare at Childe. “Don’t move.” 

“I won't.” You nodded again, your eyes drifting to the healer, and when they ran a cool, cleansing cloth over your arm you tensed. “Look at me, it’s okay.” Their hand wrapped around your arm to hold you steady and your head twisted in fear.

“Childe --- I can’t … hold o-” Your words were cut off by his lips, his fingers wrapping around your jaw as he pulled you back to him. The suddenness of his kiss blocked out everything else, the heat of his lips, the fullness of his connection, it was all so distracting. 

“All done.” You pulled away, your gaze dropping to the small bandage they placed onto your arm. When did they do that?

“See, I told you it would be simple.” Childe smiled at you and you hid your embarrassment in the palm of your hand. 

Diluc

He couldn’t count the times he’s had to experience this type of care - from the constant exams done in the Knights of Favonious, to the aid he received during his three mysterious years - getting something like this was just common practice to him at this point - plus, it only took a few moments and then it was over, so it wasn’t that bad 

Though, as he watched the way you fussed, worried, and nearly drew yourself to sickness at the idea, he recalled a memory of his childhood. If he could do it for you, he would, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case and he was going to need to find some other way to keep you steady 

Diluc stood next to you, his body angled in such a way that he could keep you in his line of sight while also observing the door. You didn’t dare turn around so instead, you looked out the window as you held onto your arms with a grip that hurt your fingers. 

“I don’t like this.” You muttered, watching the workers meander through the vineyards. It would have been better if you could just be with them, hide in between the many dangling grapes, and as far away from this situation as you could get. 

“I know, I’ve been assured this person is very experienced. You should have nothing to fear.” 

“Save for the whole needle part, archons, why do we even need this.” You shook your head and moved closer to the window. 

“It will only take a moment, I’ll be here the whole time.” Turning your attention away from the outside world, you gazed up at Diluc. His neutral expression surrounded by lively hair was somehow more comforting than anything you’d ever come upon in your whole lifetime. He was your rock, steadfast and sturdy, and as his fingers grazed your arm, ran over your ear, you knew his words held true. 

“Oka--” 

“Master Diluc, the healer.” You turned and saw one of the maids ushering in a young woman whose brightness lit up the room. You recognized her from the church and immediately you felt more at ease. Quickly, the instruments were prepared and as you settled onto the bed, your eyes found the one thing you were most anxious about. 

“I know you’re scared,” She began, pulling a chair close to you while she explained the process. “I’ll clean your arm with this,” She pointed to the small tin before continuing, “then I’ll gently take your arm and give you the shot.” 

“It’ll hurt, right.” You whispered, shifting uncomfortably to make more space. 

“For a very brief second. Then it’ll be over.” Her smile was so warm and you knew she must have done this quite often. 

“I’m sure it’s silly to see a grown adult so afraid of needles.” 

“Not as silly as you would imagine, are you ready?” You looked at her and nodded your head slowly but when she began the process, you turned away and closed your eyes. That’s when you felt the bed dip and a warm heat spread across your body. 

“I’m right here.” Diluc’s voice was soft, and sent a shiver down your spine - or was that the cleaning salv? It didn’t matter because as soon as your face found his chest, you disappeared into his warmth and security. All you felt was his hand over your ear, all you heard was the pounding of his heart; you weren’t sure how long you stayed that way, but by the time you looked up the healer was gone but Diluc had stayed. 

Scaramouche 

He didn’t understand your aversion to something so small. How could one little thing cause you to break down into a panic, it’s not like it could really hurt you - he’s felt much worse in his lifetime

So when you begged him to go with you, pleaded practically on your knees, he was stuck between his irritation of your complaints and how cute you were with those pouting lips and watering eyes (how adorable you look, he’ll never tell you though)

“It’s not that bad, just be quiet for one minute.” Scara pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed so loud you were sure people outside of the room could hear him. Of course, he’d be annoyed, you literally dragged him here to your check-up just so you could have someone with you when they … when they brought out the needle. Why did they need to do this to you anyway, weren’t there healers all around Teyvat that could cure you with a flick of their wrist. The fact that they also had instruments like these was confounding. 

“I know, I’m sorry …” You bit your lip and turned away from him. Your eyes finding the sheets and fingers moving to poke at your gums, teeth clenching hard around your nails. This habit was one you developed a long time ago and while you managed to curb it during most activities but when you were stressed and uncomfortable it reared its head. 

You heard the sound of Scara’s voice and turned to look at him but were interrupted by the healer entering the room. “Hello, are you ready?” As soon as they placed the items close to you, you went stiff. You wanted so badly to be calm but it was … impossible, look at that thing! Eyes darting to Scara you slipped into pleading but did your best to keep your thoughts to yourself. 

“Will it hurt?” Scara asked as he watched them prepare the needle and syringe. 

“Only for a second, I promise you won’t even notice it.” They looked at you but all your eyes could see was the large pointy metal bit that was about to go right through your skin and as a child reaches for their parent in the darkness, you grabbed onto Scara’s clothes. 

“Fine, give me one. I’ll show you there isn’t anything to be scared about.” Quickly, he rolled up his sleeves and after the healer prepared a second needled, they held his arm while he looked in your direction. 

“Ready?”

“Get it over with.” You watched as the needle moved to his arm, your head shaking but he seemed so calm. “See there is nothing to -- FUCK WHAT THE .. SHIT!?” His sudden outburst startled both you and the healer, but their professionalism powered through until it was all done. 

“Wasn’t that bad … huh?” You laughed, your hand covering your mouth as you watched him stare daggers into the person at his side. 

“Shut up, I’m leaving.” 

“Wait! I still haven’t gotten mine!!” 

“Too bad, you’re on your own.” 

“Scara!” He pushed his way through the door and you heard him shouting indiscernibly down the hall. 

“Are you ready?” The healer asked, and you began to bite your nails.  

--

tag list:

@sufzku @plenilunegazes @the-mermaid-of-mondstadt @fuwon @aoirohi @anatthesavage @actstfbla @shy-specter @fvushiguros @kaidou-pie @cyphermagic @linarizaki

[thinlinez]

🤫 2022 Self Evaluation 😉

Thanks for tagging me @neondiamond :)

Here goes:

1. Number of stories posted to AO3 this year: 3

2. Word count posted for the year: 131,794

3. Fandoms I wrote for: One Direction

4. Pairings: Larry

5. Story with the most:

Kudos: Lost & Found In Oblivion

Bookmarks: Lost & Found In Oblivion

Comments: Lost & Found In Oblivion

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why): 

I don't think there's one that I am REALLY proud of... Maybe DDD since I edited it TOO MANY TIMES to count...

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

They are all babies, no shaming my babies.

8. Share or describe a favourite review you received:

All the comments from @marchessa and @greenblueish always make my day since they are so heartfelt and long.

9. A time when writing was really, really hard:

Until I hit up @iminthisstanshit I couldn't write a single word. It was so so hard for me to start and FINALLY in March or April, I found the best writting buddy and started from there :) I was in a writer's block for SO LONG UGH!

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Maybe that changing room scene in MH. Simply because I have always wanted to write changing room sex, especially with a mirror so it turned out nicely.

11. A favourite excerpt of your writing:

UMMMMMMM, alright... I'm gonna go with DDD since I was pretty clever for coming up with this:

“Hungry for knot?”

The alpha’s voice suited his image so well. The deep, borderline sensual octave made Louis shiver. It was laced with timbre and Louis couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken with a voice like this to him. But wait… Did the alpha just ask him if he was “hungry for knot”?

“Excuse me?” The omega could feel a hot flush underneath his skin. Surely, he was imagining things as he continued to gape wordlessly at the stranger.

The alpha raised a brown paper bag emblazoned with the Burger King logo up to Louis’ eye level. “Says here, I have a delivery for HungryForKnot?” Green, green, green. Startling mossy, earthy grass, iridescent summer green. The beautiful green seemed to be sparkling as they locked with baby blues.

��Are you not HungryForKnot?” The alpha’s tone was definitely teasing now.

“I most certainly am not!” Louis spluttered. His cheeks were positively burning. He had to grip his doorframe to steady himself or else he might keel over in embarrassment.

“Oh.” The alpha lowered the bag, plump lips forming a slight pout. “Then I guess I got the wrong house?” He tilted his head adorably.

12. How did you grow as a writer this year:

DAMN where should I start? First of all, I discovered omega H and now all I wanna write is omega H to the point that I don't read any bottom Lou fics unless they are recced or from my mutuals... There you go, the BIGGEST change. Bottom H is so powerful.

13. How do you hope to grow next year:

Delve into bottom H and be good at it.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

All the people in my dms :)

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

Clothing shop? I would say cuz I'm into vintage clothes now so LAFIO clothing shop was a good idea.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

If you only write bottom Lou, you are fucking missing out. Bottom H RULES!!!

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: 

I have so so so many fics lined up, ready to go and ready to be written. We can only wait til January !!!

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read.

I think loads of people have been tagged already... Tagging @chai-hat-tea @flexible-racoon @beardyboyzx @cyantific @forthetherapyy @harryslonecurl :))

[francenemolove]

Series: My Kitty Minie (Chapter 3)

Synopsis: 

"It was you all along? I don't understand; why didn't you just tell me?" Jimin stammered. eyes teary, looking at her. 

 "I just wanted to fulfill a promise I made." Y/N said coldly. 

 "So if there isn't anything important you want to tell me, then go back to work," she dismissed. 

 Jimin just nodded and bowed his head as he stepped out of her office. 

He assumed she'd be relieved to see him again; everything they'd been through had been insignificant to her. He didn't know that experiencing this could be the most painful thing in his life.

Warnings/Tags: 

~ This story is purely fiction.

~ This means that the characters whose names are used in the story, aren't like this and don't do things like this.

~ This story contains triggering topics like abuse, sex, angst and fluff.

The story is made in an Alternate Universe. It's an A,B,O world where Alphas can be females with a cock and Omegas can be males with a pussy.DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE BELOW 18.

 They've been inseparable since their first meeting. Boram wasn't happy about it.

"I don't understand why you have to go there all the time instead of studying!"

"But mom, my Jiminie's there." He's quite shy, and I'm the only friend he's made so far, so I have to be there all the time to keep him company. If you just come and meet him, you will also:

"Stop it, Y/N, I don't want to hear any of this!"

Sun-Young entered her daughter's house, and this is what she witnessed. It's nothing new; Y/N and Boram do this all the time, ever since Y/N was young.

"Now, now. "Stop it, you too." "It's early in the morning," said Sun-Young.

"Ah, of course, someone's here to save and spoil you." muttered by Boram.

"Good morning to you, too, sweetie," said Sun-Young, and she came to hug Boram, but she just dodged it.

Releasing a deep sigh, Sun-Young turned to her granddaughter, smiled, and opened her arms for her to jump in.

"Whoa!" You're getting heavier, my angel." Sun-Young exclaimed

A loud hiss was heard in the living room, and they both looked at where the sound came from. They were met with an annoyed face from Boram. Y/N descended from her grandmother.

"I'm sorry, Mommy, I was just excited to see Grandma," said Y/N without meeting her eyes.

"Do you realize you're getting old and Grandma can't lift you like she used to?" Boram chastised.

Sun-Young gave a soft smile when she heard her daughter's concern. You see, ever since Y/N was a toddler, the closeness that Boram and Sun-Young once shared has slowly drifted apart. Boram will avoid any skinship with her mother, but she can see Boram's concern for her every now and then. At least she can still catch a glimpse of her daughter's sweet side.

"It's alright; Grandma loves it whenever you give me your biggest and warmest hugs." "Maybe your mom's just jealous," she whispered to her granddaughter, and both of them snickered.

"I heard that!" "Come on, you have to get ready for school; I'm going to be late in the office too."

And with that, they prepared for their morning.

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

Back in the sanctuary

Jimin's been staying in the sanctuary for a couple of months now. At first, he didn't like the idea of being in a confined space. It made him feel like he didn't have freedom, but as time went on, he realized that being in the sanctuary was much better than being a stray in the streets. It's dangerous, and you have to be competitive in order to be left alone by other dominant strays. He was still a young boy, and he was very frail. He couldn't survive that long in the streets, so he stayed in the forest. There was a small cave that he stayed in. It was quite damp inside, so on his scheduled run in the streets, he made sure to look for any pieces of fabric that could keep his body warm on the cold floor of the cave. Things were going well for him, but one night when he decided to go back to the streets to look for food, things went south. He reasoned that looking for food at dusk would keep him away from any humans who might endanger him, but that night was not kind to him.

Rummaging the trash cans in an alley, Jimin felt nervous and happy at the same time. He saw a half-bitten sandwich and a knitted shawl.

"TThis will definitely keep me warm." There are more boxes that I can search for, but it's really late.

As Jimin is on his way to this familiar track that he walks on that leads him to his shelter, a voice is heard behind him.

" Is that you, my kitty?"

Chills ran all over Jimin's body—it can't be him! He thought to himself, "I ran away from him; this is a different place."

"Come on, kitty; it took me so much time and effort to look for you; the least you could do is to be a good pet and come here so that we can finally go home." The voice was calm, yet the person spoke with authority.

Jimin wanted badly to run away and never look back, but his fear made him freeze.

"Tsk, you really are a naughty kitten. Come here, Jimin." I'm tired of this bullshit that you've put me through. "COME HERE!"

The shout brought Jimin back to his senses; he was about to run away, but the man had already yanked his tail and dragged him. There were tears streaming down Jimin's pale cheeks, and pleas of "NO" and "LET ME GO" were the only things coming out of his mouth. The more Jimin struggled to free himself, the more the man yanked and squeezed his neck and arms that were flailing around. Despite the struggle, Jimin swung his hands and clawed at his captor's eyes with all of his remaining strength, because of the pain, he let go of Jimin.

" Ahhh! You bitch! I'm going to fucking kill you!

Jimin held his tail and ran as fast as he could. He went in a different direction. He was afraid that if he went back to his shelter, the man could easily see where he was. He has to take a detour to at least confuse the man.

It was dawn when Jimin stopped running and thought of hiding so that he could rest. He saw an abandoned building and went behind it to hide near the dumpsters. When he felt that no potential harm could come his way, he told himself, "I just need to." He passed out because of exhaustion.

He was awoken by someone who had a radio in his hand.

"Affirmative, the boy is breathing." "Has quite a few bruises..." "Yes, upon his waking, we're going to take him."

"Good day, buddy."

Jimin flinched—another human. "They're going to take me; they're going to hurt me again; I can't... "I don't want to anymore... " he reflected.

"Please... no more," Jimin whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes.

He's so tired. He just wants to make all the pain go away. And with that, he closed his eyes and just accepted his fate.

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

" Jiminie ? "

He was startled from his thoughts when Y/N placed her soft hands on his cheeks.

"You're crying, Minie; is everything okay?" asked Y/N.

He leaned on her palms; he was safe and happy in her hold. He let out a broken purr.

"M'kay. I was thinking about something." He looked at her with his big brown eyes.

Y/N lunged at him and wrapped her arms around him so tightly that Jimin couldn't breathe.But Jimin didn't seem to mind; he simply squeezed her as tightly as she does.

"I'm here now, Minie; I'm always going to be here for you. I'm your best friend. Please, don't cry anymore.

Jimin untangled himself from her embrace and held her hands instead, asking, "Promise?""

Y/N took her hand in his, showed her her pinky finger, and said."I pinky swear, Minie."Forever "

"Forever," Jimin replied, locking his pinky to hers.

[palaceofpassion]

Truth Or Dare Night

Some things to preface, asks have to be done in a way from character to character.  So you can send it as say May Dares Pyrrha to so and so.  

They can’t be anything that takes longer than a few minutes, due to this entirety being done in a single day/night.

This will be base RWBY, but with side characters!

I will probably write my own story around a Truth or Dare Night for fun, you can expect that one to be sorta mean cause well ya know.

So I’ll probably get a lot of asks, but they’ll have to be based on the last character who did the dare to a new one.

More characters may be added later, but for now only a few.

Oh try to start small by the way!

So let’s begin!

Starting With Nora as the asker!

I’ll use the RWBYTruthORdare tag and try to number them in the heading.

“Yes yes yes yes!”  

“Nora, can’t you calm down a little?”

“Oh come on fearless leader!  Aren’t you excited for this?!  You’re going to get to do truth or dare with a bunch of pretty girls!  And it’s going to be all here!”  

She ignored the blank stare he gave her, “Nora, I don’t think it’s going to be as amazing as you say.”  Not like he would know of course, he’d never had the opportunity to join a Truth or Dare, and the few times he was involved tended to involve him getting pranked or punked by his sisters friends, so no he didn’t have very good memories.

“Besides, it’s not like anything exciting is going to happen.”

“Boo!  You know everything’s allowed!”  

“I... that’s not a good idea, I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable.”  

Jaune’s nerves were allieved a little as Pyrrha placed a firm confident hand on his shoulder.  “It’s alright Jaune, we’ll pull out of it makes that person too uncomfortable, alright?”

Jaune bit his lower lip, “Alright.”  He ended up giving into Pyrrha’s urging.  

However, as he turned away he missed the devious glint in her eye.  Pyrrha also never had the chance to do things like this, but now?  NOw she was given the chance, the power to REALLY let loose the perverse monster inside of her, and she couldn’t wait.  Her eyes zeroed in on Jaune’s rear end.

“Pyrrha, you’re drooling.”  

Ren stoicly spoke next to her, throwing her off her vibe.  “Oh!  Sorry.”  

“Anytime, just don’t break his Hip if you get the chance.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t.”  

A knock came at the door breaking their conversation.  Thankfully Jaune was already there opening it.

“Hey Jaune~”  

Ruby sauntered in, a rather large smile plastered on her face.  “This is going to be so much fun!  I finally get to play with the big kids!”  

Her sister followed, “Calm down Ruby.  You’re old enough now, but don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.  Though~”  Yang made her way over to ren, giving him a quick hip bump, “If you want to ask me something saucy Renny, feel free to.”:

“Hey no getting ahead!”  

Nora threw herself between them, “Save it for the game.”

“Ah what a buzz kill.”  

“This is a terrible idea, a most terrible one.”

“Weiss, you don’t have to be here.”  

Though he said it, Jaune felt the same, “I can only assume it’s cause Neptune’s going to be here?”  

“S...shut it ARc!  You better not try to take advantage of me either.”  

Jaune rolled his eyes, Neptune and Weiss had been a rather hard pill to swallow but he’d gotten over it.  For now he just wanted to be friends, “Yeah, don’t worry.”  

Pyrrha however, had a small grin on her face, ‘Oh you poor Heiress, it’s not Jaune you have to watch out for.”  

Blake simply entered, ignoring Jaune and taking a seat close to the corner.  “This is stupid.”

“Sure it is Blakey, I bet you’re all excited about watching some sexy times going on, aren’t you?”  

She ignored her partner, but her ear twitched.

Soon, Sun and Neptune showed up.  “Hey guys!  I brought the bear!”  

“HELL YEAH GIMME!”  

Sun was nearly tackled to the ground as Nora launched herself at him.

“Hey ladies~  Whose ready to have some good times with Neptune tonight~”  

Perhaps smoozing on the other girls wasn’t perhaps the smartest idea, as most of them turned away and Weiss let her mouth hang open.  He either didn’t notice or didn’t pay attention.

“He...hello?”  

“You can go in May.”  

“Yeah!  It’s partaaay time!  I’m sad Flynt couldn’t make it but hell yeah!  Dicks to ride!”  

“Agreed, we should continue inwards before we take up the hall... however I can smell the lust radiating from this room.”

Jaune’s attention was brought to the four strangers of the group.  May Zedong, Reese Chloris, Neon Katt, and Ciel Soleil.  The four of them had been invited to pad numbers, and well cause they’d seemed interested, which was shocking coming from Penny’s partner.  Who... was actually looking at him now.

“Ye...yes?”

“You’re violating me with your eyes, aren’t you?  I can feel the lust practically radiating off of you.” 

“Ooh~  Is the big boy packing?   SNIFF SNIFF  Oooh I think I see what you mean.”

His face scrunched, confusion hit him, and words failed him as the four entered wordlessly after. 

Well except May, “I’m sorry Jaune.”

“Hey it’s no problem.”  

Well he knew May, if only because they’d taken a few classes together and had the chance to talk.

“Friend Jaune!”  

Jaune’s attention quickly fell as he nearly well fell over.  Penny’s loud and surprising arrival caused him to grab his ears.  

“I have brought the last three members of our merry band!”  

“Sup hoodie, good to see you’re doing well.”  Coco Adel and Velvet Scarlatina entered after the robotic girl.  And yes, everyone already knew Penny was a robot.

“Hey Jaune, sorry for intruding.”

“It’s no problem Vel, hope you have a good time.”

Velvet smiled looking at the group, “I think I will.”

“This is so dumb!”  

Emerald shook her head, “Can’t believe I got dragged into this.”

“Ah, sorry... it’s a bit crowded, but i hope you have a good time.”

The foreign student eyed him for a bit before relenting.  “Well it’s better than hanging with Mercury at least.  Oh by the way, he’s pissed he wasn’t invited.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t have been trying to harass Nora that one time.”

Emerald smiled, “Ahhh, seeing his legs get broken again was pleasant.”  

The girl gave in and entered, causing Jaune to close the door and lock it, to avoid any intruders who may come in.  

He gazed at the room, everyone having finally formed a circle, “Good thing we moved around the beds.”  Said beds were pushed to the side... for specific reasons.

“Yep!  I knew we’d have enough room!”  Nora gleefully motioned for her team leader, who took a seat between May and Pyrrha.

“Alright, whose going first?”

“I am!”  

Nora smiled brightly.  

“Well let’s get to it then.

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Charles & Ollie: Chapter 3

Huge thank you to @whumpzone for beta reading this. She’s fantastic.

CW: pet whump, fear of punishment, fear of abandonment, forced to pretend everything is fine (like pretend he’s not a slave), fear of discovery of secret identity, character A telling anxious character B to stop saying sorry (telling people with anxiety to just stop saying sorry is bad so I’m going to warn for it). Tell me if I missed something/should tag anything else!

———

“Ollie, are you almost ready?” Charles called, straightening his bowtie again in the mirror. His hair was slicked back and he wore a designer suit, ready for the art show. This one wasn’t dedicated solely to him, although he was the guest of honor. So many people, all wanting to talk to the world renowned artist, Charles Durand. He sighed. The sooner this was over, the better.

“I’m ready, sorry it took me so long Mr. Charles.”

Charles turned to see Ollie dressed in the suit he picked out, a blue one with a black bowtie and a white rose in the pocket. It was an inverted design of Charles’s own clothing, except with less detailing.

“You say that too much.” Charles commented with a grimace.

“Say what, Mr Charles?”

“Sorry. Please stop saying sorry. Especially when we get there. People are expecting my muse to have fine manners and tastes. They don’t know about your, ah, unique situation. And we’re going to have to keep it that way, okay darling?”

“Yes, Mr. Charles, I’m sorry- oh! I-I... I’m trying, really.”

“It’s okay, I know you’re trying. Don’t worry, alright darling? I’ll be there the whole time, you don’t have to be afraid.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you Mr. Charles.”

—

Ollie was trembling slightly as the limo pulled into the gallery’s parking lot for the artists, but he quickly stilled himself when Master Charles turned to him. Master was already in a bit of a sour mood, no reason to make it worse. After all, he had to be perfect tonight, play the part of a somewhat well-off man whose looks and charm had made him a muse for one of the most famous modern realism artists. He couldn’t afford to let the world know the truth. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t let Master down tonight.

Slaves weren’t exactly unheard of, but it was deeply stigmatized and frowned upon. Ollie’s very existence could severely hurt Master’s image and he wouldn’t dare do that. Especially after Master Charles had been so kind as to take in an underfed, used runaway.

Never in a million years would he deserve someone as wonderful as Master Charles, so the least he could do was to make sure no one found out the truth.

“Ollie? You’re looking off into space again. Are you certain you can do this?”

“Of course Mr. Charles, I’ll never let you down.”

“Very well, but if you need a break, just say so. It’ll make the story more believable too, after all, a slave could never leave their master’s side, but a free man could.”

“Yes, you’re right Mr. Charles. I’m fine, really, but I will try and take breaks. I want people to believe the story, really. I’m not going to try to ask for help-“

“Yes, I know darling. Now as a wise man once said, talk less and smile more. The people at this party expect you to act a certain way. I don’t like putting all this pressure on you, but you need to be good for me, okay darling?”

Ollie nodded. He was just there to look pretty and meet art enthusiasts who were wondering about Charles Durand’s latest works. A mysterious brunette, often painted to be covered with blood, scars, bruises, or sometimes all three had quickly become the talk of the art world.

Ollie struggled not to fiddle with his sleeves. They were purposely just a tad too long so that they covered his scarred arms completely at all times. All his injuries had been carefully covered with expensive cloth and makeup. He tried hard to remember that it was because people couldn’t know what he was, not that Master thought he was ugly, a used slave. Someone else’s leftovers.

“Name?” A bouncer asked him, quickly pulling him out of his thoughts. They were already at the entrance and Master was waiting for him inside the door. He had been so stupid, not paying attention!

“Um, j-just Ollie.”

“Alrighty, plus one to Charles Durand, just Ollie.” The bouncer checked his list and then smiled at Ollie. “Okay, you’re good to go.”

He scurried over to Master’s side. He expected to see annoyance in Master’s eyes but instead it was just a neutral expression with a hint of fondness.

But that was just because he was a much better actor that his dumb slave. Ollie bet that Master was furious right now, underneath that fake civil mask put on for the masses. He had to start being better right away before he got into even more. He wondered what the punishment would be. Definitely something bad to make sure he never behaved this way again.

Maybe Master will declare him unfit for painting for the time being. Without fulfilling his primary purpose, there’d be no reason to give him rewards, like sleep or food. Those are for pets who do their job.

Or maybe he’ll get an actual beating for the painting instead of makeup and fake blood.

Maybe Master will cut him over and over and use his blood as paint. Could Master get away with using Ollie’s actual blood as paint? Probably, considering Master’s high status in the art world. Besides, who would ever get close enough to the painting to tell the difference?

Ollie shivered at the thought as Master lead him to a small stage where a few other artists were already. They all looked so important, Ollie couldn’t imagine such a lowly slave was allowed here, even if it was just to keep up appearances.

There was one other “muse” there, but she definitely wasn’t anything like him. Instead, she was a middle-aged model who had been very popular in her younger days. More recently she had been painted in several rather revealing poses. Master’s secretaries loved to gossip about it, calling her a “milf,” whatever that meant.

“Welcome, everyone, to Bardot’s 76th annual art show!” A man said into a microphone as the busy room quieted down. “Today we have six different realism artists who have kindly agreed to show off their paintings and sculptures to all of you. This line up of spectacular artistic talent includes a few from all over the world and our county’s very own Charles Durand! We also have food and drinks over there and waiters will be all around to serve appetizers. Interviewers and reporters may come up to the stage now to ask their questions. Everyone else, enjoy the art displays and don’t forget to say hello to your favorite creators later on in the evening.”

The second his speech was over, people with cameras and mics from various news stations all swarmed the stage, all trying to talk at the same time. Most of them wanted to talk to Master, which wasn’t surprising since he was supposed to be the guest of honor. The artists were eventually able to calm them and take one question at a time.

“Mr. Durand! Mr. Durand! Why have you suddenly been producing many more paintings than usual?”

“I have gotten my inspiration from my muse here, Ollie. He has awakened a new passion in me. From the moment I saw him, I knew I had to paint him.”

Again everyone tried to talk at once and again Master had to calm them.

“Ollie, was it? Why did you agree to take this job? Have you been in the art model business for a while now?”

“Oh, well, I agreed to take the job because it, um, seemed like a great opportunity to expand my h-horizons. I wanted to do something new, something exciting. And no, I’ve never modeled for paintings or anything else before. So it’s been a very fun learning experience so far.”

“Mr. Ollie, do you think you will stay with this job for a while or will you continue to try new things soon?”

“No, I-I hope to be able to stay on this career path and m-model for Mr. Charles Durand for a while longer.”

After a few other questions the reporters interest turned back to Master and Ollie was free to look around from where he was standing. As he glanced at the various paintings and sculptures, he thought about his performance so far. He must have done well at acting as someone other than a slave, because they had called him “Mr Ollie.” He shivered slightly with the disobedience of it. He wasn’t worthy to be called by such a title like he was on the same level as people. Hopefully Master would let it slide, although it was just as likely that he’d put Ollie into his place or something. Just so he didn’t get a big head.

After the herd of reporters moved on, Master turned towards him and Ollie quickly turned his attention back on his Master.

“Alright darling, now we’re expected to stand by my paintings and mingle with guests a bit. It’ll be over soon enough, don’t worry.” Master looked very grumpy and like he was assuring himself when he said that it’ll be over soon.

Honestly, Ollie liked being out of the house and being treated like a person. It was very, very disobedient, but he almost didn’t want to go home. At home he’d be punished for all the little mistakes he’s made. Home is where Master will let out all of his dislike for these art shows. Home is dangerous right now.

“Of course Mr. Charles, I can’t wait to go home.”

“Ha, me as well darling. Although, maybe keep your voice down for now.”

Master had smiled, very briefly. It looked genuine. No one was watching them right now, why was he acting? Unless it was genuine, but that meant Ollie had somehow gotten him into a bit of a better mood. But he had been angry just a moment ago? Oh, why did Master have to be so confusing! Why couldn’t he just accept that Ollie was a dumb slave?

Unless that was the game, Ollie thought as they walked towards the guests admiring Master’s work. Maybe he just wanted to mess with his stupid muse. Old Master and his friends used to do it all the time. After all, Ollie was just pretty and dumb, meant only to pose and be painted nowadays. He thought Master had been okay with his lack of intelligence, but maybe Master wanted to tease him now.

Why even bother thinking about it, though? It’s not like he could do anything without Master. He was utterly helpless. Master Charles was right to make fun of Ollie.

“Do you like the paintings?” Master asked all of a sudden, bringing Ollie out of his misery.

“Y-yes, of course, Mr. Charles. You’re an amazing artist.” Ollie had thought that was the answer Master wanted, but it must not have been, because he grimaced. Ollie trembled. Another mistake he’ll have to pay for at home.

“No, no, not like that. What do you really think, like as a free person? Do you like realism?”

“Oh, uh, I s-suppose so. It’s pretty impressive t-to be able to create something so life-like. Art in general is… very beautiful, Mr. Charles.”

“Yes, I agree. That's why I do it, really. I love creating. But as fame and fans came into the picture, I grew to hate art because it meant having to deal with so many annoying people. But you, you’re interesting, sweet. I like being with you.”

Ollie smiled and nodded, enjoying the compliment, although he couldn’t fully ignore the reinforcement of what he was. Master Charles didn’t like people, said they were annoying. But Ollie wasn’t a person. He knew he was just a slave, a pet, but he didn’t like being reminded of it so much. He was a bad slave for thinking that, but it was the truth.

Even while hundreds, maybe thousands of people were around, Master still never let Ollie forget his place.

Another guest came up to compliment Master’s paintings and Ollie was left alone with his thoughts.

Master seemed in a better mood, less angry with him. Maybe if he was good enough for the rest of the night, he could get away with only a small punishment. A few cleaning duties or less food. Master Charles was never a huge fan of Ollie in pain. Must not like blood or something.

“Ah, so this is the great muse of Charles Durand? It’s great to meet you! I’m a huge fan of his latest paintings, so I must thank you for inspiring them.”

A guest had come up to him and was talking quickly, clearly already tipsy with another full glass in their hand. Ollie nodded and said thank you, trying hard to act normal, but it was so hard with Master staring down at him.

After the person left, Master put a hand on Ollie’s shoulder and he flinched.

“Oh, s-sorry for flinching, Mr. Durand. I, uh, am just a tad exhausted from all the crowds? Um, I think I’m going to t-take a break?”

“Of course Ollie. Maybe you could step outside for a moment? Parties aren’t for everyone, it’s easy for anyone to get a little nervous.”

“A-anyone?” Was Master actually trying to reassure him? It felt so genuine.

“Anyone.” Master said with such certainty that he had to be genuinely letting his dumb slave off the hook. “Now go. Grab some water and get some fresh air, okay darling?”

Ollie nodded and left. As he stood outside he took deep breaths and thought. Master had acted so patiently calm all night. It was how he usually acted, actually. Was it possible that Master was just acting like he cared the entire time Ollie has been here? Master surely couldn’t be that good of an actor, right?

No, it was impossible. Even for a human. Ollie may be stupid, but surely if it was an act, the mask would have slipped sometime. So then… could that really mean… Master cared? Yes. There was no other explanation.

Ollie sighed deeply, marveling at his limited intelligence for being able to finally figure it out. Despite everything Ollie had even been taught, all his training, all the insults Old Master had spat at him, he was absolutely sure of one thing.

Master Charles truly did care about his slave. That meant Master would push him to be the good slave he knew Ollie could be, but it also meant Ollie was safe. A place to rest his head without fear of being thrown out. Ollie had a home.

But humans can change their minds about things and do it frequently, especially if the feelings aren’t that strong. Ollie couldn’t get too comfortable just yet. He would have to keep working hard, solidify his Master’s affection.

With this plan in mind, he headed back inside, feeling more at ease than he had in a long time.

———

Tag list: @whumpzone @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpsweetwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @apples-and-whump just ask to be added or removed

[bog-o-bones]

Who the hell is CM Punk and why is he “All Elite”?

If you’re reading this post, you’re most likely somebody who’s heard the latest buzz around the wrestling world: CM Punk is back! But who exactly is CM Punk? You’ve probably heard the name before, either in the context of pro wrestling or as part of his time in UFC, and have always wondered what the big deal is about the guy. You’ve also probably seen or heard about All Elite Wrestling, up-and-coming wrestling promotion airing live Wednesday and Friday nights on TNT. But what exactly is AEW as well? That’s where this post comes in. In this long-ass post on Tumblr, you’ll be given a crash course on the history of one of pro wrestling’s most iconic superstars as well as the abridged history of AEW, the premier wrestling promotion in North America, allowing you to (hopefully) understand the significance of Punk’s return to the squared circle as well as give yourself significant knowledge of AEW enough that you can begin to enjoy the weekly shows they put out!

Okay, so who the heck is this CM Punk guy anyway?

To put it simply, CM Punk is one of the most significant pro wrestlers of the 21st century as well as the history of the industry itself. While he’s not on the level of mainstream recognition as Hulk Hogan or Stone Cold Steve Austin, Punk’s contributions to pro wrestling are arguably as important to the industry. To understand Punk’s significance, you need to have a little history lesson about the industry in the early-to-mid 2000′s.

When you think of professional wrestling, you probably think of one name above all: WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment. WWE was, and still is, the most mainstream wrestling promotion ever. People associate all wrestling with WWE, no matter what. But what about what’s below WWE in terms of recognition? The Minor League Baseball to its MLB? To that, we have to look at the independent scene.

The independent scene is, simply put, the underground punk rock of pro wrestling. It’s where the stars make the names for themselves to rise to the success. Indie wrestling is important because it’s where Punk began. CM (the initials jokingly standing for whatever is on his mind at the moment, ranging from “Cookie Monster” to “Charles Montgomery” or “Chicago Made”) Punk began his career in the independent scene around the turn of the millennium. He rose to significant prominence in the promotion Ring of Honor, one of the most premiere indie leagues in the United States. This prominence was brought on by Punk’s oozing charisma and wrestling talent, making him one of the best known “underground wrestlers” at the time. Then, in 2005, Punk signed a contract with the major league: he was WWE bound.

To regale you with Punk’s career in WWE would require an entirely separate post, so I’ll spare you the specifics and get to the good stuff: Punk was over in WWE. “Over” of course meaning the fans loved him. And why shouldn’t they? Big time wrestling fans knew Punk from his days in ROH and to see him rise to be on national television broadcasts and pay-per-view was rewarding. To those who were introduced to him, he was a fantastic talent and provided immense entertainment because of his talent in the ring and outside it.

Later on in his career at WWE, Punk provided one of the most scathing promos of all time, criticizing the company for its horrific decision-making and idiotic management. The promo was a “worked shoot”, wrestling lingo for a promo that seems like it’s breaking character but is all planned out (Punk was allowed to say anything he wanted, no matter if it was in character or not) but it was still extremely satisfying for the fans who agreed wholeheartedly with Punk about the state of WWE at the time. This promo (now known as the “pipebomb promo”) is just one of the many reasons why CM Punk has remained an immense fan favorite. The idea of a wrestler taking the mic, airing their grievances, and showcasing how a major corporation treated their employees with disdain and damnation is utterly unlike anything seen since Stone Cold Steve Austin back in the late 90′s. Punk, to many people, was one of the first of many “indie stars” that WWE had “poached” from the independent scene, turning them into corporate icons, stripping away their unique qualities as a person and transforming them into recognizable brands to sell merchandise with. To see Punk spit back at the WWE made a lot of people realize that enough was enough for them. Punk was the voice of the voiceless, a wrestler echoing throughout the halls that he wasn’t just a brand to slap onto a cheap mass-produced product, that he was a wrestler (in the mid-2000s at WWE, the term “wrestler” was seen as an irrelevant term, the terms “sports entertainer” and “superstar” preferred by management) in this business to prove himself as the Best in the World. And like clockwork, on July 15th, 2014, Punk was removed from WWE’s active roster after he had effectively walked out of the company weeks prior.

One of the most significant events post-WWE with Punk was his appearance on close friend Colt Cabana’s Art of Wrestling podcast. Colt’s podcast was known for featuring “shoot interviews”, basically interviews with wrestlers out of character detailing backstage information and telling stories. Punk’s episode of the podcast is significant as it eventually led to a total legal dispute with one of WWE’s doctors whose misdiagnosis of a staph infection was one of the reasons for Punk’s departure from WWE. Along with that, Punk’s general dissatisfaction with the “WWE Machine” as it’s been coined was another reason, with him even mentioning at times post-retirement that WWE was responsible for him never wanting to wrestle again. And so it seemed, as Punk later on signed with UFC in an attempt to get a MMA career off the ground, that the legacy of CM Punk ended with his tenure at WWE.

Until, that is, the wrestling world got a little...elite...

Okay, so I get who CM Punk is now, but what’s this All Elite Wrestling business?

AEW, All Elite Wrestling and the sole reason you’re reading this post right now, is the second biggest wrestling promotion in North America and quite possibly the world. Its inception begins with a group of wrestlers signed to the aforementioned Ring of Honor and a little bet made with wrestling journalist Dave Meltzer on Twitter.

Meltzer had proclaimed on Twitter that ROH did not have the capability to sell 10,000 tickets to an arena-run wrestling event. ROH-signed wrestlers Cody Rhodes (son of Dusty Rhodes and brother of Dustin Rhodes f.k.a. “Goldust”) and tag team brothers Matt and Nick Jackson (known as “The Young Bucks”) took Meltzer up on the bet and immediately scouted an arena for such an event. Partnering with Ring of Honor along with other wrestling promotions around the world such as Lucha Libre AAA Worldwide, Impact Wrestling, and New Japan Pro Wrestling, the trio promoted the event as All In and managed to sell out the arena in less than 30 minutes, even exceeding the goal by an extra thousand or so, becoming the largest attended wrestling event not held by industry leader WWE since 1993.

Naturally, the success of such an event caught the attention of many leaders in many industries. The idea that an independent wrestling event could create such a huge success in a time where WWE was kingpin of the industry was unprecedented. It was clear that the wrestling world was ready for a change and the numbers didn’t lie.

On the 1st of January 2019, All Elite Wrestling was announced with the running of All In’s sequel event Double or Nothing which would also be the inaugural pay-per-view event for AEW itself. Backing the company financially was Jacksonville Jaguars owner Shahid Khan along with his son and co-owner of the Jaguars Tony Khan, who would lead the company as president, CEO and head of creative. The announcement of the company was peppered with signings of some of independent wrestling’s hottest stars such as “Hangman” Adam Page, Joey Janela, Britt Baker, and Kenny Omega, often cited as the greatest wrestler in the world with multiple 5 star+ matches under his belt. Also announced were some of the most interesting inclusions: former WWE stars Chris Jericho and PAC (f.k.a. Neville) had joined as well. At the premiere event of Double Or Nothing, the most shocking addition to the roster made his debut as well: Jon Moxley, formerly known in WWE as Dean Ambrose, one of the highest-profile stars in recent history had jumped ship from top of the card in WWE to the newest promotion. Ripples in the wrestling world had turned into immense shock waves.

Alright, I kinda know the history now but why is AEW so important?

AEW’s significance today cannot be understated. Before its inception, the world of professional wrestling consisted of two pillars: WWE and the independent scene, and the two could not be less equal. WWE was seen by many as the top of the line, the area where a wrestler could be seen by the most eyes and where they could be paid top dollar moreso than any indie promotion. But it was also seen, as detailed earlier by CM Punk, as a place of dull, corporatized profiteering. WWE does not treat its wrestlers as characters in engaging, eventful stories. To the WWE, the wrestlers are no more than brands, recognizable faces and repetitive phrases that they can slap onto t-shirts and other merchandise to sell for a quick buck. WWE as a company does not care about the world of professional wrestling, even recently going so far as to call themselves not a “wrestling company” but an “entertainment” company. Wrestlers in WWE are not given the opportunity to come up with material they think will best suit the story of the match and appease the fans, they are given pre-written scripts of dialogue to act out as if they were in a movie and storylines meant to tell the story the writers want to tell rather than what the fans want to see.

For many wrestlers, the art of wrestling is a finely tuned craft. WWE’s corporate micromanagement of the whole process is utterly disrespectful and soul-crushing. At AEW, the story is different.

AEW’s creative team allows its wrestlers to do whatever they think the fans will like. While not necessarily allowing the wrestlers full creative control (Tony Khan, after all, has the final say on things), AEW at least allows the wrestlers flexibility to try new things without being railroaded by storylines. This results in characters like Orange Cassidy (see above) a wrestler whose entire gimmick is that he just doesn’t care. In his matches, he’ll lazily loaf about the ring, putting in the bare minimum effort at attacking his opponents except when the opponents REALLY strike back at which Cassidy explodes into an array of athletic fury while simultaneously never losing his cool. And it works! The gimmick worked insanely well on the independent scene, away from the strict guidelines of a major corporation who probably would not understand it, and fans adored Cassidy’s laidback, lazy attitude. And in AEW, Cassidy’s gimmick transfers flawlessly due to the company’s trust in Cassidy to make it work. And so, AEW remains a place where wrestlers can succeed not at the whims of an out-of-touch old man playing with his action figures in a way that satisfies only himself, but at the whims of creative people who believe in the equally creative minds out in the squared circle who themselves believe in the hearts of the audience, understanding full well what it is they want to see when they come to or tune into a wrestling program.

There are a multitude of other reasons AEW is probably the best wrestling promotion on the planet (ease of access, LGBT diversity among the roster) but the creative freedom it allows its wrestlers remains one of the greatest.

Okay, now I kinda get the appeal. So where does CM Punk tie into this?

As with any new promotion heavily allowing for greater creative opportunity for its wrestlers, fans are gonna want to see their big favorites join the roster. Names like Daniel Bryan, Aleister Black, Adam Cole etc. known from their time on both the independent scene and at WWE have been tossed around a lot during discussions in the past as far as who should jump ship to the promotion that will best suit them. But one person has always been the biggest “what-if” when it comes to joining AEW: CM Punk. As laid out earlier, CM Punk’s dissatisfaction with WWE was wholly responsible for his greater retirement from the pro wrestling scene. And when there’s only one really significant promotion on the market, why bother? Punk has been vocal in the past on Twitter, in interviews and many other places that his love for the business of pro wrestling was soured and that something truly significant would be required for him to return. It seemed natural to fans that, should AEW prove to be a significant competitor to WWE that, somehow, some way, it could lead to the in-ring return of one of the best to ever step foot in it. And when AEW announced it would be running the second episode of its brand-new show Rampage at the United Center in Chicago, Punk’s hometown, the rumors began to fly.

Punk himself is known for joking about and debunking rumors, hearsay and other lies about his potential signing with any wrestling-related outlets. So when the rumors began to fly that Punk was signing with AEW...the man himself stayed uncharacteristically quiet. And the wrestling world began to gasp...was it true, then? Teasers were thrown about here and there on AEW programming, small things that could go either way but to hardcore fans seemed to understand were plain as day. Punk himself even got in on the action, posting cryptic videos on his Instagram that fans eventually linked to the United Center and a return for the Best in the World. It’s been known as wrestling’s “worst-kept secret” and today, it was revealed in all its glory.

CM Punk, one of the original independent wrestling superstars, one of the few men responsible for changing the culture of professional wrestling in the 21st century, had finally returned home.

Okay, that was pretty explanatory. So now, where the heck can I watch all this?

Excellent question! AEW currently has three methods of airing content:

- Through their network TV shows aired on TNT

- Through their YouTube channel

- Through pay-per-view events

AEW Dynamite is the company’s flagship show airing Wednesdays at 8:00 EST/7:00 CST on TNT. All the company’s major storylines are told on Dynamite and the show usually runs for ~2 hours. There are over 90+ episodes of Dynamite and its not really required that you see every single one though there are many episodes that have aired in the past that feature matches, promos, and other segments worth checking out.

AEW Rampage is the company’s second show and currently only has two episodes aired. It also airs on TNT, Fridays at 10:00 EST/9:00 CST. Rampage has been given the description of being a little more “action-packed” than Dynamite, with shows only lasting for a single hour and featuring little promo time instead focusing primarily on matches themselves.

The company’s biggest stories tend to culminate in one of its four annual pay-per-view events. AEW pay-per-views are available via WarnerMedia's B/R Live service in the United States and Canada, and on FITE TV internationally. Additionally, AEW PPVs are also available via traditional PPV outlets in the United States and Canada and are carried by all major satellite providers. AEW PPVs generally cost around $50-60 and run for about four hours or so.

In addition to the two TNT shows and pay-per-views, AEW also runs two weekly shows on its YouTube channel, AEW: Dark and AEW: Dark Elevation. Both shows are generally referred to as AEW’s “developmental” shows, created mostly for unsigned or up-and-coming talent to showcase themselves in a taped format that forgoes the traditional network TV deals for easier access online. Dark and Dark Elevation’s differences are negligible but both tend not to crossover too much with the main shows, although some stories definitely do. Both shows run for ~an hour and a half on Monday nights at 7:00 EST/6:00 CST (Dark Elevation) and Tuesdays at 7 EST/6 CST (Dark).

AEW talent also provide a few extra sources of entertainment through their own YouTube outlets as well. The Elite, a popular stable in AEW consisting of current champion Kenny Omega and current tag team champions the Young Bucks, feature themselves in their own weekly travel vlog/comedy sketch series Being the Elite while other individual wrestlers like Sammy Guevara, Allie “The Bunny”, and Ethan Page provide more individualized backstage looks at the company through their own vlogs. These aren’t necessary to enjoy regular AEW programming but they definitely add to the atmosphere and you can tell through each how much the locker room loves and respects each other.

Wow, this was really in-depth and definitely not a small task at all. Thanks for the help!

No problem! If you have any questions, feel free to send me a message, though its doubtful I’ll receive it since I barely check Tumblr anymore! If you know me on any other platforms, the message still applies! Thanks so much for reading! I really do hope this helped you understand the situation a little better. Enjoy wrestling!

[morosemagick]

On Your Lips, Like a Prayer | Sihtric x Reader One Shot

Warning: References to Suicide, Minor Character Death

Words: 4449

Tagged:

@solinarimoon @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @obipoelover @thebohemianpenguin @ivarinleatherpants

You remember falling.

Through the sky. Into a river. Drowning. They could’ve been dreams or your imagination or may you’re hell because when you wake up you don’t recognize the place you’ve found yourself in. The first thing you try to do when you wake is reach for your phone... until you remember you didn’t have it. What you had done, you had done with nothing on you. You didn’t want to be found or recognized. The plan was to scrub yourself from the pages of history. Yet from what you are told by the man and his daughter; who found you in the river half dead, it seems you did the far opposite.

Instead of erasing yourself from history, you’ve fallen through it.

And that was six months ago.

They believe you to have amnesia from the accident, but you remember every detail of what happened. It’s the ninth century from what you gathered. From what you remember from taking history in school, King Alfred the Great is the King of Wessex, but you are in Mercia. Who is ruled by Lord Ceowolf? You’re unsure. Everything you’ve known is gone or rather has yet to be. You have no idea how you’ve gotten here and you want out. So in a moment of foolishness, you try to redo what you did to send yourself back but instead you wind up stuck in their beds again for a month with a broken leg. It’s hard to run after you do that, and now you know without a doubt in your mind that you’re stuck. You cry about it for weeks, and the family who found you doesn’t understand why. You can’t tell anyone, because you’re certain they’ll set you on fire if you tell them.

Because you… you are from the future.

————————————<3—————————————

You’ve been here for a year now. Osmund and his daughter, Mildryd, are kind and loving people. They treat you like family, with love and respect. This place becomes your home and they teach you all the skills you’d need to survive these times. You learned about farming, rank etiquette, and all other manners you would need to blend into your surroundings. Soon enough, you embraced this world as your own. Not that you had a choice because every day it became more clear that this was not a dream and you were indeed stuck here.

Also, you had no desire to repeat what you did to get here in the first place… again.

“Lynne? Lynne, where are you?” You can hear Osmund call out to you. Lynne was what they called you here. It meant waterfall, from what you understood.

Which made sense, because that’s where they found you... At the bottom of a waterfall.

You come out from the stables, where you’ve just finished brushing the horses with a smile on your face, “Right here, Osmund. Everything alright?”

“I sent Mildryd into town to get grain but I didn’t realize she didn’t bring water in for the goats,” He tells you as he wipes the sweat from his face with a rag, “I hate to pass on her chores, but you know my daughter-”

“She’ll be flirting with the trader for a while,” You chuckle. Mildryd fancied the boy a lot and hopes he’d ask her father for her hand in marriage soon. She was young and full of life, the opposite of you if you were honest with yourself. You envied her spirit, “I’ll go to the river.”

“Thank you, Lynne,” The older man smiled, “You’re an angel.”

You only smile as a response. They show you so much love and part of you feels like you don't deserve it. Still, you grab your bucks and head down to the river, which is quite a walk away, to fetch some water as requested. It's beautiful here, and perhaps taking a moment to stand there and admire its beauty will be one of the moments you will grow to regret for the rest of your life because by the time you turn back to return to the farm you can see smoke.

You drop both buckets to the ground and run as fast as your post-broken leg body can take you, but you're too late.

A sob breaks from your lips as you walk through the ruins of Osmund's home. His body lays blood and lifeless on the floor, the sword he carries still in its sheath. You take the weapon from him, belt and all, and tie it around your waist. Leaving the house, you head into the rest of the small village you call yours in search of the man's daughter.

The rest of the village is no better than Osmund's home. Everyone is dead, from what you can tell, and your expectations for finding Mildryd are lowering by the second.

When you find her, she's holding on to her final breath, and her body covered by the trader she loved so much.

"Mildryd," You call to her with tears in her eyes, "Mildryd… who did this to you?"

"It… it was the Danes," She coughs and blood comes up, tears flowing down her cheeks, "Is.. my father-"

She dies before she can finish the sentence, and you sob over her dead body.

The time you get to mourn is cut short by a voice calling out from behind you, “Lord! A survivor!”

From the accent in his voice, you can tell he must be a Dane, and you ready yourself to face with your hand on the hilt of your sword. It’s heavy, and you haven’t had much practice but the one thing you have plenty of right now is rage. Rising to your feet, you pull out your sword and swing it without care as you turn around but the Dane behind you is quicker. He bobs and weaves his upper half to avoid your aimless swings and pulls out a blade of his own.

It does not take him long to disarm you, your sword dropping to the ground with a clang.

“Just kill me already,” You tell him as you lower your eyes to the ground, trying not to cry in front of him, “Please! Get on with it-”

“I don’t desire to kill you, Lady,” The Dane tells you, his voice softer than anticipated, and you open your eyes to see him put his sword away. He picks up your sword, and then lends out a hand to help you to your feet, “I am sorry to have startled you.”

You are hesitant to take his hand, but you do so anyway.

It’s his eyes; one blue and the other brown, they are mesmerizing and all but command you to trust him.

“Sihtric?” Another man calls out to him, this one also dressed like a Dane but something about him looks Saxon… like the others you’ve grown to know, “Who is this?”

The one you trust, Sihtric, turns to face you and they stare for a moment as they await your name, “I am-” You almost use your real name, but you stop yourself and continue again. Hoping they don’t notice, “I am Lynne, Lord.”

“This is your village?” He asks you.

“Was,” You replied looking back at Mildryd’s dead body behind you, “They killed my family…”

“Did you see the raiders who attacked this place?” The man asked and you shook your head no.

“My… my sister, she told me it was the Danes,” You glance between the two men, watching for their reactions, “That was all she said before she died.”

“Lord?” Another voice calls out, this one with an Irish accent, and from the side, another man appears followed by one much taller than he is, “There is no one else. If they had survivors, they must have taken them.”

The Lord sighs, and puts away his weapon, “Do you have somewhere to go, Lynne? Family somewhere else in Mercia, perhaps?”

You look between the men who surround you and shake your head no, “This was my only family, Lord. I have no one.”

“We can take her with us to Coccham, Uhtred,” The Irishman starts to say, but you are quick to jump in.

“I am not a slave!” You snap as you reach for your sword, forgetting you no longer have it.

“Nor do we wish you to be, Lady,” The one named Uhtred replies, “You will be safe in Coccham, should you choose to follow us. I am the Ealdorman there, we shall find someone to take you in.”

You nod okay, knowing you don’t have any other choice, “Thank you.”

Uhtred and his men start to walk away, and when you step to follow them your bad leg gives in and you start to fall. Luckily, Sihtric is there to catch you.

“Are you hurt, Lady?” He asks you as you wince.

He helps you straighten yourself upright, and you take a deep breath, “I broke it, six months ago,” You explain to Sihtric as he tries to help you walk, “It still feels weak some days. Just… give me a moment.”

“Should I carry you?” He asks and you blush as you furiously shake your head no.

“No, no,” You chuckle shyly as you attempt to walk again, “I can walk. I just need to go slow.”

Sihtric smiles lightly, and it brings you peace, “We’ll go your speed then.”

You nod okay, and together you walk slowly out of the village that was once your home.

————————————<3—————————————

Lord Uhtred finds you work as a stable hand in Coccham. The owners of the stable is an older couple whose children have moved away with their own families, and they are more than pleased to let you stay with them. After a few months of being in Coccham, you find yourself growing to like the place. It’s a booming town, and the people who live here all seem to be grateful for their half Dane half Saxon Lord for keeping them safe and prospering. About six months into living here, Lord Uhtred puts you personally in charge of his horse, as well as the horses of the rest of his men. The old couple tells you it’s a privilege for the Ealdorman to hold you in such regard.

You wonder why they seem to like you so much.

When you aren’t working you find yourself in the company of Lord Uthred’s men. There is Finan, his cheeky, Irish right-hand man. He’s a flirt and a tease, but you find him harmless and kind. Then their Clapa, the large bear-like Dane. He’s quiet but courteous. Last, but certainly not least, there is Sihtric. You never expected to like him as much as you do, but he makes you laugh and smile and feel like maybe you survived that fall for a reason. He visits you frequently at the stables and he tells you it’s to make sure you aren’t overworking your leg.

Part of you wonders if there is an ulterior motive for his visits.

Not that he needs one to visit you. You enjoy Sihtric’s visits probably much more than he did. So part of you finds it ironic when those around you weren’t fond of you spending so much time with a Dane. Their Lord was a Dane, too, after all.

“That Dane boy,” The stable owner, Cedric, started to say one day, “Does he bother you?”

You glance his way as you brush Lord Uhtred’s horse, readying all his warriors’ horses for their departure, “Not at all,” You tell Cedric, “Sihtric is kind.”

“You are of marriage age, Lynne,” Cedric tells you as he brings over a saddle for the horse, “Perhaps we should help find you a husband. I know some young eligible men. Hard workers,” he starts to say, and you know what’s about to come out of his mouth next before he can even say it, “Good Christians.”

“I’m not looking for a husband,” You tell him with frustration as you take the saddle from his hands and place it on top of Uhtred’s horse.

“My wife and I are only getting older, Lynne,” The old man tells you, and you keep your eyes away to prevent yourself from making a face, “It is not good for a Lady of your age to be unwed. This is your prime. You should be having children, starting a family.”

Part of you is ready to tell the old man off, but before you can say anything a familiar voice interrupts the conversation, “Cedric, Lynne! How are our horses?”

“Lord Uhtred,” Cedric smiles, and you can’t help but hate how hypocritical he is, “They are almost ready, Lynne ready the other saddles please.”

You nod at the two men and make yourself scarce as you go to prep the other horse. Your first stop is to Finan’s horse; because you know the mare can be fickle some days, and as you reach down to pick her saddle, you don’t see Finan and Sihtric sneak up behind you.

“Lynne!” Finan all but shouts, giving you a fright and making you drop the saddle to the floor.

“I swear to God, Finan, one would think you are the heathen and not Sihtric,” You scold with your hand over your heart as the two men laugh.

“We are only teasing, Lynne, I swear,” Finan tells you as he picks up the saddle you’ve dropped.

Sihtric leans up against a post and nudges you with his elbow, “Cedric does not push you too much, does he?”

“No, he does not,” You tell Sihtric as you go to ready his horse, but he stops you, carefully taking the saddle from your hands, “I do not need your help, Sihtric.”

“I want to help,” He tells you with a smile, and you can’t help but smile wider.

“She says she doesn’t need your help, Sihtric,” Finan teases from close by, and you both blush, momentarily forgetting he was there, “Hate to ruin the moment, but we need to get goin’.”

“Where are you riding for?” You ask them as you stand back and let the men finish readying their own horses.

“Mercia,” Sihtric tells you and a small part of you feels anxious, “Dane’s have taken Lundene."

“And King Alfred has decided he does need Uhtred, after all,” Finan chuckles and Sihtric smirks, but both of their calm demeanors don’t make you feel any better, “Don’t you worry, Lynne, we’ll be home before you know it.”

Finan passes by, rubbing your shoulder as he goes, and then leaves you alone with Sihtric. You sigh, folding your arms over your chest, “Be careful out there, okay?”

Sihtric chuckles as he takes a step closer to you, “Will you pray to your God for my return?”

“You know I don’t pray,” You lie with a smirk. You pray every single time Uhtred and his warriors leave, and you do so every night till they return. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a thin gold cross on a blue, beaded string. It’s the only thing you own, from before, and you hand it to Sihtric with a weak smile on your face, “But just in case.”

He takes it from your hand so slow, the feeling of his fingertips lingering even after they are gone, “I will take good care of it.” Sihtric pulls you closer by the back of your head and kisses your temple as he moves around you.

Your cheeks stay a rosy color even long after he is gone.

————————————<3—————————————

They are back sooner than expected.

Or at least, that is what you hear when the crowd gathers to greet their returning warriors. You overhear the Lady of Coccham, Uhtred’s wife Gisela, make mention of returning too quickly for men holding a city under siege. Lord Uhtred is the first to walk through Coccham’s gates, looking surprisingly clean for a man coming from war, then Finan comes in close behind him… and then-

Wait.

You feel your heart pick up its pace when you realize Sihtric is not with them and for a moment you find it hard to breathe. As the crowd lets its lord through, and Uhtred and his men reach the stables, you rush over as fast as your legs can take you to meet them. You feel your bad leg ready to give up as you reach the stables, but this time Finan is there to catch you.

“Slow down, Lynne, you nearly killed yourself,” Finan tells you as he holds you steady with one hand.

“Where...,” You start speaking but you can't, instead you’re huffing and puffing trying to catch your breath, “Where is Sihtric?”

Finan sighs, wiping at his mouth with his free hand, “You’re not gonna be happy, Lynne.”

You try really hard not to cry as he explains to you what has happened at Lundene and how the King’s daughter has been possibly taken as prisoner. In fact, you do relatively well at holding it all in and keeping yourself together for most of his explanation. That is… until he gets to the part where Lord Uhtred has sent Sihtric and another warrior named Rypere to Beamfleot to spy, and you suddenly forget how to breathe again. You go to reach for your cross in your pocket until you remember you’ve given it to Sihtric for good luck and almost immediately you begin to cry.

“Lynne,” Finan puts his hand on your shoulder as you sob, covering your face with your hands, “Lynne, he’s coming home… okay? Sihtric is good at what he does. The best spy we have, and I know he’s got a good reason to come home in one piece.”

You shake your head okay, and furiously wipe away all your tears away the best you can, “How long do you think he’ll be gone?”

“I cannot say for certain,” Finan shrugs, “But he is coming home, I promise.”

Finan’s words only give you some reassurance and you spend the next few days feeling absolutely miserable. You continue on with your workdays with the best fake smile you can muster, and at night you find yourself at Church. Usually, you pray in your room, partially because you feel like you aren’t really doing it right and you feel too embarrassed to pray in public. You weren’t a very religious person before, but now that you are here in this church, you pray to every God you can think of that Sihtric comes home safely.

“Lady?” A voice from behind you calls, and you jump to your feet in a moment of fear. You weren’t expecting anyone else to come to the Church that night, coming late enough in the night to certainly be alone for as long as you wish, “I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you.”

His words remind you of the first time you met Sihtric, and you can't help but smile.

“It’s okay, I’ve just been… jumpy, lately.” You tell him as you sit back down on the bench, “I haven’t lived in Coccham for long, but I know I don’t recognize your face.”

“Ah, yes,” His smile is kind as he joins you at the bench, “I am Osferth, Lady. May I join you?”

“Of course, Osferth,” You smile back the best you can, but you’re tired and it’s late so it’s hard to put on your usual fake face.

Osferth takes his seat next to you, making sure not to get too close, and keeps his eyes on the altar ahead of you, “What are we praying for?” He asks, glancing your way.

“My-” You paused, not knowing what to call him. Your friend didn’t sound like a good enough way to explain what he meant to you, and you definitely didn’t think of him as a brother. So you go with this, “My family. Someone very important to me has been sent away on a dangerous mission for Lord Uhtred.”

"If he is a warrior for Lord Uhtred, he must be very brave," he tells you, reassuringly

"Only a special kind of warrior is lucky enough to serve a Lord like Uhtred," You agree with him, "And I have been told Sihtric is good at what he does, but I can't help but worry."

"Has prayer helped?" Osferth asks you and you look his way with a chuckle.

"Not at all," You tell him, and you both laugh.

"Sometimes it is hard to have faith in something we don't see," Osferth tells you as he looks forward again, "I try to put my faith in people. Lord Uhtred is a good warrior. So are his men. Having Faith in them… it's much easier."

So that's what you. You put your Faith in Uhtred and all of his men that will do whatever it takes to bring each other home.

————————————<3—————————————

More time has passed.

Rypere eventually returned to Coccham, and with his arrival, Uhtred and his men rode for Winchester to bring his findings to the King. You hear that men are sent to Beamfleot to bargain for the Princesses return. They are gone for a long time, longer than you anticipated. The days that pass make you increasingly more anxious.

You don't want to say your faith in Uhtred and his warriors is wavering but… it hasn't been as strong as you hoped it to be.

Cedric and his wife have been pushing the marriage thing. They aren't your parents so they can't just sell you off, luckily for you, but it's gotten annoying just how many single men they've tried to introduce you to in the last month.

None of them are Sihtric, so you do not care.

You're in the Church again one night, and you've been there longer than you wanted due to your bad leg. It's been aching something fierce in the past few days, and you think maybe you have been overwhelming yourself. You can't help but smile at the idea of Sihtric yelling at you to take it easy, and just as quickly as the memory comes to you so do the tears that start to cloud your eyes.

"You lied to me, Lynne," That familiar voice you've been hearing in your head speaks out loud, and you gasp when you turn around to find Sihtric standing behind you, "You said you do not pray for me."

You chuckle as the tears fall from your face and your lips curl up into a smile, "You're all I pray for." It stings to stand, but you push through the pain anyway and rush to greet him.

Sihtric catches you as you jump into his arms, and the two of you stumble back until he falls to the floor with you in his arms, "You need to be more careful," He smirks as he moves a hand to your cheek, "What would the people say if they see us in the church like this?"

"To hell with people," You laugh as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. Sihtrics' free hand pulls your body closer as you sit there on the floor of the church, all but devouring each other with each kiss.

"Let me carry you home," Sihtric tells you when he breaks the kiss, and you nod okay. He moves to stand, taking you in his arms as he rises. Making sure to be careful with your bed leg.

Being like this makes you feel so safe. So loved.

You giggle and kiss his neck as he carries you back to his house, and whispers things in your ear that send shivers down your spine all the way back to his house. Your sure people saw him carry you, and they are more than likely to gossip about you but you don't care.

You've never felt more alive than you do right now.

Sihtric lays you carefully in his bed, his lips reconnecting with yours as he hovers above you. He tastes sweet and your heart is racing in anticipation of what is going to happen next.

That is until you hear him moan out that name.

"Lynne," He starts to say as he breaks the kiss, "Lynne, I-"

"Wait!" You cut Sihtric off with a finger to his lips, "Before you say it, there is something else I've been lying about," Sihtric raises a brow and you take a deep breath, "My name is not Lynne."

You expect a poor reaction, but instead, Sihtric smirks, "That doesn't surprise me."

"Really?"

"Yes," He tells you as he places a kiss on your lips, "The day we met, you stuttered when you told Uhtred your name." You chuckle at the fact that he remembers that, and his smile is soft, "So tell me, what is the real name of the woman who has stolen my heart?"

Your smile is wide when you get to finally speak your real name out loud for the first time in almost two years, "My name is Y/N."

Sihtric smiles, leaning in to kiss you again, "Well, Y/N," another kiss, and then another, "It is nice to truly meet you," one more kiss, and then he leans up a bit and you can see the smirk on his face, "Is it too soon to say that I love you?"

You shake your head no as the tears come back to you, "Not at all."

"Good," Sihtric replies as he leans his forehead against yours, "I love you, Y/N."

Sihtric whispers those words for what feels like a hundred times that night. He whispers it as he strips you out of your clothes and as you remove his. It comes out as a moan when he slips himself inside of you, and it sounds like a prayer on his lips as he chants it in your ear as you reach your climax with your back arched and his lips on your neck. And it's the last thing you hear when Sihtric reminds you one more time before bed.

A few months later on the two year anniversary of you finding yourself here, on this page of history, Sihtric tells you he loves you again when the two of you return to the place where Osmund and Mildryd found you, and you tell him all about what brought you to this world. You can't help but feel this is where you were meant to be when Sihtric tells you he prayed for you, too.

For someone who could love him, more than he could himself.

It seems… you were exactly what the other was looking for.

[slashyrogue]

I posted 993 times in 2022

131 posts created (13%)

862 posts reblogged (87%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@slashyrogue

@rocktheholygrail

@hhannigram

@begitalarcos

@bewds

I tagged 934 of my posts in 2022

Only 6% of my posts had no tags

#hannibal - 366 posts

#hannigram - 260 posts

#fan art - 187 posts

#hannibal lecter - 97 posts

#will graham - 94 posts

#hannigram au - 76 posts

#mads mikkelsen - 67 posts

#hannibal humor - 59 posts

#lol - 42 posts

#fan comics - 40 posts

Longest Tag: 132 characters

#this post is from february and considering how little feedback i'm getting when i write them i'm pretty convinced very few people do

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

When Will goes on a blind date that he gets stood up for he’s ready to call it quits on dating all together. It’s been only just a year from losing his ex fiancé to her ex husband and it seems like he’d be better off staying alone forever. He’s just about to pay for the coffee he’s nursed for the last hour when in walks Molly and her now husband. They notice him and before Will can run she walks over.

“Will,” she says, frowning, “I thought it would be rude for me not to say hello. Are you eating alone?”

He panics.

“Will?”

Molly’s husband is the stereotypical handsome firefighter and seeing him in the flesh is worse than he thought possible.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Which is why someone else says it for him.

He’s startled when someone pulls close out of nowhere, coming in behind him, and kisses his cheek.

“I apologize for my lateness, Beloved. Did you miss me terribly?”

Will blinks at the strange man who’s apparently pretending to be his boyfriend. “I…uh…”

The man, whose suit just screams money, holds out his hand to Molly. “Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” he purrs, “Lovely to meet you, Ms…”

Molly’s eyes are wide. “Foster. I…I’m sorry but…who are you exactly?”

Hannibal smiles at Will. “You didn’t tell her?”

He lets out a long breath and fakes a smile at Molly. “Moll, this is Hannibal. He’s my…”

“Fiancé,” Hannibal says, taking Will’s hand, “Mylimasis…have you lost your ring again?”

“I…I guess so?”

See the full post

60 notes - Posted May 31, 2022

#4

Never underestimate the power of comments. I’ve had two fics I thought I’d never return to again reinvigorate me into writing over ten chapters between them in the the last month.

Always, always, ALWAYS tell a fanfic writer when you enjoy something.

It could be just what they needed.

60 notes - Posted February 11, 2022

#3

He always knew when Adam needed to lock the world away. 

It wasn’t subtle, not even a little, when his Star began to lash out. He’d close himself off, even from Nigel, and Nigel didn’t have it in him to feel rejected. Adam needed him still, he knew, and if that meant he’d give him space that was ok too. 

But sometimes Adam didn’t want space. 

Sometimes he wanted to just exist in their own little universe. 

Just them. 

So he’d cancel all his plans, and make all Adam’s favorites before he got home from work, and when Adam walked in he’d freeze. 

“Nigel?” 

“You want to show me the stars, Darling? Like you used to?” 

Adam would frown, unsure, and yet he’d put on his projector moving it to the middle of the room where Nigel had already set up dinner. They’d sit and he’d tell Nigel all his planet things - everything Nigel had heard so many times before - and when he was done he’d lay closer and closer till they were cuddling staring up at the fake night sky. 

Nigel would kiss his cheek, his forehead, and then his mouth after before Adam looked up and sighed. 

“I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.” 

“Alright, Star.” 

“I don’t want you to go either.” 

Nigel always smiled, kissed him again, and pulled the blankets up over them both. 

“I already told Darko to fuck off this week.” 

Adam would blink at him in surprise. “Why?” 

Nigel would kiss his fingers, the top of his hand, and then put it on his own cheek. “Because I know you, Star. I know when you need it to be just us two, and I’m always ready.” 

Adam would kiss him then, a gift if there ever was one, and they’d fade away into the stars. 

Over and over again.

60 notes - Posted June 24, 2022

#2

Do people even like Spacedogs anymore? 

81 notes - Posted February 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

*whispers* Spacedogs Summer?

116 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[buckyownsmylife]

Holy Ground - Chapter 5

The one where Andy seems to have lost everything, but he’s not ready to give up.

A terrible car accident ruins Andy Barber’s idea of a perfect life. But if the love’s still there, why wouldn’t he retrace the steps that led him to his happy ending? After all, the best love stories were made to be written more than just once.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist and if you’d like to be tagged on my following Chris Evans and characters stories, just fill out this form.

Waking up in Andy’s arms was like something out of a dream. Instead of feeling disappointed because I opened my eyes to reality - and therefore had to abandon whatever it was that had been entertaining me while asleep - all I could feel was excitement at being in his bed, surrounded by his scent and warmth.

He really was a dream come true to me .

I managed to turn around in his arms without waking him up, taking advantage of this opportunity to admire him. God, he was attractive. A bit more mature than I remembered from our first date, but I guess going through a coma can change your perspective on a lot of things, this included.

And I couldn’t believe he had stuck out with me during this entire medical situation. I think this would be hard even for people who were already in long term relationships, for someone who had literally just met me…

I just couldn’t believe it was really happening, outside of a movie screen, and to me. With someone as great as Andy. It felt like one of those sappy romantic stories, where a sad circumstance brings a couple even closer together, and I was so happy about it. Perhaps even too happy.

A part of me, the part that had been realistic due to everything I’d been through in life, kept asking me to slow down. Not to trust him too soon, not to fall in love despite his gentleness, his patience, everything he’d done for me ever since I woke up. And even though I’d blatantly disregarded that part - I was in love with him, and I knew it - it still existed inside of me, and it made me cautious of losing him suddenly, just like I’d lost everyone else in my life.

I didn’t want to have to live without Andy, but I knew love stories could only end two ways. There was a 50/50 chance for both paths.

As much as I wanted to lay there and think only of the optimistic happy ending I wish I would get to share with Andy, my body reminded me of my reality. I was starving, and if Andy didn’t wake up soon, the growls in my stomach would certainly be his alarm clock, and that just wouldn’t do. So I decided, albeit reluctantly, to leave him in bed and venture back to the main floor of the house, in search of something I could eat.

It was so hard to leave his room without waking him up - I didn’t know how deep his sleep could be, but I didn’t want to take any chances, considering how peaceful he looked. So when I finally managed to close his bedroom door and realized just how badly I needed to pee, I wanted to slap myself on the face, where it would leave a mark.

“Alright,” I thought to myself. “Big place. He’s gotta have another bathroom here somewhere.” And so began my quest for a toilet I could pee in. The first door I opened was obviously an office - it made sense he’d choose the room nearest to his to work on. The second one looked like a guest room, if the lack of personal decorations was any indication of the absence of any current occupants. The third door I tried seemed to be locked, since I wasn’t able to turn the knob all the way to one side. But the fourth one is a charm, right?

I noticed I was wrong before my brain processed what it was that I was seeing, purely from the scent that the room exhaled. It was unmistakably baby powder and that newborn smell that was so peculiar it seemed to be able to make any woman who sniffed it feel fertile in a second.

But then my eyes got used to the low lighting of the bedroom and I noticed the crib. I noticed the decorations on the wall. And I noticed the child on the lap of a woman sat by the window, seemingly as surprised to see me as I was to see her. 

“Oh, I didn’t think anyone would be joining us today,” she said, sitting up straighter as the little boy sucked on a bottle of milk. He couldn’t be older than… what? Three or four months? “Andy said he’d be coming home late and not to expect any visits until way past lunchtime.”

At the mention of the man whose bed I’d just left, I felt as if a bucket of ice had been dropped on me, and I had to hold onto the door so I would keep myself up as my body startled to tremble.

“He… did?” I asked, not in search of any particular confirmation, but just to keep the woman talking so I could have something to focus on instead of the feeling that I was about to faint.

“Yeah, he was excited about it, weren’t you, little one?” She asked the tiny baby, obviously fond of the boy. “Truth be told, he hasn’t been spending much time with his father, and a baby misses that, you know?”

I did know. I did know, but I didn’t have anything to offer in response, so I excused myself from the conversation and closed the door behind me, mind empty but running aimlessly at the same time.

I was still frozen with shock by the time Andy found me in the kitchen, staring emptily at the wall. “I’m so glad you’re here, sweetheart. I’m so hungry, but the only thing in this kitchen that seems to make my mouth water is you.”

His words didn’t even register in my head as I raised my eyes to meet his, my tone cold and devoid of any emotions when I asked, “When were you going to tell me that you have a son?”