#but also it could all go in the hums tag ive been using on my main

[nerdyqueerr]

Important poll

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Plastic hearts - (8)

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It's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

It's a cruel summer

---

Your eyes fluttered open, it took you a while to recognize your surroundings. The school nurse came into your line of sight with relief on her face.

“Oh good, the IV has worked. She must have just been dehydrated.”, she stated.

The last thing you could remember was Ken running to you, his arms encasing around you to prevent your fall but as you rubbed your forehead, you were sure your low sugar levels had contributed to having a hallucination.

“But it also looks like a common occurrence. All the girls have complained they’ve lost sleep and in most cases, can’t dream.”, she went on to explain. You hummed in response, you haven't been able to sleep well too.

Hopefully it wasn’t another virus because you couldn’t afford to take days off. Melissa’s house needed to be maintained and renovations were expensive affairs. She had come to see you as her own daughter and therefore bequeathed everything she owned to you.

You weren’t worthy of her kindness, you were a nobody and yet she made a way to look out for you even in a time she would not be here. So you just had to live up and work hard to feel worthy of that love. Thinking about her made you feel sad but then in a way, it would make you feel better.

That in Barbie land, everyone was sheltered from the experiences that occur here. But as you fell back into the pillows, feeling a little frail, you also enjoyed the fact that you could feel these emotions completely. So your eyes began to tear up and you let them fall down your cheek.

“You need to take a break, dear.”, the nurse placed a loving hand on your shoulder.

But could you take a break?

After all the work you put into yourself and still not feeling quite whole, to think of yourself as an individual, you were still questioning your own value, even here.

“It’s sweet how your boyfriend stayed by your side even while managing the parents who wanted to meet him.”, she said as she discharged you.

“I don’t have a –

“Is she alright?”, you heard him as he stormed into the room with worry ingrained in his eyes.

“She is. Just needs a lot of rest and care. Which I assume you are going to see through?”, the nurse gave him a knowing smile as he nodded his head with a solemn resolve.

Your legs felt wobbly and needed support to walk around, you had taken care of yourself. And yet you weren't sure how you ended up in this situation. The nurse placed your hands in his and as he took it, he took up your bag to sling it over his shoulder, collected the medical papers and thanked the nurse. All of which you were truly tired to do.

You waited till you got to the corridor but until then you couldn’t help but look at him. It was uncanny, the resemblance, but he felt like a whole new person. He was secure, stable and mature in the way he held himself. You were sure this wasn’t the Ken you had known.

“Look, sir. I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else.”, you came to a stop in the empty corridor.

“Your name tag says ‘Castilian Ryder’ and I don’t know anyone by that name.”, you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to validate the doubt you felt.

“I don’t like to use my first name here but it’s me, Brie.”, he said with a sense of unbelief.

Could you have really forgotten him?

“It’s Ken, from Barbie land.”, he stepped closer to you, to whisper.

He still smelled like the sea, even in a dingy school corridor in a metropolitan city that smelled like tarmac. You wanted to lean closer, to rest your head on his chest, to admit you were tired of running but maybe he was just this happy because his dream had come true. You had seen a newspaper clipping of him and Barbie, here in Los Angeles that many let it pass as a funny incident but you knew it was him. Maybe he was here, settled in life with his girlfriend and is just being nice because he had known you once.

Having experienced this world, you quickly learnt it was very difficult to trust men and their motives. They played sweet to turn out sour, their words sound like honey until you give in to their charms and then every single one of them that you’ve met so far finds a new way to let you down or betray you. All while finally stating that you weren’t enough.

You stepped away from him but his hold around you was firm, he held you up as the medication began to wear off.

“I can take care of myself from here. Why don’t you go back to where you came from?”, you peeled away his fingers from your waist, somehow even after all these years his touch burned your skin.

“And stop telling everyone you’re my boyfriend.”, you pointed a finger at him as you took the papers from his hand.

“Only someone who knew you well enough could sign the papers for your treatment. That’s why I lied.”, he replied and it stunned you.

He didn’t feel like he was from Barbie land, he held himself like a real person.

“So you can lie now?”, you scoffed and took your bag as you watched him furrow his brows in confusion.

“What?”, you snapped at him.

“I just thought at the very least, we would still be friends.”, he said but his eyes softened with sadness.

“Sorry, Ryder. You’ve just been lying to yourself.”, you turned away from him and it felt good to be mean. To have the power to hurt him. So you used it.

But it didn’t seem to stop him. He caught up to you.

“I need to get back to work and I also need you to leave me alone.”, you said without looking at him.

“The school’s closed, it’s 5pm and your staff were dismissed by this man called Sam.”, he narrated to you with his hands held behind his back.

You had missed the whole event?

Panic began to set in, this was not good, you pushed open the doors to only be proved right, the sun had set and no one was around. Except for a man leaning against the streetlight.

“You told me you could handle it.”, he spoke to you.

“You got me to trust you with this event and then, to get out of it, you act sick.”, Sam began his tantrum and you didn’t have the time for it.

“You didn’t tell me we had this event in the first place.”, you lashed out to which he pursed his lips.

“Excuses, excuses, excuses. That’s all you’ve been saying since Melissa passed.”, he flailed his arms about.

“I expect my staff to be put together. To not be tardy and all you’ve been doing is just that.”, he yelled.

“Somehow feeling the fatigue of being worked overtime is my fault?”, you argued to which he folded his arms and shook his head as though you’ve done a grave mistake.

“Maybe I need to cut back a few of your shifts.”, he tilted his head and you couldn’t push past that. This was his way of putting you in place because he had the power to do so.

“No, I’ll pull myself together.”, you said through gritted teeth which eased Sam.

“Good girl.”, he scoffed as though he was elated by the act of making you feel small.

“However, the school wants us to cater their lunch and maintain the cafeteria. I’m busy with handling the business side of things so you’re in charge of this venture.”, he said in a matter of fact tone.

You wanted to say no, that running the restaurant and the school order who be the death of you but he sensed it.

“And before you say no. Either take it up or you’re fired.”, he said it without feeling, with no empathy and there was nothing else you could do.

You agreed and he left, leaving you bear the weight of your decisions again. Maybe you should have just stayed in Barbie land, instead of thinking this place would be any different.

“What an idiot.”, Ken chuckled behind you.

“You still haven’t left?”, you turned to him with a scowl, not wanting to cry in front of him.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”, he said softly as he walked up to you, to take your bag and belongings.

You felt lighter and oddly consoled. To know that atleast one person could see through Sam’s cruelty.

“You have your own car?”, you smiled as you sniffled.

“Sure do.”, he winked as he held up his keys that where held together in a horse keychain.

His vehicle came into view and it wasn’t like what you had thought he would own. It was a regular sedan that had a few areas where the paint had worn off but the smile on his face as he unlocked it made you feel guilty. For having tried to hurt him before.

It looked like he had been here for a while, he put his phone up after entering your address into it. His taste in music was more nuanced and it amazed you that he even knew the lyrics well enough to sing to Taylor Swift’s songs. He was a whole new person, one you were only getting to know now.

You searched for signs, a ring on his finger, a picture in his wallet, the wallpaper on his phone, anything to confirm your thoughts on him having a life with Barbie. He couldn’t exist without her.

As he pulled up into the carpark, he snapped his fingers as though he finally had made a connection.

“All this while, we’ve been neighbors.”, he said with surprise.

He held up his phone to show you where his home marker was on the map and it was astonishing. He was in the apartment block next to you. For a brief second, his eyes caught yours and you could sense he had more to say or that he wanted to.

“Brie.”, he began with a serious tone and in the vacuum of his car it felt as though he was about to say that the world was about to end. But he sighed to remove his keys to then say,

“So you have your own dream house?”, he smiled and that brief moment was lost.

“I do.”, you said.

“but its not dreamy.”, you gave him a tired smile.

“Is it girl’s night, every night?”, he asked quietly, his eyes finding yours even in the dark and the only revelation from this was that you couldn’t erase him from your memories. Even after all this time, that connection you felt with him didn’t fade.

You shook your head to his question, it was hard making friends outside of work.

“I’m sorry.”, he said. His hands now gripping the steering wheel, he looked away.

“For hurting you. I didn’t know what I was doing before but I never wanted to hurt you.”, he continued and you could feel your heart in your throat.

“You don’t have to be nice to me, but I know how it feels.”, he said with a sad smile and distant eyes.

“It feels good to finally be able to inflict the same pain you felt.”, he reminisced to when he took over Barbie’s dream house.

But seeing you here, knowing the reason behind why you left, he lacked the courage to tell you the truth behind why he was here. Looking into your dark eyes even for a second reminded him of what he had done. It was unfair, to just come in, to state his business and in the desperation of clearing his name, to take you back. It had to be your choice, he was only the messenger. What you choose to do, was up to you.

“So if you don’t want me around. I understand.”, he said finally, and embraced the uncertainty. Saving Barbie land was important but then so were you.

You didn’t know what to say, in all your time here, no one had given you a choice. You were at a loss for words because this wasn’t what you had expected, for him to not attach himself into your life.

“Thank you for saying that, Ken.”, you felt the anxiety wash away as you pushed back your hair. To say his name after so long, felt good, felt like home.

“I just need a little time.”, you replied sinking into the seat.

“To process all of this.”, you caught his gaze as he nodded sweetly.

The blue of his eyes still held that glimmer, his smile, still perfect that it made you jealous even in a world that was imperfect and harsh, he wasn’t touched by it. And as you stayed in that second, forgiving him was easy. Because his actions were never done with the intent to be malicious. It still however didn't change you fate though.

He wasn’t yours, but you wished for it nonetheless.

---

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

BANSHEE BLUETHROAT (III)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER IV ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 9.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, talks of death & violence, blood, guns, mass death, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your mind was a loop of indecisiveness. A circle of revolving moments that carried over to the next. At the center was your only saving grace—the routine. And, so, by eight AM for the last four days you had gone back to the café with Gaz trailing silently behind.

He’d learned on the second day you weren't going to speak beyond harsh insults, and you had only smirked and walked on with a sense of victory. You may not have been able to stab him or poison him, but this was a game best played slyly. 

Breaking him first was the prize.

But today it was different. You’d finished a project for one of your more interactive courses in college. Nothing extravagant, but something that would give you a good enough grade to pass and would satisfy your jerk of a professor. All of this involved going to campus to turn it in, seeing as it was quite the sizable binder that had to be given physically over unless you wanted to flunk out. 

Going into the city.

Backpack full, Gaz hands back over your gate key with his forefinger and thumb, which you snatch and shove into the back pocket of your jeans. You hated to admit it, but the man's silence was a blessing. Not having to hear his voice was just another illusion you could place over your eyes to say Kyle wasn’t here in the first place. Besides the Sergeant’s morning and night routine of walking the mansion in check of oddities, you’d all but forgotten he was there once he’d stopped trying to talk to you. 

You begrudgingly supposed that he had been right in saying he’d be out of your hair most of the time.

The penknife still stayed in your jacket pocket. Next to the coin on the right side with which you fiddle with currently, rolling the thin metal over and under fingers with practiced dexterity. Not only had you gone out of your way to avoid interactions with the Sergeant, but you’d also been avoiding anything to do with your father and his charges pertaining to Kate Laswell’s deal. 

Not once had you gone into your old man’s office, and you had little plans to. 

I owe Laswell nothing, you stand in the café as Hector hands over only one cup of coffee today, the man sending violent glances to the awkward form of Gaz in the doorway. Certainly not my own right to privacy. 

“Not staying?” Hector asks, and you toss down more crushed bills on the counter with a hum. 

“Gotta go into campus.” Kyle shifts from his position, brown eyes snapping to the back of your neck with a confused blink. “Project.”

“Ah, see that’s why I never bothered—won’t find me doing all that shit.” You huff, looking around at the sparse customers and rolling your shoulders. Dread was perhaps the only word you could use to describe the feeling in your chest. Apprehension. Fear.

Moving your hand farther in the air, you motion a goodbye with the drink, “See you tomorrow, Hec. Keep the place standing until I make it back.” 

“You know it!” Striding away, your form slips out the open door—courtesy of the Sergeant—and the sudden pressure in the back of your consciousness increases. 

“Campus, Ma’am?” 

“Problem?” His tone was a dead giveaway of what he thought of the trip. You send a glance to his taller form, watching the dog tags on his chest bounce above the open lip of his black bomber jacket. The morning was spreading its misty grip over the streets.

You threaten to spark the lingering electricity between the two of you from previous clashes over the few days.

“Negative.” Kyle clears his throat, arms swinging. “No problem.”

“Thought so.” Your eyes shift as you take a swig of caffeine, swallowing and licking your lips to taste the liquid. Forcing down a shiver, you add with a frown and stiff neck, “Don’t slow me down.”

Your body takes a right at the next street, looking into store windows and giving strangers a wide berth as you shimmy around them. Kyle stays ever present at your side, never letting your steadily increasing pace make him lose sight of you for more than a moment of bobbing heads. 

A mostly fake scoff meets air. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You’d probably skin me.” 

Not bothering to respond, your vision slashes to the cars on the street, taking the time to watch the slick metal as the sun streaks over it. A white Sedan is slowly coasting past you, and the moving shadows on the inside make your hackles rise for no apparent reason. Shuffling bodies and phantom smiles; multiple, but no more than four. 

Kyle’s form cuts your view off in a quick step. 

Head snapping up, you snarl out a comment to move. Gaz looks down at you, and your vision slashes to his stubble to avoid a clashing of eyes.

“Can’t have you walking near the road,” he says, and you continue on with clenched hands. “Safety measure. I also should know how you expect to get to your University, yeah?” 

“You mean without driving?” Your body knows the route to your destination. Sparse days throughout the month when it became inevitable that you would have to go to class and the limited ways you could get there. Sighing, you lick your lips and bring your drink to your mouth.

“Well,” You can hear the teasing nature in Kyle’s tone, “I can always call in a pickup.”

“Keep dreaming, Garrick.” Over the past four days, you’d hear the Brit in the large foyer of the mansion sending reports to Laswell—whether by word of mouth or by spying him typing away on a laptop as you slunk around. 

You didn’t know why he did it there of all places, but when he looked up at you going to the kitchen, you had a good idea. His eyes were always watching. Assessing. Even now as you look over at him, Gaz’s gaze was flying over the multiple heads of the crowd; hand held close to the concealed carry. And he was still trying to speak to you—it was infuriating.

Can’t he just do his job and leave me alone? Christ.

“I wouldn’t call this a good idea.” Rolling eyes make lids pull back as you shake your head. 

Kyle glances down at you, stirring in his gut as he tries to guide you farther into the safety of the sidewalk. But your feet are like iron, and his disapproval worsens. There were too many people out—too many unknowns. So bloody stubborn.

“Do you expect me to just give up my life because of some so-called threat?” You huff, finishing off your coffee and tossing the empty cup away in a passing garbage can, hearing the thunk as it hits the bottom of the bin. “I actually have plans to graduate, y’know.” 

“Can’t you email your professors?” He asks, frowning, “Kate’ll make sure you’re believed at the very least. I’d think keeping your blood in your body was more important than a grade.”

“You been to college?” You look twice before crossing the street, jogging across. It wasn’t like you cared, but a point needed to be proven, and, of course, you already knew the answer. The Sergeant had enlisted at eighteen—it had said so in his file.

Gaz blinks in surprise, staring at the side of your face for a brief moment. “Thought about joining University, but the Army sucked me in before I figured out what I wanted to go into. Been there ever since.”

You stop outside of the train station, feet stalling so abruptly that the Brit grunts in the back of his throat. Twisting on fast heels you raise a brow and narrow your stare on the broad build of Kyle’s chest, watching the fabric move as his hands twitch at his sides. 

“Imagine knowing what you were going to do for your entire life,” voice serious, you extend a brief moment of realness to get the Sergeant off your back for the foreseeable future. “And then imagine someone saying to just email your professor about a project that’ll take up a good forty percent of your grade. Idiot.” Your branch shrinks and dies. “You sound so stupid you’re making me lose brain cells just by speaking to you.” 

“Well…I never said it would have to be a short email.” Groaning loudly, your jaw grinds into itself; body snapping away to the large red-brick building with a pointed roof. “Two paragraphs, at least, yeah?” Kyle stifles a laugh, watching you walk away with a sense of victory. His lips peel back as his heart jumps.

You were incredibly fun to mess with when you got frustrated. 

“Do shut up.” The roaring engine of a car behind you only makes it slightly above the sound of your ears steaming.

“Copy and check, Ma’am. Won’t even know I’m here.”

“If only.” Grumbling, you push open the large front door and shuffle over the tile floor, neck burrowing deeper into the bunched fabric of the hoodie around your neck, hand trailing to your back pocket to pull out your school ID. 

You hold it out to the woman at the front desk and say you need a ticket for the next outbound train as Kyle stands like a sentry behind you, arms going to cross languidly. The woman glances at you and then at the Sergeant; with a grimace of disgust, you see when her eyebrows go slightly upwards in badly concealed interest. 

She has wide eyes and you don’t even have to look to notice them.

You’ve got to be joking. 

“O-Of course,” the red sheen on her cheeks greets you as the attention is quickly re-routed back. A clearing of a throat and the fidgeting of hands as they grab papers and rip tabs.

Gaz doesn’t seem to notice or care about the blatant attraction from the woman, and he turns slightly on his heel to look back outside through the front windows. His orbs brush the exterior of a white Sedan as you grab your ticket, tossing bills on the counter. Dark brows pull close before the machine disappears from view. 

“Hm.” 

“Is that all?” The lady asks, and when you nod the smile you’d been staring at goes from forced to genuine in a blink. 

“How can I help you today, Sir? Isn’t the weather lovely this morning?” You deadpan at the ticket in your hand and force down a scoff. 

This is torture. 

“Christ.” Sticking the small piece of paper into your pocket, you begin walking away on slow feet to the waiting station next to the tracks. 

Kyle blinks forward, taking in the sight of the worker and automatically smiling politely. He nods, hat over his head moving. 

“Oh, apologies, Miss—I’m with her.” 

“No, he’s not.” Your bland voice echoes, “Feel free to call the police. Tell them I’m being stalked.” 

Gaz lets loose a cautious laugh, side-eying you sharply, “She’s joking. Does that all the time,” brown optics tickle your neck with a hard stare, “even when it’s a jab below the belt.”

You shrug, not glancing back with a grumble, “Show you a jab below the belt, Brit.” To be honest you could have made a scene, yelled, screamed—but what would that achieve? 

Maybe I would get to see him arrested, at least. A temptation leaves you raising a brow in genuine thought; a small smirk contagious.

“...Okay?” The lady slowly utters, and you have no doubt her face is the epitome of confusion. You feel her watching you before you shove open the side door to the platform. “So you want a ticket too? For the same train?”

“Affirmative.” Kyle's voice cuts out as you force your way outside, passing a few others in the process to take the farthest bench available. 

Gaz frowns at the closed barrier, fingers twitching at his sides with the scents of Creosote and metal firm in his nose. Reaching for his wallet, he hands over a nicely pressed twenty and starts to wonder if this job will get any easier. 

Now that’s funny.

“Keep the change,” He says in an absent tone. To be fair though, it seemed like the last few days you’d slowly gotten used to his face being the first you saw in the morning…even if a sneer on your lips followed soon after. 

“Here you are, Sir.” Kyle quickly grabs the paper ticket and swiftly exits the side door, not catching the attempt from the lady behind him, “I-I was wondering if—”

The fresh air is crisp, and it’s not long before your familiar form is found at the very far back; seated with your back pressed against the wall behind you. Arms crossed and head tilted to the sky. Brown eyes lock onto feet that bounce nervously like a string was attached to them. 

A slow sigh builds in his chest as he walks over, taking check of other individuals who would be sitting in the same area. 

All of this would be so much simpler if she could just listen to me. Know that I only want the best. Leaving the familiarity of town and heading straight into the center of the city was about as bad of an idea as you could come up with. 

“Try telling her that,” Kyle whispers under his breath, “Like speaking to a bloody brick wall.” But when you talked about University, it was like you shoved every sense of purpose you had into it—Gaz had seen you walk down to grab food from his position in the foyer of the mansion on the third day; spare laptop with you and typing on a singular hand. 

Making lunch and barely taking your eyes off the screen when the man had peaked around the corner. It was like nothing else mattered. Like…obsession, nearly. It was obvious that your studies meant a great deal to you, and Kyle wasn’t surprised by that at all. 

But this was still just a plain stupid idea. And yet, his job was to keep you safe, not police your every move. He could adapt. He could deal with it. 

He’d gone through far worse.

The Sergeant’s jaw clenches as he saunters nearer, taking a standing position next to your bench and studying along the tracks before his arms cross. 

You glance to your side with a half-lidded eye, gazing at the strong build of the Brit’s neck and peaking along the various healed scars and scratches. Along his darker complexion, you spied the tiny ones over his left cheek especially—two straight, parallel, lines reminiscent of those you’d get if you got scratched by nails. 

Blinking, you turn your head away and squash the curiosity in your lungs. You hadn’t noticed those before, but stuck in this trap of insults and heated looks, you had no quick tongue to ask. 

Thankfully, the scream of metal wheels on tracks stops your untamed comments from trying to escape. Fighting in private was one thing, but in public was another. 

Keep your manners, my Dear, your mother had instilled in you, our family name is steeped in history. When in public, keep personal grievances, personal. Never make a scene. 

It was always about image with her. Maybe that was why you were always closer to your father. 

“C’mon,” you stiffly speak, pushing off the bench as the great pile of machinery comes to a halt and the horn sounds off. Your ears ring. 

Quickly walking up to the train, you grab the rail and hoist yourself up, slipping into one of the carriages before it could get filled up. Gaz follows obediently; hands loose. 

He walks with you until you’re at the very back, seeing you slip into a booth, and decides it would be better to not make you angrier than you already are. Gaz takes the seat across the aisle and slides into it silently before looking at the watch on his wrist and settling in as you place your hands on your table. 

It wasn’t long before the gears started rotating again, sending the train forward with a screech of old metal. And still, there is a suffocating silence. At first, you enjoyed it—not speaking to Kyle—but now it was breaking your mind to just have him look at you the way he did. With a false sense of duty and blatant authority; like you were only a charge and nothing more. The peaking over corners at home to check in on you before disappearing just as quickly made you writhe with anger. You weren't a damn live wire.

Your room was a refuge back at the estate, but with the clatter of Gaz walking about it felt more like a glass box. Infuriating was the first emotion to come to mind.

Studying him now, you even wonder if anything you do will make a difference to him. Sure, you can push him around and insult him, but Gaz was a soldier. SAS. That didn’t make your grudge any less of the boulder that it was, yet the implications were also there that you refuse to look into. 

Your father was a good man. 

Numbly sliding over the way that the Brit’s nose tenses in concentration as he looks at his watch, you shuffle out of your backpack and place it beside you. One of his long fingers goes to lightly caress the dark leather strap, polishing out natural wear that doesn’t disappear. 

Tilting your head as the floor moves below you, you don’t notice his face has already turned your way. Blinking.

“You look confused,” Gaz turns his body to face you more and your hands quickly delve into your pockets as your lids widen. Skin immediately feels hot, and you hate the feeling wildly. “Care to share, then? I’m guessing it’s a long ride, have time for it.”

Intrigue wins over the disgust you feel talking aloud. You attempt to look as uninterested as possible.

“Why take care of it,” you nod to the watch and his wrist raises slightly from the table so you could get a better look. Kyle’s lips twitch, and he thinks for a moment that he may have just figured out a way to get you to speak without starting fights. Spike her curiosity. “It’ll break eventually. All the illegal stuff you get up to, at least.” 

Your fingers play with your hidden coin. 

The Brit nods once. “‘Course, I’ve no doubt about that.” Amusement enters his tone, “Things already older than me by a long shot. But, hey, all the good stuff is illegal.”

The comment about the object’s age really got your attention. Your head slightly perks up, body rotating somewhat so your shoulders tip forward. Kyle thinks it’s the first time you’ve actually gotten close to looking into his eyes—your sparkling gaze stopping along the slope of his nose bridge. 

His pulse pauses.

Darting back down, your vision looks at the make of the watch, internal database of knowledge finding the gold detail and backing that had once been white now a dull yellow. Gaz sighs under his breath. 

At least thirty years old based on the fading and the leather alone, you think. 

“It was my father's.” Your brain short circuits. Kyle huffs, not noticing your sudden shift. “A good deal into its golden years, eh? But I’ll wear it until it breaks off.” A shug later and he’s blinking at your body as it numbly turns forward. “Sort of a luck thing, I suppose—If you believe in that sort of thing. And, hell, haven’t gotten my head blown off yet so I’d say it’s working.” 

An easy chuckle enters the carriage.

“When’s my mother going to get here?” Your voice was cold once more.  

“Erm,” Kyle’s foot twitches, lungs ceasing to move for a second. Deep confusion lines his face. What had he said? “I’d…have to get into contact with Laswell. Dates can be tricky to nail down in this kind of situation. Easier to react when you get the news upfront.”

A feeling squeezes his heart. You were so damn hard to read; it was like treading a red thread over a lava pool.

The hand in your pocket moves to your backpack, peeling back the side pouch and grabbing your phone. Staring at your reflection for a brief moment of tired eyes and the sheen of nervousness at going to class, you quickly hold it up without looking at the man across the aisle. 

Outside the carriage, the sun beams in; making golden light shine over your cheeks like Midas himself was touching your skin and leaving behind strokes of godhood. 

“Her number.” The train jerks and you have to slam your free hand to the table to help steady you, grimacing, before tossing the device carelessly in the Sergeant’s general direction. 

Kyle catches it easily and looks at the black screen with wide eyes, blinking back up at you. “That’s incredibly against policy, Ma’am. Not to mention just plain illegal for me.” 

“Does it look like I care? And I thought you just said everything good was illegal?” 

“I can’t give you her number.” Gaz puts his foot down, shaking his head. “It would put more people in danger if you lost it. Sorry, Love, but you’ll have to wait for Laswell’s intel like the rest of us.” Annoyance sparks in your heart, lips pulling back. Kyle stands and walks over, placing your phone on the table heavily. Like a door closing firmly shut as the lock clicks in place. 

On this, you supposed, he won’t be swayed.

“I’ll be tellin’ you when I get the news myself, I give my word.”

Your word means nothing. So eager to protect a bunch of killers. You say no more—mind too preoccupied with the walk you’d have to take through campus to get to where you needed to go and with how spent you felt. A few days ago you’d have gotten into his face and screamed at him; you still wanted to, but just didn’t have the energy right now. 

After getting back home, maybe.

The rest of the ride you are acutely aware of the man sitting parallel to you, feeling the glances his brown eyes would slide your way and the shifting of his legs. It seemed he could never stay still—always having to move at least a single part of his body to keep momentum. A held-back spring waiting to be released in any direction. Kyle would remain utterly focused on the other inhabitants of the carriage, placing the tidbits of information he learned about you far back into his mind. 

Loyal to your family. Curious. Stubborn, but only when you knew you could win.

Every piece of the puzzle that you gave over was more obscure than the last, creating a scene of black and gray and telling him to pick out the sections that didn’t belong. 

The Sergeant’s eyes slid over the two men near the front of the seating area, heads tilted down and donning caps similar to his own just without the embroidered British flag. His body stills. 

They were dressed casually, nothing standing out or drawing attention to them; but they leaned in to speak, whispering lowly. Gaz’s spine straightens, alarms going off in the back of his skull. Heart stoic, the Sergeant slips his hand behind his back and takes out his pistol.

Setting the object in his hidden lap with a firm grip, his finger stays pointedly off the trigger with a large amount of discipline. It wasn’t a promise to use it, just a suggestion. 

Leaning back, the cushions of the seat he was in conformed to the muscles of his lithe back as a bed of soft earth would, but there was no satisfaction to be brought from it. Eyes slid to you from the side of his lid, and the still-visible clench of your jaw said much. 

He resigns not to tell you his concerns.

Looking back to the pair near the front, Gaz asks softly, “How long until we get to the location?”

The men shift far ahead and his muscles tense, seeing them mumbling to themselves once more, nose shoved in. Under the table, his fingers twitch over the safety of that smooth metal, lips slightly parted and tiny scars pulling tight. Kyle’s gut weighs heavy.

You huff, stuffing your phone back into your backpack with clenched hands. The both of you had been on the train for only thirty minutes.

“Hour.” 

Under his breath, Gaz holds back an aggressive sigh, “Lovely.” He doesn’t really process what you say, but he wants to look occupied.

“You wanna take it up with the train, be my guest.” Slouching, your hands fold over the table, placing your forehead directory on the junction and letting your lashes flutter over your cheeks. Angling your neck, you mutter, “I’m sure if you stand in front of it, it’ll really get your point across.”

“Ever realize your jokes only loop around to my death?” Kyle’s eyes don’t stray from the twin figures, who now place their hands on the seats to get ready to stand. The Sergeant gets a flash of green eyes from the one facing him. His thighs tighten; feet splaying with readiness. “Anything original comin’ soon, Love? Gettin’ a bit predictable. ”

“They’re not jokes…but I could always start insulting your intelligence—I know how that’ll piss you off.”

“Well, it’d get us on another level of resentment for sure.”

“Well, that’s all you had to say.” One step out into the aisle from the strangers and the flick of a gun’s safety makes your ear twitch from your cocoon. 

Your body stills to a near-death-like form. Marble carved and glued to the woodgrain below your form as the train leans to the side to take a turn. Blood immediately begins to thum with the drums of a long-lost band, violins in your head sliding their horse-hair bows to create the sounds of a dying tornado siren. 

“Hey!” Your father yells, voice fracturing; arms twisting and feet splaying. The hammer of the revolver is clicked back and your pulse mirrors. “Hey, no, no, no. That’s not—She…She has nothing to do with this!”

It’s as if your bones are made of stone, and your neck of iron, because everything is slow as you raise your head and look to the side; eyes so wide you feel they might break. Glass and insect wings. Air doesn’t come as easily as you’d like it to.

The two men are standing now, and Gaz blinks nonchalantly. Acting as though he was simply gazing around the carriage without a clue. There was no fear in him—no apprehension—just a sense of duty and readiness. Adrenaline was coursing, but it only served as a tool to sharpen his reaction time; the aware gleam of his amber optics. 

He’d say he had become a little addicted to it, this feeling. Soap had called him an adrenaline junkie on several occasions, but the Scot didn’t have the right to say anything in Kyle’s opinion. Mate was a fucking demolitions expert.

A phone rings and dark ears twitch as one of the suspicious pair reaches inside his pants pocket. Gaz tilts the X12 to face forward, a long finger caressing the barrel and the slide catch as the digit slowly descends down to the trigger. His other hand tenses on the table. 

You would be the first target, and the bunching of a hand inside blue jeans causes a steadying inhalation of oxygen to be sucked down. They’d have to get through him first. 

And Kyle Garrick knew he was a quicker draw than a hired gun.

The stranger peels his limb out of the fabric, the stretch of skin, the rubbing of cloth. A flash of silver metal. The Sergeant steels himself, leaning forward. 

“Hey!” A phone is placed to a ready ear, “Yeah, man, I’m with Jace right now—where the hell are you? We’ve been in the back carriage this whole time lookin’ for ya…”

Gaz’s shoulders lessen, and the middle-aged men shuffle out of the dividing door with a comment about a baseball game. Eyebrows slowly get rid of their furrow with a steady sigh. 

The Brit’s free hand goes to itch at his neck, scratching away the coursing blood under the epidermis. A hum reverberates in his throat. 

Christ, Mate. We shouldn’t be out of the house.

“How long did you say again, Ma’am? I was…” Terrified eyes are locked on the gun under the table. 

There’s imaginary blood on your face, leaking down over your eyes and dripping off your chin, melting off your face; wax-like. Fear shows in the whites of your orbs as your hands shake inside your jacket. Everything has blacked out beside the figure of the Sergeant and the pistol stuck in his grip. 

You had known the gun was there—had seen it—but the clicking of the safety…

The hammer of the revolver is clicked back and your pulse mirrors.

“I–I swear! I promise, let my little girl go and I won’t—!”

Slack-jawed, you look over the crater that was left of his face numbly; lips and teeth ripped apart and a caved-in skull. His hair was strewn about, and without a cohesive thought, your fingers itched to smooth it down. 

You want your mother. You want your room. You want another damn coffee.

Skin clammy, the penknife in your bloodless grasp threatens to flip open, a stone thumb only letting off faint tickles as to where your grip was even at. Without meaning to, your pressure falls on the small bit of metal that acts as an opening mechanism. 

Flesh gives way to unyielding velocity, yet you don’t even feel it. All that matters is the pistol. The man. The amber eyes.

Why can’t those eyes ever leave your head?

“Ma’am?” The pistol is shifted out of view quickly without another hurried word, the object going behind Gaz’s back with a gaze concernedly stuck to your face. 

Shit.

Kyle clears his throat, legs moving to bring him closer to you while glancing over your glazed-over expression. His heart burst with hesitation. 

“I…” The Brit trails, hand raising up just to go to his hat and rearrange it after a twitch of fingers. What did he do to fix this? Better yet, could he?

But his mind told him if you were reduced to a mute and frozen state just by his person holding a valuable weapon to his station, you wouldn’t survive a full week. Was that why you were locking yourself in your room? It was to avoid him, obviously. A way to cut out any amicable relations. Were you…not afraid of the situation because you were too occupied being afraid of him?

A spike hits his chest.

Although it was a difficult course of action—the man couldn’t fault you. At least, not entirely. The only thing that made him mad was the fact that you couldn’t see how horrible your father really was, the necessity of not the outcome of that fateful day but the words said during it. Memories or not. But…was there a chance you didn’t know…? No, you had to. There was no way that…

Fuck, there was just too much going on.

Kyle utters your name lowly, trying to call back your focus as his face tightens, “...Hey, you alright over there?” He sees you swallow shallowly, eyes snapping back to the tabletop, and a clipped flinch from your right hand. The Brit mistakes it for his own doing and crinkles his eyes, awkwardly putting his hands on his knees. “Easy through it—it’s all in order. Gun’s gone, Love, won’t be coming back out.” I hope. 

But you say nothing, and perhaps that’s worse than you insulting him. Skin goes thin.

You always look scared; even if you don’t realize it, you carry a large amount of fear in your eyes at all times. Kyle knew it was his fault—One-Four-One's fault—but he’d never had to face it quite like this. Head-on. The downside of the job he took because he believed he’d be protecting people from harm, not always inflicting it at every corner. 

But the gloves came off a long time ago, and as he twists back into his seat with a respectful nod and concentrated eyes, Gaz asks himself if corruption of the mind is worse than corruption of the soul. 

At the very least your soul is completely hidden from others.

He was going to have to ask you what your father really meant to you—if only to stop the constant guilt in his chest when you wouldn’t look into his eyes and defended the man so violently. What had he meant to you? How could he have impacted you so much? Did…you even know what he had done, and, if you did, would it change your mind? 

Was it his pace to tell you?

When Gaz fell asleep at night on moth-eaten sheets he heard crying from halfway across the house. Screams of night terrors that the Sergeant knew well because he was plagued with the same, though the only thing he awoke with was vile sweat and a gasp. You never mentioned them, just like you never mentioned the bags under your eyes or blatant caffeine addiction. The inability to see the truth.

The PTSD. The anxiety. The paranoia.

You were a ticking time bomb. With a clenching of his jaw, the Brit realized keeping you safe from outside forces was going to be easier than protecting you from yourself. A trigger he could pull; a knife he could send deep into a throat…but he can’t stop you from doing anything to jeopardize your own health. 

He couldn't stop you from hating him without letting you speak in your own time. But the worry was that you’d only speak right before you were dead.

—

The University of Chicago is a prestigious place. Large courtyards of humongous trees remind you of the hanging gardens of Babylon if only more subdued in splendor; the sun hitting the red roofs of medieval-like buildings. Steeples that reach to heaven and touch their sharp spires to clouds. 

You walk on the paved sidewalk unperturbed, ignoring the glances and whispers from other students as you cut directly through the center of campus.

Kyle’s eyes are wide, making a noise under his breath as his vision slides past the scores of students studying outside, fixing his cap. 

“Feels against the law for me to even be here.” He mumbles under his breath, “Bloody looks about as old as Vicars' Close.” 

You frown at the mention of the oldest street in England, but just speed up and stuff down the comment about dates in your throat. You don’t want to talk to him. 

Just hand in the project and leave. 

Since the train ride you’d felt as though your voice won't come back to you—and the pain in your hand was beginning to throb. Your penknife as well as the entire inside of your right pocket was covered in blood; precious coin included. Even now you twirled the tiny metal disc as viscous liquid pooled into the fabric, making your hand slick and shaky. The blade had slashed right through the skin.

“Vicars’s Close is over six-hundred years old, Garrick,” you can’t stop the comment from slipping as you take a right and ascend the steps to a large open pair of double doors. Kyle blinks, startled you’d heard him. “This has only been around a little earlier than eighteen-ninety.”

Keep her talking about things she likes.

“You know about Vicars’ Close?” He asks, tilting his head down to you as the large vaulted ceiling almost makes him whistle in shock. “How’s that?”

You side-eye his shoulder and slip past others in the stone and wood-beamed hallway. Stinging pain erupts when someone brushes your right shoulder, traveling down like needles. Gritting your teeth, you grind out, “How do you know about it?” 

“Took a trip as a kid—my Mum likes all that stuff.” Kyle smiles, pearly whites showing off as your stare is drawn to it. The canines are like little fangs; sharp looking. You blink at them mutely before shaking your head. “Fact, I’d say she proper would have enjoyed aiming for a History degree.” He pauses, nodding his head, “‘Fore she decided to become a florist, that is.”

“Hm,” turning back, your lids narrow in pain. 

You should tell Gaz about the cut—the man specialized in first aid—but bleeding out was a better option in your opinion. He’d only take away the penknife anyway. Wouldn’t let you keep it with how you’d been acting. Plus, asking for his help made you want to hurl.

“Well?” Taking a corner, your brows furrow at the Brit’s prompt. Jaw tightening in a slow loss of patience.

“What, Gaz?” 

“How do you know about it? You study a lot of English history here? More pegged you for focusing on Natural, least from what I’d heard.”

You pass through a doorway that leads into a large auditorium.

“Garrick, I’m not going to waste my breath on the likes of you and—” Your name is called loudly, interrupting you before you can finish your sentence. The intention of slinking to the professor's desk and getting the hell out of there quickly freezes like ice. 

It can never be simple. Especially not in this specific class.

I thought he didn’t start for another five minutes?

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Face vanishing of any emotion, dread leaks into your stuttering chest. “Can I finally mark you down for what…the sixth time you’ve attended my lectures,” a pause, “and who’s this? A new addition? How quaint.”

“Mr. Ramsey.” The snickers of seated women and men leave your shoulders bunching, but you continue onward, taking off your backpack with one hand and placing it into an empty front-row seat. 

You don’t bother looking at the young professor as you grab the zipper and peel it down the sides. The prick didn’t deserve your attention. 

It’s the last year, just get through it.

Kyle watches, confused. The smaller man was dressed in a nice suit, tailored by the looks of it as focused brown eyes study the stitching. Now that he really looked around, everyone here was clothed in expensive attire. Taking a quick glance at you, the difference is immediately spotted. 

Hunched over, run to the end of her rope, compared to bright and jeering faces. A professor with a smirk and a raised chin that immediately sets Kyle off. 

His lips pull to a deep frown, shoulders pulling back, already eager to leave.

“Kyle Garrick.” But his feet don’t move to greet the man as you quickly shuffle through papers and folders with a burning face. If anything, Gaz moves closer to you instead; instincts taking over. “A friend.”

Get it over with, you think, fingers brushing the large project binder that you snag. You don’t have the energy to correct the Sergeant on his statement. Just hand him it and go.

Mr. Ramsey huffs, “You sure about that, Son?” 

Gaz blanks. After a moment his head tilts and eyelids crease.

“...Say again, Sir?” You’re forcing the binder out of your backpack and closing the zipper at the speed of light, swinging it back over your shoulder before making it to the front desk. The sentence is slow.

A scoff echoes over giggles as if it was obvious. You drop the binder to the tabletop and bee-line to the doors. 

“Let it go, Kyle” you hiss to the Brit as you slip past, only for an incredulous pair of eyes to gawk at you. “This isn’t your business.”

Let it go? He doesn’t know why that statement makes him angry, but it does.

The professor's voice is pompous, bouncing off the full auditorium and hitting the Brit’s ears. Dark eyes crease in disgust at a laugh, grimacing. “She’s a recluse, Son. The entire city knows it.” A questioning tone, “Are you new here?” 

The insult is in bad taste. Very bad. An utter stillness overcomes the room, seeping into Gaz’s bones. His lungs inflate.

“Mate, I think you better bugger off, yeah?” His comment is out before there’s time to think it over, but that doesn’t spark regret—nothing of the sort. “Seems like this class is a load of bollocks as long as you’re teaching it, yeah? How’d you manage to get a job acting like that?” What in the bloody hell is this prick on? A Brown gaze flares with amber fire, teeth tight in honesty. “Have a little respect, eh.”

Where was this sudden chivalry coming from? The need to back you up? Was it the guilt, or just a common practice that his mother had instilled in him since boyhood? 

Never stand for someone being insulted while you’re there Kyle, yeah? No one deserves that. Not even a tiny bit. Make a scene if you have to, but be the bigger person.

Air heats to life and you halt in the doorway. Eyes widen in shock, face loose. 

Had the man that had put a gun to your head just… 

You turn back in an instant, hearing the uproar from the professor and the silenced shock from the students. This wasn’t a place where you spoke back to the teachers. Grabbing the sleeve of Gaz’s jacket, you drag him out. The black-haired man goes willingly, glaring up a storm of dark brows and peeled lips. You both disappear behind the wall.

Heart racing, you stare heavily at the floor, speeding down the hallway; releasing the man stiffly. The only thanks you would give him was getting him out of the room before it imploded. 

“You’re an idiot,” you say at last, getting back out into the courtyard with a shake of your head. But you hated the slight jump in your lungs when Kyle had snapped back in the auditorium; voice flying like a dagger. A bloodied hand twitches. “I should have left you there.”

Gaz breaks his neck to narrow down at you, mouth open and still annoyed, “Parden?”

“You heard me!” Stomping over the sidewalk, you dig your nails into the slash in your palm, eliciting a hiss from your teeth. 

“Yes, Ma’am, I did,” he grunts, glairing, “It’d be damn hard not to. What I’m asking is why?” 

“You had no right.” People watch from study groups, large eyes taking in the sight of your fast-paced stride and the exasperated expression of the man beside you as he rubs a hand over his stubble and scratches, hands coming up to enunciate words.

“No right to stand up to a prick?! What in the hell are you on about, Bird?” 

“Let me fight my own battles, I don’t need your help!” The parking lot gets closer, two fuming forms stalking past the grand statue out front, a man of oxidized copper surrounded by trees along the circumference of a paved road. “Certainly not with Ramsey.”

Kyle brushes off the comment, letting the fresh air go over his face and bring his emotions back into focus. He sends sharp glances down at you with muted irritation. But he knows better than to engage in a full-blown argument in public. 

Doesn’t stop the heat on his neck, though. 

“Christ, and what’s his deal, then, yeah? Fucker acts like he’s the greatest person to exist and I only spent five minutes with ‘em.” You dig your non-injured hand into your nose bridge, pressing with the nails until you’ve regained some semblance of calmness. 

But even if you want to be pissed at Gaz, the thought remains that he was the one who just stood up for you. Your father taught you to honor debts, even when you disliked the person.

You’re only as good as your word. Whether you liked it or not, Kyle deserved honesty, at least right now. And only for as long as you deemed it. 

“One of Father’s old classmate’s sons. They had bad blood. Carried over apparently.” Licking your lips, you sigh harshly. Kyle mirrors, but the professor's comments are still heavy in his brain.

“That’s bullshit. Doesn’t give him the right to bloody insult people.” Frowning, you look over to the clenched jaw and twitching nose, seeing his hands at his side clenched like yours were but for entirely different reasons. 

Brows slowly slide to make lines on your face. What was his problem?

“You’re awfully worked up—trust me, ‘recluse’ isn’t the worst thing out there. Ease out of it, Garrick.”

“You’re used to that?” Stepping onto the asphalt, you make your way with the man back to the train station. Kyle’s muscles rove in shock. How could he take your silence as anything else than an admission? What the hell had gone on these last three years? Something comes more into focus, a picture beginning to form. What had Ramsey meant when he said the whole city knew you were a recluse? Every answered question only leads to more, and Gaz breathes in, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”  

“Let’s just get to the train station, Sergeant.” Rolling your eyes, you peel out slightly ahead of him with a mumble. “I need a nap.” A pause. “And you need to stop watching me like I’m about to explode.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you, Ma’am.” Kyle brushes off the agitation, beginning to catch up with a smirk and a raised lip. “‘Specially if it meant I’d be out of a job because of it.”

“Tempting.”

“Sod off.” A twitch of a cheek is all that happens, but the sinking in your gut stomps any other display of amusement. 

Stop that. 

The walk down the street is quiet besides the chatter of other people, and you take the time to regain your senses. A steady inhalation of air later as you grind teeth at the pain that now extends up your afflicted arm, a slash of white slips past your view. Blinking, you don’t think much of it, the other hand going to grip your right limb in a throb of blood and massage it. 

A heavy grip is placed on your back. 

“Hey!” You snap, trying to fight away from Gaz’s unyielding press. He’s shoving you farther down the street, and as you look up at him you find the sudden seriousness has left his scars pulled tight over his cheek. You blink, intrigued but still disgruntled. “Mind explaining, Garrick?”

“Keep your head down.” Kyle hurries you along, taking off the cap from his head and shoving it atop yours with a press of his palm, jerking down the brim. You hiss, batting away his hands with a sharp smack of skin. “They haven’t seen us yet.” 

“Who hasn’t—?!” Turning your gaze to the side, Gaz’s fingertips are warm as they press deeply through the fabric of your jacket and sweatshirt, strength bleeding out of them.

You blink out over the crowd, and like a wave going back to the ocean, you find it. 

To anyone, it would have seemed like just a plain white Sedan parked a little while down the street—there were thousands on the road every day; tens of thousands—but there were marks that couldn’t belong to any other vehicle than the same car you had seen this morning. A scratch along the back of the trunk; a dirty plate. Moving shadows in the interior. 

A hand on the back of your neck swiftly turns your head back forwards, and you can’t find it in yourself to tell Kyle to buzz off. 

Gaz’s jaw is tight, looking over his shoulder every other second to make sure no one was exiting the vehicle to follow after. His free hand goes to his earpiece. Like a switch had been flipped, this person was now the perfect example of professionalism.

“Bravo 2-6 to Actual,” the Sergeant moves you faster, clipping his shoulder off of someone else’s. A curse sounds off moments later. “Be advised, VIP is being targeted by a white Sedan. Plate number BA32997, Illinois. Been on us since 0800 this morning. Could be longer.”

Brown eyes glance down, seeing your tight lips and snapping vision. He frowns. 

“Get in front of me, Love.” You confusedly look up, flinching when you nearly look into Gaz’s gaze before you stop at his ear. Kyle licks his teeth and shoves you forward, walking right behind you so his larger form can keep you hidden.

His earpiece fizzles as he feels a hard look on the back of his neck. Shit. He pulls closer to you, nearly pressing his chest to your back. You fight off an order to move as your mouth goes dry. The long fingers feel like lightning as they press into your shoulder.

“Bravo 2-6 this is a go from Actual. What’s your status?” The commander of this mission was still officially Laswell, but seeing as she couldn’t be on the line at all times, there was a secondary officer-in-charge that could take point. Gaz forgot to ask, but he believed the man was called Kit.

Kyle continues on, fast feet hitting the ground as he lists off the name of the street and directs you into a more densely populated sidewalk. You both make your way into a dense park. Black metal fences and large trees. 

The sound of raised voices and the slamming of car doors make Gaz curse. 

“Actual,” looking behind him, the Sergeant runs up beside you and presses you onward as your heart pounds wildly. Eyes like fire blazing a trail over the open space of the park and the multiple other people present as your legs pump. “Cutting through the park. I need Evac here ASAP. I’m counting at least four trailing.”

What was going on? Things like this don’t happen in public, do they? You imagined a knife in the dark—a sniper scope. Not full mayhem! There were innocent people around. Your brows furrow painfully; blood flooding. But did hired killers care about a body count?

Your eyes widen, “Kyle, what the fu—!”

“Get down!” Pressure on the back of your neck forces you to duck, a whizz of air slicing past your head. Your feet stumble before a shoulder is corralling you to the immediate side, your mouth opening in a sharp gasp. “Contact, Actual, contact!” 

There’s a pistol in Gaz’s hands before you can really understand what’s going on. Screams in the air that cut off as another begins seconds later like clockwork and the automatic fire of an assault weapon. Manhandled behind a trash can, you clamber into a huddled position with bent knees and scrambling feet as the Sergeant's shadow sits over you, body shielding your own. Sharp pings of bullets hitting metal make your hairs stand on end, flinching and shaking with every one.

At sectioned intervals, Kyle would lean out from the cover as your hands go to cover your ears, fingertips digging into the material of Gaz’s hat and clenching your eyes shut. Blood transfers over from your cut to the fabric in streaks of crimson. 

The pulling of a trigger, the recoil, that loud boom.

“No, no, no,” you mumble as the Sergeant continues to yell into his earpiece. Hypersensitivity sheds you down to your last atom. “‘If it’s not pointed at you, it can’t hurt you…If it’s not pointed at you, it can’t hurt you…If it’s not—’” 

Your name is firmly screamed, British accent snapping you back to leave you looking into eyes of amber in a daze. Dark. Flecks of gold and green like a meadow. Sepia. The ones that haunt your nightmares as the blood speckles your face and the walls close in. “We need to make a move to denser cover! Make for the trees when I give the order, copy? We’ll push through into the city.”

Kyle’s hand is shaking your shoulder, and his lips move quickly. You can barely make words out above the panic. 

Eyes. His eyes.

Dark and expressive brows draw the familiar sight to a junction of horror and memory. Why can’t you look away? His heat is merging into yours, the other hand brandishing that same pistol as more bullets ping off the bin where your back is shoved into uncomfortably. Gaz smells like gunpowder, and it leaves you wanting to scrub your skin until it bleeds as your hand does; take a cheese grater and level the flesh down to the bone.

You’re looking him in the eyes. Him. 

And they look exactly the same as they did three years ago.

Before you can flail out or shove him away from you, bolt with vile tears and vomit under your tongue, shadows from over his shoulder capture you like the flies that dance over your vision. Be it adrenaline or shock, you recognize three more hired guns before they can even raise their own weapons. A planned ambush. 

Did…they know you were going to be here? How?

They’re running, shoving through a fleeing crowd. Until they decide to just start clearing the way. Bodies drop in droves, pools of blood like rivers. So much death. Your words break.

“Gaz!” His head whips around, but there’s little he can do. Too many civilians are in the way. There’s no clean shot. Like a Barn Swallow picking off insects.

“Fuck!” The word is drawn out near the middle, growled under his breath. Looking back and forth, the Sergeant leans out from the cover of your sub-par shelter and immediately moves back as a twin pair of bullets zip past. 

He looks enraged. At himself. At you. At the bodies. 

But this wasn’t the time for that.

He could shoot, yes, but the primary objective was to get you to cover first. In the meantime, he’d use himself as a shield and lay cover fire. He’d known that leaving the mansion was a bad idea. He’d tried to tell you…all of this death…

“We move in three!” Kyle yells, pulling your shaking body close and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Keep behind me!” Footsteps get closer, deep-voiced orders hitting his ears.

Where the fuck are the police?! 

Your form is ravaged with racing blood—veins gushing into one another. Sweat drips down your nose and all you smell is poison.

“One.” Gaz brings up the pistol. He’d drag you if he had to.

You stare at the corpses on the ground, eyes of all colors jeering at you with mocking laughs as Gaz’s clothes press into yours, strong form unyielding as iron. Warm. Some bodies were still twitching; leading you to wonder whether they were still alive or just going through death spasms. It felt like your heart was being ripped apart to even have to question that.

“Two.” A man comes around the side of the bin, and like a breeze on the wind, Kyle moves, shoving you back mercilessly to the ground as a bullet hits right where your head would have been. You gasp out a scream.

In line of view, the Sergeant grabs the barrel of the enemy rifle and jerks it to the side, rapid-fire leaving a line of dust exploding from the concrete as metal bounces off. Grunting, the end of Kyle’s pistol is set right to the man’s chest. Two quick rounds later, a body is dropping with a spray of crimson into Garrick’s face. 

He made it look easy. Like it was nothing. But it was always like nothing to him, wasn’t it?

“Move!” He snaps his stained head down to you, and you stare back as the world rages all around; quivering. Brown eyes. Amber. Meadow. Kyle motions, points with desperation to the trees when you shake like a wet cat. “Now!”

You take off as gunfire and screams make your ears ring, but you don’t know if you’re running from the attackers or from him. Not once do you look back.

TAGS:

@fatunn, @mh073099, @littlegaypng, @untitled69555, @babybooday, @caffeine-anxiety-and-randomfacts, @underrated-youngster, @jupiterredolent, @idocarealot, @karnellius, @latteisaqueen, @petrat97, @jade-jax, @roosterr, @escapefromrealitysm, @renaich, @kysa32, @human-turtle, @aurora-basin, @terumisworld, @violet-phantoms, @xxfeelmylovexx, @neelehksttr, @nezukos-number1fan, @20forty9, @mdjenjen, @marrianena, @angeldaisyy, @alhaizen, @homicidal-slvt, @emerald-valkyrie, @raissadoesthingslmao​, @misfne, @hollyhopesworld​, @wasteland-babe​, @330bpm-whiplash​, @anna-banana27​, @justherebecausesafarisucks, @sunnynomoar​, @doggydale​, @thecrispypotatochip, @74478328​, @blueoorchid​, @das-conk-creet-baybee​, @dragonfruit1985, @chestnutsandcurls​, @vamqyr3​, @lavalleon​, @nebula67​, @urfavsunkissedleo​

[prettygoododds]

Thanks @thewholelemon for the tag

I’m panicking a bit because I just realized posting for COC starts tomorrow and I have definitely not gotten enough prompts done nor have I worked on my other two wip. Ive instead stared at my laptop wishing the thoughts in my head would magically turn into pretty words without me doing anything. And that’s not happening so cue the panic

Anywho, a few words did make it to paper ( or the screen… whatever). Here’s some for Sugar, We’re Going Down Swingin

“Could one of you storm out and threaten to never play on the ice with one of us again?,” Simon jokes, giving me a wink before continuing on. “Baz had a full on meltdown on the way here and we need to justify it.”

“Shove off,” I tell him, and literally shove him into the closest lockers. He rights himself too fast and is up and pulling me to him by my waist before I can protest. I look around nervously, wondering where the line is. Is this it? A elongated hug maybe? Pecks on the cheek?

“Relax, babe,” Simon whispers in my ear. “They don’t care. And if they did.. I’d beat them up.”

I laugh even though I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean it as a joke.

And a little snippet of the COC prompt I’m working on

“You gonna tell me how you got a split lip?” He asks me, looking anywhere but at me. His long, black hair is piled up on top of his head. Looks like a birds nest, but I can’t stop staring at it.

“I didn’t start it, if that’s what you’re asking,” I say. He just hums in response, taking another bit of his sandwich. “I also didn't end it.”

That finally makes him look at me.

“Oh?”

“I told you, I don’t want to blow the sweet gig I have a picking up rubbish with some posh twat,” I tell him. He looks skeptical. I bump his knee with mine and continue. “Used my words instead.”

“And they say you can’t teach an old dog new trick.”

“He did get one hit in, wouldn’t say it was a complete success.”

And that’s all she wrote. Literally.

**EDIT** I’ve just been informed by @dohrnaira and @rimeswithpurple that posting doesn’t start until Saturday. Imma a dork

Tags: @ic3-que3n @dohrnaira @facewithoutheart @artsyunderstudy @imagineacoolusername @shemakesmeforget @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ionlydrinkhotwater @wellbelesbian @rimeswithpurple @aristocratic-otter @cutestkilla @blackberrysummerblog @nausikaaa @supercutedinosaurs @nightimedreamersworld @valeffelees @iamamythologicalcreature @shrekgogurt @ileadacharmedlife @martsonmars @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[indndwnshead]

Amalgamation: Part IV - When you meet... Jimin

Pairing: Min Yoongi x (f) Reader

Chapter tags: developing relationship, meeting the bro, jimin dancing cause he misses performing for army :)

Series summary:

Now that you are a permanent fixture in Min Yoongi's life, it's inevitable that you meet the rest of BTS.

Each encounter with the rest of the group becomes a unique thread in the tapestry of life, gradually integrating disparate elements into a harmonious whole and seamlessly weaving into the fabric of your joined world.

A/N at the end to avoid spoiling the story! Let's be friends and stan Yoongi together on twitter @itsdndwn 💜💜

---

Masterlist. Previous Chapter. Next Chapter.

Also read on: AO3

---

You were hanging out late into the night at Yoongi's studio. With a new drama shoot beginning, you rarely had time to hang out during the day. This late-night hangout was perfect for both of you, as Yoongi had also started working late to finish producing songs for the new album.

In the middle of the night, you wanted to go to the bathroom and stretch your stiff legs. You tapped Yoongi softly on the shoulder and let him know that you'd be back soon. He was too preoccupied and only hummed in response. You smiled fondly at him, admiring his dedication.

The staff had already become accustomed to your presence in the building. Initially, your frequent visits might have caused some raised eyebrows, but everyone was discreet and professional. Nobody had let any information slip to outsiders about just how much time you'd been spending with Yoongi or about your new relationship. It was almost like a well-kept secret within the building, which allowed you both to enjoy your time together in peace.

As you took the longer route back from the bathroom, you could hear music from one of the practice rooms – the one Yoongi had mentioned that his members liked to practice in. Since all the staff had already gone home at this late hour, you were curious about who might be using that room. The door was slightly ajar, so you decided to take a peek.

Inside, you found a man practicing his dance moves with a captivating passion that was hard to miss. It was Park Jimin and the song he was dancing to was ‘Butterfly’. Jimin's incredible skills and the passion he poured into each move left you in awe. Each movement seemed to portray his emotion that fit perfectly with the song, the fear of losing something you held dear.

At the end of the song, Jimin turned to face you with a playful smile, twirling his finger through the air as he said, "I caught a little birdie spying on me."

Startled, you didn't expect him to notice you quietly admiring his dancing. "Sorry," you replied, "I passed by the room, not expecting anyone to be here, and got captivated by your dance instead."

Jimin smiled, his interest piqued. "I haven't seen you around. Are you new?"

You laughed and answered, "Something like that." Technically, it wasn't a lie, as you were a relatively new addition to the situation, attached to Yoongi's presence.

Jimin continued with a flirtatious smile, "Would you like a private dance lesson, my dear?"

Desperate for a good stretch, you decided to take him up on the offer, but you quickly warned him about your lack of dancing skills. "Fair warning, I'm not a good dancer," you admitted.

"Nonsense," he dismissed your worries with a confident smile, "With me teaching you, you'll master the routine in no time."

Jimin proceeded to show you some of the dance steps for 'Butterfly', displaying incredible patience and dedication as a teacher. He guided you through the moves, dancing alongside you, mirroring the steps, and providing gentle corrections with a warm smile.

Time seemed to slip away as you got lost in the dance. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi had become concerned about your prolonged absence and began searching for you. Imagine his surprise when he found you trying to master the dance routine to ‘Butterfly’ with none other than Park Jimin.

Yoongi stayed quiet for a moment, allowing you and Jimin to finish dancing to the first few bars of the song. When you completed the last step, Jimin paused the music and turned to you with a triumphant smile. "See, I'm an excellent teacher," he boasted.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, Jimin-ssi," you said, grateful for the impromptu dance lesson and the warm welcome you'd received from the talented dancer.

Yoongi knocked on the mirror, signaling his presence. You and Jimin turned to face him in surprise, not expecting to see Yoongi there. Jimin's face lit up with excitement as he sprinted over to greet his hyung, and the two of them exchanged enthusiastic greetings. 

Yoongi turned to Jimin with a critical look. "Jimin, why are you still here so late at night? We have a group practice tomorrow morning, you need to rest."

Jimin rolled his eyes at his hyung. "Says the one who had been working late all week."

Yoongi grunted in agreement. "Well, we all should head back soon then.” He playfully nods toward you. ”Ah, but I see you've been busy."

Jimin's eyes widened with excitement as he remembered your presence in the room. "Right! Hyung, this is... um..." He hesitated as he realized he didn't know your name. "I'm sorry, I never asked for your name."

"It's okay," you said with a laugh, "I'm _____. Nice to meet you, Jimin-ssi.”

Jimin seemed relieved by your introduction and turned back to Yoongi to present you. "Hyung, this is _____."

Yoongi wore an amused smile as he replied, "Oh, I know."

Jimin's curiosity peaked. "Oh, you've seen her around?"

Yoongi couldn't help but slyly play along, "You can say that."

You felt your cheeks flush as Yoongi's words and the sly smile he shot your way made your heart race. Jimin, on the other hand, was now thoroughly perplexed. He stared intensely at you, trying to remember how you knew his hyung.

After a brief but intense moment, Jimin concluded, "You’re the actress in Hyung’s drama! That’s why you look so familiar!” Jimin grinned, satisfied with his conclusion. Seconds later, his grin dropped, replaced with a frown of confusion. “But why are you here in the middle of the-” Jimin trailed off.

He looked back and forth between the two of you, his mind racing to connect the dots.

“OH!” He exclaimed, a look of realization crossing his face. "Bagelandwine?”

He was met with your playful confirmation, "The one and only," and your shared laughter.

“Yahhhhh! Hyung, how could you hide this lovely face behind a book?” Jimin playfully scolded Yoongi, referring to a recent Instagram post on Yoongi's private account.

Yoongi chuckled good-naturedly in response. The three of you continued to converse naturally. Jimin expressed his excitement for your new relationship. You and Jimin discovered that you both are in talks to work with the same fashion house.

“You know, you guys just made me 100 dollars richer. And more importantly, the right to gloat for the next couple of months at least. So, thanks!” Jimin said with a sly smile.

You raised your eyebrow at his words. He basically confessed that he had placed a bet on you being Yoongi’s girlfriend.

Yoongi chuckled. “What did you bet on, exactly Jimin-ah?”

“Where’s the fun if I tell you now? This is only one part of it,” Jimin said with a wink sent your way.

You chuckled at his tone, not taking his words too seriously. Jimin was known for his playful banter. You and Yoongi soon part ways with Jimin. The older man playfully threatened to drag the younger back to his apartment if he didn’t stop practicing soon.

As you and Yoongi made your way back to his studio to get your belongings, he couldn't help but express his surprise. He took your hand and twirled you gently, saying, "I didn't know you were quite the dancer."

You playfully scoffed, "Please, if not for Jimin's perfectionist traits, I'd be flapping around like a fish out of water."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad.” Yoongi laughed and then grinned mischievously, ”You know, if you ever want to learn some BTS choreography, you can just ask me. I'll show you my moves."

You smiled at the thought, "I'll hold you to that promise, Min Yoongi."

Your playful banter continued as you walked hand in hand, sharing yet another memorable moment in your relationship.

---

A/N: I can see Jimin secretly practicing, pushing himself to be 'perfect'. And the song Butterfly could be one that he'd choose because deep down he's scared he'd lose army, lose his talent, during the break🥺

[anjaelle]

White Light | Part III

Characters: Ghost!ATJ x Black Female!Reader Rating: M+ (Warnings: Death, Claustrophobia, Nyctophobia, Horror Elements [Demonic Entity]) Word Count: 2.2K Summary: Your new, dead roommate disappeared into the ether. So...now what? a/n: This chapter is a little more creepy than previous chapters. I felt like horror comes with the territory of the not-so-dead. You know? There will probably be more horror elements in the future. SIDE NOTE: Below is a playlist of songs that give a great idea of what his band sounded like in 2003. I've also included parts 1 & 2. If you'd like to be tagged in the update, please let me know. Please like, comment, and reblog!

[Part I] | [Part II] | [Part IV] [☁ Masterpost ☁] | [♫ The Crimson Zombies Mixtape ♫]

--

It'd been about three weeks since he poofed into thin air.

Not that you were really counting.

You'd just gotten used to the idea of having a ghost in your apartment only for him to just disappear without a trace in less than 24 hours. After learning that Gavin was Aaron's former bandmate, you briefly wondered if finding out Gavin's fate was his unanswered business, and why he moved onto the other side. It was a true hardship to get over the feeling of constantly being watched, and you questioned your sanity for feeling that way. Aaron's presence--before you knew he was there, obviously--never felt threatening. You could compare it to having a very clingy cat who seemed to shadow you wherever you went. Though, he swore he never watched you in the bathroom, a fact you were thankful for.

At least he was a respectful dead guy, given the circumstances.

You decided that it'd be best to move on and mark this as just one very strange initial experience in your new home. To stave off the loneliness, you decided to invite over your best friend, Kayla, for a sleepover. Between the drinking, the dancing, the movies, and the junk food, you were able to forget about the last few weeks only for a moment.

"Have you ever considered dating, again?" Kayla suddenly asked, as she sat at your feet. Your hands hesitated as you braided her hair, and you sighed before resuming the task.

"No." You responded, shortly.

She made a noise that sounded like a slightly sympathetic hum, and you nudged her with your knee.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

You playfully tugged at the braid in your hand, "That. Say what you wanna say, babe."

Kayla made a point to sigh dramatically, and pull her knees up to her chest. When she slightly rocked from side to side you rolled your eyes, dropping the completed braid down her back.

"I just..." she sighed again, and you snorted, "Don't laugh, I'm concerned about my little sister. You're in your twenties, you're beautiful, smart, funny, and you're supremely prickly."

You feigned offense, "I am NOT prickly. I'm just able to see through the romanticism of it all."

"So you say," Kayla hmphed, "You and I both know you get a little bit of a thrill out of bullying people."

As you combed your fingers through the completed braids with mousse, you smirked to yourself. She wasn't wrong. But you didn't fully see that as an inherent character flaw. Bullying could be fun sometimes.

"Maybe..." you agreed.

"Not 'maybe.'" You could almost hear her pouting. "I know things with your ex ended badly--"

"--Don't." You warned, leaning away from the woman sitting between your knees like she'd scalded you.

"I'm just saying that you were right. And I still wish you'd let me hit him with my car, but whatever. I'll ask again in a couple of months and see how you feel..." At this, you giggled. "...BUT I think you should consider dating around. Just so you can remember what it feels like to actually like someone, you know?"

"I did go on a date with someone and you know how that ended."

Kayla sucked her teeth and turned to look at you, squinting her dark brown eyes in annoyance.

"What?" You asked, fighting the growing smirk on your face.

"What?" She mimicked in a voice that sounded impressively close to yours.

Kayla, of all people, knew that dating in the modern age was trash. Who really wanted to go through the talking stage over and over again, with numerous people? As much as you hated your ex at the moment, there was a small comfort in never really having to question if he wanted to be with you. You watched your friends have tired dating experiences. And though your relationship was far from perfect, you didn't envy those who still had to search for their person.

Karma was a no good, rotten ass bitch. You refused to entertain her.

You finally tilted Kayla's head back and gave her a gentle smooch on the forehead.

"I'm okay, babe. I promise," You reassured her. "I'm okay with my solitude."

She scrunched up her nose at you--the perfect mirror of yourself, and you knew she was very much your sister.

"Gross." She chuckled.

Once Kayla finally went to bed, and you had the chance to get lost in your own thoughts, you tried to better understand what the emptiness you felt stemmed from. I couldn't have been a relationship. Despite everything that happened in the last year--and a LOT had happened--you didn't feel like you needed a partner. You simply just felt aimless.

You examined your face in the bathroom mirror, with a towel wrapped tightly around you. You focused on your grounding mechanisms to ward off the dissociation that'd been slowly creeping up on you over the last few months. There were two dark, dull eyes staring back at you.

"Ooookay." You said to yourself, shaking your shoulders out before hanging up your towel and stepping into the tub.

You mentally examined yourself: a nose, a mouth, braids with a disappointing amount of new growth. A neck, shoulders, a chest, a stomach, and legs. You were there: thinking, existing, blinking, and breathing in the minty steam rising from your shower.

The repetitive sound of the water hitting the tile walls made you zone out, briefly wondering if maybe you were just doing something wrong with life. After all, no matter what you did, you could never seem to find that much needed level of satisfaction. Maybe you were meant to be unfufilled--

"SHIT!"

You jumped at the sudden outburst, nearly braining yourself on the floor of the tub. A new shadow shifted on the other side of the curtain.

"GOD DAMN IT, AARON! FUCK!"

-x-

He had no idea where he went. One moment, he was standing beside you in your bedroom. The next, he was submerged in pure darkness. He saw nothing, he felt nothing.

He tried to call out for you, but it was as if his voice was snatched from his throat. His brain was floating in an empty space devoid of sound and light.

He tried to scream.

Nothing.

The unnatural quiet of the liminal space set his nerves on edge. It was as if his brain--or what was left of it--was trying desperately to find something to latch onto.

Aaron's consciousness felt stretched thin and compacted at the same time. He called out for you again. And again. And again.

Nothing.

That was when he felt it.

Something that watched him in the darkness. It had a thousand eyes that seemed to be stalking him from all sides, and he could almost feel the heat of its breath on the back of his neck. The thing spoke, croaking from deep inside his subconscious, and scratching at the inner corners of his mind.

Malevolus...et caedes. I hunger. I'm watching. ...you can't have her.

The thing shifted around him, and he felt its icy hand on his shoulder, nails digging into him hard enough to draw blood. It leaned in close to him, and the smell of mold and blood lingered on its mouth.

Suddenly he was in your bathroom, hands up in a defensive stance, and screaming.

"GOD DAMN IT," you screamed, "AARON! FUCK!"

He curled up in a ball, trying to get his bearings but unable to focus. He stared off into space, chest heaving, eyes wide and unfocused. He couldn't hear you calling his name. And even as you crouched in front of him in your towel, he couldn't stop staring at the thing that seemed to stare at him from the corner of your bathroom. Grinning with sharp jagged teeth and a mouth full of blood. Its eyes were black without pupils, and its face seemed to shift in the light. Then it was gone.

"Aaron?" You whispered, reaching out to him. He shrank away from you, continuing to stare at the wall where the creature had been.

"I was gone for almost a month?" He asked the following day, watching you pace back and forth in your bedroom. He shook his head, "That's...that isn't possible. I was only gone for a couple of minutes. Maybe an hour."

It killed him inside to watch you ignore him as Kayla rushed in to check on you and eventually led you to bed. He didn't want to be alone. Not when that thing was still watching him. But now that he was back, he wanted to grab you by your hands to get you to stop and look at him. He just needed to know that he wouldn't disappear again.

"I thought you'd moved onto the other side after the Ga-" you hesitated, then glanced at him cautiously and whispered, "the Gavin thing."

You both paused, almost waiting to see if he would drop off the face of the Earth. When he didn't, he let out a deep sigh and shuddered to himself.

"What happened?" You asked. When he quirked an eyebrow at you, you clarified, "What made you disappear?"

He swallowed hard and avoided your questioning gaze, choosing to stare at his hands. He was relieved to see them again, but was confused by some new scars that seemed to have appeared on his knuckles. That couldn't have been right.

"I was so angry," he confessed, "I felt white, hot rage. Rage I'd never felt before. I just...Gavin was like my brother. And Talia was the only woman I'd ever really loved. He was constantly saying that Talia was terrible, and I defended her with my life. I died angry at my best friend over her. Only for them to get married not even a year after I was put in the ground?"

When he said it aloud, he felt the heat rising up again, and he flexed his hands.

"My body wasn't even fucking cold yet." The lights flickered in the apartment, and he tried to reel himself back in. Aaron wanted to desperately squeeze the bedsheets in his fists, maybe even punch something, and was frustrated that he couldn't. "And now he's dead. Gone forever. And I can't even ask him why he did it."

He briefly wondered if Gavin was haunting some hole-in-the wall somewhere. It'd be on brand for him. Maybe he was in Hell, if that existed. That was even more on brand.

"I'm sorry." You murmured, sitting beside him, "For all of it. I'm sorry you found out this way. I'm sorry you lost your best friend--"

"I want to know how he died."

He watched you fidget with your hands and bite your inner cheek, avoiding eye contact.

"...Are you sure?"

It still hadn't even sunken in that his best friend of several years was dead, leaving behind Talia and three children. He figured it'd be better to rip the band-aid off.

"No. But tell me anyway." He wanted to reach out and hold you to let you know that he'd be okay. Instead, he offered you a small smile and shrug, hoping to reassure you that he could handle it. You still stared at him with wide, worried eyes.

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

"C'mon..."

You huffed at him, crossing your arms, "You don't know how you looked when you came back. You were terrified. You were babbling about a thing in the dark. And you were gone for almost a month over this. Who's to say you won't be gone for even LONGER next time, just because your emotions shifted?"

The mere mention of the dark made him involuntarily shudder again, and you motioned at him as if to say, "I told you so."

He decided it'd be better to concede. For now. He would ask again at a later date. He was sure you thought he was curious out of a desire to feed some morbid curiosity. He wished it was just that.

He finally coaxed you to sit beside him on your bed, and he was surprised to find that there was still a small tingle of warmth as you sat near him.

...you can't have her.

The croaking voice seemed to ring in his head as he looked at you. He didn't tell you everything. He couldn't. As long as it couldn't invade your thoughts you were safe.

At least that was the assumption he was going to make.

He spent the following nights sitting in bed next to you, keeping watch as you slept and it watched him from the darkest corner of the room.

I hunger.

He focused on the sound of your breathing, actively trying to ignore the grinning creature. As the nights wore on, it seemed to slowly vanish. Soon there was nothing.

On the eighth night of his hypervigilance, he watched as you sighed in your sleep and curled up closer to him. Your brows furrowed, and you groaned.

"You alright?" He whispered, hovering his hand over your forehead. You were burning up. He could feel you burning up. He hesitated, and then fully pressed his hand to your forehead. In turn, you instinctively grabbed his hand in your sleep, and jolted awake.

You both stared at your joined hands.

"Oh...you're ice cold." You whispered before passing out.

[autisticblueteam]

Appears from the ether again, after months of only being present enough to fill my queue up, with some WIP snippets from the gen:LOCK re-write I mentioned before...

And also finally adressing these tags lmao, sorry @thesouppond I realise these are like 3 months old.

#FUCK IM JUST SEEING THIS NOW???#FUCK YEAH 2024 SEASON OF EVERYONE GETS TO REWRITE GENLOCK CAUSE FUCK S2#Ahem anyway hi genlock moot :)))#I love your writing btw! Ive read your existing GL fics theyre great!#at this point if someone can give me a GL fic i havent already met I will forever be indebted to you i am DYING for GL content

We're really out here trying our best to do better by GL than HBO did huh!! I've been loving Reloaded, it was so nice to see someone else pop up in the gL tag after it was comparatively dead for so long. I've been working on my re-write since just after s2 came out and it was lonely in there for a while there lmao.

So I'm glad you enjoyed the couple of fics I've already done! I'm re-using parts of one of them for the actual re-write since I'm going for the 'keep the basic bones of s2 but aim to fix the execution into something less shit/re-work the worst bits' and I didn't want to write that first nemesis fight over again from total scratch lmao...

I want to finish writing all of the re-write before I post it in full, but that does mean it's taking forever whoops.

I'm still not past the introduction of Sinclair as his portion is so involved and I keep getting distracted by other projects/hobbies, but I did finally get to a point where my take on Sinclair is actually fun to write! I'm keeping his boyfriend because I did at least like that Sinclair was made canonically queer and they're actually cute when I'm just doing my own thing.

So since I feel like posting some WIP bits, here's my favourite Chris/Sinclair stuff I've done so far.

“YEAH! Take that you fucked up tin can!” Sinclair winced. The shout was like an ice pick being driven into his skull, but it was also what finally drove him to lift his head. There ahead of him, wielding a large piece of debris in one hand, was a heavyset Asian man dressed in torn clothes and covered in grime. He reared back, and for a split second Sinclair thought that projectile was for him, until he heard an impact, and the last of the humming died. The man brushed off his hands, pride written on every feature, and in that moment he was the most beautiful thing Sinclair had ever seen. “Coast’s clear!” the stranger called behind him. There was movement, but Sinclair didn’t care to look, his attention caught by the man’s approach. “And we’ve got a live one.” Sinclair’s throat was so dry he broke down coughing twice, in the time it took the stranger to kneel in front of him. “I-I’m not Union. I-I know— with the uniform, and the—” Another violent burst of coughing cut him off. The stranger handed him a canteen and a crooked smile. “Yeah, no shit. You’ve got way too much emotion on your face to be even a defector,” he said, and if Sinclair wasn’t so busy chugging the offered water, he might have mustered a laugh. “That, plus, the lack of helmet, the collapsing, and the drone getting ready to turn you into a novelty cheese grater kinda gave it away.” “Christ, I could kiss you right now,” Sinclair blurted and then regretted in quick succession. Fuck. He’d been in near solitary too long, his filter had worn away to nothing and he was making a damn fool of himself in front of the first sane people he’d seen in weeks. Except the stranger just… laughed, good-naturedly. “Close, the name’s Chris, not Christ. And I’d say buy me dinner first, but it’s a bit hard out here.”

AND then a little later...

“What about the refugee railroads?” Chris lowered his beer bottle and wiped his mouth. “Too far.” “Vanguard safe crossings?” “Too far.” “The— fucking Canadian border?” Chris laughed, “Too far. Further than either of the other things. Jesus, dude. You sure you haven’t got a concussion?” “Mostly,” Sinclair said, rubbing his face with his intact hand. “I just— you’re going to die if you stay here. A drone only has to get lucky once.” “And if we go deeper in, we’ll only die faster,” Chris said with a simple shrug. “We already have to pack up and move every few weeks when the line moves. And every time, the Polity border gets a little bit further away. Believe me, man, I want nothing more than to get outta here, but it’s just not happening.” “What if I helped?” The offer fell out before he’d consciously decided to make it, but Sinclair stood by it. Even when Chris looked at him dubiously. “No offence, dude, but you’re just one guy. And two days ago you could barely stand.” “And now I’m fine,” Sinclair insisted. “I’m a soldier. I was decorated for valour after I got my squad out of a run-in with the Union that should’ve killed us all. I was the only one who could even still hold a gun. I swear, I could get you somewhere safe. Are you really telling me you’d rather keep sitting around waiting to die than take a risk?” Chris’s brow furrowed, and he didn’t answer immediately, taking another swig from his scratched up bottle of beer. Sinclair sighed. “Look. I need to get to a Vanguard base one way or another. I don’t want to leave you guys behind if I don’t have to. I owe you my life. And maybe dinner.” Chris almost choked on his drink. “Wow,” he laughed, clearing his throat, “you sure pick your moments, huh?” Sinclair shrugged. “Figure if you’re not actually into it I’ll just blame the concussion.” “That you don’t have.” “Exactly.” Chris rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Smooth. Smooth operator. Alright, alright, fine, we’ll talk to the others in the morning. It might be a tougher sell when they’re not the ones getting dinner with a hot soldier out of it, but hey, guess we’ll see.” “Are you looking past the just-got-done-being-tortured chic, here, or is that part of the charm?” “Are you kidding? There’s a whole genre focused on how hot soldier guys look after they’ve been through hell.” “Not sure that’s the intended takeaway of action movies.” “Well,” Chris shrugged, starting to pick at a can of food, “it was definitely my takeaway.” Sinclair laughed. Honest-to-god laughed, in a way he was surprised he was even capable of after the last few weeks. The normality of the moment was like a balm on all the aching parts of him, mental and physical alike. For a moment he could almost forget that the reason he looked like shit was because he’d just escaped the worst experience of his life. For a moment it felt like the fight was over.

Now I just have to actually get through the remainder of my Sinclair set-up and then I'll be only one chapter away from finishing the first half of the fic... so close and yet so far lmao.

[concealeddarkness13]

OC Kiss Week: Prompt 5 Yearning

Content warning for kissing and very strong suggestive themes. Clothes stay on, but it’s a fade to black kind of thing. This one is from Chess’s perspective, and it includes @drabbleitout’s character named Ives! From an AU we’ve been working on, and the latest scene is here, since I have links to the other scenes on that post! Tagging: @ratracechronicler, @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses, and @drabbleitout (thank you so much for letting me use Ives!)! 

I curled up on the couch and stared at the tv, not really comprehending the show that was on. Or maybe it was the weather. I didn’t even know or really care.

Ives had had an emergency call for breaching, and he had asked me to stay behind, just in case it was too dangerous. So I was just in his apartment. Alone. Glued to my phone, waiting to hear from him.

What if he got hurt? What if he needed me? I couldn’t protect him from here!

The door to the apartment opened, and I jumped up, ready to punch whoever was coming in, but a black blur leaped at me, and I fell back on the couch as Niner covered me in kisses, whining.

Niner…it was Niner! Then that meant— “Niner, please don’t smother her.”

Niner moved back, and I sat up quickly, staring. Ives was ok. He looked a little tired, but he didn’t even look dented or hurt. It had been hours! I jumped up and ran at him, hugging him tightly as I started to cry into his vest.

“I…I was so scared! I heard nothing from you! You didn’t even message me to let me know you were coming home!”

He froze and looked down at me, hugging me back after a bit. “Home?” His voice scrubbed, and I looked up at him, trying to wipe at my eyes. “You called this place home.” He blinked and frowned a little, his eyes going distant. “I did message you. But I see it didn’t go through. My signal is gone. I’ll have to report for that to get fixed tomorrow.”

I frowned. “You should get that fixed tonight. Did you get hurt?” And I shrugged. “Yeah. Of course I did. This is home, Love.”

I felt the familiar hum of his machinery accelerate as he stared at me. “Home,” he said again in wonder. He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, pulling me closer. “I don’t think I will, little one. Because then I would get distracting messages during my alone time with you.” He allowed his hands to wander lower than was proper, but when was I ever concerned with what was proper?

I blushed and squeaked though, which just made me blush worse. “But…I don’t want you to be hurt.”

He leaned down and kissed my neck, scraping teeth over my skin, and I couldn’t help but lean my head to the side to give him more room. “I’m not hurt at all. Actually, this might be a blessing.” His voice had gone down to a low rumble, and I shuddered. “Have you had dinner yet, little one?”

My cheeks burned, and I shook my head. “But I’m sure you could fill me up.”

He leaned back and smirked, dragging his hands down my thighs so he could pick me up, and I squeaked again. I was eye level with him, and I stared into his bright blue eyes as I messed with his hair, letting that damn perfection finally become messy. He leaned forward and stopped right before he could kiss me, mouthing at my lips. “We can have a full course, if you’d like.” He carried me into the kitchen and actually fucking set me down on the counter as he worked on heating up some pizza for me. The bastard. I couldn’t believe I had been yearning to see him so much.

He cut one of the pieces and put the crust in his mouth and leaned closer to me. “Would you like a bite, little one?”

I snorted and leaned close and took the bite, but instead of just allowing our lips to brush, I chewed quickly, swallowed, kissed him like I meant it, and stole his crust too. He laughed and picked me up again, also somehow flawlessly balancing the plate of pizza and walked into the bedroom.

He sat me down on the bed and kissed my cheek as he pushed the plate of pizza into my hands. “Please eat first. I don’t want to make you nauseous.”

I smirked back at him. “But if I eat, won’t I have to wait an hour? Isn’t that the rule?”

He looked over at me with a smirk as he started working on taking off all his work clothes. “If you’re so worried, you can just relax and enjoy it once you’re done. I haven’t had my dinner yet anyway.”

My cheeks burned worse as I stuffed some more pizza in my mouth. “I might have to, since you’re so mean to me. Teasing me and not even making sure I knew you were okay.”

He nodded, taking off his shirt, and I still stared even though I had seen his chest and abs so many times. “You’re right. I’ve been terrible to you. So, let me make it up to you.”

My cheeks were somehow burning even worse, and I quickly finished my pizza as he got out of all his clothes except his boxers. He took the plate from me and set it on the nightstand, and then he proceeded to pin me as he worked on my clothes. “Let me pamper you tonight, little one. I’ve had enough of fighting and pain. Let’s have something soft and sweet.”

[fazeruined]

@curseofbreadbear said: [How could he have forgotten his superstar's birthday? This paradox had rattled around in his nonexistent head ever since they arrived at the Daycare -- the attendant greeted her with an over-enthusiastic "happy birthday!", and all at once, the realization crushed him. It was her birthday. He hadn't remembered.] [This was unprecedented for ANY animatronic, let alone a Freddy. He was specifically programmed to remember these things. Birthdays were precious holidays; he adored contributing to those smiling faces and cheery celebrations, singing the Fazbear birthday song, and helping the little ones blow out the candles. Out of all of his lost memories, this was affecting him the most...but he had no time to panic.] [While Cassie's injuries were being examined by the attendant, Freddy rushed to prepare a birthday celebration for her -- no matter how crummy or minuscule. Anything to make up for his error.] [When she got back, Freddy had a shabbily-assembled birthday party in order for her, complete with a banner and a mangled present (alas, the one in his chest cavity was all he had). As he sensed her arrival, he greeted her with a typical wave, then hummed the Fazbear Birthday song for her...the same way he did when they'd met. It didn't feel like enough, but he hoped his sentiment would shine through.] -prototype freddy!! this scenario has been rotting my brain since i typed it out in the tags ksfdjkfsjk (note: ive Officially decided that the present in his chest cavity is a glamrock freddy figure that's been so crushed and mangled that it looks exactly like him :'))) happy birthday cassie you get a proto freddy figure!!)

To be fair, Freddy shouldn't be able to remember something he didn't know in the first place. And also to be fair, Cassie herself wasn't actively remembering it either.

With everything that's been going in her life, her birthday was like the very last thing on her mind if at all... And she's grown to stop seeing much of a point in celebrating it, too. She had no one to celebrate it with, and in the grand scheme of things, it was just another day in her life...

And the one person left she thought would be someone who'd show up to a party for her... tried to KILL her.

Now her one only friend was a broken, headless robot.

With their team-work back in Fazerblast, they managed to salvage a stroller-- its hood was completely gone and it had a few holes, but after (un)twisting and straightening its wheels back, it was perfectly usable for what they needed: A means to take Cassie without requiring her walk on her badly injured body, and Freddy not having to constantly worry about hurting her with his hazardous casing while carrying her, and also they didn't need to separate.

Luckily for them, even in his broken state, Freddy was still perfectly strong and capable to clear a path for them to reach the Daycare despite the ruined condition of the now abandoned PizzaPlex.

After knocking on the big (faux?) wooden doors, they were greeted by the more harmonious and stable form of the Daycare Attendant known as Eclipse, brought forth after Cassie'd rebooted them. While friendly and happy to be visited again by the birthday girl and her friend, his first action would have been politely turning them away because "he wasn't finished cleaning the Daycare so it wasn't fit for visitors yet," but the moment he set eyes on Cassie he detected her injured state, and that obviously took priority in his programming.

Engaging his safety mode, Eclipse let both in, while also taking over the duty of tending to Cassie's injuries, which allowed Freddy time to 'chill' in the Daycare.

Eclipse wound up having to use a lot of anti-septic to clean out Cassie's injuries then bandage her up, and lastly give her some medicine, mostly painkillers and some anti-inflammatory. The medicine made the girl drowsy as they kicked in, on top of her being already fatigued from her 'journey'. The Daycare still had all the good stuff stored such as blankets, pillows and sleepbags, so Eclipse easily egged her on into sleeping-- her body did need the rest to help recovery, after all.

That would give Freddy time to prepare his surprise.

And he wouldn't get to do it alone! After Cassie had been put to sleep, Eclipse wound up checking on him and what he was doing next. While he still had 'cleaning' to do, he was more than glad to help the headless bear set up a birthday party for the girl, especially if she wouldn't have any otherwise.

Along with Freddy's preparations, Eclipse'd set up a small child table with small child chairs, some with (dirty but otherwise okay) plushies of the main band sitting on to make it seem like they'd showed up to the party, and set at the center of the table one of those cupcakes from the Bakery (one of the only things left in the PizzaPlex that was still edible thanks to the absurd amount of preservatives the company would put into them,) even though it would still taste stale but it was better than nothing, and they could stick a candle on it, too.

Alas, he should make the Daycare look more presentable for a party! So after his additional help setting it up, Eclipse once again dove into his duty of cleaning the place, letting Freddy to watch over the party site, and likely greet Cassie in it once she woke up.

■■■

She'd sleep for a few hours, and would wake up feeling reasonably better thanks to Eclipse's help and the medicine-- she was still kind of slow to walk but it was better than before. Eclipse could be heard off in the distance here and there as he continued trying to clean the Daycare, so first thing she thought was where is Freddy?

" Freddy? " She slowly walks around the dulled but still colorful play place trying to locate her friend, until she finds him in another area of the Daycare. " Oh, there you are. I got a bit worried when I woke up and didn't know where you were. "

She registered the preparations as she walked closer, at least able to tell this area wasn't like that before she slept. " Freddy...? What is this...? "

Freddy's hummed birthday song was what sold the whole thing for her, and for the first moment, Cassie was borderline speechless. " Freddy, all this... Did you do all this for...? " Her birthday. It's her birthday.

And the broken bear was the single only one who remembered (well, Eclipse and Roxy did too.)

And he not only remembered, but he also tried to do something about it, which given everything else such as their current situation, was honestly impressive.

Cassie felt her throat swell and her chest tighten with a wide array of different emotions together which she couldn't clearly put a finger on, but they felt strongly. " F- Freddy... " She tries swallowing down a imaginary lump in her throat, feeling herself tearing up at the corner of her eyes.

It's a little sudden, but she couldn't keep herself from wrapping her arms around Freddy's waist to pull him into a bit of a bear-hug (or as close to it without risking further injuries.) Even if it was small and shabbily-assembled, it meant the world for her. It really did.

" Th- thank you, Freddy... Thank you... "

[dirt-str1der]

Hold on im thinking of that ryan higa G6 parody gimme gimme that dustpan gimme gimme that broom broom bust out the vacuum so that i can clean my room room

[9tzuyu]

four months.

note: hiiiii! just trying to get into the groove again. i dont know what this is. the original prompt is below, however it did not turn out that way?¿ its kind of a mess, but fluffy i suppose. i hope you enjoy :>.

using my own experience so don’t think i hate poor people because i am those people </3

(also chapter 4 of children of tragedy will be out soon, i promise. ive just had awful writers block.)

+ thank you moli for proofreading so i dont have to. i love you.

warnings: none?

prompt: * reader used to be poor and stuff and w/n is like “you know you don’t have to get the cheapest things” and R covers it up and says “oh this is the brand i like, but w/n discovers hidden receipts and asks why they have a bunch of useless receipt and R is like “i was just tracking how much we spend....”

🏷 @natasha-danvers @midnight-lestrange @whatiziz @kermy48 @mycosmicparadise @peggycarter-steverogers @blackxwidowsxwife (lmk if you want off the tag list because ik i dont post as regularly as other writers, so im just going with people who have told me they want to be on my tag list in the past)

and lastly, for my baby @nermalina. its not really your genre per se [ i have a smut fic that i’ll dt you on ;)] however, accept this as a form of love.

it wasn’t so much that you were homeless and out on the streets, but you weren’t necessarily well off either. working as a waitress only got you far enough to pay your monthly rent and gas. somehow you managed to squeeze in a list of groceries.

every penny counted, you didn’t have room for mishaps or sick days. thats why you kept your budget small and a stash full of receipts on the kitchen bar.

natasha didn’t know about any of this though. you were sure she’d have you by the neck if she found out how long you’d been keeping your secret.

the redhead was generous, and no matter how many times you offered to pay for something she would never even dream of letting you. natasha insisted on it, and you were powerless to stop her.

it wasn’t until you tagged along with her on a trip to the grocery store when things began to unravel. she only needed a few things, nothing important.

but nat was quick to pick up on the fact that you continuously flipped every little thing you picked up to look at the price tag.

“here, it’s the cheapest one i could find.” you said, smiling as you handed her a cardboard box of pasta. natasha hummed, “you know you don’t have to get me the cheapest thing on the shelf.”

you bit your lip, eyes suddenly looking back at the shelf of different pasta boxes. “i know... it’s just- it’s my favorite brand.” natasha automatically knew you were lying by the way you began chewing on the inside of your lip.

she narrowed her eyes. “no it’s not.”

“huh?”

“you got this brand because it was the cheapest. you know i can afford more, which leads me to believe you do this out of habit.”

you shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze. “no, i just really like that brand.”

the sudden realization that she had never been to your place struck her.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“why don’t we go back to your apartment after this? we can just relax, watch a movie, do whatever you want.”

a mix of guilt and shame flooded your body. but damned if you didn’t still give it a try.

“my apartment’s a mess right now, you don’t want to see that.” you tried, offering a small, dry laugh in hopes of getting her off your back.

“you’re a terrible liar.”

“i’m not-”

“i picked you up from the park today, just like every other day. i’ve not once picked you up from your own apartment, so what are you hiding?”

when you didn’t give an answer, she tossed the cheapest box of pasta in her cart and walked away. you groaned as you watched natasha leave before catching up to her.

“okay, okay, we can go back to my apartment. just don’t judge me, alright?”

she smiled softly, “it wouldn’t even cross my mind.”

soon enough you began helping your girlfriend load her car with bags full of miscellaneous items. nothing needed to be refrigerated, so if natasha wanted to, she could stay at your apartment all day.

your leg bounced in the car as you gave her directions. but soon enough, after what felt like the longest fifteen minutes of your life, natasha pulled into a parking space right outside your door.

you silently cursed yourself for not renting a spot upstairs. at least then it would’ve prolonged the situation just a little bit longer.

natasha watched as you fumbled with your keys, your hands visibly shaking.

“fuck.” you mumbled after hearing the clank of metal hit the ground. you bent down to pick them up but natasha beat you to it.

“which key?” her voice was soft.

“the yellow one.”

the door swung open and you motioned for natasha to go before you.

it wasn’t bad, really. apart from the chipped brown walls, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke (you hated your neighbors for that), the broken windows, lack of space and furniture that was as good as the floor.

natasha noticed the windows first, a sense of protectiveness overpowering her. she didn’t like that you weren’t safe.

you went to offer her a water bottle, but she wasn’t paying attention. instead, she noticed the lack of food in your fridge, frowning when you tried to cover it up.

another few minutes of her silence went by and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“look, i know you’re rich. i know you like to have luxury brands and that you don’t have to worry about whether or not someone will break in and steal what little you have left. but that doesn’t give you any right to judge me. i’m sorry i don’t live up to your expectations.”

natasha licked her lips and leaned her back against the kitchen counter.

“how long have you lived like this?”

her question caught you off guard, but you managed to find an answer.

“i’ve always lived like this, nat.”

she nodded solemnly before abruptly turning around to look at what was inside your cabinets.

“what are you do-”

“you have no food.”

you sighed, “well yeah, i can’t really afford it.”

“and the receipts?”

natasha was met with a shrug. “have to keep track of everything somehow.”

she stared at you a minute longer before finding the exact words she wanted to say.

“i would never judge you, or anyone for that matter, on their living situation. i know people don’t always have a say in what or why things happen.” she paused. “but i don’t like knowing you go to sleep every night with broken windows practically inviting anyone to come in and intrude. i don’t like knowing all you have to eat is bread, canned fruit and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

you listened to her ramble on, still nervous about the fact that this was new to her.

“so come live with me.”

“natasha-”

“come live with me.”

you immediately shook your head. “no, no, no. nat don’t even-”

“i’m serious. you won't win this argument, y/n. let me take care of you. i don't mind picking you up and dragging you out of here myself if that’s what it takes.”

a sigh left your lips as you folded your arms across your chest. “natasha, i can’t have you do that. i’m okay, i promise.”

the redhead raised her eyebrow. “how many times have you gone to bed hungry? or let your car run on fumes for as long as you could? and how many times have you gone to work sick because you can’t afford to miss one single day?”

when natasha was met with no reply she moved closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist, pulling you into her embrace.

“i know it’s only been four months but i don’t think i could ever forgive myself if something happened to you and i didn’t do enough to stop it.”

she kissed the side of your head, “let me take care of you.”

[bubblyhoney]

sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

-

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

-

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

[in-ky]

Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster  and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

[demonsandmischief]

My Warrior Wolf Ch. 5

Marvel - A Bucky Barnes Werewolf AU

Warrior! Bucky x Female Reader

800 Words

Ch. 4 and Masterlist for other chapters

-Chapter 5-

Working things out.

---

The wind rustled the trees and cooled your heated cheeks. You sucked in a shaky breath, the wooden step you were using as a seat creaked under your weight.

Bucky was a wolf.

The shock had melted into a soft acceptance. It had shaken everything you had ever known, yet you wished you hadn't sent him away.

And just as the thought crossed your mind, the rustling grew more prominent. You squinted, your eyes adjusting to the blackness that was the woods, finding an all too familiar wolf looking right back at you.

"Bucky," you called, feeling comforted by his presence. You walk towards the gate. "You shouldn't be here. It's late."

The large animal gave a chuff of a sound, like a scoff. You could practically hear Bucky making the exact same noise.

The magnificent creature rose to it's full height, easily clearing the height of your gate with a woosh. For the first time, you were up close and personal.

His fur glimmered in the moonlight that peeked through the leaves. You were unable to deny the desire to reach out and run your fingers through the soft coat.

Bucky made a noise of approval, easing onto his belly. You bit your lip to contain a smile, but he nudged you with his head, making you stumble back with a laugh. The moment of distraction was all he needed to change back.

"You're naked," you squeaked, spinning around so your back was to him.

"Sorry," he said, not so apologetically. You could hear the smirk in his voice. "You can turn back now. You're lucky I thought to bring pants this time around, normally I don't."

You roll your eyes, taking in his still bare chest that was scarred all over. The prosthetic arm was marred beyond belief where the skin met the metal and you noticed him shift uncomfortably under your gaze.

"I didn't- I didn't mean to stare," you whispered.

"It's okay," he rumbled, his voice warm and, oddly, it soothed your frayed nerves.

You moved closer to him, peeking up at him. "I'm sorry that I made you leave earlier."

His gaze was unwavering. "You should never apologize for following your instinct."

"How come your arm stays on?" you asked curiously, unable to control the urge to reach out out and touch the metal. It was cool under your fingertips.

"We are not sure."

"We?" Your mind flashed to the other guy you met. What was his name? ... Sam. Was he a wolf too?

"There are several of us. We live in a pack." His voice faltered as you reached to trace the raised, angry flesh where the metal met his shoulder. He stiffened and you pulled back so your fingertips were just ghosting over him.

"That looks like it hurts," you murmured. "Are you okay?"

You felt him smile, and he tentatively curled his flesh hand around your waist. You smiled too, unable to deny the warmth.

"It's an old wound, sweetheart. Looks worse then it is," his husky voice soothed. "I still have a lot to tell you. Can we talk?"

You nodded, happy to have a second chance to hear him out.

He trailed behind you as you stepped into the warm house.

"I might have a tee that'll fit you, if you'd like," you offer gently, seeing how he was uncomfortable just a moment before. You didn't give him a chance to answer, tossing him an oversized, worn shirt.

He studied it curiously, "Is this a men's?"

You bit your lip to contain a smile, easing onto your couch. "Yeah, but I bought it. It's comfy."

His frown eased as he shrugged it on. "Wolves have mates, y/n. A Soul-mate, a pre- destined life partner."

You felt a thickness grip your throat as you struggled to come to terms with the new information. You liked Bucky, but if he already had someone out there for him...

"You're my mate."

It took a moment for the words to register. You met his gaze, and he reached for your hand.

"I am?" The words were a quiet flutter and his features brightened into a gentle smile. He ran a finger down your cheek.

"I know it's a lot. I understand if you still need time to process it."

"It is a lot," you confirm. "but it also makes a lot of sense."

"It does?" He shifted closer to you, his breath fanning your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered in anticipation and you gave a hum of agreement. "I didn't understand why I felt so comfortable with you. We haven't known each other that long."

"No, we haven't. And there's still so much we don't know about each other."

You could tell he was holding back something, pain crossed his blue eyes before he masked it to the normal, guarded stare.

"We have plenty of time to get to know each other," you eased, reaching for his hand. His lips quirked up and you smiled back.

----

I'm so sorry this took so long. This has been in the drafts forever - I didn't really know where to go with this. If you have any suggestions for the series please feel free to drop them. I hate waiting on long updates so thank you for being patient with me.

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[bibbawrites]

Family Ties - Charlie Gillespie x Reader (16+)

Request: Can you please do one where either Charlie is meeting your family or you’re meeting his and he keeps trying to be touchy/wanting to have sex but you/him don’t want to get caught xx

Word Count: 1721 words 

Summary: your annual family trip gets a little bit more hands on when your boyfriend Charlie and his family join you

Warnings: heavy makeout, touching, a little bit of grinding, swearing, mentioned and implied sex 

A/N: sorry if this editing is shit my brain is not working lol  hopefully y’all like this one, ive been debating on rewriting it for what feels like years but fuck it i dont have that motivation lol  also idk if theres beaches in canada like what we have here in aus but if there isnt oh well in this fictional version of canada they have aussie beaches  anyways, enjoy! 

Tag List:  @happinessinthedarkesttimes​​ @littlemissaddict​​ @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic​​ @headheartbellarke​​ @lovesanimals​​ @bartok-the-magnificent​​ @juliefromaustralia @multi-universe21 @rangerelik @kaitieskidmore1 @katrina765​​ @fandomxreaders​​​ @ifilwtmfc

It had all started when you had jokingly suggested that you should invite your boyfriend Charlie and his family along on your annual family trip to the beach. Your mother had agreed, and before you knew it she was on the phone to Charlie’s mother working the whole plan out. 

Your family lives in Quebec, and Charlie’s in Dieppe, so your mum’s quickly decided that your family would drive to his house, and then the two families would continue the rest of the way together.

So that’s how you ended up in your dad’s old truck, pulling into the driveway of the Gillespie house at 6am in the morning after almost 8 hours of driving.

You jumped out quickly, wanting to get away from your brother’s annoying rap music and your sister’s constant whining about being bored as quickly as you could. The front door of Charlie’s house swung open and within a few seconds you were being pulled into the arms of your boyfriend, inhaling his familiar scent.

“God I missed you.” He murmured into your shoulder and you grinned.

“I missed you more handsome.” You replied, exchanging a soft kiss. 

Charlie’s family joined him outside and after a few quick introductions, you were on your way to the beach, this time tucked away in the passenger’s seat of Charlie’s car. 

- 

Once you arrived your families spent the day at the beach, and Charlie couldn’t keep his hands off of you. By the time you finally headed off to bed you were certain that every other person in the house was sick of his touchy behaviour. 

You made yourself comfortable on the bed, watching Charlie as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him. 

“I don’t think your dad likes me that much.” He said with a giggle, flopping down onto the bed. You rolled over to look at him.

“He’d like you a lot more if you stopped looking at me and touching me like you want to fuck me at every free moment you have.” You stated, and a light blush appeared on Charlie’s cheeks.

“You think he noticed that?” He asked, pressing his nose against yours.

“I can’t imagine he wouldn’t. You haven’t been subtle at all. We’ve only been here for the day and you’ve tried to jump me three times and that’s not even counting the shower sex.” He grinned cheekily at your words.

“I can’t help it, you’re just so hot.” He whined, and you rolled your eyes.

“But we’re on a holiday with both of our families. You gotta tone down the horny.” You said. He sighed dramatically.

“Fine, I’ll try to be better tomorrow. But for now, we’re all alone... and it’s our first night...” He trailed off, pouting, his eyes dark with lust. You nodded once and that was all the consent he needed, crashing his lips against yours and making quick work of climbing on top of you and sliding his tongue into your mouth.

You moaned, your fingers scraping down his back as he grinded his hips into yours. 

“Fuck.” You mumbled against his lips, your hands finding a place in his hair. You tugged lightly on his hair causing him to moan into your mouth. 

“Hey Y/N?” Your mum’s voice called. 

“Shit.” You exclaimed, pushing Charlie off you. Not expecting the reaction, he jumped slightly, falling off the edge of the bed with a thud. 

You giggled as your mum opened the door, frowning as she took in the sight. 

“Charlie, why are you on the floor?” She questioned. You laughed harder. 

“Fell.” He replied simply, rolling over to stand up, climbing back onto the bed. 

“What’s up Mum?” You asked, hoping that you didn’t look like you had been making out with your boyfriend only moments ago. 

“Did you remember to grab the bag of board games? We were going to play Monopoly.” She said, leaning against the door. You nodded. 

“I put it in the little den room.” You told her and she smiled. 

“Thanks Hon, you two are welcome to join us if you’d like.” She invited. Charlie shook his head. 

“We’re good thanks Mrs Y/L/N. My mum is scary good at Monopoly so I’d rather not lose to her again.” He grinned and your mum returned the smile. 

“Well the offer is there if you want it.” She said, before leaving the room. You let out a sigh of relief. 

“That was a close one.” You mumbled. Charlie nodded, leaning in to kiss you again. You pulled back, giving him an incredulous look. 

“Really? You’re still horny after being interrupted by my mum and monopoly?” You asked. Charlie pouted. 

“A bit.” He admitted. You rolled your eyes at him, pushing him away. He whined but gave in, curling up next to you instead. 

“Tomorrow night.” You said, flicking the tv on. Charlie snuggled his face into your upper back. 

“You promise?” He mumbled against your skin. You nodded. 

“I promise. But only if you’re good during the day.” You bargained. He thought for a moment before humming in agreement. 

“Deal.”

- 

“This is not being good.” You whispered to Charlie as his hand crawled up your thigh at lunch the next day. 

It was tradition for your family to get lunch at your favourite restaurant on the second day, and you had barely been there twenty minutes when Charlie started to get fidgety. 

“I’m not doing anything.” He lied, giving you an innocent smile. 

“Bullshit.” You muttered in reply, and Charlie shook his head, making a disapproving sound. 

“Language.” He faked disappointment. 

“Fuck you.” You rolled your eyes. He gave you a flirty smile. 

“Oh I wish you would.” He teased, his voice deepening slightly. 

“Charles.” You warned, and he sighed, sitting back up again, his hand returning to your knee. 

“Remember our deal?” You said quietly, and he nodded. 

“How could I forget, I’m so sexually frustrated I might explode.” He admitted. You stared at him in disbelief.  

“We literally had sex yesterday evening.” You whispered, your voice hushed. Charlie nodded, eyes wide. 

“Exactly! It’s almost been a whole 24 hours.” He sighed. 

“A whole 24 hours since what?” Meghan questioned, and you choked on a mouthful of fish, grabbing your glass of Coke quickly to wash it down. 

“None of your business.” Charlie retorted. “Stop eavesdropping.” 

“Don’t have private conversations around other people then.” Meghan bit back, but dropped the conversation anyway. Charlie gave you a relieved look. 

“That was close.” You muttered. 

“You’re telling me. Almost enough to get rid of the semi in my pants.” He winked and you hit his arm.

“Charles. Stop it.” You reprimanded. He grinned cheekily. 

“You love me.” He sung, placing a wet kiss on your cheek. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

“I’m reconsidering.” 

- 

“So what were you and Charlie discussing at lunch that was so private?” Meghan questioned, once you, her and your sister Isabella were alone sunbathing later that afternoon. You cringed slightly. 

“You don’t want to know.” You replied. 

“Oh god was it a sex thing?” Isabella gasped, and Meghan’s eyes widened in fear. You blushed. 

“I told you that you didn’t want to know.” You said simply, and they both squealed in disgust. 

“Do mum and dad know that you’re sleeping with Charlie?” Isabella asked after a pause. You rolled your eyes. 

“I’m a fully grown adult Bel, I don’t need parental permission to have sex with my boyfriend.” You told her. Meghan fake gagged. 

“Can we not talk about this? I do not want to think about my brother having sex.” She begged. You grinned slightly. 

“You were the one who brought it up.” You said. Meghan sighed. 

“If I’d known it was a sex thing I would have never.” She replied. 

“With Charlie it’s always a sex thing.” You answered. 

Meghan and Isabella groaned in unison as you giggled, flopping back into your chair. 

You really needed to get some girl friends who weren’t your sister and your boyfriend’s sister.

- 

“Was I good today?” Charlie questioned, jumping onto the bed next to you as you scrolled through Instagram that night. 

You put you phone down, pretending to think. 

“Well, you tried to tease me at lunch and then tried to discuss it, which then led to me having a very awkward conversation with our sisters about our sex life. So I’m gonna go with no.” You said. Charlie’s eyes widened. 

“Y/N!” He gasped. “You can’t do that to me.” 

“Why not? I told you to be good and you weren’t so that’s on you.” You replied, returning to scrolling on your phone. Charlie placed his head on your chest, pouting.

“But...” He trailed off. You raised an eyebrow.

“But what?” You questioned. He sighed loudly.

“But I’m so horny.” He complained. You rolled your eyes.

“That sounds like a you problem.” You replied.

“Baby.” Charlie whined, dragging out the ‘y’. “I’m gonna get blue balls, do you want that?” 

“You’ve got hands. And I know you know how to use them.” You said. He sat up, giving you his infamous puppy eyes.  

“Please?” He asked. You stared at him, not wiling to budge.

“Your sex drive is frankly disturbing Gillespie.” You told him.

“I know.” He agreed, batting his eyes at you. “Please?” 

You groaned.

“Fine.” You said. His eyes widened.

“Really?” He questioned, a grin appearing on his face.

“Yes. Quickly, before I change my mind.” You nodded. Charlie moved forward but paused.

“Wait.” He said. You frowned.

“What now?” You questioned, your tone clearly showing your exasperation. 

“You want to do this, right? I’m not making you do anything you don’t want to be doing?” He asked, suddenly serious, and your frown fell as your heart filled with love for the boy in front of you and the fact that he was still asking for consent despite how desperately horny he claimed to be. You lent in, kissing him gently. 

“I promise you’re not forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do.” You said softly.

“You’re sure?” He checked. You nodded. 

“Positive.” You reassured him. He grinned. 

“I love you.” He whispered, leaning closer. 

“I love you too.” You replied. 

And with that Charlie pulled you towards him, ready to show you just how much he really loved you. 

[flowerwrites06]

break my mind’s eye special — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Parts: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Special 

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation 

Walking through the dark halls of permanently stained apartment building, Jungkook finally stood in front of a familiar number written on the text. He rapped at the wooden door a few times hearing a couple of grunts and rummaging from the other side. He sighed. “It’s me, Hoseok, you don’t have to hide the weed.”

“ Oh! ”

A few locks clicked here and there before the door swung open to welcome a light air of smoke mixed with the stench alone that could make Jungkook high. Hoseok gave him a loose smile, holding onto his arm as a wide grin spread across his lips. “You finally made it!”

Jungkook hummed trying not to grimace too much at the smell as the older male closed the door behind them.

“Come on, tell me…” Hoseok patted his back, prancing towards the couch where the coffee table was exuding smoke.

The apartment was miniscule with one bedroom door open on the left and a tiny kitchen on the right with a window next to the fridge. Another one near the dining table. Walls were a gross green tint and the floors a dull brown with black velvet couches that were ripped a little at the edges. But Jungkook could not complain.

“Tell you what?” The younger male dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the couch next to him, burying his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

Hoseok picked his joint back up and hovered it near his lips. “What was prison like?” He sucked in his cheeks causing the ambers to light up at the end before he blew the thick smoke away from Jungkook.

“Like living with a bunch of criminals. What else?”

“So just like old times then.” Hoseok smirked.

Jungkook glanced at the male for a moment before scoffing out a chuckle. “Yeah…pretty much.” Except there was one difference. Every time he pranced with criminals like himself in the past, he was a leader. In prison, he was young, fresh meat. Before he would also come back home to a warm embrace in bed instead of a steel bed alone with a stinky roommate.

“Well it’s all over now.” He blew out another puff of smoke, shifting to rest his head back against the couch. “You can start doing something else with your life. Something different. Not a lot of people like us get that chance.”

For the first time, he noticed a slight sadness in Hoseok’s tone despite being pumped with artificial endorphins.

His eyes flickered down to the coffee table, noticing the burger wrappers and scattered newspapers. One of them immediately caught his eye. Jungkook sat up again, pulling one of them out of the pile, the right corner of his lips twitched seeing the familiar face.

‘ FAMED DESIGNER KIM BELLE RULES TOKYO FASHION WEEK ’

A side by side picture of a model wearing violet and gold ensemble which almost resembled the traditional kimono with a modern, royal twist. The picture on the right showed her. Belle wearing a simple black dress with her gorgeous waves out and a gracious smile spread across her lips.

‘ Twenty seven year old fashion designer Kim Belle takes all the popularity and buzz with her winter designs for Tokyo Fashion Week. Showing her long love for traditional Japanese fashion culture along with an inspiring movement for domestic violence and trafficking victims by showcasing broken chains and kimono style gowns. An elegant mix of grace and fight for personal freedom. Truly an impressive successor to the legend that was Madame Saito and we are definitely going to keep an eye out for more of her daring projects. ’

“She made a big damn name of herself.” Hoseok broke through the thick coat of silence Jungkook had around him.

“She deserves it.” More than I ever did.

The older male searched his expression for a moment, scoffing a little. “Dude, I have to ask.”

Jungkook met his gaze as he leaned back onto the couch again with the newspaper still in his hands. “What?”

“Why her?”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you—literally could’ve had anyone in the entire country to pose as your fake wife or whatever. But you chose a fashion designer who barely knew anything about you to begin with…” Hoseok shook his head with a light wince. “What was your angle?” Some part of him did not want to believe Jungkook simply blackmailed someone for his own amusement because he knew the man was better than that.

Jungkook wished he had a decent reason to blurt out to him. Maybe he was just inherently evil and wanted to hurt Belle for his own pleasure. Maybe he wanted to fuck her one time just for kicks before dragging her out a little further until it was too much. Maybe he was just sick in the head, wanting to claim a girl who could not say a word against him because her and her brother’s life were wrapped around his finger. Except none of them felt like the truth. “I honestly thought she’d say no.”

“Oh fuck off—”

“Seriously I…” He shrugged a little. “I really thought she was going to punch me and storm out of there with her brother.”

“But the guards wouldn’t let her. I mean—no offense, buddy but you would’ve probably killed her. Knowing you from back then.” Hoseok scrunched his nose lightly.

“She did something ten times more dangerous though.” Jungkook couldn’t resist the jolt of pride bursting in him. “I destroyed her—so she waited until she destroyed me.”

Hoseok chortled a little, voice incredibly raspy. “I wouldn’t call going to jail for your crimes destroying you but sure…”

Jungkook shared a small laugh, nodding as he looked at her picture again. He could almost still feel her soft skin underneath his palm. How her hair smelled when he would hug her from behind as they slept, the way it soothed him to a calmer sleep.

“It’s a thing of the past though…” He tilted his head as his expression turned a little more serious. “…right? No more pulling her into shit she doesn’t deserve?”

“Yeah—yeah, of course.”

“Good…cause Belle’s the star of the city now. One wrong move towards her, you’re back in jail or worse.” Hoseok raised his brow a little making sure there was not a hint of determination on that young face of doing anything stupid. “You don’t have guards or power by your side and Taehyung isn’t addicted anymore. Has a wife and kid…he’s got the dad anger. So he will beat the living shit out of you if you give him the motivation.”

“I know, Hobi.” Jungkook chuckled, patting his thigh gently. “I don’t want her to go through it again either.”

Hoseok hummed a little taking another waft from his joint as he looked out the window, the sky tinted purple. “Alright. I’m gonna go and eat my girlfriend out.” He patted his shoulder, walking up to his bedroom.

“You had to look at the time for that?” Jungkook winced despite the grin on his face.

“Brother, when you’re together for this long, things need schedules.” He walked out of the bedroom with a black duffel bag putting out the joint onto the ashtray. “Food’s in the fridge and there’s Netflix open on the laptop.”

Jungkook waved him off before the door clicked close leaving him in his thoughts. For some reason, all he could do was look back at the newspaper and try to salvage that warm feeling again. The feeling of a true home that could never be.

-

Purple faded into a deep blue across the skies as Jungkook paced around the apartment in his bare torso, scattered with more imperfect tattoos. One cellmate liked doing tattoos because it calmed him down so the younger male did not hesitate much to let him use his skin. He was a nice man who had been thrown in jail for being a drug mule all his life and Jungkook could not help but have a nauseating guilt in his stomach.

Drug mules were essentially trafficked human slaves from Jungkooks’ experience. Their owners use their lives and bodies to transport goods without being detected and usually they start off terrifyingly young or desperate or both. All this service was done for almost little to no money. They were more abused victims than criminals but the legal system were not good at telling the difference sometimes.

Jungkook allowed his body to be used as if giving himself some kind of cathartic relief allowing the broken soul to control something else for a while instead of being controlled. Thus his skin now littered with designs of devil horns, tiger flowers and his own personal request was a tiny print font ‘B’ on his collarbone. No one could truly see it up close but he wanted to feel it there.

Chugging a generous sip from his beer bottle, he quietly observed the night sky glimmering with stars while the city shone in neon. The one thing his mansion lacked was the clear view of how alive everything looked at night.

A knock sounded on the door causing his head to shoot to the side.

Hoseok should not have been home at this hour. Even if he was, the man would not knock in his own apartment.

Jungkook opened the kitchen drawer and brandished a knife before making his way over to the door. Another knock sounded again. It was a gentle knock. Almost shy. But he knew better than soften up so easily. Carefully, he peeked through the peephole trying not to make too much of a sound even though the wooden floors creaked far too much.

His heart jumped right up to his throat seeing the familiar face on the other side. Jungkook almost dropped the knife on the floor trying to focus as best as he could. Was he drunk already? Was he dreaming? Gulping down, he placed the knife on the side table along with the beer bottle and opened the door.

When the view became clear to him, Jungkook let out a sharp breath. “Belle.”

Her hair was shorter up to her shoulders compared to the length in the newspaper picture except she still always kept her natural waves. Eyes a little glazed while her flushed lips spread into a weak smile before pressing them together again. “I-I don’t–I don’t know why I’m here.” Belle’s furrowed her brows a little.

“It’s okay.” He whispered. “Come in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Jungkook smiled even though a small tinge of sadness shone in his eyes.

He opened the door further for her to enter before closing it behind him. Eyes flickered down to her grey sweatpants and frilly white socks paired with a thick sweater like she just woke up from a nap.

Belle kept her back to him for a few minutes, pretending to observe the apartment even though she was really just trying to figure out why she was here. Questions muddled her mind over and over again. Any valid or logical answer. There was nothing. No reason to be standing here when she tried so hard to walk away from him. She did everything to get away. Now she walked right back without any coercion.

Jungkook tilted his head attempting to meet her gaze but decided not to force it too much. “You cut your hair.” A smile twitched on his lips. “It looks nice.”

She absentmindedly touched her waves, breathing out a small chuckle. “Thank you.”

“Uh—how did you know I was here?”

“Namjoon helped me track you down.” Belle mumbled, guilt pooling in the pit of her belly going behind Yoongi’s back like this. She still remembered what Namjoon said when he gave her the address.

‘I’m only giving you this because I know you’re tough as nails…no matter what people say to you…but the second anything goes wrong, you call me.’ Namjoon had become a close friend in the last few years. He had been escorting her back and forth from home to work.

Yoongi had been disallowed to see her after being undercover so he could get a proper therapy before doing field work again. So Namjoon seemed the next obvious choice to take care of her.

Finally Belle turned around to face him, eyes raking down his torso and seeing new designs etched on his skin. Not as precise as the phoenix but still beautiful. “The tattoos look good.”

Jungkook glanced down at his torso with a soft grin. “A friend did them for me.” He met her gaze again even though she quickly averted it, plunging silence back into the room as they waited for it to be filled. “Belle…why are you here?”

Her body deflated as the question lingered in the air, lump growing in her throat while her knees kept trembling. “I—” Belle closed her eyes. “I mis—I missed you.” She smiled sadly before trailing her glossy gaze away again. “It sounds stupid when I say after so long.” Her voice kept getting constricted from the lump, tears filling at the brim of her eyes. “But I still think about you…I still kept that—stupid letter after all these years.”

A familiar warmth seeped through his veins knowing she missed him but it still mixed with dread and guilt. Jungkook scarred her memories forever with his presence and she was so confused on what it meant. He could see the way she shifted and looked away as if trying to push reality away but face it all the same. “I hurt you a lot. I’m so sorry—if I—if I could do it all over again, I’d do it better.”

“How could it have been better?” Belle shook her head. “We met when my brother owed you a debt.”

Jungkook raised his shoulders. “Maybe we’d have met at your boutique.” He attempted to smile a little at the thought of just walking into that boutique and falling in love the normal way. The happy way. “I’d have flirted with you a lot and you’d roll your eyes at me. We’d travel together to Paris or Tokyo, explore the things we love and eat ice-cream until our stomachs ached.” A tiny chuckle passed through his lips.

Belle had to suck in her trembling bottom lip as tears began escaping down her cheeks. “And?”

“We’d get married…properly. Away from my family, we’d relax somewhere at a beach.” The visions in his mind played without any effort causing his eyes to flood knowing it was all an impossible dream now. “We’d have children…we’d love them so much, Belle—”

She couldn’t hold in the sobs that shook through her body. At the very mention of children, Belle felt a tingle under the skin of her belly, memories of the aches still lingering. “Why didn’t you just take the money?”

“What?” He whispered.

“Why didn’t you just take the money? And don’t tell me it was because of business or keeping up appearances. Why? Why me?”

The ever burning question. Even the interrogators asked them the question. What was the motive to taking in Miss Kim? A lot of people owed you debts. Jungkook only answered with a vague, menial answer that had no real connection to his deeds as a boss.

“It was—it was just an impulse…”

Belle’s expression hardened even though her eyes still looked so vulnerable and broken. “An impulse?” Her voice was small and meek. “That’s it?”

“I didn’t think you’d—say yes.”

Saying it to Hoseok was easy. Saying it to Belle felt evil. Jungkook noticed the darkness clouding over her beautiful features, a mixture of heartbreak and pure rage.

“You put my brother’s life on the line and you thought I wasn’t going to say yes?” Belle winced, tone rising back to its original power. A harsh slap of reality learning that one of the most traumatizing experiences of her life happened because one man had an impulse decision to use his power over her.

“Belle, it was years ago—”

“So why am I still getting nightmares about it?!” She shrieked leaving a tense silence to plunge into the room while her voice still echoed through the walls a little. “W-why h-haven’t I stopped seeing t-that mansion every time I close my eyes? Wh-why do I wake u-up scared that I’m still in that room w-while they watch—” Belle let out a loud, trembling breath closing her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping to her chest from her jawline as she hugged herself tightly.

Jungkook stammered, swallowing down the painful lump in his throat as he attempted to keep his composure. “You didn’t have to come and see me.” He whispered.

“I wanted you to see me.” Belle sniffled shakily. “Staying away from you doesn’t help because you could always push it out. I can’t—I can’t push it out because it’s inside me.”

“You think all this has been easy for me? That I just pushed it out?” Jungkook shook his head with a pained expression as their gazes met again. “Yeah our first meeting was an impulse but that didn’t mean it was always like that. I stopped a lot of contact with my family when you told me you were pregnant. That letter was meant to be the last thing I said to my parents before we left.”

Belle wanted to argue that he just started getting sympathetic after her pregnancy but she would be a hypocrite. Even she felt softened knowing a child was growing inside her. “You wanted to kill the mayor too, Jungkook, how long would that have taken?”

“Overnight if it meant I’d be escaping somewhere with you.” Jungkook spoke without hesitation, still remembering all the plans he had in place for their move.

“But I would’ve lost the baby anyway.” She smiled sadly. “It was natural causes.”

The male took a few careful steps forward, trying not to intimidate her but hopefully close a little more distance between them. “I didn’t just do it for the baby, Belle.” Jungkook sighed. “I did it cause I love you…but I knew we couldn’t be happy if we were at that mansion and I was still running the cartel.”

Belle sniffled. “I wish you didn’t love me.” Her chin trembled, her body tired of brewing more sobs as tears filled her eyes again. “I wish I didn’t love you. Maybe all this would be easier.”

“When has it ever been easy between us?”

“That’s the problem.” She pressed her lips together. “Love shouldn’t be this difficult. Maybe sometimes but—every single day wondering whether what you’re feeling is real…or worrying that something terrible is going to happen if I stay with you for too long.” Features contorted in pain as she stumbled on her feet a little.

Jungkook’s inhibitions banished immediately seeing her trip slightly, rushing to her side and gently holding onto her arm. Before he could say anything, he felt Belle rest her head on his chest. A burst of butterflies soared across his belly having that familiar smell touch his nostrils and the warmth of her body radiating onto his cold bare skin.

They didn’t say a single word as Jungkook properly wrapped his arms around her body, fingers brushing through her soft hair. Her sobs were quiet but her body still trembled and his embraced tightened a little. As if praying that all of her pain could be transferred to him so she did not have to suffer through it all.

Belle should have pulled away the moment he touched her but the warmth was too much. Her body felt heavy against his, melting onto his skin almost like they could join as one. Maybe that could repair some of the damage. Breathing became steady as she allowed herself to relax. A protective part of her still tried ensure she was not too vulnerable but another part said it was too late.

In this particular weakened moment, she was his and he was hers.

-

15 unread messages.

Namjoon: How did it go? Are you good?

Namjoon: Taehyung said you didn’t come home last night.

Namjoon: Belle?

Namjoon: I don’t want to have to track you down.

Namjoon: Please tell me if you’re okay.

Namjoon: Yoongi and Taehyung found out, I’m sorry.

Belle: I’m okay.

Namjoon: Jesus, don’t scare me like that.

Namjoon: Where are you?

Belle: I’m still at Jungkooks’ place.

Namjoon: Okay. Is everything alright?

Belle: I don’t know.

Namjoon: What do you mean? Did he hurt you?

Belle: No.

Namjoon: Just tell me what happened.

Namjoon: Look I’m not Yoongi or Taehyung. I won’t get mad, alright? You can tell me.

Belle: I slept with him.

Namjoon: Okay that’s fine.

Belle: No it’s not.

Namjoon: Did he hurt you or force you or anything?

Belle: No, no it was consensual.

Namjoon: Then I don’t see an issue.

Belle: How?

Namjoon: Considering he’s a former drug lord, I expected far worse things done to you then you two just consensually having sex.

Belle: Are they really angry?

Namjoon: I’ll handle Yoongi and Angel’s handling Taehyung. They’re grown men, they’ll get over it.

Namjoon: Just come back up again.

Belle: Okay. Thank you, Joon.

Namjoon: Anytime.

Belle let out a sigh, chest falling a little as she hugged her phone for a moment before placing it on the nightstand. Eyes scanned the ceiling, a few brownish stains here and there but nothing far too putrid. Her old apartment usually had those stains after a storm. She felt Jungkook shift a little, his arm still resting over her body while his face buried into her neck. It was so easy allowing the warmth to coat their little bubble.

Except it was not a bubble of theatrics. She was not pretending to be Mrs. Jeon anymore. She was a fashion designer with her boutique and Jungkook was a regular man trying to get by in the city. They were two normal people with no real threat to be together but they were here.

The ache between her legs still pulsed a little when she remembered the night before.

The very minute she resorted to hugging him, Belle knew it was going to be difficult to turn back from it. Deep recesses of her mind surfacing up to whisper in her ear that it would be okay just this once.

To feel him again.

To have his head between her legs at this moment, kissing and nibbling on all her sensitive nub while his fingers pads dug into her thighs. Jungkook took his time. Licking a stripe tantalizingly slow, tasting her juices until it was the only remnant on his tongue. He let out a breath through his nose as his lips wrapped fully around her clit, suckling passionately until her thighs closed up around his head only making him moan.

Belle whined against the vibrations on her aching, sensitive skin as her fingers found themselves knotting in his hair. Chest rising and falling she faced the ceiling. Lower belly burned and tightened as Jungkooks’ movement did not falter, shaking his head a little to jolt more of that head-spinning heat.

…

Bed creaked as Belle straddled him, bouncing at a steady pace while her hands rested on his torso. Moonlight painted her sweat glistening skin through the window. As if the whole city could see her relishing in her own guilty pleasure. Except the guilt was nowhere to be found.

His hand trailed up her abdomen to cup her breasts gently, digging a little into her tender skin to earn a small whimper from the woman. Then he moved up to her neck. Jungkook cupped the side, thumb tracing her bottom lip while the other hand gripped at her shaking hips.

Belle suckled on his digit muffling her moans all the while clenching tightly around his member until it sent shivering tingles up her spine. She hummed in satisfaction as Jungkook groaned at the pressure.

“You feel so good.” He pushed in his thumb a little further watching her slightly drenched curls fall over her face. A smile curled up at the corner of his lips hearing the sinfully loud squelch sounds their thrusts emitted. “So fucking beautiful.” Jungkook whispered. He forced himself to keep his eyes open, wanting to take every second of how she tried to suck on his skin harder every time she dropped down roughly.

“I’m close.” Belle’s words were a little muddled against his thumb. Her thrusts grew desperate and relentless, pussy squelching violently as their incessant moans swirled in the sex scented air.

Bursts of searing heat and unbridled pleasure shook through their limbs, pulsing through her veins as Belle’s movements became sloppy. Jungkook had his head pressed deep against the pillow as his muscles tensed feeling her walls clench around him before he pulled himself out, release spewing out onto his belly. Belle cheekily reached down to touch his reddened member, giggling lightly when he jerked against it.

Jungkook followed with a breathless chuckle of his own as she rested back on his chest, uncaring of how messy they were.

It was the first time they laughed after sex.

Granted it was not much but last night gave her a dreamless sleep. A welcomed type of sleep. They cried, hugged, moaned and laughed. So many sensations all at once was bound to make anyone have such a deep sleep that they do not want to wake up the next day. A wonderful feeling. It would be temporary before her other dreams settle in again but Belle was not going to let them get to her this morning. She wanted to relish in this new, momentary peace.

Jungkook began stirring more, light hum under his breath until he finally opened his eyes to a calming sight. Tired vision still a little blurred but he could always make out her face. “Sleep well?” His voice grumbled despite the smile creeping on his lips.

Belle turned to meet his gaze, mimicking his gentle smile. “Really well.” The curl slowly disappeared from her lips as reality seeped through their comfort. “We can’t see each other anymore. You know that, right?”

He nodded although solemnly. “I know.” Whatever red string they forced themselves to tie around their pinky finger had to separate one day. Even when reluctance settled in. “Like you said, love shouldn’t be as difficult as ours was.” Jungkook shifted so he lay down his back, one arm curled so he could rest his head on top of it.

“I don’t have to leave now though.”

“What, you want more?” Jungkook licked the inside of his cheek as a smirk formed, one of his hands reaching out to gently touch her lower belly.

Belle pushed his hand away with a chuckle. “No…I meant something else.” She pulled the sheets up to cover herself a little, goosebumps forming on her skin when the room brushed a little cold. “Ice-cream. We could get ice-cream.”

A jolt of nostalgia burst through him as he remembered the last time that request was passed between them. Despite expecting a child back then, Jungkook preferred this more knowing Belle was sitting here by her own volition. That was what mattered most. “Yeah…we can get ice-cream.”

-

Tiny slab of pink and mint down the food line of the city. Belle somehow managed to make his black T-shirt and her sweatpants look strangely put together while he buried himself in his hoodie. They walked inside the cute parlor immediately greeted by a kind boy at the counter.

Making their orders, the couple took their ice-cream cups to a booth at the corner.

Thankfully the parlor was empty since no one bought ice-cream this early in the morning so it would be difficult for them to be spotted.

Journalists eventually grew bored of doing stories on Jungkook and Belle’s ‘tragic love story’ but she knew the moment, a single person saw them, it would be chaos.

“Did you have any trouble these few years?” Jungkook asked feeling a sense of joy in his mouth as the sweet taste touched his tongue.

Belle shrugged lightly. “Apparently there was a hired hitman for a while but he was quickly detained. Then a stalker which lasted for a few months.”

“What did he want?”

“Namjoon found out he was a spy for a gang called Pogpungu Pa.”

“Fucking tongue twister.” Jungkook scoffed. “They wanted a large percentage of my cocaine supplies in exchange for prostitutes.” He waved his spoon. “Told him I didn’t work in that line of business so the Don got pissed.”

“Well he’s also detained. Namjoon’s been very quick in dealing with them. Probably happy to be out on the field again with Yoongi still at his desk.” Belle suckled the remnants of brownie bits from her spoon.

“Why is he at his desk?” His brows furrowed.

“Standard procedure, I guess. Every detective is meant to have a few months of therapy and leave from field work. But I’m pretty sure it’s a new thing that the mayor advised.”

“They’ve been doing a lot of things.”

“A lot of good things.” Belle corrected, narrowing her gaze even though her expression was not completely serious.

Jungkook smiled lightly picking up another small scoop of his ice-cream. “You’ve been doing a lot of good things. The Tokyo fashion week.”

Her eyes almost immediately lit up when the topic was mentioned and Jungkook couldn’t help but feel accomplished that he initiated it. “You knew about that?”

“Saw it in the newspaper. It looked good.”

Belle grinned from ear to ear, eyes shining in the bright lights of the parlor. “Angel helped me with the movement. She wanted to create a shelter for domestic violence victims like her. So I offered to promote it in the fashion shows.”

“Oh yeah Hoseok told me…Taehyung and Angel, they have a kid, right?”

“Yeah…” She giggled lightly. “A little baby daughter.”

“That’s good.” Jungkook nodded with a wide smile. “He’s all okay now?”

“Clean and sober for four years. He—relapsed another time but when they got married and then started trying for children, he never went back again.” Belle murmured still remembering the happiest look on Taehyung’s teary eyed face when he first held his baby. That was all she ever wanted for her brother. True happiness. “I kind have you to thank for that.”

He hummed in disapproval. “Don’t, please—the way I did it was wrong.”

“Yes but everything happens for a reason. I think if that didn’t happen…he might not be here at all.” Belle shook his head. “He also did technically meet Angel in the Sangria House. The only reason we even had her booked was because I met Seokjin at the party with you.”

Strange how time fools you in that way. It makes you feel regretful of the bad things that happened in the past except you could not possibly take them back because it would mean diminishing the good things along with it. Delicate and strange thing time was.

“I would’ve never been free from that place if you didn’t go behind my back.” Jungkook smiled down at the cup. “I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“Speaking of which…how is it like being a normal joe in the city?” Belle asked with a cheeky glint in her eye as she tapped her fingers against the ice-cream cup.

“Apparently you have to pay for grocery bags now.” He waved his spoon around.

“Yes for recycling and it’s been happening for a very long time.” She smiled.

His bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. “Not from what I remember.”

“Since when have you ever shopped for groceries?”

Jungkook scrunched his nose a little poking into the mint chocolate ice cream to pick out the chips. “Since yesterday.” He mumbled. “But I’m happy…” He nodded letting his words linger in their comfortable silence. “Or at least now I can do things that make me happy.”

“You could travel to Tokyo and Paris, eat ice-cream until your stomach aches…” Belle grinned. “You can get married to someone you love dearly and have lots of children. No more deals though.” She raised her index fingers as a warning.

Jungkook laughed. “No more deals, I promise.” He mixed around his melting ice-cream for a bit enjoying the little swirl. “What about you? What’re you going to do?”

“My therapist said I should take some time off from the boutique when I get the chance.” Belle quoted her therapist mostly but she never really thought about the prospect on her own until she discussed it with Yoongi. “Yoongi suggested we could go to Norway to disconnect for a little while.”

“Yoongi…wait, are you two—”

“No, silly. As friends.”

“Ah.”

“You think if I had a boyfriend like Yoongi, I’d sleep with you again?” Belle scoffed even though a smile tugged at her lips.

“Hey I’m pretty tempting.”

“Not that tempting.”

Jungkook scrunched his nose at her before chuckling as he practically slurped on his ice-cream at this point.

The couple sat in silence for a few moments finishing their breakfast desserts, unable to keep smiles off their faces.

“We go our separate ways now, yeah?” He spoke the truth this time. The satisfaction in his belly along with the warmth in his heart softly stating to him that it was time.

Belle smiled, a slight twinge in her chest but nothing compared to the relief brewing inside. A whisper in her ear telling her it was okay. It was okay to move on. “Yeah. No more looking back.”

Throwing their empty ice-cream cups away, the pair walked out of the parlor towards Belle’s car. Jungkook’s apartment was a few minutes’ walk away. She wanted to drive because it made it that little bit easier to go back home immediately. At this point, they both deserved one thing to be easy.

Belle gave him one final smile before climbing into the car and driving away.

Jungkook didn’t wait a second as he turned on his heel and walked back to his apartment.

This was the true final time they saw each other. They would not turn back. There was no need to anymore.

-

As soon as Jungkook walked into the room, it smelled a whole lot more different than it did the first time. The only smoke emitting was from the pan exuding a warm, delicious scent. Morning sun beaming through the windows making it look a tad bit brighter and the floors almost shone clean now.

“There you are!” Hoseok announced with a grin. “Did you go out for a jog?”

“Yeah…a little bit.” He answered absentmindedly.

A figure with short, black hair stood at the kitchen counter setting some bacon and eggs up on the plate. She looked up and immediately give him a similar bright smile as Hoseok.

“Ah—this is Rosyne.” Hoseok touched the womans’ shoulder. “Rosyne, Jungkook.” He gestured over to the younger male.

The two exchanged greetings before Hoseok invited him over to the kitchen counter to have breakfast. He wanted to tell them that his stomach was a little full from the ice-cream. But it felt so peaceful when he saw the giggles shared between them while eating, random conversations that no one really cared about but it made them smile.

Jungkook stayed still for a moment watching them so easily be vulnerable and happy around each other. “Hey, you guys want to go to Paris?” He sat down on one of the stools.

Rosyne’s eyes widened a little as the request lingered in the air while Hoseok looked amused but taken aback at the same time.

“Why the sudden interest?” Hoseok chuckled, sticking his fork into some scrambled eggs.

He shrugged. “Might be cool to disconnect for a little while.”

“Prison wasn’t disconnecting enough?”

Jungkook nudged his arm with a light scoff. “You know what I mean. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I’ve—always wanted to see the Louvre in real life.” Rosyne raised her shoulders, giving Hoseok an adorable smile.

“Don’t spoil him, Ros.” Hoseok glanced at the both of them for a few moments before letting out a defeated sigh. “We’ll think about it.”

Jungkook did not argue any further after that and began taking careful bites of the breakfast even though it might give him a stomach ache later. The thought of something actually exciting happening this year or the next year made him happy enough to keep going on this new life.

-

Carefully padding into the apartment, Belle’s footsteps were soft and barely echoed across the walls but there was no use in being discreet. Especially since Yoongi, Taehyung, Namjoon and Angel were all in the sitting room. Bloom sat on the floor completely focused on banging her little drums that Namjoon gifted her on her first birthday.

Once Angel looked her way, everyone else followed suit. Yoongi was the first one to shoot up to his feet and stomp towards the woman.

“What took you so long?” Yoongis’ words sounded more like pleading than anger. “Are you hurt?” Eyes frantically examined her body until his gaze darkened as he stopped at her neck.

Belle hovered her hand over the patch of skin that definitely had a few purpling marks scattered but she kept a calm expression. “Everything’s fine, okay? Nothing happened.”

“No something happened.”

“Yoongi, fuck off.” Namjoon grabbed his shoulder and led him to the side. “Good to have you back in one piece, B.”

As the two men sat near the paneled windows muttering a few things to each other, Belle caught another figure coming towards her from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath keeping her gaze on her brother.

Taehyung looked so much taller now. Loose emerald shirt with golden vectors as opposed to the old black hoodies, his eyes were a little darkened from exhaustion but this time it was to take care of his baby rather than an accidental bender. The serious expression on his face added more to the fact that Belle had her older brother back. He was sturdy in his appearance and confident in his stance. The look of a man who had gone through a tunnel of hell and found happiness at the end of the trail.

“How’d it go?” He asked.

“Pretty civil…” Belle nodded, playing with her fingers a little. “…considering the circumstances.”

Taehyung hummed in approval. “That’s good. And that?” He waved his index finger across his own bare neck while looking at hers. “Good or bad?”

“Good.” She smiled faintly. “Really good.”

He grimaced a little. “Gross.”

“Shut up.”

Taehyung could not seem to keep his serious expression as a light chuckle broke out of him, shifting on his spot to loosen up. “But—no more, right? We’re gonna try to get back up again? Start over?” He would be the last person to ever judge Belle for her impulses. What he did know is that the impulses were not meant to be a constant.

Belle did not hesitate to nod. “I uh—I wanted to go to Norway. With Yoongi…” She glanced over to the side seeing Yoongi give her a more apologetic look which the woman smiled in response. “And maybe you guys too? Get away from the city for a while.” She shrugged. “Might even give me inspiration on the new line.”

He thought on the idea for a moment but quickly had a wide grin on his lips. “Angel’s been talking about going on a holiday. We could talk about it over breakfast.”

“Let me just go freshen up.” Belle patted him on the shoulder before making her up the top level of the apartment to her bedroom.

Being the owner of a prestigious boutique came with its perks when she managed to get a big enough apartment for three people including safety for children. It was in the highly populated areas of the city which is meant to be the best area for the position they were in. With Angel’s first husband and Belle’s connection to the Jeon Cartel, the more witnesses around them, the better.

Walking into her bedroom, Belle had one thing in mind before going to shower as she opened her walk-in closet. On the top shelves a box had been hidden under some folded sheets. She reached out and pulled it towards her feeling the light trickle of dust flow through the air making her sneeze.

Sniffling a little she brought the brown box and sat down on the bed with it. Belle paused for a moment, a very light tinge of dread brushing through her but there was a strength that seemed to power through it. Taking a deep breath she clicked open the box. Two tiny yellow shoes on the right hand side causing her to let out a shaky sigh, smiling a little as a few tears filled her eyes.

Belle held the shoes gently, hugging them to her chest before placing them on her lap. Then her eyes moved from the bracelet to the piece of folded paper. The warmth in her belly soared again taking the letter, unfolding to reveal the heavy promise scratched across the surface. The promise that kept her up at night for this many years. How much words could impact a mind was both fascinating and terrifying.

No more though. It was time. Something her therapist said to her in one session Belle would never forget.

It’s never about one solid destination of healing. You will never know exactly when you were healed. All you can know is when you decide to start or keep healing. That is what’s important. After that, everything will flow by you…in the future, it will all seem like a dream. But you’ll feel so proud of yourself when you look back, Belle. Even more proud than I am of you now. You’ve done so well and I hope you’ll keep healing.

Belle placed her fingers at the top of the letter and ripped it half, letting out a deep of relief as she put them together, ripping it again. Smaller and smaller the pieces became breaking off like petals from the already withering flowers in her heart. A smile widened on her lips as she let out something in the mixture of a chuckle and a sob, tears freely leaving her eyes. Teeny tiny pieces piled on the bed. Helping to remind her that they were just words after all.

With steady hands she gathered them together and threw it into the bin under her nightstand.

Then Belle took the yellow shoes and walked to the living room.

The group were already settling around the kitchen counter when she arrived. Angel had Bloom in a high chair feeding her some custard looking mush which she seemed to enjoy though slightly confused by the taste.

Belle walked over to where the child was and gently placed the yellow shoes on her socked feet. She could not help but grin seeing how it fit perfectly. Everything happens for a reason.

“Those are beautiful.” Angel gently touched the soft fabric. “Did you make them?”

“I got them from the market years ago.” She softly brushed through Blooms’ thin dark hair as the child tried to peek at what her aunt put on her feet.

“We were just talking about the trip to Norway.” Taehyung spoke up leaning against the counter next to Angel.

“Yeah, why was I not invited?” Namjoon pouted a little.

Belle stammered, chuckling lightly. “It was Yoongi’s suggestion…we can all go together. I thought you wanted to do field work for the rest of the year.”

“Still would’ve liked to be included.”

Bloom squeaked in response to Namjoon’s mumble, bouncing up and down her seat.

“Might need a babysitter if Taehyung wants to get laid.” Yoongi mused.

“Ah, language.” Angel covered Blooms’ ears but the baby only grinned wide looking at Yoongi.

“She’s not going to know what it means.”

“Listen, we’ll go together.” Belle silenced the group for a moment. “Namjoon forgets to take breaks from work anyway so it’d be a good way to force him out somewhere relaxing.”

“Norway does have a low crime rate.” Taehyung spoke.

“So it’s settled. We’re going to Norway and forget about our problems for a month.” Angel announced glancing at each one of them for a nod of approval.

Belle grinned seeing the group dive into their conversations about what to do in Norway and what hotels to book or the sights to see. No worries of any impending problem or event that could ruin everything. It was just peace in the loudest way possible. All you can know is when you decide to start or keep healing. That is what’s important.

She broke for her family once.

Now she was going to keep healing for it too.

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