#he has a mean streak but not really towards clients

[potterandpromises]

Aza

This fic was written as an experiment. It's 26 paragraphs long and the first word of each begins with the corresponding letter of the alphabet. This was something I'd been wanting to try with an Amelia client for awhile, and it was surprisingly easy to write when it came down to it. Aza had no background when I began writing her story and it went in a direction I wasn't expecting. This was a thoroughly interesting experience and I'm glad I did it.

Content warning: semi-graphic description of past child abuse, 

Also on AO3

“Aza Asher?”

By the grace of a bus and three separate trains, Aza had made it to the offices of The Amelia Project. Her way out. Her way forward. “Yes." Her voice is thick with excitement. “I’m Aza, but hopefully not for much longer.”

Ceiling fan blades cast shadows on the wall behind the man she’s just been let in to see. Aza feels like she’s in a noir film, although she’s never actually seen a noir film. “Yes, hopefully not for much longer,” the man echoes, and Aza plays with her fidget ring. He’s not a particularly intimating man, but she is intimated nonetheless.

“Do you have anything working with animals?”

“Excuse me?”

“For my new life?” Aza isn’t sure she’s going about this in the right way, but surely almost no one goes through this process twice, so he must be used to a little confusion. “Do you have any jobs where I could work with animals? I'm not picky, but I've always wanted to. I could be a dog trainer or—“

“Get out.”

Her mouth falls open, closes, starts to quiver. But she bites down, steals herself. She didn’t go through public transport hell, stealing, the abuse, to be turned down like this.

“I’m kidding!” He extends his arms in a wide arc and Aza steps back instinctively. “Unless you have an uninteresting reason for wanting to fake your own death, in which case I really will have to tell you to get out. You see, here at Amelia, we deal in stories.” Is there any such thing as an uninteresting reason to fake one's own death? She doubts it. Even if the reason itself might be wholly guessable and common, the sort of person who would go to the lengths Aza herself is going to must almost always be quite a character. Then again, Aza has always thought of herself as the side character in someone else's story. “Oh, I used you in my little prank war— that's 34 for me by the way— and I haven't even offered you cocoa. My bad, truly. Please take a seat. Joey!”

Joey brings in a mug of cocoa in what must be close to 10 seconds flat. Aza takes it even though there’s a voice in the back of her head telling her to never accept a drink, any drink, from a stranger. She’ll have to trust them with far more then a cup of cocoa if she wants to survive. “Heavenly doesn't even begin to describe it, right?"

“Kill me,“ she pleads, likely with a chocolate mustache on her lip. “Please kill me, because— please pretend to kill me or—“

Lake water down her throat, sputtering on shore; bruises she almost couldn't cover; blood from her mouth as if she were in a horror movie.

“Mum will destroy the world.”

No going back now. No telling the truth. This isn’t a charity, she'd always known that, hence the few thousand stuffed in her clothing. But she hadn’t planned this lie.

“Oh my.”

“Please." She begs him to believe her or not believe her but take pity on her anyway. "You have to help me die so the world can live."

“Queer, very queer. How is it that your mum will destroy the planet?” Aza can tell he doesn’t believe her, she’s not stupid. She trudges on anyway.

“Rosalie Asher is a a scientist, ah, was a scientist. But she was fired. You see, my mother is an evil, evil woman, and at home she talks about— about using the nuclear codes, which she still has. Apparently it’s not actually that difficult to get into where those buttons are. She told me one time this guy was delivering food to her workplace, and he called to tell them the door was left open!" That last part is at least one quarter true. She’d heard a story like that on Last Week Tonight, although it had happened in America. “My mother may be evil, but she loves me, and if she thinks I’m dead, it’ll destroy her. She won’t be able to complete her plan.”

“Shit on a stick you’re lying to me.” Aza imagines her forehead hitting the table, finally letting her guard down.

“There’s the story you told me. Then there’s the true story. Then there’s the reason you lied. I want to hear all of them.” But Aza isn’t prepared to tell. She should have known The Amelia Project was too good to be true, even if it isn't a hoax. She cannot tell. Yet she cannot turn back, not now, not ever. Will her parents find her if she doesn't have help? She has no doubt they will, if her face is still her face.

“Upstream from my house,” she begins, her last ditch chance, “by the edge of the woods there’s this rock that’s covered in moss. I used to go there when I was little, thought it was my secret hide out, until I ran there one day when I was eight and my mum fractured my skill on that rock. That isn’t even the worst of it. I’m done begging and I’m done explaining.” Aza takes the wads of cash from her pocket, her bra, her socks, and places them on the desk. “Will you help me or not?"

“Very well." He's visibility horrified but gives nothing else away. “We’ve had an opening in Antarctica for ages, you’d be researching” —he shudders, she thinks involuntarily— “penguins. No one would ever find you there apart from us and maybe an extremely lost biologist or two. The only thing that might hurt you is frost bite.” He pauses. "And elephant seals."

“What about somewhere warmer?”

“Xylophone player in Uzbekistan?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” But she’s smiling and she can't remember the last time she smiled.

“Zebra keeper in Kenya?” Zebras. She can work with zebras.

[harryslittlefreakk]

too sweet

summary: essentially porn with little plot… or .. when her boss decides that letting her go is in her best interests, y/n decides to show him exactly what he’s missing out on.

warnings: swearing, light angst, smut (rough sex, oral m receiving, slight domrry) also don’t ask me how he can receive oral if she’s on the desk ?? it just happened

wordcount: 2.8k

a/n: much like the rest of the world, i can’t stop listening to too sweet :) and to me it has ceorry written all over it!! as always please let me know if you enjoyed!! I really want to start trying my hand at more tropes and aus so please let me know if there’s anything you’d like to see!!!

my masterlist & taglist can be found here 💖 love you

“Mr Styles, I-”

“I promise you, sweetheart. It’s not a set back, it’s just-”

“I can show you, please.” You were begging and pleading like this job hadn’t been draining the life out of you for months now. You knew that Harry was right, but you didn’t want to, couldn’t, accept another failure.

“Listen.” His words were stern but his face was soft as he reached over the table, placing a ringed hand over the top of yours. “It’s not personal. To succeed in this business you need grit. No one ever got to the top without a hint of cunt, me included.”

He held up his free hand as you opened your mouth, silencing you before the words had even begun to form. “You are special. You don’t have that mean streak, and I refuse to be the one to manufacture it within you. I will find a spot in this company for you, shift people around if I have to. You need to find a role that grows with you, not one that will tear you down.”

You nodded slowly, speechless as his words sunk in. How can you be fired for being too nice? Not cunty enough? You tugged your hand away from Harry’s as if it burned you, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Is this because of the cakes?” you asked, cringing as you thought back to all the nice things you’d done around the office. If you weren’t supposed to be nice, why not put that in the job description? Under requirements: IT skills, maths degree, asshole.

Harry laughed, leaning back in his seat as he grinned at you. “In a way, I guess it is because of the cakes. Just trust me, okay? This is for the best. I’d never forgive myself if I turned you into a monster. Finance is a cut-throat world,” he finished, staring out into the office.

When he didn’t say anymore, you stood up, smoothing out your skirt across your thighs. “Thank you for your time, Mr Styles. I’ll wrap up my work and send it over to you, I assume you won’t need me past lunch?”

“No, that’s all. Thank you y/n,” he smiled, nodding as you turned away.

“Dick,” you muttered, pulling the door closed behind you. You could hardly rant and rave to his face, especially after repeatedly hearing how nice you are, but you were inwardly seething. Treating your colleagues like shit would be a good reason to get fired, treating your clients like shit would be a better one. But to be too kind? You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make sense to you, but it was still downright unfair. You had grit, and you’d show him.

You sat silent and dignified until the office left for lunch, wrapping up with the clients you had and sending the remainder to Harry. No one stayed past lunch on a Friday, so the second the last stragglers left, you rushed to the Harry’s office door. You had no game plan, except for bursting in and proving him wrong. Only, as soon as you were about to reach out and knock on the door, it swung open. “Y/n.”

“I have grit,” you told him, slipping past him into his office. It was all you could think to say.

“I-”

“Close the door please,” you motioned your head towards Harry’s seat, signalling for him to sit back down. He was frozen in the doorway, an amused smirk dancing on his lips. “I have grit,” you repeated, gaze following Harry as he pushed the door closed and circled back around his desk.

“You said that,” he sniggered, loosening his grey tie as he watched you pace around the office. “If I didn’t have grit,” you started, willing something entirely different to come out your mouth, knowing that it wouldn’t. “I wouldn’t mention that I know you spent the entire Christmas party in here with Stephanie. With the door locked. And I wouldn’t mention that I’ve noticed the way you look at me,” you finished, eyes glued to the skyline behind Harry’s head.

His jaw clenched a few times, his hands flexing against the wood of his desk. “Good point,” he murmured, his expression totally unreadable as he looked at you. “Come and sit down.”

You padded over tentatively, fingertips gripping the back of the chair as you pulled it out in front of you.

“Not there.” He pushed his chair back, tapping on the wood between his hands.

“What are you-” you started, gaze darting between Harry’s icy stare and your feet, dragging themselves the short distance to Harry’s desk.

“You came here to show me you have grit, no?”

You nodded, heart in your throat as you perched on the edge. “How were you going to show me?” he continued, his eyes unrelenting in their pursuit of weakness within you.

You knew what your game-plan was, but you weren’t expecting Harry to catch on and call your bluff. His voice was muffled by the blood pounding in your ears, your jaw tight as you tried to remain composed under his watch. He leaned back when you stayed silent, one eyebrow raising slightly as his gaze raked down your body. “What were you going to do, y/n?” he asked again, hooking one foot around yours to pull your legs open.

A tiny gasp falling from your lips was the only sound you made, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Harry reached forward, pushing your skirt up around your hips until he saw a flash of your red panties. “I think,” he started, fingertips trailing down your exposed thigh. “You were going to show me that sweet little cunt, show me what it can do. Am I right?” he continued, satisfied as he looked at the trail of goosebumps his touch had left.

You nodded again, eyes fluttering closed in a bid to expel some of the anticipation creeping through your core. “Use your words,” Harry muttered, tugging on your thighs until you landed in his lap.

You opened your eyes, inches away from his face as he splayed a hand across your lower back. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, a shiver running down your spine. His cock twitched beneath your core at the name, his eyes dark.

“From this moment onwards, anything that happens within these walls is between us. Do you understand?” Harry asked, his voice husky and yet somehow softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Of course,” you replied, hoping your eyes communicated the sincerity that your words couldn’t.

Harry placed his free hand on your hip, pushing you down slightly until his firm cock bulged against your entrance.

“What are you and your grit going to do about this then?” he smirked, his fingertips digging into your clothed flesh. You almost choked on the lump in your throat, eyes bulging as you shifted on top of Harry’s girth. His stare was like a challenge, daring you to retreat or prove yourself wrong. But you’d gone too far to back down now, so you swallowed the first taste of tomorrow’s regret and locked your eyes on his, rolling your hips across his lap before stepping off of him.

You answered his questioning frown by sitting back on your heels between his legs, reaching forward with a tentative hand to palm him over his trousers. Harry let you feel him for a second, before swatting you away to unzip his slacks and push them down his thighs.

From the moment you’d first met him, you knew Harry was objectively hot. He was attractive in the same way a friend’s dad would be - enough to appreciate but too out of reach for it to be any more than that. But now as you stared up at him, the strained fabric of his Calvins tight against the cock he was about to fuck your face with, he was the most attractive man you’d ever seen.

Harry tugged the waistband of his boxers down, only enough to set his length free, grabbing hold of your wrist. “No one is to know,” he growled, waiting for your confirmation before guiding your hand to his length.

“No one, sir,” you murmured, pressing your parted lips to the side of his shaft as he pulled his hand away.

“Good girl,” was all Harry could manage as your pout wrapped around his tip, your tongue swirling across the nerves. You let your saliva drip down him, rubbing it across his skin with an unsteady yet firm hand. It felt dirty, transactional almost as if he might let you stay if you performed well enough for him. But you knew you didn’t want that, and he wouldn’t want you working for him once you’d milked his cock for all it had.

You could feel his eyes on you as you pulled your mouth away from him, your hand still working up and down his length. Your gaze darted up to meet his, the hunger in his eyes unlike anything you’d seen before. He was almost animalistic, something feral juxtaposed in his features as he watched you silently, frozen in place. You willed yourself to look away as you bent further down, poking out your tongue to lick a wet line along his cock, but you couldn’t focus on anything but Harry’s face. Your arousal was pooling between your thighs, a breathy moan tumbling past your lips as you took more of him into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

You couldn’t take him all, not even close, so your hands worked at the rest of him, one wrapped around his base while the other found his balls, squeezing them gently as your cheeks tightened against his girth. Harry let out a small groan, his first display of your mouth having any effect on him, his hand instinctively tangling into your hair as if he’d been here with you before.

He used his grip to hold your head steady, directing your mouth up and down his length. His cock was knocking into the back of your throat, your whimpers mixing with groans and splutters, until he stopped suddenly, pushing back in his chair until there was distance between the two of you. You were too much, the sight of your pout wrapped around his tip too much for him to take.

“Up,” he demanded, placing a protective hand over the edge of the desk to save you knocking your head. You pulled yourself up to meet where he stood, resting against the desk to take the weight off your shaky legs. Harry’s thumb swiped across your jaw, his eyes fixed on your face. Your swollen red pout, your heavy-lidded eyes, mascara gathered under your lower lashes. You looked a fucking mess, and he was loving every second of it.

He bent down slightly, fingers slipping under your skirt to hook around the side of your panties. He pulled them off, helping you to raise both feet, before stuffing them into the pocket of his slacks.

“Turn around,” Harry murmured, nodding as you obeyed him. His fingers trailed across your hips, pushing on your back until your stomach hit the wood of his desk.

You let out a whimper as he pressed a hand between your legs, his fingertips dancing across your skin until they met your entrance, hot and sticky and so ready for him. Harry swiped a finger through your folds, a tiny chuckle the only sound he made as you squirmed, his free hand splayed across your back, keeping you pinned down. “Got yourself all worked up f’me, huh?” he drawled, voice so low it sent shivers down your spine.

You nodded, too overcome with need to form any words. Harry pressed into you, collecting your juices on his tip before pushing himself inside, eyes screwed shut as your walls constricted around him. Your whimpers turned into a string of expletives, his girth too much for you to take. “Tight little cunt, all for me,” Harry whispered, stilling inside of you now that he’d bottomed out. His hands were digging into the skin of your ass, your curves engulfing the base of his cock. “All for you,” you panted, desperately trying to find something to grip on to, something to steady you while Harry tore you in two.

He pulled back, mouth hanging open as he watched himself emerge from your pretty pink lips, his length already smothered in your juices. He wanted to resist, to be gentle with you, but your cunt was begging him to destroy it, to instil in it some of the grit you claimed to have. It was between his head and his heart, yet Harry could only think with his cock.

He slammed into you hard, your hips knocking against the edge of his desk, the contents of his drawers rattling as he drilled into you. His office was far from sound proof, and any stragglers left in the building would hear nothing but your cries and screams as he rocked his hips into yours, his cock hitting every inch of you. But that only spurred him on further, the thrill of your pleasure coursing through his veins. He landed a blow on the curve of your ass, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he watched the red hand print appear, the skin bouncing with every snap of his hips.

“Fuck, Har- fuck,” you cried, breathless as Harry slammed his hips into yours before pulling out completely. He grabbed at your waist, tugging at your dress for you to turn over. “I need to see you,” he growled, eyes completely darkened when you turned to face him. You’d never seen him with as much as a hair out of place, yet now he looked possessed by his own lust. He was messy, curls hanging down his forehead and a blush to his cheeks, shirt half unbuttoned.

He circled around your clit as you looked him up and down, eyes never leaving yours. “Taking me like a fucking good girl,” he whispered, pushing back into your entrance.

“I can’t- please, sir,” you whimpered, chest heaving as he continued fucking into you with the same ferocity as before. Between his cock, his fingers, his face, you were coming apart. He was twitching inside of you with every moan that left your lips, his own climax creeping up as quickly as yours was. He stilled for a moment, his fingers never ceasing as they rubbed pleasure into your nerves. “You can, and you will. Come for me,” he urged, grabbing a hold of your waist as he thrust into you, each snap of his hips pushing you closer to the edge.

“I’m, fuck-” was all you could cry, your mouth falling open as you shook and writhed under him, his words coaxing out an orgasm stronger than you’d ever imagined. Your eyes brimming with tears, brows knitted as you cried out, hips bucking into the palm of his hand. Harry slowed down slightly, seconds between each thrust as he worked you through your high, your cream coating every inch of his thick cock.

The second you stilled, he slipped his hand under your back, pulling you up to sit as he pulled his cock from you. Harry dragged a thumb across your bottom lip, smirking at your tiny pout as you felt the emptiness in your cunt. “Open up,” he whispered, replacing his thumb with his tip, pushing it past your lips as he worked his hand up and down the length.

You took him into your mouth for the second time that day, the mix of your juices like sweet nectar against your tongue. You were dizzy from your climax, every inch of your core on fire from the sheer brutality of his cock, your walls still pulsing. Harry was grunting and groaning, even his moans husky as he twitched between your lips, his jaw tensing as he came undone, hot cum shooting to the back of your throat.

He held a hand to the nape of your neck, grounding himself as he bucked into you, filling you up at a much faster rate than you could swallow. “Good girl,” he cooed, letting you lick every last drop of cum from his tip before he pulled away, sinking down into his chair as his hand dropped down your body.

You leaned your arms back against the desk, eyes glued to the ceiling as you tried to catch your breath, the stinging of your entrance doubled by the sudden lack of touch.

Harry kept watching you, still under your spell, unable to will his eyes away as you panted. “You have grit,” he whispered, a glimmer in his eye. “But I can’t let you work for me after that.”

“As long as you know I have grit, Mr. Styles,” you smirked, rolling your head down to look at him again.

taglist: @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @vonnexann @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @harryshotpocket @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7 @harrystylesluverrrr @cohnfusedarling @ell0ra-br3kk3r @stylesfever

[imaginedreamwrite]

Would love to see more of this SilverFox

Silverfox!paramedic!Bucky knows his girl can be clumsy and it only makes sense that he carries her wherever he can, he doesn’t want her hurt — if she does get hurt, she’s in capable hands

Like maybe it's one of the first times she's really hurt herself, and he's at work, and she's trying to reach him

The bay of the station was quieter than it had been in a while, a relief for Bucky who was hoping to leave earlier than he should have.

After a crazy few hours in the early morning after the clock struck 12, he had finally been able to take a breather and sit. As he found himself a comfortable place to sit in the bay of the station, he had kicked his feet up onto the bumper of the ambulance and tilted his head back.

He let his eyes close and breathed evenly, his mind wandering to the back and forth conversations that had taken place during small moments and minutes he had to talk. The whispered murmurs at the hospital where he would often cross paths with you, was not nearly enough for him and yet he was given no more of it.

Your job as a mental health associate counsellor had put you on the forefront of a lot of the same cases as he was on. Bucky had witnessed first hand you being talked down to by doctors or screamed at by parents because you stuck by what your patient/client wanted. You were willing to make an enemy of yourself for the greater good of your patients, and he admired that.

Of course he couldn’t deny that once or twice he’d wanted to throw the aggressive doctors or parents out the window of the ambulance, but he had to keep to himself.

You had a bleeding heart, you wanted to help people who didn’t have someone by their side or an advocate for themselves. You wanted to be the kind of person who had pushed for better mental health treatment.

Bucky admired you, he endeared himself to you.

He also tried asking you out on a date which was a foolhardy attempt he figured, when you hadn’t given him a direct answer.

“A date?” You’d seemed surprised, even more surprised when Bucky walked you to your vehicle instead of heading immediately back to the ambulance. “Why?”

“Why? Shit, did you just ask why?” He was as puzzled by you as you were him.

“No! I mean…not you, because you’re…you…” you waved your hand and rambled, completely missing the sign in front of you.

“Watch where you’re going, Bambi.” Bucky yanked out of the signs path, saving your clumsiness from walking straight into the pole.

“Thanks,” you chirped and ran a hand down your face, “I’m not…I’m not saying no, but I’m not-“

You hadn’t gotten the chance to say anything else, Bucky had gotten a call and the ambulance pulled up to the curb. His partner grinning foolishly through the glass at the two of you, eyes alight with amusement.

“We’ll talk next time.” Bucky had started to walk away, and turned to face you. “Be careful, Bambi! I don’t want the next call to be yours.”

“Bambi?” You furrowed your brow. “Why Bambi?”

“Hey Buck!” He lurched forward suddenly and dropped his feet to the concrete, eyes growing wider as he woke from his Power Nap.

His partner was coming down the steps with a phone in hand, grin large and wide on his face.

“What’s going on?” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck and stood, his grey and silver streaked beard in desperate need of a trim.

“Bambi called.” His partner tossed him the phone, his grin growing with every hint of amusement in his voice. “Your clumsy Bambi footed girlfriend broke her foot.”

“Bambi,” Bucky made a sound in his throat then answered your next call and held it up to his ear, “what are you doing? I told you I don’t want calls from you.”

“Ha ha ha-“ you had cut yourself off with a huff, and then a sweat. “Fuck, ow!”

“Bambi, you need help?” Bucky crooned through the phone, flipping his partner off.

“No! I’m fine-“

“You broke your foot, don’t lie to me baby dove.” Bucky spoke as he walked across the bay toward the lockers, mouthing a hello to his cross-shift.

“Fine!” You huffed and then sighed, slow and grumpily. “I broke my foot because I’m too short to grab the stupid kettle in the stupid cupboard-“

“Have you been to the hospital?”

“I can’t drive, Bucky.” You whined, likely near tears.

“Want me to bring the ambulance?” He was shedding his uniform jacket and trading it in for his leather one, skillfully using one hand.

“No, I’ll be fine. I just need to stand up and hobble-“

“I don’t think so.” Bucky cut you off with a stern warning, coming from a place of affection. “You’re not going anywhere. Give me ten minutes and I’ll take you.”

“You just got off nights, Bucky I can’t-“

“You can and you will, Bambi. Ten minutes.” Bucky ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket, a sigh edging on his tongue.

“Younger women,” his partner smirked and crossed his arms over his chest, “so fucking adorable, aren’t they?”

“She could stab me in the heart using a knife laced with poison,” Bucky closes his locker with a thud, “and I’d blame myself.”

“You’re in love, Barnes. Only took 45 years.”

[gazrgaley]

The Ripper (part 6)

The two of them hovered at the corner of Leman Street, looking toward Swallow Gardens. The name was a memory of its past; the thoroughfare was little more than a passage beneath the arches of the railway.

Sherlock peered around the corner. "He hasn't found his target yet, has he?"

Isabel's white eyes darted back and forth. "I believe he has," she murmured. "He hasn't made his move."

"Then we'll swoop in and save the day!"

Isabel pulled free of his arm and let her vision come back to her. "Absolutely not."

She had walked a good few paces before she realized he was not following. "What do you mean?" he said, dumbfounded. "You said she's not dead yet. We can stop him."

"She's not one of mine," Isabel said. "How am I supposed to know it's really him if we don't watch this unfold? He could be a simple client, or any old killer on the street. I won't kill him out of hand for nothing more than a false sense of security."

He looked down the thoroughfare and chewed his lip.

"Come now, Sherlock. You're a blood-drinker!" she spat. "You've surely put an end to more innocent lives than every murderer in Whitechapel combined."

"No."

She stopped in her tracks. "What? What do you mean, no?"

He shrugged and offered her a meek smile. "I don't kill innocent people. I live by my own moral code."

Isabel cocked her head and stared. "Fine," she said eventually. "Stay here. I'll be back."

She could hear the girl's heart pounding, throbbing in her ear, so loud and intrusive as she stalked closer. She was young, not even thirty years old. The man had pulled her aside, out of sight of passersby. They seemed to be on even ground; Isabel could tell the girl was nervous but, of course, business was business.

Suddenly he threw her to the ground. The knife flashed once, twice in the moonlight. Blood sprayed from her throat. Isabel rose to her feet. A twisted grin curled her lips. It was him.

She glanced down at herself as she approached. It just wouldn't do. She pulled one glove down, letting it bunch up disgracefully around her wrist. She tossed her hair into disarray and dragged her wrist across her lips, smearing powder and wax into careless streaks. A necessary evil. "You there," she sang, her voice bubbling and unsteady. "Looking for a good time, are you?"

The man gawked at her in disbelief. He looked down at the girl bleeding out upon the street. He stepped over the body and approached with care. "You should be heading home, miss. Tucked in all safe and sound."

"Sleeping doesn't pay the bills, does it?" She gave him an exaggerated wink and nearly tripped over her own ankle.

"I see..." His arm was hidden behind his back. She could smell the blood in the air. "Alright, then. We'll have us a good time." He lunged forward, lashing out with the knife in his hand.

In a flash Isabel stood behind him. She looked down at the girl on the cobblestones and smiled as she pulled up her glove. The man stood in shock, his own blade lodged in his neck.

She pushed him to the ground and rolled him onto his back with the tip of her shoe. "That was a good time indeed," she purred. "I, for one, am quite satisfied."

He panted beneath her. His shaking hand brushed the hilt of the knife. It was slick with his own blood.

"Don't do that. You'll bleed out." She reached into her dress and pulled an elegant silver hand mirror from the pocket beneath. "Before you die," she said conversationally as she fixed her hair, "I have a few questions for you."

"I did the world a favor," he choked out between gouts of blood from his lips.

"So it was you? You are the one they call Jack the Ripper?"

He gave her a wicked, defiant smile. "Yeah, some of it."

She nodded and wiped at her face with a handkerchief. "And you attacked one of my girls last night."

"Not a woman. A whore."

The kerchief disappeared. "What was that?" she said coldly.

"I kill whores," he spat. "Not girls. They deserved it."

"Is that so?" She circled him slowly, like a wolf, a vulture. "Then tell me..." She crouched beside his head, careful to keep her skirts away from his pooling blood, and grinned down at him. "How does it feel to be killed by a proud whore?"

He growled low in his throat, blowing red bubbles upon his lips. "You think you're the righteous one for killing me? D'you think God will ever forgive you?"

Her crow's feet crinkled with mirth. "No, I really don't. This has nothing to do with right and wrong, or good and evil. This is about you and me. You put my girls' lives in danger, and I put an end to yours." She tapped a finger upon the hilt of the knife, making him grunt in agony. "It's self-preservation!" she said brightly. "And do you want to know the best part? In the whole time you've been killing these girls—almost three years now—you have managed to kill fewer people than I have in the last month. I suppose one could say I'm more evil than you..." She slipped her hands beneath his dry shoulder and pushed him into a sitting position. He was too weak to fight her. "Yet you are the one who will go down in infamy, as you deserve."

"Then I've done it," he panted. "They'll fear my name."

"Not if they don't know it," said Isabel. She pulled the knife from the wound.

His blood spurted weakly. "My blood is on your hands," the man said with his last breath.

She showed him her gloves, white and clean and unsullied. "No blood on my hands, my dear." She pulled one last item from her pocket: a half-empty bottle with a label worn beyond legibility. "In my bottle, in my glass... but my hands are clean." She twined her fingers in his hair and pulled.

[souluble]

✿ Scenarios ✿

Inumaki Toge / Nobara Kugisaki / Junpei Yoshino / Itadori Yuji

✿ Playing videogames with them

Inumaki Toge

✿ Ok he’s a canon troll and most definitely throws the first round then absolutely carries the second round to get play of the game which annoys his teammates to no end.

✿ His notficiations are overflowing with friend requests and he never declines them he just lets them pile up.

✿ Inumaki has a hacker client downloaded and when you finally found out he offered to send you the link.

✿ If his team makes him play healer the only people he’s going to heal is you and the new player who doesn’t understand the difference between left click and right click.

✿ When you play with him he likes to be on opposite teams so he can cross team, he always ends up killing you though.

✿ Leaning over Inumakis shoulder you watched as his fingers effortlessly glided across the keyboard as he commanded his teammates to rush the enemy line. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he clicked away at his mouse before letting out a frustrated groan when his screen turned a vivid red signifying his defeat.

Maneuvering around his chair you placed yourself on his lap and pulled the keyboard closer to your reach “Can I try? It’s a shooter game right?” titling your head back you peered up at his flushed face.

Resting his chin on your head Inumaki placed his hands over yours to maneuver your fingers over the proper keys “Salmon”

With an excited glint in his eyes he watched as you jokingly made your character run into walls and shoot your teammates by mistake to agitate them.

Whenever someone would ridicule your skill in the chat Inumaki was quick to start typing up a spiteful message that would get the two of you banned from the lobby.

His account ended up getting suspended for 24 hours that afternoon but he assured you that he didn’t mind.

Nobara Kugisaki

✿ She isn’t fond of keyboards because mouse spamming makes her finger cramp up, she plays with a controller connected to her console.

✿ Do not play with her If your sensitive, she rages a lot especially when someone throws and isn’t afraid to call to them out.

✿ Definitely uses the voice chat and makes herself leader and no one really argues because her win rate is so high.

✿ If you play with her she’s going to be tailing you non-stop to make sure you don’t die and make you double kill with her to get team points.

✿ If there someone being toxic in the voice chat she’s going to be coming for their throat, make sure to back her up but don’t let her get carried away she already has two strikes on her account.

✿ Only accepts friends requests from people who are the same rank as her or a rank higher, she says the higher ranks are cocky.

✿ The sound of the controllers joystick being pushed around bounced off the walls as a string of curses left her lips “I always get the worst competitive teams”

Nobara let out a loud dramatic exhale as she swiveled around in her chair to face you with puppy eyes “play with me please!! Just one match so my ranking can go up” jutting her bottom lip out she reached out to you.

“Just one match! We have an early mission tomorrow”

“I promise just one match!! It’ll be short and then we can go shopping!”

What was originally supposed to be a quick game turned into multiple as Nobara had formed a party over the last couple of rounds “Y/N go left and flank from behind”

Following her orders you made your character crouch behind the in game objects before going for the kill. The score was tied 4 - 4 and whoever got the last point would win. Nobaras party was on a winning streak and she refused to loose even if she had already ranked up.

“Take point!! Touch point!” Nobaras yelling came to a stop as the screen went black and the words ‘defeat’ flashed across her screen, with a frustrated huff she muted her mic before heading over to you with a defeated look on her face.

“Can we at least still go shopping?”

Junpei Yoshino

✿ He’s surprisingly a really good sniper and only plays DPS, If you make him play anything else he will leave the lobby.

✿ Junpei plays on those public school servers and purposely only targets his classmates, he finds great joy in making them rage quit.

✿ He has never sent out a friend request and refuses to, you had to send him the request if you wanted to be in game friends.

✿ If someone’s targeting you he’s going to spawn camp them even if it means throwing for his team.

✿ Doesn’t use chat, he has it muted to ignore all the trash talk but if he likes his team he’ll drop a ‘GG’ in the chat after a win.

✿ Probably has a hacker client installed too, but he actually paid for it and uses it frequently, his account shockingly has never gotten banned.

✿ Junpei sat crossed legged on the floor as his fingers skimmed over the controller buttons while you sat on his neatly made bed with your controller tossed to the side. His head rested comfortably on your thighs as you brushed his bangs to the side so he could the screen.

Your character had died at the beginning of the match and Junpei was hellbent on killing the person who killed you “Upper left” you watched as he aimed the crosshair with precision before pressing the trigger on the controller.

With a gasp at the accurate headshot you clapsed your hands together “You got them Ino!” a small smile appeared on his face as he looked up at you shyly.

“It wasn’t really anything that special”

“Yes it was! You were all the way on the other side of the map and the shot still hit!”

Facing back towards the screen you watch as Junpei got play of the game once more, if it weren’t for his mute chat you could already see the complaints from the enemy team.

Titling his head back you bent over to press a kiss to Junpei’s forehead “let’s play another match?”

With red ears he looked away from you with a teasing smile “As long as you don’t die first again”

Itadori Yuji

✿ Itadori is that one person who makes small talk in the waiting lobby then asks if everyone wants to stay as a team yet leaves as soon as they start loosing.

✿ Only joins games where everyone’s in voice chat because he doesn’t like the awkward silence when no ones talking.

✿ His aim is so bad and he genuinely doesn’t know why, absolutely despises snipers especially when he doesn’t see them until after he dies.

✿ He’s so cute if he sees you online he’s going to be sending you party invites and asking you to join his games.

✿ Prefers to be on opposite teams with you so that he can kill you before anyone else does, his teamates pity you because your always dying first.

✿ You leaned back in your chair and let out a scream at the sudden death of your character “YUJI” a nervous chuckel erupted form your boyfriends throat as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Sorry Y/N but I just don’t want anyone else killing you”

Silence filled the room as you stared at him with a blank look on your face, whenever you play videgames with Yuji he always refuses to be on the same team as you. His reason being that he isn’t good enough at the game to protect you and if your on opposite teams he’s able to kill you first so one else can.

“You actually DONT have to kill me everytime!”

“But then someone else will kill you!” rushing up from his seat Itadori threw himself at you as he burried his head into your stomach and wrapped his arms around your waist.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that playing with him was not a fun experience when he was always so excited to see your gamer tag pop up on his screen.

Glancing towards his screen you watched as his character got taken out “fine fine let’s play another game, I’ll just avoid you this round”

Shaking his head in a ‘no’ manner Itadori let out a loud whine at your statement “No Y/N! You’ll die if you run away from me”

“I’m going to die either way!”

[rogue-durin-16]

THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part III/VII)

"shock therapy"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst mostly

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

Things never go as planned: @sarcasticallywitty15 @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @leovaldez37 @missmulti @weasleywh0r3s

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: language, grief, allusions to suicide, mentions of death, let me know if I missed something

A/N: okay this is... Kinda dark, but I mean, expected given the prompt I'm working with lmao, I'd say enjoy but... Well, enjoy <3

Prologue: the aftermath

Part I: sleepless nights

Part II: candy floss

Part IV: wrong name

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VI: the downfall

Part VII: apart

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

It began with small actions, like waking up earlier than me, or taking on making breakfast himself.

I thought he was feeling better.

Then came the big actions, like deciding to switch places with me an working with the clients while I made the shippings.

I started to feel something was off the third day since the exchange; I escaped the office to visit him and he could have easily passed as the giant mannequin in our façade.

"Are you alright?" I questioned in a worried whisper near his ear.

"Of course." I knitted my brows, puzzled at his response. He noticed how odd it had been due to my face, and that forced smile fell for a second as he leaned on me to place a kiss on my crown. "Don't worry about me, darling."

Before I could insist, his attention was stolen by a couple of very confused clients.

The following night in the flat, while we were making dinner, it seemed he had gone back to his usual demeanor, so I figured he was making extra effort to look happy in front of the customers.

I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong, though, something between us; I couldn't pinpoint it, yet knew it existed.

It was that same night that I got a grip of what was going on, when the bed's weight shifted, shaking me out of my sleep just in time to hear a muffled sob followed by a shaky breath.

"George?" His eyes met my own as I propped myself on my forearms.

"Did I wake you?" He questioned, his voice as quiet as mine. "Sorry, love."

Sometimes —more often than not— when he called me that name, I would feel butterflies in my stomach, and the fact that it was normally accompanied by some kind of physical contact didn't help at all.

He extended his arm to reach my hand, his thumb caressing the back of my palm. "Go back to sleep." He commanded in a soft whisper, getting up and walking towards the door.

As the door closed, my chest ached at the mere possibility of us going back to the first week we spend together in the flat after the war.

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

I went straight to the kitchen and splashed my face with water before pouring myself a glass of milk.

Y/n had the brilliant idea of throw away all the alcohol in our apartment to avoid falling into bad habits as a copying mechanism, and, in all honesty, it was one of her best ones.

Grabbing the glass, I made my way to the living room, plopping down on the couch; I wouldn't even try to fall asleep there— it was proven impossible during the first week.

I had to snap out of it and start to sleep in my own room; the war left us all scarred in s million ways, and one of them included that even the slightest, quietest movement would wake you up, and I knew for a fact that Y/n wasn't getting one single night of sound sleep, and I was the one to blame.

"Oi," Speaking of which.

"What are you doing up?"

"Checking on you." She responded, leaning against the doorframe "You alright?" I nodded, but she walked to the couch either way, sitting down and letting herself fall over my chest. "You've been acting weird." She mumbled, snugging her face on my chest and consequently making my heart swell. "You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

I hummed, my chin resting over her crown as my arm wrapped around her. "I know." I murmured, knowing very well it was lie.

There was several things I couldn't and wouldn't tell her ever, but I wouldn't let her know that. "C'mon, go back to bed."

"Not without you." It wasn't more than a mumble, since she was beginning to fall asleep on my chest, but it was loud enough to trigger me.

How many times I had dreamed of having her just like this, how many times had I yearned to wrap my arms around her and never let go, to kiss her, to sleep with her before the war; I still did.

I still wanted to kiss all her sadness away, to be able to call her mine; I still loved her in a way I shouldn't, and somehow it felt even more wrong now that Fred was gone.

It took me a moment to realise she had, in fact, fallen asleep. I carried her back to her bed and lay her down, carefully pulling the sheets to cover her.

I lay down too, promising myself I would face my fears the next day— I owe her that, at the very least.

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

Y/n had left the apartment to go down the Diagon Alley to buy groceries and a new blouse.

It's now or never, I thought to myself, standing at the start of the hallway. I took a deep breath and made my way to my room with my bags hanging on my shoulders.

You can do this.

I reached for the knob with shaky hands and turned it.

You can do this.

My arms pushed the door open in a swift movement, my eyes anxiously scanning the room as if I was expecting to find a monster inside.

But there was no monster, it was just my room; a bit dusty and with a musty smell, but still my room.

I left my bags on the floor and sat on the edge of my bed. It wasn't scary, nor haunted, as I thought it would be, and I felt a weight off my shoulders; Y/n would be able to sleep the nights through, instead of waking up every now and then to my gasps and sobs.

Since it had been way easier than I thought it would be, I decided to take it a step further; I would have to enter there sooner rather than later to clean, so why not now?

Oh, what a big mistake I had made.

READER'S P. O. V.

"I'm back!" Somehow, I had managed to climb upstairs whilst carrying all the bags without tripping. "Did you know that Florean Fortescue's has three new ice cream flavours?" I threw the Twilfitt and Tatting’s bag on the sofa and made my way to the kitchen. "Don't be mad but I got you something at Twilfitt and Tatting’s!" Laying the groceries over the counter, I frowned at George's lack of responses. "George?" I left the kitchen and took a look around the flat; maybe he was down in the shop?

I was about to go downstairs when I saw a crack of light down the hall, one coming from a partially open door —from Fred's door.

My heart pounded hard against my chest as I made my way to the part of the house we rarely got to.

I knew George had to be inside, but the fact that no sound was coming out of the room —no sobs, no weeping, no ragged breathing— was about to put me under cardiac arrest.

What if during the last week he had gotten worse —rock bottom kind of worse— and that was why he had been acting so distant? What if those 'don't worry about me's had been foreshadowing something terrible?

I shut my eyes, my pulse hammering as I pushed the door open, dreading to find a horrifying scenario.

Open your fucking eyes, Y/n.

I couldn't help the sigh of relief when I saw George kneeled in the middle of the room, alive and breathing.

Then, I doubled checked and realized that maybe he wasn't that much alive. I circled the ginger so we could be face to face, and my heart shattered at the sight in front of me; his eyes were puffy, his cheeks pale, his nose red and streaks of freshly shed tears wetting his face. His hands clutched onto something that I quickly recognised as Fred's blazer, and my breath caught up in my throat.

"George..." I called his name in a quiet whisper; somehow it felt like we were trespassing.

He then looked up at me, eyes hollow, and spoke words so harsh that they burned, even if they weren't meant to hurt me. "It should have been me."

"George—"

"It should've been me there, I should've gone with Percy."

"Please—"

"It should've been me, not him." I felt my eyes watering, slightly blurring my vision as the man before me kept talking. "He had a life— he had you, I didn't have anything but him." His gaze was now casted down, and I no longer knew if he was speaking to me or to himself. "What am I compared to him? It should be me six feet under, not him."

That last sentence was what snapped me out of the state I was in. "Look at me." I commanded, kneeling in front of him and cupping his cheeks. "Do you think Fred would've wanted you to think that?" His lower lip quivered; we rarely said his name out loud anymore. "He would have beaten your ass. Don't you dare think like that ever again, you hear me?"

"But it's true—"

"No it's not!" I yelled, making him flinch. "It's not, George." I repeated, this time softer, my thumbs caressing his cheeks soothingly. "You're sweet, creative, caring and smart, and I'm so happy to have you here with me." His eyes closed, eyebrows knitted and lips pursed. "You're your own person, and that person is amazing." He leaned on, letting his forehead fall on my shoulder, my hands travelling to his back and hair as his arms wrapped around my waist.

"I miss him, Y/n." He confessed. "I miss him so much— it hurts."

“I miss him too, but I can’t let you lose yourself because of him.” I explained, planting a chaste kiss on his temple. “I cannot lose you too, okay?” I whispered, loud enough for him to hear.

"I'm sorry." His breath fanned on my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "I wanted to get better, so you didn't have to take care of me."

"Oi," I squeezed him tighter, if possible. "We're taking care of each other." His face buried deeper in the crook of my neck and I had to hold back a content sigh. "We can do this— together." I stated. "You can't go on your own for shock therapy— it doesn't work like that." He nodded. "You gave me a big scare."

"I'm really sorry." His hand, which, until then had been holding onto the blazer, let go of it in order to rub my back.

We stayed like that in silence for Merlin knows how long before I spoke against his shoulder, "I bought chocolate strawberries ice cream."

"Is that a thing?" I hummed affirmatively. He slowly pulled away, his hands leaving my back to rest on my waist before they held mines, pulling me up with him. We gazed into each other's eyes for an instant that felt like an eternity. "I didn't mean to scare you, love." He assured me, pulling me into another hug, this one only long enough for him to kiss my crown.

"I know." I pulled away, giving him a small smile that he managed to return, most likely involuntarily. "Wanna try that ice cream?" He nodded and I led him out of the room. "I also bought you a tie at Twilfitt and Tatting’s."

"Why would you buy anything from there?" His voice was starting to recover some strength as we walked to the kitchen with our hands interlaced.

"'Cause it was a very pretty tie." I defended myself, going to the sofa to grab the fancy bag while George went to grab a couple of spoons and the ice cream. "Look."

He walked to me and examined the tie. "Okay, it's quite pretty." He agreed, offering me one of the spoons.

"Told you." I handed him the tie and he gave it another look before leaning down to kiss my cheek.

"You didn't have to buy me anything." That small smile appeared again, making my heart swell.

"Well, I wanted to." I went to sit on the couch and he followed my lead, carefully leaving the tie over the backrest so he could open the tub.

"Sweet." He commented, dipping his spoon into the ice cream and handing me the container. We ate it in silence and, once we finished, his voice filled the room. "I think I might go for a nightwalk."

"It'll do you good." I nodded, bringing my knees to my chest and curling up in the couch after he took the spoon away from me and got up to leave it in the sink.

"Do you wanna come?" His quiet, almost sheepish question made my head turn to the kitchen door. "I mean— you've just come back but—" He left the kitchen, staring at me expectingly, scratching the back of his neck. "uh... if you wanna come, I could use some company."

"I'd love to." I didn't even notice the way my gaze lighted up until I saw it reflected on his own features, that shone with the slightest tinge of joy.

The fact that I was able to do that only by smiling at him made my tummy flutter.

[jokertrap-ran]

(最后的厂牌  LAST CREW) His Story: [MAN ONWIRE] 冷任非 Leng Renfei Translation Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  

*Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Welcome to another round of Ran’s sinning whims. *Lawyer man’s future tag will be #LAW ONWIRE *THEY RAP WELL!!!

"Before meeting you, he was one who traversed the deep, eternal, and dark night; the Abyss.”

He, who terrorizes sinners with the holiest stance . Deep within the abyss, with feathers as sharp as blades, re-establishing Justice amongst the morass of Sin.

"So what if he's the most reputable Lawyer?" 

A MPV was parked at the entrance of Mingfei Law Firm. A man dressed in an impressively pricy-looking suit spoke to his assistant, who stood outside, through the rolled down windows of the car. "Same old, just give him the money. Double, if he scoffs."

"President He, this is just how Lawyer Leng works. He confirms each case he takes face-to-face with the client."

"What else is there to confirm…?"

Despite having said that, Mr. He still lowered his voice as he spoke. "Has that evidence already been dealt cleanly away with? No one else got their hands on it, right?

"Well… There are currently no other Lawyers in 000 City who can provide you with what you require, even without that evidence.” His assistant reminded him again, somewhat helplessly, of the same answer that the previous few Lawyers had all given him. They'd all said without a doubt that his sentence could only be reduced by a mere 3 to 5 years, and that any more would be impossible.

A few minutes later saw them both sitting inside Leng Renfei's Office.

The assistant was almost purring as he handed all the evidence over to Leng Renfei. "Have a look at these, Lawyer Leng…"

Leng Renfei didn't make a move to stand up and accept the proffered documents. Instead, all he did was to signal the assistant to place them down onto the table.

"We’ll give you anything you wish, so long as you're willing to do us this one favour."

Only then, does he speak. "This isn't a favour. It is my job, that's all."

His gaze fell upon Mr. He, who had been sitting to the side. He contemplated the man for a while before speaking.

"Is this all?"

It was obviously merely just a simple enquiry. Yet, being stared down by those eyes brought about an enormous sense of pressure. Mr. He, who had been so ostentatiously manspreading, couldn't refrain from rightening himself up a little, avoiding his piercing gaze.

"That's all."

Leng Renfei loosened his tie as he looked through the papers.

"Judging from these documents here, I'll say that 15 years for you, is but a normal sentence."

He flipped through it, chuckling as he reached the end. He then raised his head and fixated his eyes onto Mr. He.

"You wish to reduce your sentence to nothing more than 3 years? ...Very well, I shall accept your case. However, you must be absolutely truthful with me about everything pertaining to this Court Hearing. And you will also have to provide me with your full cooperation during the period in which I am taking charge of your case. Otherwise, I can't guarantee that you'll get the result you seek.”

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

9:50 AM, 10 minutes before the hearing begins.

However, at this moment in time, the defendant, Mr. He and Leng Renfei were both stuck at the junction a street away from where the court was located. The luxurious MPV vehicle they were riding in had been blockaded by a group of people; the plaintiff's angry family.

"Professionally speaking, I humbly suggest that you get off the car now and start making your way towards the court." Leng Renfei suggested, pushing up his glasses.

The plaintiff's family members continued pounding on the bulletproof windows with no signs of ceasing anytime soon. They didn't make any move to back down despite the countless times their chauffeur honked the car's horn.

Mr. He looked repulsively at the dirtied windows of the car, seemingly disregarding Leng Renfei's "professional advice".

"Haven't we already contacted court security? I do not wish to affiliate myself with the masses by trying to fight my way through the crowd.

"You will no doubt be late if this continues on." Leng Renfei's hand landed on the handle of the door. "Besides…"

The last of his words had yet to leave his mouth when he vehemently pulled the door open, pushing Mr. He out of the vehicle with a forceful shove—

"...Only the obedient will be granted victory over the lawsuit."

The crowd outside swarmed Mr. He immediately, cornering him off to the curb.

At the same time, the MPV finally regained its movement capabilities. Leng Renfei, who was still currently seated inside, paid no mind to the on-going chaos outside, only lowering his head to review the documents for the hearing once more. He gave a slight frown, clicking his tongue before speaking once more.

"Please wait for him at the carpark's entrance."

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

9:59, the defendant and his defence attorney arrive at court.

10:00，Court proceeds as scheduled.

Now, the suit adorning the defendant's frame was all crumpled and wrinkly. His hair, mussed up with dirt, and there were even visible red marks on his face. His heaving chest betrayed his obvious fury. Yet, the Lawyer beside him was the same as always. All the way from his neatly ironed outfit to the calm and composed expression he wore, with not a single flaw to be seen.

The duo had presented themselves as such an oddity that it even caught the attention of the judge. After going through the normal proceedings of the court's opening, the judge turned back again to question Leng Renfei.

"Defence Attorney, the court notices that the defendant is dressed in a rather dishevelled manner. Does he require some time to sort himself out before the hearing officially begins?"

Leng Renfei held the defendant back as he shot up from his seat in anger. He stood back up, cleaning his throat before answering the judge.

"Thank you, your honour. My client was actually assaulted on the way here and chose to undertake a huge risk by traversing here whilst under attack by an angry mob; all because he didn't wish to delay the hearing. Although the mob in question has already been detained by the court's security team, I personally think that this attack is intricately, but undoubtedly linked to the plaintiff."

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

Everything was proceeding as planned. This case was a win. Now all the defendant needed to do was to pay the plaintiff a certain amount of money as monetary compensation.

But of course, the endless stream of questioning and inquiries had to come first before any celebrations could be held.

"The plaintiff accuses you of using underhanded means of winning the judge's sympathy. What do you make of it?"

"Did you and the defendant plan for him to make an appearance to court, as dishevelled as he was?"

"Many people claim that your defence is flimsy and holds no weight. They say that your winning streak in court will soon be broken due to this. How are you prepared to answer these queries?"

Leng Renfei halted in his footsteps upon hearing the last question. He turned around to face the cameras and the millions of faceless civilians who were watching behind the screen.

"All I have to say is that I’m sorry to disappoint you."

"Unfortunately, I've yet to taste defeat even today."

"And as a matter of fact, I have no plans to do so in the foreseeable future either.” 

"Lawyer Leng, rumour has it that you'd stop at no end in order to win. May I ask about your opinion on this?"

He smiled. "Doing anything and everything in order to uphold the law? That sounds like a compliment to me." 

"But have you ever placed yourself into the shoes of the victim's family? Can that bit of monetary compensation make up for a life? You are deliberately twisting the truth! It’s despicable!"

Those 8 words were spoken with much emphasis, causing Leng Renfei to look towards the reporter who’d directed the question at him with much interest. It was a youngster, teeth bared and eyes glaring daggers at him. The rims of his eyes were even a little red to further add to the effect. 

The entire media lapsed into silence. All the mics and cameras turned their focus to the lawyer. Looks like this biting question has aroused the interest of everyone present.

His moved his gaze from the young reporter, whose face was radiating sheer justice from it. He removed his glasses, the side of his mouth curling upwards as he replied to the reporter’s accusation with his usual smile and finesse.

“It’s a given that I have to defend my client’s interests seeing as how I’m a Lawyer. I’ve most certainly received the compliments from the plaintiff’s family.”

“Congratulations on another victory, Lawyer Leng.”

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

―—Back in his grand residence, Mr. He happily helped himself to another glass of red wine despite already being quite drunk.

Leng Renfei’s lips curled into a smile. “I should really congratulate you for having obtained a fair hearing from the court.”

“But of course.” Mr. He all but patted himself on his back. “How would those cretins ever affect me? The real evidence has already been destroyed and dealt away with, right from the very beginning of everything after all...”

Before he could finish his sentence however, he suddenly remembered the “rules” that the Lawyer beside him had set down at the beginning of it all. He sobered up a little, swallowing before looking towards Leng Renfei.

However, Feng Renfei’s expression didn’t change at all, only raising his glass lightly in question. “Not caring for another glass? Victory brewed by one’s hand will only taste all the sweeter when enjoyed in person.” 

“Haha… You’re right, Lawyer Leng. I’m going to sober up.“ Noticing how nothing seemed to be amiss with Leng Renfei, Mr. He breathed a sigh of relief as he quickly removed the cork from the bottle.

Judgement has already been passed, and the results have already been secured. Moreover, all the condemning evidence was already long gone, and even the most powerful Lawyer cannot ask for the case to be opened again. He couldn’t help the smug expression that appeared on his face.

Watching the fresh red wine trickling into the glass as it was poured, the smile on Leng Renfei’s face morphed into one that was a little more sincere.

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

Stemming from the heart of 000 City, the river expands outwards in an X formation.

Located upstream were those who slumbered self-deceivingly within a beautifully fabricated dream. And located downstream, was where the entire City's waste was endlessly swept under the carpet. There, at the very edge of the City, was a particularly convenient place to carry out certain "things".

During night, at an abandoned warehouse located near the edge of the City— Mr He, who had been celebrating his victory so triumphantly earlier was now pathetically tied up on a chair against the wall.

His face was bruised, and one of the lenses of his glasses had been pierced by something thin and small. It was levelled just a few millimetres away from his eyeball. He sat there, tied and ramrod straight. He didn't even dare breathe, for he was afraid that doing so would cause that sliver to pierce through his eye.

A guy's voice reverberated through the darkness. "Do you still remember what I said?"

Mr. He frantically nodded, his cries coming out as mere whimpers as fearful tears fell from his eyes in an endless stream. 

"I hope to hear news of your confession tomorrow at noon."

——The dim lights, along with all the piled up junk and debris, formed a blind spot. White feathers darted out from one of the dark corners, flashing past.

It was as if something pure had just quietly fluttered it's wings amidst the sins that surrounded it. Out of place; yet shining ever so bright.

"Perhaps I shall let you enjoy what remaining freedom you have left. All these incriminating evidences are sufficient to land you in prison for the rest of your life after all."

A small blade flew out from the darkness as the voice faded away, cutting him free of his restrains.

Mr. He tore off the tape that gagged his mouth, breathing a sigh of relief as the spiking anxiety in his heart significantly calmed.

The next second saw a sharper, deadlier, blade brushing past the side of his eye, slicing a thin line across his temple before embedding itself into the wall just a mere hairsbreadth away.

The cold silver of the blade gleamed, reflecting his eyes as he widened them in a moment of panic. His breath came in short intermittent stutters, choking, as if he had his air flow concurrently cut off.

It was then, that Mr. He truly saw what was hiding in the shadows—

Leng Renfei, the Lawyer that had still been under his hire mere hours ago, was now here, skilfully manoeuvring his blade as he played with it.

A pair of pure white wings unfolded, stretching out from behind his back, each feather, as sharp as a blade.

With him, there was no hint of any of the kindness associated with angels. The edges of his feathers were razor sharp, akin to claws straight out of hell.

Stained with blood, they had a metallic tang to them. 

"Surprised?" Leng Renfei approached him slowly, one step at a time.

"Funny. I thought I'd already made it clear to you? That you must be absolutely truthful to me about everything that pertains to this Court Hearing. Otherwise, I won't be able to guarantee that you'll get the results you seek. No?"

The horrible pressure Mr. He felt forbade him from making even the slightest movement. His feet, clad in pristine leather shoes, tensed up as he slowly shifted his weight, inching backwards.

"If I fail to see the news tomorrow at noon, then…" A voice, low, yet hard to perceive, sounded beside his ear. Leng Renfei’s angelic wings fluttered a few times, and Mr. He felt the very real threat that they posed inching in closer every time they moved.

Next, a foot slammed itself hard onto his knee, forcing him to revert his focus back in front, to the owner of those deadly wings. From whom, he heard words that angels would never speak of.

"...You shall fall into the depths of hell with me."

He retracted his pure white wings, concealing the holiness once more.

Mr. He’s vision plummeted into darkness once more as Leng Renfei turned his back on him, walking towards the faint light that shone behind the door.

Halfway out the door, Leng Renfei paused. The few rays of light permeating the inky darkness illuminating his features, vaguely showing the way his lips curled into a smile. He placed his hands into his pockets, his words tinged with a bit of child-like “sincerity”.

“Right, I seem to recall that you got a B for your rational adaptation rating. There’s still a way if you wish to live out the rest of your life a little more comfortably.”

Despite how he’d already been driven to the corner, he couldn’t help but to see a new glimmer of hope upon hearing Leng Renfei’s words.

“S-ranked prisoners will receive special preferential treatment. How about you try your hand at it since you’re going to be spending the rest of your life in prison anyway?”

“I’ll always welcome you with open arms as the Adjudicator of 000 City’s Erasure Tests.”

"I promise you that you'll be able to get the fairest trials for your crimes there."

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The next day, noon. Mingfei Law Firm was swamped with the endless ringing of phone calls. 

The defendant who had won the case yesterday had suddenly confessed and turned himself in to the police. He’d even confessed in front of the media, apologizing to the family of the victim who had died from being unable to shoulder the burden of being cheated out of a large amount of property.

Half-slumped on his chair, Leng Renfei crossed his legs atop the table, off-handedly picking up and answering one of the many media calls.

“Oh? You’re asking me for my thoughts about it?”

“As a Lawyer, I feel sorry for my client; but personally, I’m very happy to see that justice has been served.”

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ LAW ONWIRE Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ◦∘ ━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

[mintjamsblog]

I'm obsessed with Mistakes, and now with the idea that Tommy will visit Alfie's dungeon roleplaying as a client. I absolutely need a fic about that incredibly hot situation right away, because I can't get it off my mind. (Your writing is amazing, thank you so much.)

Okay, I've had enough of today, so here you go. Set a couple of years in the future. Have some escapist, procrastinating, smut. Because I love the idea that right now, Tommy and Alfie are living their best life in their castle in Ireland.

Tommy is the manager (of course) but every now and then Alfie likes to remind him that he's not always in charge. And this week Tommy's been particularly grumpy and foul tempered. Deep down  he's trying to get a rise out of Alfie, smart-talk him into a sharp spanking or a rough fuck. But Alfie seems determined not to play ball.

Instead he makes Tommy wait tables in the restaurant. "I know you think it's beneath you, darling, but Luan's off tonight and we're short-staffed and it'll teach you some humility. Tommy agrees. Reluctantly.  Determines to be as  grim faced and petulant as he can be, serving with just about enough manners to keep up appearances but not enough that Alfie'll make the mistake of asking him to do this again.

Only Alfie's clearly watching. Tommy knows this for a fact because every time he does something wrong — answers a diner's question too curtly or removes the wrong cutlery — Alfie hauls him into the walk-in freezer for a short, sharp reminder of who's in charge.

"It's my fucking hotel. I'm in charge," Tommy says.

"Not in the restaurant, Sweetie. Restaurant's my domain, innit? So bend over, there's a good boy, you got Table 6's order wrong."

By the time they're half way through service Tommy's arse is bright red and the titillation of the initial pain is tipping over into something darker. It's hard to keep the noises down when Alfie delivers a particularly vicious flurry of swats and asks him why the fuck he started playing with fire if he didn't want to get burned. He's shoved roughly out of the cold-room before he's had a chance to catch his breath.

The guy at Table 9 is watching him too closely, there's a smile hidden behind his lips as he places his order. Maybe because Tommy stumbled out of the kitchen, or his eyes look a little glazed, whatever weakness he's inadvertently shown, this bloke seems determined to exploit.

"Is he working you too hard?" the guy asks when Tommy returns to his table. "You look a little flustered."

Rude bastard, Tommy thinks. Who does he think he is? Although he has to admit he's good-looking. In that public-school boy kind of way.

"Here's your soup," Tommy snaps.

The guy looks down at it and back up at Tommy and leans back in his chair. "This is wrong," he says bluntly.

"Wrong how?" Tommy asks. It's not wrong, he's bloody sure of it. 

"I ordered the tart," the customer says.

"There isn't a tart on the—" Alfie cuts him short, appearing out of nowhere with a hand on Tommy's shoulder. 

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," he says, in a tone more gracious than Tommy's ever heard from Alfie's lips before, "We'll get that changed right away for you. Won't we, Tommy?"

Tommy's eyes dart between them, but Alfie growls, "Tommy," so darkly that he decides to let it drop, follows Alfie back to the kitchen.

He gets another six in the freezer. Alfie's brought his loop with him — a doubled length of flex that's perfect for delivering a frightful sting with barely any noise. No one can hear the thwip of it beyond the clanging and clattering in the kitchen (although if Tommy doesn't bite his tongue, they'll hear the sounds he makes).

This continues throughout the evening. Alfie's liberal with his punishments and Tommy's bratty in return, desperate for service to be over. If he keeps up just the right amount of insolence he should get the end he wants to the evening: Alfie pinning him down and fucking him. Hard. Not letting him escape.

Luckily, it's a Tuesday night so the restaurant is relatively empty. There's only one couple left, as well as the prick from Table 9. He seems to have noticed something's up, which is hardly surprising given Tommy's arse is fucking agony now, and he's tired, and livid with Alfie, and increasingly unsure whether his little plan's going to work.

Alfie seems genuinely pissed with him, and Table 9 is doing his utmost to get on Tommy's nerves.  He's criticised everything Tommy's done, tutted when plates were cleared too loudly, sent back the perfectly drinkable wine, even fabricated a hair in his chocolate mousse. (Well, maybe not fabricated, Tommy may have put it there deliberately). 

He smiles sarcastically as he hands the guy his espresso. Fucking public school wanker. 

"You know that's very off-putting. The way you're sniffing," he says in reply.

Tommy feels his face flash hot; his nose is running slightly, but Alfie thrust him out so fast after using the loop again that he didn't even get a chance to wipe his face on his sleeve. He does it now, feeling ridiculous, like an errant schoolboy.

"It's a shame you can't control your temper," the smarmy fuck goes on. "It was otherwise a very nice meal."

Tommy clenches his jaw so hard his teeth creak. He can’t actually insult a customer. Alfie'll kill him; he's worked too hard at building a reputation for this restaurant. 

"I'm a food critic, you know," he adds, fiddling with his napkin.

 Tommy's face drains of heat so fast he feels a little he's back in the cold-room, cheek pressed against frozen cardboard as Alfie flays his arse. Fuck. He's chosen the wrong night to be a brat.

"I'd like to speak to the chef," the man says.

Tommy clears his throat but doesn't move. He needs some sort of plan, which normally he could come up with, but not tonight it seems. He can feel his trousers rubbing the welts. Feel panic filling his chest, he's suddenly so fucking tired he could just lay down on this floor.  How is he going to tell Alfie?

"It's a shame, because the food was really very good. Excellent, in fact. Your chef is a talented man."

Oh fuck. Tommy digs his nails in his palms and feels the back of his eyes sting. 

It's the service that I found wanting."

"My apologies," Tommy grits out.

"I'd like to speak to him please. Your chef."

Tommy feels glued to the spot.

"Go and fetch him then," the guy says, with a condescending wave of his hand. Tommy hates him. Fucking hates him. Tommy fucking hates himself.

The last diners have left when Tommy returns with Alfie. Table 9 is still sipping his tiny coffee. He proceeds to lambast Alfie about the crude and surly service, listing every pout Tommy threw his way and every clumsy movement. He doesn't hold back, is mean and condescending and secretly, Tommy is waiting for Alfie to come to his defense, tell this prick to lay off, that's enough.  But he doesn't.

"It's a shame, it really is," Table 9 says. "I was hoping to help you along with a glowing review. Support a growing business, you know."

And that's when Alfie glares at Tommy in a way that sends shivers down his spine. Not the good kind, either, the kind that make him feel two inches tall. Alfie turns to the customer in that syrupy voice from earlier. "My most sincere apologies, sir. You have to forgive my new waiter, he's not yet fully trained. Has a lot to learn, it seems."

"Hmmm," the diner says thoughtfully, staring at his plate. "Well, I might be able to see my way to overlooking this. Provided he's appropriately dealt with."

Alfie folds his arms across his chest and widens his feet. "Appropriately dealt with?" he repeats.

"Yes. Schooled in his indiscretions and made to show some genuine contrition."

"Contrition?" Alfie repeats, raising one eyebrow at Tommy.

"I've said I'm fucking sorry," Tommy starts but then the penny drops. Finally. He's been such a fucking fool.

"Room 109. Five minutes," Table 9 says. "Let's see how sorry he can be."

Tommy's about to open his mouth to protest, but Alfie's already grabbed him by the ear and is walking him towards the staircase. His stomach plummets, his hands sweat, but there's a corresponding surge of adrenaline, a collision of desire and fear that makes his heart hammer in his chest.

"If you know what's good for you darling," Alfie whispers, "you'll do as you're fucking well told".

And Tommy does. For the next two hours, whilst the customer — James, but you can call me Sir — watches. Contrition isn't all Tommy feels as Alfie leads him to a spanking bench positioned at the end of James' bed. "You'll note it's a proper one darling," Alfie coos, "padded for your knees. Although it's your poor arse I'd be more worried about."

James makes a sympathetic clucking noise and leans down to stroke Tommy's hair.  Alfie straps Tommy's knees in place. And his ankles ... wrists ... waist. And even as Tommy fights him, snarls curses and spits at the floor, he knows he's not going to safe word out (what he's less sure of is why, why he's going to let that fucker watch Alfie go to town on his welted arse). Self-righteous, posh bloody streak of piss with his smarmy eyes and condescending lips and … fuck … they're soft those lips... brushing his own. Tommy gasps. James noses at his face, strokes fingers through his hair, eyes twinkling with a mixture of sympathy and delight as Alfie lays into Tommy with his hand. Then his belt. Then a slipper.

"You never told me he was so pretty," James says, kissing Tommy's forehead. Tommy screws his eyes shut. He hates this.

"To be fair, I absolutely did," Alfie says, taking Tommy by surprise with a bite to his thigh. 

"Well. I didn't believe you," James says. 

"S'your problem, mate."

"Bet he looks even prettier when he's crying," James says with a smile. "Bet you look fucking beautiful, Tommy, letting everything spill out."

Tommy jerks against the restraints, furious and mortified and ... turned on.

"Can I make him cry, just a little?" James asks. He's clearly talking to Alfie, but he's fondling Tommy's ear, tracing the shell with his fingertips. His hands are large but soft. And gentle.

Alfie laughs. "You can fucking try, mate," and wallops Tommy again.

"I  think he's beginning to see the error of his ways, aren't you, Tommy?" James says. "Perhaps I could overlook the fact he served the wrong starter."

Tommy glares at James, no idea why he's even bothering to argue, when it's all a fucking charade, an excuse for Alfie to humiliate him. "I didn't serve the wrong—"

The word disappears in a shriek, Alfie's brought back that damned fucking loop.

"Maybe," Alfie agrees, but he doesn't relent. He whips Tommy till he's gasping, till he can feel his cheeks tight with swelling. 

Then he drops it and starts to stroke Tommy's back, just as James keeps stroking his hair. And kissing his face. And then kissing his lips. His tongue. And then Alfie's tongue is lapping his hole and everything is too hot and too much and hurts and doesn't and the voices are saying he's beautiful, he's done so well, and he can't breathe … the air's going in but not out and everything feels wet and James is smiling at him and smiling at Alfie and saying, "see? I told you he could." 

And Tommy lets himself be stroked. Kissed. Carried onto the bed. And he lets the tears be wiped away and he says, "I'm sorry, sir." And he is. So fucking sorry. And it feels good.

[thiswasinevitableid]

93. I hire your matchmaking services but all the people you set me up with are horrible and I’m demanding a refund and you’re asking me for one more chance??? what are you going to do? be my date?

Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go! I was inspired by @kriskukko's incredible art for the orc designs in this, and I highly recommend checking them out!

“Indrid? Some from Kepler House is here to speak with you.” Ned pokes his head into Indrid’s rooms.

“Drat” Indrid hisses, dressing gown whipping about him as he scrambles to put the apartment in order while also dragging his notes on the man in question to the forefront, “I didn’t forsee anyone coming by today, goodness, he had his first engagement with Lady Austens daughter last night, what on earth could they need to see me for?” He tosses his spare pens aside, landing them in his second set of house slippers.

“Well, dear boy, given the luck you’ve had with them lately-”

“It’s not luck, it’s simply very unlikely futures. Please just, just stall whoever it is a moment, Leo is usually patient and-”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that my friend.”

“Why not? I watched you once talk an entire flock of constables away from your door. Praytell, why can Ned “Silver Tongue” Chicane not get rid of a single attendant?”

“Because the attendant ain’t here this time.”

Indrid slams the drawer of his desk, looking up as an orc in a deep brown suit steps into the room, tossing his hat onto the table. He’s shorter than Indrid and Ned (stout and strong, according to the notes Indrid received), wavy black hair streaked with grey at the front. One eye is blue, the other brown, and both regard the harried matchmaker with casual annoyance.

“Mr. Newton, I, ah, I was not expecting you to visit me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be on a date where she found me so damn dull she hailed a cab as soon as dinner was done. I was already in town on some business for Minerva, so I decided to come tell you I ain’t in need of your services anymore.”

“I beg your pardon? Your benefactor employed me to find you a suitable match and I intend to do just that. I know there have been missteps, but such things are to be expected when searching for one’s lifelong partner.”

“Uh huh. And the fact I’m Lady Minerva’s chosen heir, which means there are a bunch of folks waitin to mimic my style and choices, has got nothin to do with it.”

“I, ah, I can’t say that I’m ignorant of the potential repercussions of being the one assigned to locate a spouse for you.”

“Which is the long way of sayin you know damn well that if I decide to stop askin you for help, no one with money is ever gonna come to you again.”

There’s a determined set to his rounded jaw, and a glimpse at the future suggests Indrid will have better luck with a different tactic

“....were they really so awful?”

“Yes. They were rude, or thought I was rude, or thought I was dull, or we just had fuck-all in common.”

“Have you considered you might just be a tad more demanding than average?”

“It ain’t demandin to want the person I spend the rest of my life with to actually like me.” He sighs, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cold, but unless you got a real winner up your sleeve, I’m done.”

All responses, all timelines show Duck ending his time as Indrid’s client and walking out the door.

“You could try me!”

“Really?” Duck looks deeply unconvinced.

“I will admit it’s unorthodox, but I, I foresee us having a perfectly nice time together. It will let me prove that I am capable of choosing companions for you.”

The shorter orc looks him up and down more deliberately and Indrid fights not to draw his dressing gown tighter. He will not be intimidated by some newcomer from across the sea.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I got to go to this concert tomorrow; someone from Kepler house is expected to show and Minerva is busy. You’re comin with me.” He holds Indrid’s gaze, daring him to renege on his offer.

Indrid summons his best, professional grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

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

Indrid smooths his waistcoat and jacket as he steps from the cab, tucks a strand of his silver hair behind his ear. It’s his only concession to the nerves skittering up and down his spine.

Gatherings such as these are nothing new to him; he goes to them to gather new information and new clients, to remind the well-to-do families of London and beyond that he is the matchmaker extraordinaire. But there is always the moment between when they see him and when they recognize him, when every face in the room wonders why someone like him dares to enter their space.

Somewhere in Indrid’s ancestry is a love story between an orc and a goblin. His silver hair, very angular features, and complete lack of tusks or fangs is the proof. The red eyes don’t help--they unsettle everyone who sees them--but his mother insists they’re evidence of other orcs gifted with rare magic on her side of the family. He wears red spectacles over them just to be safe; he rather likes how the color stands out against his skin, and his glasses let him avoid prying questions.

Duck is waiting for him under the awning outside the music hall; he’s in a grey day suit this time, looking just as understatedly handsome as he did yesterday morning. Indrid must admit his desire to save his reputation is not the only reason he agreed to this; he cannot understand why Duck is having such trouble meeting his match. He’s good looking, moneyed, American--an exotic background in the eyes of the average, sheltered upper-class orc--but still has family history here in England. All Indrid’s matches showed a high probability of success. The point of failure must lie with the orc himself.

“Afternoon, Mr. Cold.” Duck smiles with everything but his eyes.

“Indrid is fine, given the reason for our meeting.”

Duck nods. Indrid wishes the ground would swallow one of them up. When the pavement fails to oblige, he offers his arm. The shorter orc takes it, both of them doffing their hats as they step inside.

“I, uh, like the earring.” Duck indicates the moth cuff on Indrid’s left ear, a stark contrast to the single gold hoop in his own.

“Thank you. A friend gave it to me. I, ah, I rather enjoy working moths into my wardrobe; I find them fascinating.”

“Y’know, back home we got moths that look like hummingbirds.”

“Really?” Indrid’s ear twitches, “how big?”

Duck holds up his hands to indicate the size. Indrid is about to demand details when they’re waylaid by their hostess and pulled into a cluster of families. Indrid breathes deep, feeling crowded in, and notices Duck routinely being cut off in conversation or given disapproving looks behind his back. Yes, Indrid supposes his manners are a bit rough, but there’s no harm in that. Too, everyone seems far more interested in the goings on at Kepler House and with Lady Minerva than with Duck himself. By the time they’re seated, their arms feel locked together from shared tension.

The violinists are quite good; Indrid enjoys strings, his recordings of them being his favorite music to listen to while drawing. But his mind is so consumed by futures and by thoughts about the orc beside him that he struggles to focus on the music. Duck is having a similar issue, though he hides it well; were they not side by side, Indrid would miss the way he fidgets with the knee of his trousers.

“Are you alright?” He whispers under the applause.

“N-ye-uh. Fuck. I, the musics real nice but I gotta say I’m gettin kinda bored. But I got no fuckin clue if leavin will piss everyone here off.”

“Intermission is soon. When it comes, keep quiet and follow my lead.”

When the guests rise to stretch their legs and fetch refreshments, Indrid guides Duck to their hostess.

“I’m so very sorry, but I’m afraid my stomach is rather angry with me and it’s best if I go home. Duck has agreed to accompany me so I do not pass out in the street. I’m sure you understand.”

She nods, and in a matter of moments they’re out on the street, each breathing deeply.

“Thanks for that.”

“My pleasure.”

“Guess I oughta just head back to the hotel.” Duck sighs.

“You could. But, ah, we’re not far from Kew Gardens and the weather isn’t miserably cold for once. If you’d like-”

“Hell yeah. Wait, fuck, sorry, tryin to swear less in public.”

“I don’t really mind.” Indrid starts them down the street.

“Lots of them do” Duck tips his head back towards the concert hall, “I mean, at least that rule is easier to figure out. It’s not that there aren’t weird rules and class stuff back home, but I grew up learnin them. Here I always feel like I’m one move away from makin an ass of myself. No one’ll say anything because of Minerva, but I know if it weren’t for her, none of ‘em would give me the time of day. It makes every interaction so goddamn stressful.”

Indrid twinges with sympathy, “When I first started in these circles, I wrote myself notecards and had Ned test me on them.”

Duck giggles, so absurd and loud it draws stares from passersby, “why? You seem to know your stuff.”

“I didn’t come from money, and I don’t always read social situations the way others expect. It was learn or live as a penniless artist for all my days.” As the gardens come into view he adds, “I know the basics of your life in America but if you weren’t here, what would you be doing there?”

“Workin in the Yosemite valley. I was a ranger there for a few years before Minerva called me here.”

“What was that like?”

Duck tells him as they wander the first stretches of the gardens. He’s midway through a tangent about bears when he stops.

“Holy fuck, you’re really still listenin.”

“Of course I am, this is fascinating.”

His companion smiles, “Glad you think so. But it ain’t polite for me to dominate the conversation like this. Now you gotta tell me what you do when you’re not gettin fancy folks together.”

“...You promise you will finish the story about the bear and the tent later.”

“You know it.”

Indrid knows that time passes more quickly with good company, but he’s still startled when the sun sets. The Savoy, where Duck is staying, is closer than his home, so their cab stops there first.

Duck pauses halfway out the door, “Meet me here for dinner tomorrow?”

Indrid grins, “I’d like nothing more.”

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

“I didn’t know the line even went this far.” Indrid watches the moors race by them out the window of the train.

“You and me both.” Duck rotates his map, glances at the letter he received a week ago, “okay, once we get off at Amnesty, we need someone to take us down Greenbank road. The house is at the end of it, somewhere around here.” He taps a patch of moor miles from anything else. Indrid studies his fingers and is glad that, of his more rugged habits, one he elected to keep was letting his nails stay claws rather than filing them down.

“My visions suggest that as long as we don’t ask anyone to drive us out after dark, we should have no trouble reaching it.”

Indrid tries not to be too giddy at the prospect of spending weeks and weeks more or less alone in the countryside with Duck. They’re going because an anonymous note informed him that he did indeed have a family estate and--once they determined that the house near Dartmoor did indeed legally belong to him--it was decided he would go to see how the old place was doing and perhaps take up residence.

He asked Indrid to come without even glancing up from the telegram from the solicitor. Indrid agreed without looking away from his drawing. If two months of semi-courtship in a crowded city got them close enough for that, Indrid dares to hope that being out here together will bring them closer still.

Amnesty is small, as they both expected, the air chilly and fog threatening to swallow whole buildings as they make their way to the Lodge where they’ve been told they can find a driver. When Duck asks the young woman working the counter for help getting to Greenbank Hall, she quirks her lips in a frown.

“I’m not sure there’s even a place called that around here….OH! Do you mean Beacon House?”

“Maybe?” Duck looks at Indrid, who quickly looks at the futures.

“Yes, it seems we do.”

“Okay. Since it's still light, I should be able to find someone to get you out there. If it comes down to it, I can, like, drive you out myself.”

They end up being driven by a friendly young man named Jake, who deposits them and their bags on the steps of the massive house with a friendly wave farewell.

“Agh” Indrid shivers as they step through the newly unlocked doors, “I think it’s actually warmer outside.”

“No kiddin. Damn fog means it’s already gettin too dark to see too. I’ll go get some kind of fire started, you see if you can find some lanterns or candles so we ain’t trippin all over ourselves.”

Indrid begins his search, comes to the kitchen and finds some matches and a candle. The solicitor arranged for food and other supplies to be brought in ahead of time, so in theory lanterns should be somewhere nearby. He’s just glad that the paltry light shows no signs of rodents getting into their food.

When he gets upstairs, he discovers two things; one, all the lamps are gas, so he’s able to light them easily. And two, a mother tortoiseshell cat is nesting with her kittens on a guest bed.

“Well, that explains the lack of mice.”

Footsteps behind him, “Got a fire goin in the sittin room, if you wanna pick a room for yourself I can light one th--awwwww” Duck moves past him towards the cat, who hisses at him, “now, there ain’t any need for that, missy. I ain’t gonna hurt you or your babies. But we oughta bring you somethin more’n mice to eat.”

“I saw some tinned food in the pantry.”

“Perfect, lemme go find a bowl.”

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

Beacon House has seen better days, but Indrid discovers the houses loss is his gain. Duck decides they can do many of the repairs themselves, and sets about ordering supplies from London or bringing them in from Amnesty. The few times they need help, the cook and several others from the Lodge come to assist in the project. These gatherings are far more pleasant than any Indrid had to attend for work (well, except for the ones where he was with Duck). And they always end before dusk.

Indrid occupies himself with figuring out why. There was no mention of this house when he first researched Duck, and even using the local name turns up very little. It’s not until he finds a diary belonging to one H. Newton in the library that he understands.

October the 15th, 1805

I fear the worst is upon me. I cannot leave the house, dare not even peer out the windows for fear of what I shall see. Lucy says it is my health, that we should travel to warmer regions so it will improve. But I know it is not so simple. Were we to flee, it would merely wait for our return. It may even waylay us before we reached town. I am cursed. We are cursed. We always will be.

Beneath the words is a hastily sketched image; yellow eyes and sharp fangs peering from between the bars of the front gate.

There are no more entries.

Indrid is unsure whether to raise the matter with Duck. On the one hand, he wishes him to know of any possible dangers. On the other, his friend is so very content these days, coming in from some project or other with grime on his skin and a smile on his face. Indrid’s own desire to stay with him here, in a house he can pretend is theirs, threatens to drown out all other reasons.

Eventually, his conscience shouts it down while he and Duck are on their evening walk.

“Oh yeah, Barclay told me about that a few days ago. Some ghost apparently wanders around the moor at night; got somethin to do with a murderous ancestor.”

“That does not alarm you.”

“You know I don’t believe in curses and destiny or anythin like that. People make up all kinds of stories when they’re alone in wild places.”

Indrid’s foresight guides his arm, gripping Duck and keeping him from moving forward.

“Does that look like a story?”

Directly ahead of them, a tor rises like a spike. Atop it, revealed by the rising moon, is a gigantic, fur-covered shape.

“See” Duck whispers, “were we back home, I’d say that was a bear.”

“And now?”

“Given there ain’t been bears in this part of the world in decades, I say we get the hell outta here.”

They take off back down the slope, the hall a collection of yellow squares of light in the darkening distance. A howl splits the air behind them and Indrid quickens his pace, keeps his eyes on the future in hopes of protecting them both.

This means he doesn’t see the burrow in the path until his ankle goes sideways in it.

“‘Drid!”

“Under no circumstances are you to try and help meAH!” He yelps as Duck swings him over his shoulder and continues his flight towards the house. As he’s bounced about, Indrid watches a glowing shape bounding closer.

“Thank fuck.” Duck crosses the gate, slams them closed, and lowers Indrid to his feet. Nothing glares at them from the path. But a growl creeps from the shadows and follows them until they shut the door.

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

“How’s the ankle?” Duck drops his coat on the chair opposite Indrid before tending to the fire.

“Better than yesterday. I should be up and moving tomorrow, if the futures are to be believed.”

“You know you don’t gotta rush. I’m happy to take care of you.”

Indrid picks at the ends of the blanket in his lap, “but I miss being able to aid you with work.”

“There’ll be lots of time for that. We got plenty to do to get the house to where we can live in it full time.”

“We?”

Duck goes completely still, then fails to put the fire poker back in place three separate times. When he finally meets Indrid’s eyes, he looks worried.

“‘Drid? What’s your endgame? With, uh, with me?”

“I…” Indrid grabs his teacup, intending to drink it to buy time and finds it empty, ‘I...I don’t know. I, I wanted to prove to you that I could find you a companion who made you happy, hoping you would give me another chance to locate your perfect match. But lately I, ah, I struggle to see that plan working. As I do not wish you to have any match but me.”

Duck moves across the rug, shadows on his face making it hard to read.

“I know that shows great selfishness on my part. If that is not something you wish to have in your life I, I…” he shrinks back as Duck leans down, certain this is the timeline where he accuses him of being a conniving monster.

“Funny you should say you’re bein selfish” Duck braces his arms on either side of the chair, “because I’ve been beatin myself thinkin’ I was selfish for keepin you out here so long.”

“Keep me here forever.” Indrid whispers. Duck smiles, closes the remaining space between them. His lips are still a bit chilly from working outside; Indrid does everything he can to warm them with his own.

The shorter orc straddles him and he whines so needily that Duck snickers in reply.

“What’s wrong darlin? Kissin too much for you?’

“On the contrary; it is far too little, but my injury means my ability to drag you to my bed and beg for more is greatly impeded.”

“Good thing we live alone.” Duck pulls the blanket from Indrid’s lap, nibbles his ear as the seer catches on and begins frantically undoing the buttons of Duck’s workshirt and shoving his suspenders. When at last he pushes it open he loses himself a moment, tipping forward to tongue at the golden ring in Duck’s left nipple.

“AHheh, gettin right to it. Good” Duck unbuttons his pants, “because I’ve been wantin to fuck you since before we even came out here.”

“Oh I see” Indrid purrs, “you lured me into the countryside to sully my virtue.”

Duck laughs, full throated, as his tusks catch in the firelight, “You forgettin the time we got drunk instead of goin to the opera and you told me you convinced two sailors to take you home?”

“Only if you’ve forgotten telling me about the young ranch-hand you gave several rides to” Indrid nibbles along his neck, his twitching oddly in their quest to grind against him without jostling his ankle.

“Not a chance. But I don’t care about reminiscin right now; right now, I got the best lookin fella in the world beggin for my dick.”

“I’m not begging.” Indrid tilts his head back to help Duck get his shirt open some.

“Not yet.” Duck grins, then shoves his hand down his trousers.

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid reaches for him.

“Keep your hands on the armrests until I say you can move ‘em.”

“But, but” it’s hard to argue when he’s trying to stare a hole through Duck’s remaining clothes. His partner notices and makes a show of moaning louder.

“Only good boys get to watch the show. You gonna be good for me?”

“The best.”

Duck kisses the tip of his nose, then wiggles and kicks his pants and underwear off. Indrid can only watch, growing more envious by the moment, as he fucks himself open and rubs a thumb along his cock. Indrid tries bucking his hips, only to discover Duck is keeping himself out of reach.

“Cruel creature.” Indrid groans.

“Cruel? I’m giving you a seat to the best show in town.”

“I’d rather you take the best seat in town.”

Duck laughs, is still doing so when he bends to kiss him. Indrid whimpers, nails digging into the upholstery to keep his promise of good behavior. Duck notices.

“Good boy.”

“AHHHnnnthankyou, thankyouthankyouthankyou” Indrid moans as Duck drops his weight into his lap, grinding on his clothed cock with abandon. He flings Indrids hands up to his shoulders. The seer glides them up to his hair, burying them there where he’s now certain they’ve always belonged. Duck mirrors him, lips only leaving his to bite the tip of his ear.

“Fuck, Indrid, that’s it darlin, lemme ride you like the sleek little beast you are.”

He whines, loses his thoughts as Ducks hips quicken.

“I know ‘Drid, you like bein mine, like that I’ll bounce on this fuckin perfect dick as often as you want as long as you’re my good, sweet, ohsweetfuck, fuck, darlin’” Duck drops his forehead to Indrid’s shoulder with a groan as he cums, soaking the fabric of his pants. Before Indrid can think about stopping, Duck picks up again with as much force as before, growling in his ear to be a good little social climber and cum for his lord.

Indrid cums at that with a chirping sound he thought he’d stopped making long ago, legs spasming from the force of his climax. Unfortunately, this means his pleasure is chased by a burst of pain. He whimpers, flinches, and Duck spots the problem.

“Oh, oh darlin I’m sorry” He drops to the floor, rubbing Indrid’s thighs, “thought the position would keep you from hurtin.”

“Apparently not. I, I want you to know I don’t regret it in the slightest.”

Duck smiles, relieved, and rests his head on Indrid’s stomach, “Guess you did find me a match, huh?”

Indrid bends slowly, nuzzling his hair with a hum, “Yes, I believe so.”

[staticscreenwriting]

Skin deep - Chapter One || B.H.

Synopsis: Billy survived the battle of Starcourt but is left with a body full of scars. Scars that remind him of the pain he had to go trough and the horrible person he has become. In order to forget about all of that and move on, he wants to get them covered up. Good thing Hawkins has a brand new Tattoo studio and the girl who works there might just be the help Billy has been looking for.

A/N: I needed a TattooArtist!Reader x Billy story so I wrote one and you know me, I can’t keep it short and simple. There will be several parts to this. Don’t ask me about an updating schedule because I don’t have one. I try my best to be consistent but I make no promises. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. 

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Billy’s palms are clammy as he steps out of his car. His eyes wander towards the sign hanging above the door, welcoming him to “Little Bear Tattoos” as an American traditional bear face grins back at him.

This isn’t his first time getting a tattoo, by all means, he shouldn’t be as nervous as he is. But things are different now. Everything is different. Things change after you almost die because you sacrificed yourself to an otherworldly creature to save a little girl.

He had just turned 18 when he got that stupid little skull inked onto his arm. That’s now just a little over a year ago but it seems like a lifetime has passed since then. Sometimes, Billy thinks, sometimes It feels like that was another person altogether. That dumb little boy who thought he knew shit. The one that paraded his tattoo around like a complete and utter douchebag. He thought it made him look rough and cool and dangerous.

In retrospect, it just made it more obvious that he didn’t know shit about anything. Not life. Not death. And most definitely not about what it means to look rough and cool and dangerous. Sometimes he wishes he could go back to that moment and just relish in ignorant bliss. Most of the time he tries not to think of the past though because thinking of the past means thinking of all the things lost that night in July. Most of all himself.

Back then, getting a tattoo was easy. Now, it feels like the entire world is resting on his shoulders. It feels like he can barely keep it all from crashing down on him. 

The bell above the door chimes as he steps inside the tattoo parlor. It’s a relatively small shop but it looks clean and the walls are covered in framed drawings of very intricate designs. If those have been drawn by this place’s artist, he’s in good hands.

A fluffy little brown dog is lazily resting on a pillow by the shop window and only raises his head as the sound of footsteps approaching fills the room.

“ Hi, welcome to little bear. “ a cheery voice calls out to him as a girl steps out from behind a curtain leading to some backroom. She has a big radiant smile on her face though it exudes a certain warmth that only genuine smiles do. 

“ Hi uh — I was wondering if you have a free spot. “ 

“ Hmm… that depends. What are you wanting to get? “ 

To be quite honest, he hadn’t really thought much about it. All he wanted was something to cover up the ugly scars still streaking most of his body. When before, he felt a certain kind of pride whenever he passed a mirror, now it sends a sharp pain straight to his heart. Everything about him, from the perpetually tired look in his eyes to the scars, it’s al a reminder of the bad things he’s done. And the worst part is that he can never talk to anyone about it. Ever. No one will understand but the people who’ve been there, and though he and Max are getting along much better now, he still doesn’t fancy having long profound conversations with her about his demons.

“ I uh — I’m not sure but it needs to cover something.” 

“ Old tattoo? “ 

Billy swallows audibly “scars.” 

He’s not sure what reaction he’s expected from her but a casual “Okay, we can figure something out. “ is not it. Though he avoids wearing short sleeves these days, whenever someone manages to catch a glimpse of his damaged skin he got 1 of two reactions. Either people started regarding him with pity or disgust and he honestly wasn’t sure which was worse. At least those disgusted by him left him well enough alone and didn’t hold a million questions they expected him to answer in great detail.

“ Let’s sit down and we can talk about some things you like and see how we can incorporate those into a tattoo. Also, I would have to take a look at the area you want me to tattoo and see how bad the scarring is just so I can take that into consideration when designing the piece. Scar tissue is harder to tattoo but don’t worry, I promise I can do it. “

“ You’re gonna be tattooing me? “

It seems like a dumb question but honestly, Billy hasn’t met or seen that many female tattoo artists in his life and this girl seems to be about his age. That’s not something you see every day.

“ Yup. I’m (Y/N), this is my shop. Now, do you want something to drink while we discuss the piece? I got all kinds of sodas, I got water and I got non-alcoholic beer. 

“ Dr. Pepper? “ 

“ Good choice. Coming right up. “ 

She walks behind the counter with the cash register and reaches into a small fridge taking out two cans of Dr. Pepper before leading him towards a little seating area by the window. 

The fluffy little dog lifts his head once again regarding the two of them with only mild interest before plopping back down. 

“ Oh, you okay with dogs? I can take him to another room if you’re uncomfortable. “

Billy shakes his head. Nah, he loves dogs. Always wanted one but Neil, being the miserable bastard he is, never allowed the kids to have any pets. Too much work, too much responsibility. What an asshole. 

Though Billy is never going to admit it, the bedside drawer, that was once filled with issues of Penthouse magazine, now holds a bunch of self-help books and magazines dealing with topics of PTSD and trauma. A lot of them mention getting a support animal whether that be a specially trained dog or just a hamster to keep you company. It makes sense, it gives you someone who listens to you vent about all your problems and insecurities. If only his dad cared enough about his mental state to reconsider his stance on pets. Then again, when has Neil ever cared about him?

“Nah, it’s fine don’t worry. He’s cute.”

“Thanks. His name is Bear and he’s kind of the mascot of this store.”

There’s a twinkle of pride in her eyes while she talks about the shop and her dog. Something Billy is infinitely envious of. Everything he’s ever felt any hint of pride in is gone. His car. His looks. All of it.

“Okay so tell me a little about yourself. Is there anything you can think of that you’d like to get inked? Any interests, hobbies? Maybe you wanna tell me a little about yourself.”

Back before, when things were different, Billy would’ve packed as much ego enlarging words and compliments into it as possible. Would’ve mentioned his car and his most satisfactory performance skills in the bedroom. But now, he hardly knows who he is these days. 

“ Um … my name is Billy. I’m 19, I’m from California. ‘Bout two years ago my dad packed us all up and had us move out here to the end of the world. Then … things happened.”

“You miss California?”

“Every day. The thought of going back one day is the only thing that keeps me fucking going. I miss the ocean. I miss surfing. I miss home. I miss all of it.”

She looks at him intensely for a moment, sizing him up, contemplating her next words. He can almost see the creative gears running in her head. 

“Alright. I might have an idea. I’d have to see the area first though.”

He expects pity in her voice though there is none. Her words are comforting and warm and calm. Billy wonders how often she has to deal with clients like him. Those who come to her with painful and ugly reminders of their past.

His hands are shaking as he pulls off his denim jacket and reveals his left arm to her. The skin is streaked with scars. They’re the same paths that used to wind up and down his arm in inky black hues like poisonous vines. Now they’re a faded pink but that doesn’t mean he hates them any less.

Billy can feel his heart beating in a fast rhythm as anxiety floods his system. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe -

“Okay how big would you want to go,” (Y/N) asks, her voice gentle and soothing and her eyes switching from his arm to his eyes. She doesn’t ask him what happened and that’s a relief.

“As big as you can. I know you can’t make it disappear but I’d like as much of it covered as possible.”

“ I won’t be able to do an entire sleeve today but if that’s something you want we can start with a bigger piece on your upper arm today and then work our way to a full sleeve in the future?”

“Sounds good. I just want the scars gone. I need them covered.”

“Well my guy, you’ve come to the right place. It’s my specialty. You’re in luck too, I’m free all day so depending on your pain tolerance and the trauma of your skin, we might even be able to finish the first piece today.”

Pain tolerance, he wants to scoff at that. What he’s been through, the pain and the anguish and the emotional trauma, nothing will ever compare to that. Not even close. He’d get a 100 tattoos all at once and it still wouldn’t measure up.

“Alright, let’s do it.”

“Cool awesome! Imma go over to the drawing board and you can feel free to keep yourself entertained in the meantime. We have an arcade machine in the back. There’s records in the corner if you want to listen to some music. I’ll even let you choose.”

“Is that an honor?” Billy asks, a small smirk on his face. Every once in awhile a flicker of the person he used to be shines through. But then it’s gone and he’s left as this shadow of his former self.

“Oh you have no idea.”

As (Y/N) settles behind a big wooden table and starts scribbling away, Billy wanders over towards the corner of the studio. A bright red record player is resting on a sideboard surrounded by several boxes filled with vinyl records. They’re sorted by band name then chronologically. There’s all kinds of genres too. AC/DC and Judas Priest but also Stuff like The Mamas and the Papas and the Monkees.

“Anything, in particular, you wanna listen to? Kinda hard to make out your taste with this selection. There’s … everything.” Billy calls out to her, leaving through the records.

“What can I say? I like a bit of everything. Don’t like to limit myself.”

Old Billy would’ve raised his eyebrow and asked her if that extends to her love life as well. But old Billy is gone and so he keeps his mouth shut.

“I know it seems like just your kinda music, but maybe stay away from the hard rock. Maybe something a bit more mellow.”

He hasn’t really listened to a lot of music since … well since everything. He mostly sleeps or reads and sometimes when it’s a good day he even attempts to do a bit of writing. It’s nothing spectacular but it’s - something. An outlet really. The stories vary from an autobiographical retelling of the incident to silly tales of young boys going on space adventures. It's a way to get lost in the save parts of his mind. The ones that can create make-believe worlds and happy thoughts. Not the ones tainted with gruesome images of the past.

The opening notes the Monday Morning by Fleetwood Mac fill the air and Billy doesn’t miss the smile tugging on the corner of (Y/N)’s lips. 

“Nice. Didn’t really think you were a Fleetwood Mac fan.”

Billy shrugs his shoulders casually “they’re a classic.”

He sits back down in the seat by the window, watches as the clouds pass the sky and the people go about their day. That’s until a furry little ball of fluff settles down in his lap and demands to be cuddled.

“Oh hey, you.”

“Sorry about that. Bear does not understand the concept of personal boundaries. He thinks everyone is only here to pet him. If he bothers you just set him down.”

But he doesn’t mind one bit. In fact, combing his fingers through the curly brown fur fills Billy with a sense of calm and it grounds him a little. He really needs to adopt a dog for himself. 

“It’s fine. No bother.”

Time passes with Billy cuddling the dog and ever so often glancing over at (Y/N) while she’s working on the sketch. She’s drawing then erasing then redrawing. Copying then throwing it away then doing it all again. All the while she’s dancing along to the music. There’s a lightness about her that Billy wishes he could possess. Even before the Stacourt situation, he never had this unbothered lightness about him. That’s just not the person you turn into when you grow up in a house with Neil Hargrove.

A light drizzle falls outside and Stevie Nicks sings along to it and life feels … almost peaceful right then. Billy lives for these small moments of normality. These glimmers of what life used to be. 

“Okay, I’m ready. Wanna have a look?” 

There’s a bright smile on her face as she looks at him and waves the sketch around. “I think I nailed this one. I hope you’ll like it.“

Billy can see that she actually means it. It's not just a silly phrase she’s tagged onto her sentence. She’s genuinely nervous for him to see it.

Bear follows Billy as he walks toward the counter, a smiley (Y/N) watching their every move. There’s something about how passionate she is about her work that makes Billy both happy and sad. There used to be things in life that he was passionate about. His car. His clothes. The music he loved. Now it’s all dull and trivial and he’s lost. So damn lost.

His eyes wander towards the sheet of paper. Delicate black lines run across the page, swirling and arching and creating a beautiful composition. It’s a lighthouse. A tall and sturdy one. It shines it’s light out into the distance to guide the ships safely around the sharp edges of the cliffs. It’s a beacon of safety and hope surrounded by the rough sea and crashing waves.

“I thought it was a nice symbol, you know. Light in the dark. Guiding ships to safety.” (Y/N) explains. She’s biting her lip nervously and Billy thinks it’s insanely adorable. This piece is perfect, to think she’s uncertain and nervous about his reaction …

“I tried to incorporate the ocean and the crashing waves. You know, as a reminder of your life in California.”

Billy is speechless for a moment. Everything he wanted. All the ideas swirling around in his head. She put it down on paper, made them visible. And he didn’t even have to voice them. They were all just mushy gray clouds in his head, non forming a coherent picture. Just a feeling. A feeling of peace and belonging. Of being strong when everything around you tries to push you down to your knees.

“Do you like it? I can change it if you —“ 

“I love it!”

Her mood immediately changes after hearing those words. As if a switch is suddenly flipped and sunshine floods her face. Her eyes light up and her smile widens.

“Okay perfect! Wanna get started?” 

“Sure, let’s do it!”

The black leather chair is soft underneath him as (Y/N) puts the stencil onto his skin. She has a soft gentle touch which only matches the tone of her voice. Very calming. A complete opposite to the rest of Billy’s life.

“Okay, so it’s not gonna be pleasant since I have to tattoo over scar tissue. If you wanna tap out or take a break just let me know.”

He’s fairly sure that whatever pain he’ll have to endure, it will be nothing compared to what he’s already been through. Pain has a completely different meaning to him now. 

“I’ll be fine.”

And he means it. Not just about the tattoo, about everything. It feels like this is the first step into a new life. One that won’t be determined by his past mistakes. By the trauma.

The buzzing sound of the tattoo gun fills the air and (Y/N) starts pulling the first few lines. Short strokes. As if to test his pain tolerance. Her eyes wander up to meet his, a silent question shining through them.

He grants her a nod. One of pure determination. One that says, without question: “I’ll be fine!”

For a while, they sit in comfortable silence. There’s just the humming of the machine and the raspy voice of Stevie Nicks to lull them into a soft tranquility. 

“ I’m not gonna ask about the scars but can I ask about the skull on the other arm?”

Billy lets out a mix between a laugh and a scoff. “Sins of my youth really.”

“ Oh geez, that makes you sound so old. You’re what, 19?”

“ Almost 20.”

“ See. You’re still in the prime of your youth!”

Billy shrugs his shoulder as she dips the tattoo gun back into the ink. Truthfully, it doesn’t feel like he’s in the middle of his youth. He feels so damn tired. He never got to be a kid. Never got to be a teen. Always wandering in between it all, lost and disillusioned with no one there to guide or help him.

“ How old are you?”

“ Just turned 20 a few days ago.”

“And you already have your own shop. That’s impressive.”

“Yeah well, it’s all I ever wanted to be. Worked my ass off. Spent all my free time at my cousin's tattoo studio up in Carmel. He taught me everything I know. Worked after school and on the weekends and then when I graduated my cousin gave me a little loan and I had enough to open the shop. He believed in me when no one else did and it means everything to me. Hope I make him proud. I just always felt like this is what I'm meant to be. An artist. And this way my art gets immortalized on people’s skin and in some cases it can help them overcome difficult times in their lives. I hope I can make even the smallest change in people’s lives. “

It doesn’t get lost on him, that she doesn’t mention her parents. Something must be up there but it sure as hell isn’t his place to ask about it. Families, he knows quite well, can be a touchy subject.

“Well, you’re definitely making a change in mine.”

“Yeah?”

She looks almost bashful as the question tumble from her lips.

“Yup. I … I need to make those scars disappear. They — they remind me of the worst time in my life and of a version of myself I never want to be again. Having you cover them for me with this art piece that’s so fucking cool, it means everything.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“You should be proud of yourself.”

There’s a connection there, one he can neither grasp nor explain. It’s like she understands parts of him he doesn’t even put on display. And it’s both scary and exciting. And maybe, he understands parts of her she’s not aware she’s putting on display either.

“Okay. I’m done!”

There’s an infinite sense of pride exuding from her words. Billy wishes there was something in his life that he was good at. Something to let him be proud of himself.

“Wanna take a look?” (Y/N) asks with the most radiant smile playing on her face.

“Absolutely!”

His legs are stiff from sitting in the chair for so long but he can’t wait to see the finished piece. Slowly he walks towards the full-length mirror, (Y/N) hot on his heels.

His eyes fall onto the artwork now permanently inked into his skin. There are vibrant shades of blue and dark black lines. The sea is alive, it’s unforgiving and rough. But there’s the light from the lighthouse, the hope, the safety. It’s all there’s and it’s beautiful. Where there used to be ugly pink scars thick and burning, there’s now a beautiful painting. The scars are gone. The pain is gone. All that’s left is beauty and hope.

He doesn’t realize that tears are running down his cheek until she hands him a tissue. His first reaction is to wipe them away and pretend they weren’t there in the first place. A Hargrove man isn’t allowed to cry. Not in front of people anyway. Especially not in front of women. Hargrove men are bitter and numb. They’re stoic. Silent. Angry. Above all they’re sad.

But isn’t that the person he wants to leave behind?

So he lets himself feel it. Lets the tears fall as if it were nothing. 

Maybe this can be the next step into becoming the person he wishes so desperately he can be.

“I take it you like it?”

“I love it.”

And he hugs her. Pulls her close and tight as if he’s known her forever. She reciprocates the hug in no time. Softly oats him on the shoulder.

She smells like flowery perfume and clean cotton. Soft. Sweet. Intoxicating

“I can not thank you enough.”

“Billy, trust me this means as much to me as it does to you.”

He doesn’t disagree with her but he’s sure that’s not true. It means everything to him.

They talk for a little longer then he pays her, way too little if you ask him. She deserves way more and he suspects that some kind of personal sympathy plays into the price. But he’s not one to argue. Not when he’s sure he’ll come back. There are more scars. More pain. He’s not fixed but he’s at least a work in progress now.

She takes a few Polaroids of his tattoo, to put on her wall. To show people she can cover scars. Can help them. Help fix them. Make them feel less broken. 

“They’re burn scars.”

Billy finds himself sharing a piece of his story. One he’s kept so close to him, sometimes he almost wondered if it was true. But it is. And there are more reminders all over his body. It feels right to share it though. She helped him cover part of it, without judging. Without questions. She deserves to know.

“Huh?”

“My scars. They are burn scars.  Not — not from the outside but from the inside. Like fire going through my veins. I uh don’t know how to explain but that’s what they are. You can tell that to your clients. That you covered burn scars. That you’re that talented. “

For a moment she just stares at him, a deep sense of affection shining from her eyes. It’s comforting and nerve-wracking all at once. But he lets himself feel it. He promises himself to let himself feel the good things even if they seem scary.

“That’s … hey, would you like to grab some dinner with me? I could really go for a burger at the diner round here. It’s real good. “

And with the way she smiles, how the hell is he supposed to say no to that.

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way!”

The sun hangs low above the horizon almost dips behind the line to vanish and make room for the moon but not quite yet. They step out into the dawn, Bear pattering alongside them his leash grabbed tightly in (Y/N) hand. 

As hues of red and pink and orange surround them and dip the world into a golden haze, Billy feels like maybe this is the way. Maybe this is his path leading into a new future. With less pain. Fewer scars. More color and more smiles.

And maybe a beautiful and talented girl and a little dog by his side.

[rayshippouuchiha]

so imagine sephiroth was there for the honeybee in dance

Oh trust me I’ve thought of nothing else since the moment that dance happened.

But, to no one’s surprise, this also makes me think of yet another AU that’s been rattling around in my head since I read a similar fic a bit ago.

And so first thing we do is we just put canon under a tarp and play with the bits we like, because of course we do.

So Cloud, fifteen and desperate to escape the scorn of Nibelheim, strikes out on his own with his Mama’s carved blessing in one hand and her tears on his shoulder.

It’s sad and it’s lonely but Cloud still goes, Shinra’s SOLDIER program the only real goal he’s chasing.

Only well, the road is long and hard and there are monsters that need killing, people who need help, and chocobo. So Cloud … well Cloud gets side tracked for … a while.

He’s almost twenty by the time he finally makes his way to Midgar, his best friend and travel companion in tow.

Cloud gets pointed towards Sector 6 when he asks about finding a quality place to restock some gear and find a stable before he heads plate-side.

He’s older now, stronger and more settled into his skin than he’s ever been in his life despite all of the absolutely crazy shit he’s been through on the road over the years.  But at least now SOLDIER seems like a more realistic goal than it ever was in the past.

So Cloud turns towards Wall Market to handle his business.

Only, once again, as Cloud tends to do, he gets a bit … sidetracked.

Cloud has never been good with people (something Claudia always despaired over and yet seemed resigned to) but he’s also never really been able to overlook someone truly in need of help either.  And his time on the road has only made that character trait of his worse.

So when a woman in what he’s pretty sure is a honeybee outfit slams into him in the middle of the street, hair messy, makeup streaked with tears, and babbling about a man with a knife, of course Cloud steps up to help.

It’s easy of course.  Hell after his years on the road and all the bullshit he’s been through and had done to him it doesn’t even make his breathing hitch to take the guy that comes around the corner behind her out brutally enough that he won’t get back up any time soon.  Or at all really without some help and support for that knee.

The Bee Lady, whose name Cloud doesn’t actually catch through her sobbing, insists on taking him back to the Inn where she apparently works.  Not that Cloud was going to let her go off alone after all of that.

So that’s how he ends up at the Honey Bee Inn, surrounded by fawning Honey Boys and Honey Girls, and staring across a table at one Andrea Rhodea.

One thing leads to another and somehow Cloud finds himself with his own set of rooms, a startlingly generous salary, a brand new uniform, and the semi-proud, semi-bemused honor of being the Honey Bee Inn’s very first official Soldier Bee.

He takes to it pretty easily to be honest.  He actually finds himself content with stepping up to protect all the Honeys who work at the Inn from any client that might try their hands at some unwelcome bee-keeping.  And everyone at the Inn seems to really appreciate him even if it is now officially his job to do these things anyways.

Cloud can’t help but muse that he’s pretty sure he’s never been so well liked before in his life.

It doesn’t take long for Andrea and the Honeys to browbeat and sad eye him into taking part in some dance practice.  Luckily, or maybe not depending on how you look at it, Cloud’s a quick learner these days, the awkwardness of his youth long burned out of him.

Which means, of course, that they then move from browbeating him into practice to browbeating him onto the stage.

Cloud, because he does have some pride, demands a pay raise if he’s going to be pressed into dancing with Andrea at least once a week.  He even threatens to walk out and finally head up to Shinra HQ.

So, of course, he ends up on stage.

But at least the honeycomb cookies Andrea has delivered to his room from the kitchen every week are absolutely delicious.

In the end Cloud learns to treat it as a different kind of training exercise.  It’s fun in it’s own way so Cloud doesn’t let it really bother him when the desk starts getting requests from clients for him.  Requests he turns down flat no matter how much Andrea and the Honeys laugh at him.

Everything changes though when the Honey Bee gets some unexpected VIP guests and Cloud finds himself the focus of the intense attention of the Silver General himself.

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: jin x reader ft. elf!jk || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: est. 13k  

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: thriller, angst, fantasy || ʀᴇʟᴇᴀsᴇ: 14th December

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you and your husband jin try to enjoy a nice holiday in the North Pole, but there’s something not quite right with the elves.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, some aggressive characters, though no gore or explicit violence, this one’s kinda a dark setting though i promise the characters are still honeymoonjinᵀᴹ soft

--

“I don’t like this.”

You glance up from the half-eaten butterscotch pudding, finishing your caramel mouthful. “What do you mean?”

Jin glances up from the picnic table the two of you are eating at, eyeing the fellow tourists and smattering of elves wandering around the campground. The two of you had gone on a surprisingly brief tour of the North Pole's capital, Middlenog, kept in a tour bus for a ride down the main street, only stopping at a small museum and now, a campground for lunch. Oddly, your tour bus were the only guests at the site, and the booth for reception had been shut since you parked up, with no sign of opening.

“Maybe it’s off-season,” you dismiss, shoveling another spoonful of the delicious - and complimentary! - dessert in your mouth.

Jin glances back at you, brows furrowed. “It’s December,” he exclaims, “in terms of Christmas, it’s the very definition of on-season. Where are the rest of the tourists? Where are the elves taking holidays with their families and friends? I just don’t get it.”

You stare at your now-empty bowl mournfully, before pushing it to the side and looking back up at your husband. “I mean, if Christmas is busy, they probably take their vacations in the middle of the year, right? Anyway, it’s not a big- Seokjin!”

You cringe violently as the dark-haired man waves over your tour guide, a stout redhead with a friendly face and clever eyes, greeting the elf with an over-enthusiastic handshake.

“Franklyn,” he cheers jovially, though his eyes glitter in an entirely different manner, “I wanted to ask you a quick question. How do we go about booking a cabin here, perhaps for a week or so?”

The elf’s eyebrows lift slightly, and you watch as he leans his body backwards, before his arm goes taut and holds him back in place. You watch him swallow hard as he realises Seokjin isn’t letting go of his hand. “Uh, you can ask at reception, sir.”

Your husband doesn’t blink. “Reception’s closed.”

A tense smile breaks out on Franklyn’s face. “This place isn’t so well run, huh? You’d be better off vacationing in one of our luxury holiday resorts in East Cane! That’s the place we’re headed to next, it’s about an hour out of the city but it’s got reindeer riding and the Auro-”

“We prefer the city life,” Jin interrupts smoothly, finally dropping Franklyn’s hand with a flourish, wiping his palm on his jeans with a never-faltering grin. “How about you recommend us a place to stay inside Middlenog.”

“But Middlenog isn’t for-” Franklyn coughs suddenly, a tinny noise that sounds entirely artificial. “Hey, how about I fetch you folks some more dessert? Calories don’t count on a holiday, you know!”

You hum, eyeing up the buffet table they had set up, a few picnic tables pushed together and laden with food. “Actually, I wanted to try the mudca-”

“We noticed you haven’t eaten yet, sir.” You’re taken aback when it’s the elf this time, not your husband that cuts in. Franklyn has his head tilted just enough that his small, felted hat doesn’t tip off, and his smile is plastic.

Jin goes silent for a moment, jaw flexing slightly, in the way that you noticed it did whenever he was concentrating extremely hard on something. “You noticed me, did you?”

Franklyn doesn’t explain further. “The food is completely free, and if the clients don’t finish it, we have to throw it out. All those meats, breads, cakes, puddings; they were all put there for you to enjoy as a part of the tour. So go on; be naughty.” Franklyn winks at the both of you like it's an inside joke shared between friends.

You begin to feel uneasy, but Seokjin just holds his gaze. “I think I will,” he says slowly.

“Good!” Franklyn’s clear relief is shattered by the ringing of a stick of jingle bells, the driver elf standing outside the bus, waving the couples and families back inside. The redhead deflates a little, before puffing himself up and smiling down at the both of you. “Well; why don’t you take something to go? We aren’t meant to have food or drink on the bus, but I won’t tell if you don’t!”

You curl your arms inwards as they rest on the table, slipping them off the edge to hug yourself. Something about this interaction struck you as extremely unpleasant, even as Franklyn beamed down at you. Maybe it was something about the way he bared his teeth as he smiled. Perfectly pearly whites.

“Well thanks, Franklyn,” Jin cheers, moving to stand up. “I’ll go quickly browse the selection and pick out something for the ride. Give us just a minute!”

Franklyn nods happily, waiting for Jin to take you by the arm and lead you to the now-abandoned table of food. Once you reach it, some of the food still steaming lightly, Franklyn tips his hat to the two of you and runs up to the bus, mumbling something to the driver before leaning back out with his hand on the door, waiting.

“Fuck,” Jin hisses under his breath, “keep a smile on your face while you talk. He can’t get suspicious.”

You laugh and poke him playfully, though your heart pounds inside. “What’s going on?” you whisper. “I think something’s not right here.”

He reaches around you for a bread roll, lathering on some herby butter. “Listen to me very carefully, baby. We’re going to get on that bus, wait for it to pick up enough speed, and we’re going to pull the emergency door lever and jump out into the forest.”

You glance at Jin sharply, seeing Franklyn perk up at your movement. Forcing yourself to maintain a calm appearance, you let yourself freak out on the inside. “What do you mean, Jinnie? We can’t do that.”

“You feel it too, don’t you? They want us out of the city. There’s something they’re not telling us, something they’re hiding. I just know it.”

You pretend to inspect a squeeze bottle of sauce, trying to ignore the way your hands tremble as Franklyn in your blurry peripheral impatiently checks his watch. “Jinnie, I’m scared.”

“If we get caught, we say it was an accident. Trust me, honey, it’s better we leave them and their influence as soon as possible. I think they’re spiking our food.”

You gasp, catching it at the last second and letting the air bubble in your throat. “They can’t do that,” you defend reluctantly, though your stomach turns at the thought of the butterscotch pudding you had devoured just minutes before. “Do you really think so?”

“I’m convinced,” he replies shortly, picking up a paper plate stuffed full of goodies. “So take food to make it look like we’re eating, but don’t have any more, okay? I haven’t eaten any yet, so if something happens, I’ll take care of you.”

Your eyes prickle violently and your knees threaten to buckle. “Seokjinnie, I’m scared.”

“We should get back on the bus.”

“I don’t wanna get back on the bus.”

“We need to,” he instructs in a low voice, hand on the small of your back the only thing that anchors you. “We’ll get off soon, okay? Wait for my signal, then jump and roll. Don’t try and land, just roll.”

You stare as the entrance to the bus nears closer, Franklyn trying his best not to send you both a withering glare as he gestures for you to hurry up. “Okay, baby.”

Jin waits until he’s just within earshot of the tour guide before speaking up one last time. “We should’ve gone to fucking Hawaii.”

--

The impact jerks most of your memory from your mind. One moment the two of you are holding hands tight enough to turn the knuckles white, and the next your vision is blurred, a pounding in your head and sour copper in your mouth.

The two of you fall on grass, tumbling over each other as your momentum carries you, but it’s uneven and littered with stones from the road and snapped twigs from the forest. You spit out a mouthful of blood, stumbling to your feet with shivering limbs, and even as your ears ring, you hear your husband calling your name, tugging on your arm to pull you along towards the dense thicket of trees.

You’re blubbering, hiccuping on blood and snot and tears, but the squealing of tires drags your attention back up the road, where thick black streaks of tar lead to the bus, heads poking out the windows, and a bewildered redhead elf hopping out to stand on the road, yelling something you’re too shell-shocked to decipher. Jin tugs at your arm, jerking you forward, but it’s not until the elf, in his tan shorts and bright green short sleeved button-down, reaches up to remove his felt hat, chucking it to the side and breaking into a run, arms pumping furiously at his sides in tune to the jingling of the bells on his pointed shoes.

You cry out at the sight, finally catching your feet underneath you and sprinting as fast as you can, your husband hot on your heels. Darting through the trees, trying to watch out for uneven ground, you suck in shallow lungfuls of air, pushing and pushing as the two of you make it deeper into the forest. Soon enough, your lungs begin to burn and your legs ache, wanting nothing more than to curl up.

You halt yourself, ducking instinctively behind a tree, listening out over your panted breaths for any sign of Franklyn. As you slowly catch your breath, holding a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound, you turn to face your husband, who’s pressed up against an adjacent trunk, brows furrowed in concern.

The two of you stay like that for a moment as your ears strain for sound of anyone incoming, but there is none. Tentatively, you lean out from the cover of the tree and look around. You’ve gone deep enough into the forest that light is dim here, and you can no longer see the road. In fact, no matter which way you turn, you’re faced with a bleak infinity of tall, mournful trees, silent bar from the rustling.

Your blood runs cold. Silent. It’s not just a lack of noise from Franklyn. There’s no evidence of life anywhere, no chirping of birds or flapping of wings, no scratching of squirrels climbing up the trees. Your gaze falls down to the forest floor, a thick layer of pine needles, leaves and twigs lay over barren grey dirt. From outside, from the road, the forest looked rich, vibrant, branches heavy with snow. But here, the thicket is so densely packed that all the snow hangs heavy on the upper branches, and below is a dead void, long, bland tree trunks more like skeletons that living organisms.

“I think we lost them,” you husband whispers into the expanse. “Or at least he gave up on following us. Those shoes didn’t look built for running.”

Anticipating a day of exploring, the two of you had put on sneakers for the tour that morning from your hotel, and you feel so grateful for that decision. The pair of you in basic jeans and warm sweaters and jackets would be faring far better than the elves in their kitschy uniforms, and at this point you would take any advantage you could get.

But still, the odds were against you, and in the open hollow of the forest, you felt that more than ever. “Jinnie, what are we gonna do? We’re lost and we left that food on the bus.”

“It had something in it, Y/n.”

“Getting a little high or sleepy is better than starving to death!”

Seokjin sighs in internal frustration and rubs his face. “Y/n, sit down.”

You frown, legs folding to sit cross-legged on the ground. “Seokjinnie, it’s cold,” you complain. He stares at you for a few moments as you shuffle uncomfortably, trying to smooth out the prickly debris below. You huff at him. “What?”

“Why are you sitting down?” he asks softly. “It’s the middle of winter and those jeans are your only layer on your bottom half.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Because you asked me to, assho-” You go stock still, gaze darting up to meet his in fear. “Oh god.”

Your husband’s face crumples, rushing forward to pull you back up by the arms. “They’re keeping us compliant, Y/n. Everything this tour has been showing us is a fucking lie. And if they stuff us up with free food that keeps us obedient, then we’ll go back home after the trip telling everyone how perfect and wonderful the North Pole was. I… I don’t know how long it’s going to take for the drugs to wear off, Y/n.” He pulls you into a hug suddenly, arms tight around your shoulders. His voice is shaky, thick. “If we meet someone, honey, you need to stay close to me, okay? You need to be very very careful.”

You nod, hands finding their way up to clutch at his back, breathing in his familiar scent.  “Jinnie, we need to keep moving. I know it’s dangerous, but we have to find someone. We don’t know the terrain. If we don’t have anyone to help us we’re getting caught by nightfall. And besides; there’s no way we could survive this weather overnight without any supplies.”

He exhales heavily enough to ruffle the hair on the back of your head, squeezes you one last time, and pulls away. “You’re right,” he concedes with eyes bright with tears, “let’s keep going forward until we find something. Or someone.”

The walk is relatively peaceful, for a few hours. The exercise keeps your body warm, and the deeper into the forest you go, the scenery slowly begins to come to life again. After about an hour, the washed-out trunks are replaced with rich brown, stout builds with patches of moss bursting colour on the sides. The lifeless packed dirt softens and changes to soil, a spongy layer of freshly fallen leaves replacing the dry remnants that littered the outskirts.

It’s several hours before you hear anything other than your own steps. The sun slips lower and lower in the sky, a fat disc of yellow ochre that dissipates before it reaches you. Jin and you don’t speak, don’t waste the energy it would take to make conversation. The total, somber hush of the forest is broken for the first time by a high, piercing yell.

The two of you freeze suddenly, ducking behind the two nearest tree trunks like your lives depended on it. Without a visual of the action, your eyes go hazy staring back the way you came, at the deep wall of trees between you and the civilisation you ran from. You let your ears focus in instead.

There’s a solid thump, followed by the involuntary oof of someone being winded. You muffle a gasp and curl into a ball at the sound of multiple voices, jeering loudly.

“What are you gonna do now, Golden Boy? No one to defend you now. We got rid of Yoongi, and we’ll get rid of you, too.”

Another sound of impact, and the victim of the assault lets out a whine that echoes through the forest. “You’re just nasty! What did he ever do to you?”

A different, lower voice cuts in with another hit. “Oh, shut it, tinseltoes. The two of you are little rats, you don’t appreciate everything the ones in charge give you. It’s not just us; we had a request from the big guy himself to stop you from meddling.”

You and Jin share a frantic, wordless stare. He was right after all. There was something fishy going on. You can see on your husband’s face the way he reaches his decision. The emotions that play in his eyes, the doubt followed by determination. As the two separate voices continue to harass the third, Jin waves at you once to remain where you are, and jumps out from behind the tree. You gasp silently, shaking your head with wide eyes, but he’s already making his way towards the commotion.

“Hey! Stop picking on this poor elf!”

“And who the fuck do you think you are, pal?”

You cringe at the roughness of the strangers’ voices, cursing out why your husband would ever do that. Jin, however, just gets more fired up, and you hear surprised grunts, and some scuffling, like he’s shoved one or both of them.

The two begin to get louder, yelling, and the moment you hear the unmistakable sound of flesh impacting on flesh, you can’t stay in your spot any longer. Jumping out, your heart breaks at the sight of your husband cradling his cheek with a pained expression, opposite arm raised in a guarding position to protect himself.

Past him is a figure curled up on the ground, but you pay it no mind, keeping a careful eye on the two attacking elves. Both are short, but while one is scrawny, an unflattering comb-over under his felt hat, the other is stout, fist still clenched, an angry red colouring the deep lines on his face. Their attention is caught by your sudden movement, and they do a double take, glancing at Jin, then back at you.

“Wait a minute,” the taller one one growls, “what’s wrong with you two? Your faces aren’t….” He scrunches his face in disgust, spitting into the dirt thickly. “Fucking humans, aren’t you?”

The older elf narrows his eyes at you, open hatred on his face. You notice upon closer inspection that the both of them catch the light, a faint silver shimmer on their cheekbones. You wonder if this was the thing you and Jin were apparently lacking to out you as humans. “It’ll be the Sweet Adventures bus tour again. Dragging filthy mundane scum through the streets of Middlenog. You don’t belong here, got it?”

Jin sets his jaw with a wine, eyes bright with anger. “We’re the scum? You took this poor kid out into the middle of the woods just to beat him up.”

“If he had any elf-magic in him like the rest of us, he’d be able to fight back,” the older elf retorts.

The figure curled up behind Jin shifts, a head poking out from his legs. “I do-o,” he whines miserably, hiccuping a sob. Instinctively, Jin reaches down to place a hand protectively on the soft brown hair of the boy, patting comfortingly.

“Well, show us then, Golden Boy,” the brawny elf mocks. “Every other elf has enough for a little spark, so why can’t you? Do you really despise yourself that much? Fucking pathetic.”

A wet sniff comes from behind Jin’s thigh, and you watch small hands wrap themselves around his knee; even with two, his fingertips barely touch. Jin glances over at you with a pleading look, and you nod slowly. Clearly both of you had the same rising protective urge over this small elf that you hadn’t even properly seen.

Steeling your spine and hoping your stern face looks intimidating, you turn to the elves. “I bet you two haven’t visited any human cities, right?”

The smaller one curls his lip. “Why would we?”

You take a breath, willing your voice not to shake. “Then you probably don’t know much about our weapons.”

The two exchange a look. Jin tries to make eye contact with you, but you ignore him. “We know some,” the smaller one says warily.

“When I came here, I brought something to protect myself. I don’t want to have to use it, but I will.” Trying to disguise the trembling of your hands, you slip the backpack from your back. Of course the two of you hadn’t thought to pack food or water, or really anything for survival, but you do know one thing Jin insisted on bringing that just might save your asses. You reach in and pull it out, praying your husband’s look of bewilderment doesn’t ruin your bluff. “Do you know what this is?”

The elves stare wide-eyed at the can of spray-on cologne in your hand. Even the smallest ducks out from behind Jin, his wide doe eyes the first actual glimpse of his face you’ve seen thus far. The tougher elf reaches out an arm to prevent his friend from backing away when they see the spray bottle. “Is it… It’s not a gun, right?”

You grin. Thank fucking god. “That’s right,” you affirm with a nod, raising it quickly enough that they all flinch. “And if you don’t come back the way you came, I’ll have no choice but to fire. This gun is particularly effective because it can shoot at long distances. So you better watch your step all the way back home.”

The elf with the hat shrinks back, tugging at his companion, who stands there for a moment, nose flaring. Finally, he relents, not before jabbing a finger in your general direction. “The two of you will fucking pay for this, you hear me? The second we reach the town, we’re calling the Jollies on you. You may have won this time, but in the scheme of things, you’ve already lost.”

He shoots you one last glare, but you straighten your arm and tighten your finger on the trigger, and the two turn tail, rushing noisily through the trees. They glance back a few times to see if you’re still aiming at them, but you don’t let your arm fall until you can no longer make out their forms.

Once the tiny blips disappear from view, you let it drop, sinking to the ground in an anxious heap. “Jesus. Your fucking bougie cologne. After all that.”

Jin grins, but you can tell his relief from the way the tension leaves his shoulders. “You’re just lucky I have good taste, honeybun. That ‘bougie cologne’ just saved our lives.”

You hear a hiccup. “C-clone?” a small voice questions.

Your exhaustion leaves you, and instead your maternal instinct rises again. “Hey, little guy,” you coo, “are you okay? You’re not hurt?”

You see his tiny fingers scrunch up the thick fabric of Jin’s jeans as he buries his face out of sight again. “Can you put the clone gun away?” he cries out in a wavering voice. “Koo doesn’t like violence. ‘S scary.”

Jin laughs, a comforting sound to both you and the frightened elf. Ruffling his hair, Jin gently detaches the boy from his leg so that he can crouch down in front of him. “No need to be scared, buddy. It’s not a gun.”

The small figure has his knees up and his fists bunched up over his face, so that only his mussled hair shows. Slowly, though, his fingers relax. “It’s not?”

“It’s cologne. Something that makes you smell nice. Y/n was just tricking the mean men so that they’d leave us alone.”

He hums in consideration, brushing at the dust that’s collected on his overalls. In a total contrast of Franklyn and the other elves running the tour, both the two bullies and Koo were in extremely dull clothes, nothing like those TV-ready red-and-green confections that the others wore. The overalls you saw now were a washed-out green, clearly too big for him judging by the way the ankles had to be rolled up several times and the suspenders kept slipping off his shoulders. Underneath was a grey t-shirt, too thin to provide any real warmth, and his arms were prickled with goosebumps. In fact, the only real decent piece of clothing he wore were a pair of heavy-duty black boots, something you’d see in a factory. “Y/n,” the young elf repeats experimentally in a shaky voice. Your heart melts at the sound. “Y/n saved Koo?”

“Well, Jin helped too,” your husband defends immediately. “But yes. You’re safe with us, Koo.”

Finally, Koo drops his hands and lifts his face up. Eyes just as wide as before glimmer with unshed tears, wet streaks tracking over his cheeks, which are bright with a silver blush that glows from below the skin. Strange, you think. You hadn’t noticed that on Franklyn.

Jin sighs, fondly patting him on the cheek. “Listen, Koo. My wife and I jumped out of a tour bus, and we’re now pretty lost. I know you must be shaken up right now, but if you could help us, we’d really appreciate it. A place to stay, some food or water, even just directions.”

Koo rubs his button nose with the back of his hand, blinking owlishly. “You- You want my help?”

“If that’s okay.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, nose scrunched up with the effort of it, like he can’t process what your husband is telling him. Shaking his head, he opens his eyes again with a pout. “I’m not a very good elf to ask for help. I can’t even do elf-magic like everyone else. You don’t want me.”

You frown softly, shuffling closer to him. “How come you can’t do elf-magic? Were you not taught it or something?”

He rubs his eyes hastily, wiping away the tears that spring up again. “It’s not taught,” he explains in a shaky voice, “it comes from your heart. The more love you give and receive, the more magic you have. The other elves make fun of me because- because-” he jerks with a sob, burying his face in his hands again. When he talks again, it’s muffled. “Even if you’re the meanest, loneliest elf in the world, you still have a little bit of magic because of your self love. But Koo can’t even make a spark. I’m a bad elf,” he blubbers hopelessly, whole body wracked with sobs.

You stare at Jin with wide eyes, feeling yourself tear up at the confession. Without a second thought, you launch your body forward and wrap your arms around the crying elf in a tight hug, pulling him up so you can rub his back soothingly.

He freezes for a moment, but as you and Jin both coo sweet reassurances, you feel him go lax against you, arms coming up hesitantly to hug you back. You feel the pressure of his chin as he tucks it into the crook of your neck, and the wetness of his cheek on your skin. “Wh-what is this?” he questions in a weak voice.

“It’s a hug, Koo,” you explain haltingly. “Do you really not know what a hug is?”

“It’s nice,” the elf mumbles instead, wriggling slightly to snuggle in deeper.

You glance up at Jin over his shoulder. The pleading look in your eyes is probably akin to a child asking to a parent, can we keep him? but you can’t help yourself. There’s something about Koo, something about the innocent galaxies in his wide eyes, something about the way he buries himself into the warmth of a kind stranger like his life depends on it. There’s something about him that makes you want to keep him by your side, safe forever.

Judging by everything else you had seen so far, and what Koo had mentioned of the other elves, it didn’t seem like a very nice place for him to be living. When you left - that is, if you managed to leave - you wanted to take him with you.

“Koo,” you say slowly, “do you… do you have a place where we could stay for the night? We just need a night to regroup and then we’re going to try and go back home. Back to the human world. Would you like to come with us?”  

You feel his chest expand in a deep breath as he regains himself. Gently, almost reluctantly, he pulls away to glance up at you, shaking his thick brunette hair from his face. Though you didn’t notice it before, it’s a lot longer than you would have expected, longer than any other elf you’d seen so far. He absentmindedly runs his fingers through it as he speaks, dislodging the twigs and leaves that are knotted up from being sprawled on the ground. He winces as a particularly matted section of hair gets caught, but his eyes are still so wide and vulnerable as they look up at you. “The human world? I- I don’t think I’d fit in there…”

Jin’s eyes soften sadly. “Do you fit in here?”

Koo drops his head, giving up on taming his disheveled locks. He shrugs solemnly in resignation. “I have a place I like to go to sometimes, when I wanna be alone. It’s not too far from here.” He lifts his head again, a small smile playing at his lips. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile. “We call it the Clubhouse. You know; like Mickey Mouse?”

Jin laughs, brushing his jeans as he stands up. “You elves have Disney Channel or something?”

Koo cranes his neck up to the elder, shuffling his feet. “We don’t have television or internet here, but one of my cousins smuggled in some tapes once. Mickey was my favorite.”

Jin’s eyes dart to you in worry at the mention of smuggling. How bad was this place? “Could you take us to the Clubhouse, Koo? If you help us now, we can help you escape from here. Please.”

Indecision is plain to see on Koo’s face. His eyes waver, he sucks bottom lip into his mouth and hollows his cheeks, hands in his lap fiddling restlessly. "Uh... Mm... I don't know..." He darts his watery gaze over to you and you give him what you hope is your most reassuring smile. That seems to do it; the tension in his body melts, and he slumps, nodding in tiny jerks. "O-okay then. But I have one condition." He's never looked more serious, more grim. "You need to help me find my brother first."

---

With poor insulation, Koo's hideout is still on the colder side, though it's still far more tolerable than outside. As the three of you trekked through the thick forest, the sun had fallen, and quickly the outdoors was inhospitable. Although elves had done a good job over time at maintaining survivable temperatures right in the centre of the North Pole, the majority of the continent was still arctic tundra, and so a lot of the heat was leached or blown away by icy winds.

The Clubhouse really wasn't more than a cleverly-secluded treehouse, one that he had to guide you how to climb, with just the branches rather than planks or handholds to aid the way. It was sturdy enough that you felt comfortable staying the night, but three persons was clearly over capacity, as you had no choice but to sit directly on your husband's lap as Koo tucked himself into the corner opposite, taking a battered hairbrush to his tangles.

You lean into your husband's warmth, part of you wishing it was just him so that the two of you could be alone, but mostly grateful that you had come across an elf like Koo in the first place rather than freezing to death outside. Jin has his arms loosely around your waist, resting on your lap, but even just their weight is enough to reassure you a little. You tip your head back onto his shoulder, almost missing the look of something akin to confusion in Koo's eyes.

"So this brother of yours," Jin begins, "he's a criminal?"

Koo flinches, face crumpling. "He's not," he defends thickly, tossing his hairbrush noisily into the cabinet of belongings he took it from. "Yoongi shouldn't be in prison, he didn't do anything wrong."

"People don't just go to prison for no reason, Koo," Seokjin retorts, not unkindly, "we aren't judging, but we need to know what we're getting into here. Was it something small like stealing or is he a murde-"

"It wasn't his fault!" Koo fires back in a weak scream, making the two of you jump. He blinks, and fat tears fall from his lashes, barely touching his cheeks as they fall to wet the floor in dark spots. "It wasn't his fault," he repeats hollowly, making no effort to wipe his running nose. He lies against the back wall, staring into space, brows furrowed with guilt. "It was me. He took the fall to protect me." He breathes shakily, taking a moment to compose himself.

"Yoongi's a good person. He's my brother. We were working in the factory together when I was fifteen. It was-"

"A factory?" you interrupt incredulously. "When you were fifteen years old? That's child labour."

Koo's taken off-guard by your exclamation. "Well, yeah. Little elves work better in the smaller factories like tinsel factory where we worked because you can fit more. How else could we make money for food?"

Your eyes prickle violently as your hand comes up to cover your mouth.

Jin's voice is calm as it comes from behind you but you can see the way his hands tremble as they rest on your thighs. "So you and this Yoongi guy were working in the factory. Are you able to finish your story, Koo?"

The elf nods, wiping away his tears with a fist before continuing. "I didn't take it seriously back then. I was stupid, showing up late and not working hard. I had two strikes, and one day I accidentally broke the stringing machine. If I had gotten caught, I would've been fired and then Yoongi and I wouldn't have had enough money for the both of us. He thought if he said it was him it would be his first strike and it would be fine." He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing out more wet tracks to run down his cheeks, and his shoulders shake. "We didn't know. The three-strike policy was only for minors. He said he was the one that broke it and they took him to prison. To Candyland."

"Koo," you make out in a garbled sob, breaking Jin's hold to rush forward and pull him into a hug. It seems Koo recognises it this time, because he reaches his arms up like a child and lets you embrace him tightly, wailing noisily in your ear, shaking like a leaf. You squeeze him even more snugly as he lets out his heartbreak.

Jin moves past you in the cramped space to rub his back, sending you a worried gaze. "Koo, buddy, how old are you now?"

The boy sniffs. "Twenty-two," his voice sounds from behind you, heaved sobs slowly reducing to weak trembles.

Jin bites his lip, cheeks puffing out at the action. "Seven years, then. I-" he breaks off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I hate to say it, Koo, but there's a good chance he's not still in the same place he was taken away to. You don't know for sure that if we go to that prison Yoongi will even still be there. We're risking everything by putting ourselves in danger's way, and we might not get anything back for it."

You glare at your husband, rubbing Koo's shoulder yourself, but the younger boy just pushes off you, sitting up and twisting around to stare at Jin.

"I know," he says somberly, "but what kind of elf would I be if I didn't even try?"

Jin returns the eye contact silently for a moment, before nodding in resignation. "We'll go first thing tomorrow."

--

The prison is bigger than you imagined. Rather than a simple complex of cells, it's closer to a camp, with several different concrete buildings spread across an open expanse of barren grey dirt. An endless trail of hunched over elves spill out of a bungalow furthest from the bushes you've ducked behind, single-file like ants as they make their way in tattered overalls over the lifeless land and towards a massive building, tall enough to block out the weak sun, wide enough that the far end almost disappears into the horizon, what looks like an endless, monstrous factory topped by several twisting chimneys that force up black smoke that clots the sky in smears of grey, sucking up any remaining colour.

Koo's face is stricken, looking over it. You suspect he's never actually witnessed it up close, though it was only a few hours' walk from his treehouse. Your one saving grace had been the lack of any elves out and about in the backstreets of Middlenog so early in the morning when you had rushed there, but now it seemed that luck had run out.

Regular patrols roamed the yard, easy to spot as they were the only elves in the traditional bright colours - though even then, they were closer to heavy military than friendly Christmas elves. Their uniforms were thick, tough fabric like you'd see a SWAT team wear, but they were a dark red like dried blood. The pants were tucked into solid camo-green boots, and each and every one you could spot were holding giant guns, painted over the same shade of muddy green, held in the arms or slung over a shoulder. From the ones close enough to see properly, their faces were hardset, all tough jaws and furrowed brows. Nothing like the softness of Koo's features, with his plump cheeks and delicate lips.

Speaking of the young elf, you glance back over at him in concern. His face has gone so pale that almost all of his silver glow has leached away, and his hands are shaking violently. In preparation of the risky heist, he had put his hair up off his face, two strips of ragged fabric serving as ties, one on either side, just above and behind his ears. The pigtails would be cute, were it not for the long-lived sorrow in his eyes.

"And this place is called Candyland?" Jin questions incredulously. "It's a nightmare, is what it is. Jesus."

Koo bites his lip with a shrug. "It used to just be called the Middlenog Penitentiary, I think. But when we started getting human tourists... Well, us elves aren't meant to interact with humans anyway, but just in case they got lost or something, they didn't want the humans to think we have a prison. If we just say Candyland, they assume it's nice."

Your mind whirs, your stomach turning. "It's gotta be over thirty years, right?"

Jin frowns. "Huh?"

"The North Pole has been open to tourists since, like, the eighties or something. All that time and nobody's seen how horrible it really is? When we get out, we have to say something, maybe we can- I don't know, stop it? How does nobody know about this?"

Jin opens his mouth with the beginnings of a shrug, but then freezes, mouth dropping open. "Fuck." Koo jumps a little at the curse word, worried pout deepening, but your husband's attention is fully on you, a frantic fear in his eyes that you've never seen before. "Y/n. You know all those stories on the news, tourists that went off-tour and went missing or died?"

You nod automatically, before what he's implying sinks in. "You don't think..."

Jin reaches out to grip onto your hand tightly, breathing through his nose to try and stop his voice from wobbling. "If this is what they treat their own people like, imagine what they'll do to outsiders. If we get caught, honey, I don't think it's just going to be a slap on the wrist or deportation."

Your fingers tighten around his in fear, and you glance back the way you came, debating just turning around and giving up on the whole prison-break scheme. But then you turn around again, and you see the vulnerability in Koo's eyes, the careful hope, the deep-residing guilt. You swallow hard. "Then we don't get caught."

Jin sighs out slowly. "Yeah. Okay." He shuffles a bit to adjust his crouching position, and lets go of your hand to place both on Koo's shoulders. "Listen. Do you have any information on where he'd be, how we're going to find him?"

Koo takes a stabling breath. "Um, I think, he- If he's still here, you can probably find him in the sleeping part, over there." He points, careful to keep his hand out of view of the patrol, to the bungalow where elves still pour out in a slow trudge. "It's alphabetical order, so Yoongi will still be waiting to go, I think. The beds have names too, apparently. Yoongi always told me that's how they keep track of them all, make sure every bed with a name has an elf in that night."

Jin processes this, jaw working. "So that means by tonight, they'll notice him missing?" Koo nods. "Fuck, so we need to get back to the station before then."

You feel tendrils of doubt wrap around your lungs, shortening your breath. "How are we gonna get past the security, Jinnie? I bet Franklyn's already warned them that we're missing."

"We can't think about that now," Jin brushes off, his brow furrowed with concern as he glances past the bush, out to the single-file prisoners and patrolling guards. "Okay. There's a scrawnier elf heading our way, his rifle's tucked away, I can knock him out and use the uniform. Koo; what does Yoongi look like?"

You tip your head to the side. "Jin, why doesn't Koo just g-"

"You both are staying right here," your husband swiftly interrupts, voice lowering into a hush as the guard slowly strolls closer and closer. "If anything happens to me, Koo can get you out of here. Okay?"

Your eyes widen with alarm, but you force yourself to keep to a barely-audible whisper. "No! Not okay, Jin, I'm not leaving without you."

He glances up one last time, his face relaxing into grim acceptance and determination. He ducks forward, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your forehead, just on your hairline. "I love you," he mouths almost silently.

You reach up to grip his wrist, but he reluctantly shakes you off, and shuffles to the edge of the wild patch of bushes you're hid behind. The moment the guard passes into sight, Jin jumps, slapping a had over the guard's mouth and pinching his nose shut. He pulls the smaller body down, trapping his arms with a tight embrace and pinning down his legs against the ground.

You and Koo latch onto each other muffling your mouths as the figure struggles for a few long moments, grunts slipping out from behind Jin's palm occasionally. Finally, he goes limp, and Jin holds him still for another thirty seconds or so to be sure, before releasing him and urgently stripping off the uniform, awkwardly slipping it on as he remains crouched out of sight.

Noiseless tears track down your face and over your hand at the sight, at how what had meant to be a peaceful holiday had spiralled into something so twisted and threatening.

The uniform is too small for Jin, and you see him wince as the tough hem digs into his neck, but he forces the boots on and shuffles over to the two of you one last time, patting Koo's knee.

"I need to know something," he mutters hurriedly, "something only you and Yoongi know. In case he doesn't believe me. And I need to know what he looks like."

Koo's eyes waver in thought. "Well, he has light brown hair, almost blonde, like honey. He's short. Um. He kind of looks like a cat when he gets grumpy." Koo's face softens, a wisp of a smile playing at his lips. "Actually, that's what you can tell him. When we were really young, before either of us worked in the factory, we would go play in the forest or the fields all day. He'd pretend to be a cat, and I would be a bunny, and we'd chase each other and run around for hours, acting like we were free." A sudden flood of tears fills his eyes and overflows down his cheeks. "Tell him I miss him and I can't wait to see him."

Jin manages one sad smile before he's standing up, walking further into the yard the way the guard came, letting a stern gaze harden his features. Your heart thuds as he slowly wanders towards the bungalow, fighting the urge to hurry. Once he slips past the outflow of workers, you exhale, turning your back to the prickly wall of bush that conceals you.

The moment your gaze settles back, your mouth drops open, and you have to forcibly restrain yourself from swearing out loud. Beside the unconscious body, in nothing but a pair of plain briefs and grey woolly socks, lays Jin's jeans and jacket, and further beyond that, a gun. The guard's gun, that he must have either accidentally forgot or chosen not to carry. Fuck. Your husband was going into enemy territory with nothing to defend him. Worry fills you again like a sour balloon, blocking your airways and turning your stomach.

Beside you, Koo sniffs away his tears and tentatively shuffles closer to you, his arm pressing into yours. You glance over, and tuck your arm around him to pull him into a hug. "We'll get Yoongi," you promise, "if anyone can do it, it's Jin."

Koo snuggles in, short fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt absentmindedly. "Y/n," he starts.

"Hm?"

"Is Jin your brother?"

You barely manage to suppress a surprised laugh, it coming out as a snort instead. Hastily, you glance back to ensure your noise didn't attract any unwanted attention, but all the patrolling guards seem to have moved away, closer to the factory entrance where the incoming stream has bottlenecked, slowing down the line all the way to the bungalow. Hopefully this buys Jin more time to find Yoongi.

Bringing your attention back to the frightened elf in your arms, you shake your head, soothingly rubbing your hand up and down his outer arm. "Jin's my husband."

"Huz-bin?"

You freeze, glancing down at the boy. "Husband," you correct. "You don't have husband and wife here? No marriage? Boyfriend, girlfriend?"

He sits up, out of your embrace. "Huh? We have friends. Well; some of us have friends, yeah. I don't understand the other words," he admits, head ducking forward so that his pigtails dip, partially covering his face.

You find yourself struggling for words. "It's- Well, it's like love. Um. You love Yoongi, right?" Koo frowns slightly, like he's not following. "There are different types of love, you know. Love between friends, and between brothers, like you and Yoongi. You can give each other hugs to show your love. Another type of love is romantic. As well as hugs, you kiss each other and... do stuff like that. God, I don't know how to- Do you know what kissing is, Koo?" He shakes his head blankly.

You rub your eyes tiredly. "Man, how wou- Oh! Just before, when Jin left us to go, he kissed me on the forehead. Do you remember that?"

Koo thinks back, eyes wandering, before nodding slowly. "Like..." He presses his lips out in a full pout and dips, the motion of Jin pressing a kiss to your forehead, although far more awkward.

Despite the entire nightmare you'd ended up in, you find yourself grinning at his jerky imitation of a kiss. "Yeah, that's it, Koo. People that love each other romantically can kiss each other in lots of different places. It's really common in the human world. When Jin and I take you and Yoongi back home with us, you'll see."

Koo nods with a grateful smile, but he can't help the tears that fill his eyes again. "I hope so," he sobs quietly. "I hope it's us four."

Your heart breaks, and you can't think to do anything but nod, throat tight. Suddenly, you hear footsteps quickly approaching, and you gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth and whirling around to glance past the bush into the courtyard, melting when you see your husband, intact and unharmed, dragging a prisoner by the upper arm.

"Koo, it's them," you rush out, and the younger elf lets out a surprised whimper, clutching at your sleeve as he glances out.

The shorter figure that Jin tugs along is stumbling and flailing as if to struggle and break away, but his grime-streaked face is light with awe.

"Yoongi!" Koo squeals desperately, voice cracking, and you can see the way both Jin and Yoongi's eyes widen in fear at the noise.

You hurriedly turn and grab onto Koo, shushing him as you frantically glance around to see if any guards overheard, before turning to Jin and shaking your head. Though he keeps his inconspicuous, glacial pace, the tension in his face relaxes.

Koo's vibrating like an energizer bunny underneath you, jumping uncontrollably in his excitement, though he manages to stay quiet enough until the two men are close enough to cast their shadows over you.

You release your arms, patting Koo on the back encouragingly. "Give him a hug, baby." The pet name slips out without you noticing, but Koo is too distracted to even hear it, gasping at the idea and leaping up to take the smaller elf in his arms.

Even though Koo is smaller than the average male human, Yoongi is even tinier, barely taller than five foot. As Koo throws himself at him, burying his face into the crook of Yoongi's neck, his eyes go wide in bewilderment, a deep silver blush rising on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Even with the dirt on his face, his glow is clear to see as he's embraced by Koo, mouth falling open and delicately slanted eyes startled like a kitten. You smile warmly as you see the resemblance to a cat that Koo spoke about.

"Wh-what is this, Koo?" Yoongi's voice is lower than Koo's, but so soft, so gentle, and the younger boy whines happily and holds him even tighter.

"It's a hug, Yoonie," Koo explains, his voice muffled. "The nice humans taught me. It means I love you, hyung."

Suddenly, like he understands, Yoongi raises his arms and wraps them around Koo's back, hugging him back with a fierce protectiveness that warms your heart. "I missed you Koo, I'm so sorry I left, I'm so sorry, hyung won't leave you ever again."

Koo sobs openly, murmuring something back you can't hear, and as the two quietly exchange sweet nothings to each other, you look up plaintively at your husband, hands out to invite him closer.

With eyes brimming with love and relief, he picks you up off the ground with ease, hands shifting to cup your face tenderly.

"I was worried," you pout, feeling your heart slowly return to its normal rate now that Jin is back with you again.

"I was gone five minutes tops," he brushes off, though his body still trembles slightly with the rush of adrenaline and relief. "Anyway, we need to get a move on, honey. Let's head ba..." He trails off, staring behind you with widening eyes.

Only then do you realise that all four of you are standing, blowing cover right on the outskirts of the prison complex. Your blood runs cold as you glance out behind Jin, further into the camp. As the last of the prisoners disappear into the factory, the guards follow behind, only one or two going the other way, into the bungalows to make sure everyone's left. You relax just slightly. It seems you missed getting caught by sheer luck-

"Hands up."

You go stiff as a board when you hear the voice from behind you, and you swear internally as you remember the missing part of the equation. As Jin shoves you hastily behind him protectively, you turn around to see the guard from earlier, standing in nothing but his underwear and socks, brandishing the gun directly at the four of you.

Jin throws his hands up, you following suit instinctively, and he shuffles the two of you back to join Koo and Yoongi, who've broken apart in shock, glancing back at forth at the guard and Jin, waiting anxiously for something to happen.

"There are four of us and one of you," Jin says slowly, "so just let us go and this will be better for everyone."

The guard, a slightly tubby but still built middle-aged elf, bristles, adjusting his grip on the gun. "I'm the one that's armed here," he forces out, "so you better watch it."

Jin shrugs, arms still raised. "Even so," he says, voice somehow completely calm, "I don't think you have the balls to actually do it."

You gasp loudly, breathing out your husband's name in surprise, but he just shushes you, shifting so his broad frame covers yours completely.

Your heart thuds in alarm as the guard flushes with anger, face reddening and finger tightening on the trigger.

"I will," he insists, though his voice isn't as stable as he probably intends it to be. "Why are you two trying to save stupid elves anyway? You won't get away with this."

Something about his comment rubs you the wrong way, niggles the back of your mind, an issue you can't quite put your finger on. As your mind whirs, your hands slowly slip lower and lower. Poking your head out from around Jin's side, you take a closer look at the weapon that's pointed at your heads. The paint is flaked off in some places from wear and tear, and you frown as you glance down the barrel, at how thin the hole is down the centre. There's something, too, about how wide and rounded the place where the bullets go is. You really know nothing about guns, have never needed to inspect one up close, but you're certain it shouldn't be-

It hits you, all at once. The second you make out the writing, the raised lettering that paint concealed but couldn't hide completely. MATTEL.

Your hands fall to your sides. You think perhaps his lips moving is him yelling at you to raise them, but really you don't care.

It's a toy gun. A water gun, probably, judging by the shape of it. This whole prison is run on empty threats. There's no danger here, not really.

Perhaps you would be scared of the potential of elf-magic, that tool which you didn't fully understand, but even then you know that's not a factor.

The guard barks an order at you, waving the gun like it's anything except cheap plastic, his face colouring an aggressive red as he raises his voice, trying to attract attention. "Stupid elves," he had said.

He wasn't an elf at all.

You turn your back on him, glancing behind Yoongi and Koo as a couple of guards rush out of buildings, looking around for the source of the commotion. This one guard with a kids' toy was no threat, but there were strength in numbers.

You share a look with Jin, before each grabbing a hand of Koo and Yoongi respectively, yelling at them to run and tugging them, as fast as you could go, towards the outskirts of the town, suburbs with countless windy, abandoned alleys for the four of you to lose the guards in.

You hear Koo let out a little scream when the guard pulls the trigger at you as you all rush past him, and a lukewarm spray of water hits you, wetting stripes over your clothes and hair, getting you on the back of the neck.

You all continue to run, closer to the first line of houses, feeling the sprays of water grow more distant. As all other factors disappear, and your survival instinct kicks in, the last thing you remember hearing is a peal of joyous, hiccupy laughter as Yoongi finally breaks free from Candyland.

--

The walk back feels longer. Perhaps it’s the constant fear of getting caught, of guards still hot on your tail, or perhaps it’s your urgency to get back home, but several times the four of you have to stop for a break, resting your body weight on age-old tree trunks and letting your muscles ache in their reprieve.

As the weak sun grows high in the sky, filtered through lofty canopies, you’re finally stopped by Koo as he silently points upward, where an inconscpicuous tree hides the Clubhouse. You hadn’t even seen the crude wooden form as you approached, so well was it hidden between branches.

Koo lets you and your husband get up first, guiding you from the bottom with one hand, the other still firmly interlocked with Yoongi’s. They had held hands the whole way home, like even a second without physical contact could tear them apart again. You couldn’t blame them.

Koo had overgrown his older sibling over the years, and while Yoongi tried to grumble about it, there was nothing but warmth in his voice, and he couldn’t hide the silver heat that rushed to his face and the tips of his ears whenever the two locked gazes.

You and Jin had suggested bypassing the hideout entirely, knowing that it would surely be better to go straight towards the station. Yoongi, however, was quietly but firmly adamant on revisiting the treehouse him and Koo had built as children, and you tried not to grow frustrated at the delay.

The station that you had initially arrived at was somewhat like an airport, rather than a real continuing line. There was one stop in and one stop out of the North Pole. A portal sustained by a deep silver glow of elf magic had taken a busload of tourists from a small city in Denmark - the closest place to the Arctic - directly into Middlenog, where heavy lines of security monitored everyone arriving and departing. At the time, you had marvelled at how safe and well-run everything was. Now, the thought of somehow sneaking past all those people seemed impossible.

“Are you coming up?” Jin calls down from his crouched perch in the treehouse. Having left his old clothes behind, he was stuck in the unflattering milital wear of the prison guards, and you could tell the sizing was an issue, his neck bearing a red ring where the hem had dug in.

You think you hear Yoongi muttering something as he potters around the base of the tree.

Koo cranes his neck up, eyes crinkled happily. “Just a minute!”

You’ve never seen him so cheery before, the way his head bobs between Yoongi and the two of you, two bundles of hair tied on either side of his face to show an excited grin. You watch Jin visibly soften at the sight, a gentle smile smoothing out the lines in his face.

After several moments of slow rustling, you finally hear a happy gasp, and Yoongi’s form stands up again, holding a small wooden box covered in dead leaves and dirt. He brushes it off, and tucks it under one arm, awkwardly climbing the tree one-handed to sit beside you with a pleased huff, thumbing the worn corners.

“You have it, Yoonie?” Koo calls up hopefully. After receiving confirmation, he joins the three of you, pressed tightly up against his older brother, resting his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder. “After all this time, hyung.”

“What is it?” you question curiously, leaning forward to stare at the small case, eyes wide as you watch Yoongi gently flick open the two metal latches to lift the lid. The hinges are slightly rusted, and he has to put all his strength into it, but the moment it gives and swings open, a pale silver light emanates from within, and Yoongi’s face goes lax with relief.

“I can’t believe it’s still here,” Yoongi breathes. He delicately sets down the box on his lap, pushing it closed and cradling it. He turns his head to the side, where Koo’s face is inches away from his own. With a rueful smile, he reaches up and pinches the flesh of Koo’s cheek fondly. “We were gonna run away, just Koo and I. One of my old friends once told me that if you pooled enough magic, you could make your own portal, a back door of sorts. It was how we were gonna escape. Back then.”

Koo’s eyes turn mournful, and his bottom lip wobbles just slightly. “I’m so sorry, Yoonie. I tried to keep adding to it for when you could come back home, but I couldn’t make any by myself.”

Yoongi just shushes him quietly, pressing his lips together in a sad smile. “I understand, Koo. But… there are four of us now. I don’t think this is enough for all of us.”

Koo lifts his head off Yoongi’s shoulder. “What if we made some more now?”

“Closer?” Jin questions, lines of worry back on his face with the bad news.

Yoongi mulls this over, biting his lip. “I don’t know if it would be enough…” He breaks off and looks up at you and Jin. “If we got closer, past the Middlenog border, I think we’d have a clearer path to the human world. Word in Candyland was that the elves in charge are using something to suppress elf magic. None of the guys in there could even make a spark. But perhaps if we made it out in the tundra, we’d be able to. We’d risk getting caught, but it’s our best chance.”

You share a look with Jin, shrugging in defeat. “We’ve come so far,” you point out, “why not test our luck one more time?”

The doubt on Yoongi’s face isn’t eased, the small elf’s delicate mouth twisting in concern. “But… We’d have to work fast. As well as dampening magic, the Middlenog borders protect the climate too. I don’t know how long we’ll survive out in the tundra. Even if we pass the border patrol, if we get there and it doesn’t work, we’re dead.”

It’s Koo that speaks up, a quiet resolve within that speaks beyond his years. “We’re dead already, Yoongi. Do you really think they’ll risk just sending you back to Candyland?”

Yoongi’s brow crumples, but he nods shortly, grabbing the box and standing up, holding a hand out to his brother. “We need to hurry,” he explains. “I know a way to the border, but we have to make it before sunset.”

Jin stands too, bending at the waist to avoid hitting his head on the roof. “Then let’s go.”

--

Although the walk to the Clubhouse was stressful, the two hour trek to the border is a nightmare. Yoongi leads you through shady backstreets and abandoned suburbs, Middlenog growing more desperate the further away from the centre you go. The constant threat of being caught out keeps all of you on edge, and the only conversation shared is whispered instructions and warnings.

The way Yoongi was taking you was only a couple of hundred metres west of the more populated, touristy areas. The heavily monitored areas. It also meant that you’d be avoiding the station, instead attempting to sneak out past the city limits away from the crowds. It was risky, because, like most countries, the North Pole had strict border patrol, but your chances were certainly higher than going through the regular channels.

It surprises you, the stark difference between the city and the tundra. Even as you approach, hidden by an overrun, wild orchard, you can see the line at which dirt and concrete becomes ice, the place where calm air gives way to billowing snow drifts. Even as your anxiety rises at the thought of braving such uninhabitable wilderness, there’s also a slow building of hope. Your freedom lay there, barely thirty feet away.

“Do you know how often patrols are?” you question, staring at the free space between you and the border.

Yoongi shifts, keeping the box pressed close to him. “Pretty regularly, but it won’t take us long to make it across, and then we can open the portal straight away.” Turning back to the two of you with a serious look, he places a hand on Koo’s back protectively. “It’s important that the two of you think of home. Your house, I suppose. Do you have the same house?”

You crack a brief smile at Yoongi’s obliviousness to the concept of marriage, but sober your expression and nod. “We just picture our house?” Yoongi nods, taking another glance out at the open land in front of you. “Then how will you two picture it? You’ve never seen it before; I don’t think either of us has a photo of the house on our phones.”

Yoongi’s brow furrows at the use of the word ‘phones’, but just shrugs patiently. “My home is with Koo.”

Koo nods, a gentle expression on his face. “And my home is with hyung, of course, but… But also with you two. Maybe?”

Your smile returns, warmer this time. “Both of you have a home with us, always.” Your throat constricts, and you clear it with a harsh cough. “Okay, if the border patrol isn’t coming anytime soon, I say we just go. We’re sitting ducks just waiting.”

“Ducks?” Koo repeats in confusion.

Jin barks a short laugh, and pats Koo on the shoulder. “Come on, kid. Let’s go home.”

The four of you ready yourselves -  kept together a line connected by tightly-held hands - take one last glance for any patrolling elves, and then make a break for the border. Koo is in the front, Jin next, you third, and Yoongi bringing up the rear. As you sprint, you focus on the line where lifeless grey becomes luminous white, and the warmth of Jin and Yoongi’s hands in yours, fuelling your momentum.

The plunge of the Arctic grows nearer and nearer, and you feel your heart leap, marvelling at your final stroke of luck, when, just as your husband’s front foot leaps past the border, your back arm goes taut, the sudden snap back breaking your grip on his hand, and you and Yoongi go flying backwards.

You groan as you hit the cold, unforgiving dirt of Middlenog, shoving yourself up as quickly as your aching body allows to work out what happened. A yelp brings your worst fear to light, and you whirl around to see Yoongi being roughly dragged to his feet by a familiar face, a shock of red hair shining out beneath his felt cap. Franklyn.

Your eyes widen, more so when out of nowhere a burly arm wraps around you, pinning you to a solid chest. You cry out in rage, kicking, but the body the red-sleeved arm belongs to is far taller than you, and your toes barely touch the ground, placing all the pressure on your constricted chest.

On the other side, already buffetted by flakes of snow, your husband and Koo stare in horror as your group of four is violently split apart, and they rush forward, only to freeze when a third elf, one you recognise as the driver of the tour bus, lifts a sleek black revolver in their direction. Jin goes deathly pale and Koo, even in his elf-borne naivety, recognises the true danger of the loaded gun.

“What do you want?” Jin calls out, but the driver just stands silently, more of a guard dog than anyone worth negotiating with.

Franklyn, however, shifts Yoongi in his grasp, holding the struggling elf under one arm like a child as he crouches down to retrieve the fallen wooden box.

“Leave him alone, you bully!” Koo cries, stomping his foot in lieu of actually stepping forward like you can tell he’s itching to.

Franklyn laughs, craning his head as at least twenty elves, some in the same tactical uniforms Jin was in, flood out of a nondescript residential building directly beside the orchard, all carrying loaded weapons, ones a threatening gleam told you were all real. You watch in bafflement as they surround you, five or six of them taking the wooden box of magic from Franklyn, disappearing back into the building. Yoongi twists helplessly and lets out a wail as your only exit gets taken away, and you yourself feel your spirit die, going limp in the hold you were trapped in.

Franklyn passes Yoongi off to a more muscular elf, who doesn’t hesitate to rest the tip of his weapon against Yoongi’s jaw, and you hear the horrified sobs of Koo, even as his voice is whipped away by vicious winds that bring out an angry silver on his face. Jin fights back tears, nose and ears already a raw red from the cold. He gives you a mournful look, an apology that runs deeper than words, and you shake your head mutely. None of you could have known it would come to this.

“Did you really think,” Franklyn poses smugly, strolling forward to stand in front of you, a twisted grin on his face, “that you’d make it out of here? With two elves, no less? This isn’t a pet store, Miss Y/n.”

“No, it’s a fucking concentration camp,” you spit out, watching in rage as he lazily itches a spot on his collarbone, a red line rising on the surface after a few moments.

Franklyn, not an elf after all but a human like you, laughs. “It’s not our fault they’re so naive,” he deflects. With an evil glint in his eye, he runs a finger down your cheek, laughing as you squirm, and your husband yells from the other side. “It’s not our fault you are either,” he adds.

You go still. “What do you mean?”

He continues to pat your cheek patronisingly, gripping your jaw to keep your eyes on him. “It was fun, you know; watching that little red dot wander all over Middlenog. For a moment there, we thought you had actually been arrested. Imagine our surprise when the tracker came right back out.”

“Tracker,” you repeat slowly, feeling your stomach lurch.

Franklyn lets go of you, wiping his hand on the garishly festive costume he dons. “It’s a shame your darling husband didn’t enjoy any of the free food we offered. Luckily, just one of you was enough.”

You let out a shaky breath, beyond disgusted. “You guys are evil,” you snap at him, “and you won’t get away with this.”

Franklyn shrugs slowly. “I think we will, actually. First I’m going to shoot our little escaped convict here, then I’ll shoot you, and finally we’ll all sit and wait and see how long it takes the men out there to freeze to death.

You let out a sob, glancing over at your husband, who’s shivering violently, arms wrapped around the smaller body of Koo, both of them with icy tears freezing on their faces. “Fuck,” you whine, “please just me say goodbye. That’s all. Please just let me say goodbye to him.”

Franklyn sighs in resignation, dropping his head as he considers. After a moment, he nods slowly, and lifts it up again, staring you in the eye. “No.”

The foul taste of copper fills your mouth, and you realise that you’ve accidentally bitten into your lip, opening up the still-healing wounds from your fall from the tour bus earlier. It seems like years ago, even if it was only yesterday. The pain sobers you, and as fresh tears track endlessly down your face, you lean into it, poking your tongue at the rawness of it, keeping your eyes open as you watch Franklyn make his way over to Yoongi.

Finally stopping his struggle, Yoongi goes stock still in the hold of the human dressed as an elf. His feet dangle uselessly around the height of the man’s knees, and he glares at Franklyn as he approaches, taking the gun from the man to point it directly at Yoongi himself.

Yoongi’s bottom lip trembles, but he keeps his dignity, staring hard at the man who holds his life in his hand, all silver gone from his face from fear.

Past the border, you can still hear Koo’s mournful screaming, writhing and squirming in Jin’s grasp even as his voice cracks from the thin air. Franklyn ignores him, and that just makes the younger elf wail louder, kicking his legs out as he begs desperately.

The redheaded man cocks the gun, humming to himself as he aims, waving the barrel over Yoongi’s mouth, eyes, forehead, before settling under his chin, pointing up, watching as the elf fights his tears.

“This hurts me, you know,” Franklyn says with a sigh, though you see the glee in his eyes. “It hurts me to have to kill you. You’re no use to us dead. You filthy fucking elves should be grateful that we give you money for food and shelter, all in exchange for easy factory work. But no. Even after we dress up like Christmas monkeys to make you feel safe, even after we give you jobs, you’re still not grateful. So while it’s a shame that I’m wasting my resources here, I can’t deny that I’m going to enjoy this quite a bit. Come on; count down with me. Three.”

Yoongi finally lets out a sob, causing the human to laugh wickedly. You stare helplessly onwards, wanting to look away but feeling like you had to show this brave young elf support to the very end. His eyes aren’t on you, though.

“Two.”

Yoongi’s staring directly at his younger brother, directly at Koo. His eyes widen.

“One.”

Koo’s glowing.

Just as time slows down, and you see Franklyn’s finger tighten on the trigger, a sudden burst of light envelops you, and all the people around you. You shut your eyes, clenching them shut reflexively even as the blinding silver penetrates your eyelids.

You feel the grip around you vanish suddenly, and you fall to the ground without it, banging your knees and elbows on the hard dirt, pressing your hands over you eyes as a thick blanket of silence wraps around you.

When the endless silver light drops away, streaks of neon paint the black of your vision, constant starbusts that flicker when you blink. You groan, sitting up and staring in wonder at the scene that greets you.

Yoongi’s on the ground too, slowly getting up just like you. But every single human, every attacker in sight, is totally unmoving, some with arms or legs bent at awkward angles.

You and Yoongi’s eyes meet in wonder, the elf’s nose and upper lip smeared with liquid silver, drying like blood, and at the same time you look outward, towards the Arctic wilderness.

Jin’s on the ground, covered in snow, but no longer are relentless waves and buffets whipping his hair and clothes around. Instead, the air is perfectly still, like a bubble around him and Koo.

And Koo.

The youngest elf is the only one still standing, panting with wide eyes as the radiant glow beneath his skin slowly fades to a regular silver flush. The air is peaceful around him too, and once you get up off the ground you see a new line, a curve that leads out and around him, like an extension of the climate of Middlenog itself. He catches his breath quietly for a few moments, staring at the three of you and the destruction he caused to the humans.

Then, breaking the stunned silence of the group, Yoongi heaves out a relieved cry and rushes forward, taking Koo in his arms, the motion of a hug now ingrained in him as a sign of love. Koo breaks down in his grasp, and even though he’s larger, he looks so small in his older brother’s arms.

“So scared, hyung, I was so scared, they were gonna take you away again, Koo couldn’t-”

“I know,” Yoongi simply coos, rubbing his back and stroking his hair, both pigtails having long since fallen out from the wind. “But I’m still here, bunny. You saved me.”

Before you even realise he’s moving, Jin’s barreled into you full force, sweeping you off your feet in a spin, planting frantic kisses on every inch of your face. You squeal, breaking into an involuntary giggle when you feel his ice-cold lips on you, relaxing into his secure embrace.

“Fucking hell, I almost pissed myself,” Jin admits, and you laugh in a sort of delirious euphoria, throwing your arms up over his shoulders and pulling him in for a proper kiss. “I’m serious,” Jin muffles around your lips, “not even ‘cause I was scared, I just needed the warmth.”

“Stop it,” you whine with a dopey grin, “that’s not romantic at all. What about, ‘I thought I was gonna lose you, I love you so much?’”

Jin pulls back from you, cupping your cheeks tenderly and looking deep into your eyes. “I’ve never been more scared in my entire life,” he admits. “You’re my whole world, you know that? I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back reverentially. “Now let’s go home.”

When you join the other two, you see Koo’s been busy. Behind him and Yoongi is a steadily growing window of molten silver, shifting like liquid though staying in a rough oval as it gets larger and larger. Yoongi’s staring at him, eyes brimming with pride, and as he reaches out to gently grab onto Koo’s hands, the portal expands faster, blooming with their combined efforts.

You and Jin wait in awed silence until it’s done, and the two elves turn back to you, flanking your sides.

“Think of home,” Yoongi instructs. Almost shyly, he reaches out his hand for you to hold on to, and Koo does the same to your husband. A small smile plays at his lips as his eyes dart to his younger brother and back to you. “And thank you.”

With overwhelming emotion making your eyes prickle, you turn to Jin, squeeze his hand a little tighter, and step forward.

[the-currian]

Spring Troupe Yandere Headcanons

Struggled a bit but had more fun writing these as I was able to churn out more ideas! Finally done with all troupes, yay~

((No Chikage because I’m only playing the English version of A3!))

Sakuya Sakuma

This boy had developed attachment issues since he spent most of his life moving from relative to relative. Is it so wrong that he wants to ensure that you’ll stay?

Generally quite lenient in terms of your freedom, because at the end of the day he’s yours and you’re his, right? That doesn’t mean that he isn’t without his quirks, though.

A bit of a stalker, but terribly obvious. In minutes, you notice him observing you from a distance. After calling him out and asking him what he’s doing, he comes up with the most ridiculous excuses. “Sakuya, what are you doing? Why are you following me?” “Ahaha, I-I’m not following you! I’m uhh…” his eyes dart back and forth. “I’m doing a street act! Mine and Masumi’s theme for our etude is posing as bodyguards!” “Uh huh.” you murmur, unconvinced. “And where’s Masumi?” Sakuya’s face reddens in embarrassment of being caught, but refuses to back down. “Darn, he’s just so good at acting! Playing the bodyguard that secretly hides in the shadows!”

He doesn’t want to cause you harm (emotionally or physically), but if you try to leave, he just can’t help it! He’s really sorry about the bruises on your wrist from gripping you too hard during that argument, okay?

(He’s not sorry about tackling that audience member that made a pass at you, though. That guy definitely deserved it.)

Terribly delusional. He can’t accept even the thought of you leaving him. His troupe mates have to explicitly tell him that what he’s doing isn’t normal in a healthy relationship for him to even think about how his actions affect you. At most it’s a fleeting thought, and he goes right back to his antics.

Masumi Usui

In the beginning, Masumi didn’t care much about you loving him – he already learned from his experience with the director. He was satisfied with just being around you.

You were acquaintances with Masumi, not too familiar with him, but noticed that he’d be in your general area sometimes, not-so-subtly staring in your direction.

You thought that it was cute to have him as an admirer, especially considering his usual aloof nature, so you decided to give him a chance.

His troupe mates are surprised when he introduces you as his partner. Some of them pull you aside, and explain that they didn’t mean anything ill towards you – they just wanted to let you know that Masumi could be a bit…much when it comes to showing his affection.

You thanked them for looking out for you, but you assured them that you could handle it.

But then again, you never expected it to be this bad.

It started out innocent enough – basically what his troupe mates had warned you about. Badgering you with DMs, getting easily jealous when you were around potential suitors, showering you with compliments…

…Until one day you noticed that things started escalating.

His normal jealous streak would turn into violently lashing out at people who touch you, even unintentionally.

He took it upon himself to delete all the information of people he wasn’t familiar with from your phone because if you never bothered to introduce them to him, they must not be that important to you, right?

Has a shrine of you filled with pictures from before you were even dating, some knickknacks from your house that you hadn’t even realized were missing, and is that the shirt that you’ve been looking for the past few weeks…?

Overly protective – it’s kind of laughable at times. You trip along the sidewalk? He’s fighting that rock that caused you harm. That dog startled you while you were walking down the road? Time to call animal control to take care of that mutt. Accidentally burned yourself while cooking? Never mind that meal, it belongs in the trash for hurting you like that – he’ll just get something delivered for you two and no you cannot be the one to place an order what if the delivery worker becomes infatuated with you?

Tsuzuru Minagi

Tsuzuru isn’t the most affectionate person when it comes to physical affection – maybe it’s because he gets enough of that when it comes to his younger siblings.

He’s a bit stumped about how to convey his feelings for you, so he decides he can do it best through his devotion to you.

He knows you like the back of your hand. Your past, your family, your address, your work address, etc.

He knows what meals you had that day, who you’ve been talking to, where you’ve been going, and other seemingly trivial things.

But they’re not trivial to him! Him knowing all those details about you is just proof of how much he loves you!

He’s very invested in your personal life, like the people that you love and hate.

Invested in your personal life like the people you love/hate.

For the people you love (platonically, of course!), he tries his best to make their lives easier. Credit card got rejected? Good thing Tsuzuru just so happened to be in the area – he’s got it covered. Missed out on class? Tsuzuru is there to lend them his notes! Have no company for tonight? Come over and join the two of you for dinner – Tsuzuru’s cooking! He’s like a reliable big brother to your loved ones. Lucky you, they think. What a catch Tsuzuru is!

But for those that you hate? He enlists Sakyo’s help. Bullies? Unbearable bosses? Snobby clients? Sakyo’s associates have it covered. Whatever will help Tsuzuru get focused enough to finish his scripts, Sakyo supposes.

Don’t forget though – he has a temper and a stubborn streak. When you prod a bit too much that it leads to an argument, he verbally lashes out. Just let him do what he wants! He’s doing it for you, after all! Can’t you just be grateful and not be too picky about the details?

Citron

Maybe you should’ve suspected his true nature when he first had a slip of the tongue.

“I’d kill for you.” “Uhhh… Citron, I think you mean ‘I’d die for you?’” “No no, I know what I said.”

But you just chalked it up to language barriers.

He isn’t particularly violent, but is very smothering.

Very protective and keeps you away from others not primarily because of jealousy, but because he’s paranoid that his pursuers will try to take you away from him. Extended sleepovers at your place are a regular occurrence, but it usually feels more like a lockdown – Citron is adamant that the two of you stay indoors and that no one visits.

Extremely affectionate, whether you like it or not. Forceful hugs and cuddles become a part of your daily routine with Citron. Also, one-sided conversations. He doesn’t mind you not participating when you’re not in the mood – he’s reassured by your mere presence.

Itaru Chigasaki

He acts extremely charming at first – his public prince persona demands it.

When you told him you’d accept him as he is, you meant his after-work gamer personality, but this was something else entirely.

Most definitely gaslights you, making you extremely paranoid. He’s king of gap moe, and is extremely hard to decipher at times.

For example, he’d tell you he’s been stalking you and other creepy insinuations, but when you start to look frightened, he tells you he’s just kidding. “It’s just a joke. You’re so cute with that look on your face.”

Usually backs you up onto a wall and does kabe-don if you don’t listen to him, but will tie you up if he’s particularly pissed.

“You know the rules… I just don’t understand why you insist on acting out so much.”

He’s painstakingly crafted both of your public images to be the perfect couple.

Obviously, you can’t go anywhere without him – can’t have you ruining that perfect couple image when he’s not around to monitor you, can he?

[hobierps]

The Lone Paradise Ranch Long have the residents of Arkney County known of the good times to be had at the Lone Paradise Ranch, where the liquor never stops flowing, nor does the parade of beautiful women. Founded nearly 20 years ago by Rafael Soler as a way to fatten his checkbook after seeing an opportunity to add a source of entertainment to the county, the Lone Paradise Ranch quickly built a name for itself among the who’s who of Arkney County and beyond, thanks in no small part to the annual Arkney Derby, an event that rivals the Kentucky Derby in scale.

While the Lone Paradise is largely known as a place to gamble away your fortune on the horse races, inside is where the real horseplay transpires. Managed by those who have fallen into Soler’s grasp, a prostitution ring is run out of the ranch—one driven by sweet words promising opportunity and the fear of what happens if you dare not believe them. Though all who fall into the spider’s web have their own cause for being there, whether it be drugs, loans with unscrupulous interest rates, or the chance at a better future, the more they struggle, the more tangled they become. Leaving seems the most obvious answer, but doing so is a nigh unattainable feat, as the Lone Paradise demands a hefty price for freedom.

The Lone Paradise promises to make your most intimate dreams come true, but who dares pay the price?

This ad is for some of the members of the local prostitution ring. The faces and some of the ages are flexible. This ad is open to original characters as well! (For all levels.)

Feel free to hit one of us up on discord at either contramundum#7735 hobie#4947 or mady#5462 if you have any questions! Full descriptions of the members of the Lone Paradise Ranch after the break~

Owner & Operator — Rafael ‘Raf’ Soler (53) FC: Benicio Del Toro || Played by Mira Owner and operator of the Lone Paradise Ranch, Rafael Soler has been at the center of Arkney County’s entertainment for nearly twenty-five years. By day, the ranch boasts family-friendly activities, but the real fun happens after the sun has fallen. The adult entertainment offered by the ranch has skyrocketed its appeal and made the Lone Paradise Ranch a name whispered among both the elite and those with more illicit cravings. He’s shown himself as an adept businessman who’s not afraid to sink to the level of his clientele, and recent years have found him more depraved than ever. In a long term business/personal relationship with Entertainment Manager, but Annie March has recently caught his eye.

Personal Assistant — Logan ‘Vick’ Vickers (34) FC: Scott Eastwood || Played by Hobie Rafael Soler’s second-in-command, Logan Vickers serves as an extension of the man’s will. He began working for the ranch after graduating high school when Raf used his wealth to protect Vick’s family’s cattle ranch from foreclosure. He is reckless and wild, a hot-headed cowboy who flies by the seat of his pants. Despite his rowdy streak, Vick oozes southern charm and rarely does he ruffle feathers without meaning to. In his youth, he was a local rodeo star, roping calves and clinging to the backs of bucking broncos. Today, he undertakes the more vicious duties for Raf, more often than not walking away with blood on his hands. He has seen the measure of Raf’s wickedness and embraced it, choosing to walk with the devil, rather than meet his wrath. Despite knowing the depths of Raf’s depravity, he has roped in his two longtime friends, the Horse Handler and the Head of Security, into his disturbing games.

Head of Security (mid 30s) — Reserved for Levi Suggested FC: Russell Tovey, Jai Courtney, Jon Kortajarena A transplant from the west coast, the Head of Security came to Arney County after his wealthy father decided to give up the good life in favor of getting back to his roots. A teenager when he arrived in Kansas, the Head of Security quickly fell in with Logan Vickers’ gang of hoodlums. Like the Horse Handler, the Head of Security was brought into Rafael Soler’s circle by Vick, yet unlike the Horse Handler, the Head of Security has no qualms about the unsavory things that go down at the ranch. Though, perhaps this is why the more abhorrent tasks are left to Vick. Instead, the Head of Security is charged with protecting the girls from overzealous patrons and the occasional disgruntled boyfriend. He and Vick are in an erratic off-the-books affair that neither man acknowledges.

Horse Handler (mid 30s) — Open Suggested FC: John Boyega, Michael B. Jordan, Dudley O'Shaughnessy Kansas born and bred, Lone Paradise’s resident Horse Handler has spent his lifetime in the flat grasslands of the Midwest. The son of a pair of horse breeders, the Horse Handler knows his way around those beautiful creatures. Like Logan Vickers, he participated in the local rodeos in his youth, solidifying their friendship—one that has lasted to this day, despite Vick’s unconscious attempts to derail it. An old soul with a bleeding heart, the Horse Handler is a misfit among the Paradise Ranch staff. He stands against everything that Rafael Soler believes, but found himself roped into the madness by Vick nearly a decade ago. Now he cares for the horses that the ranch keeps for races and fixes the odds in the house’s favor when Raf deems it necessary. A bit of a white knight, he’s been known to engage in relationships with the entertainment, believing he can save them from a life of servitude.

Legal Advisor (33-36) — Open Suggested FC: David Castañeda The legal advisor is Raf’s son, returning from a lackluster stint on the East Coast, but also the most presentable face of the operation, there in places where his father, Rafael Soler’s accent or aggressive bearing might be less welcome. Whether in dealings with local police, lawsuits, or other official functions, the legal advisor knows where all the bodies — perhaps literally — are buried, and is more than happy to grace the situation with a placid all-American smile. His exact feelings toward the ranch and/or his father are murky at best, and buried under carefully considered words; however, his eye has really been drawn to his father’s latest favorite, Annie March, much to his dismay.

Entertainment Manager (40s) — Open Suggested FC: Naomi Campbell, Kate Moss, Thandie Newton One of Raf’s long time favorite performers, the Entertainment Manager has done her fair share of favors to get to where she is today. Beginning as just one of the girls, the Entertainment Manager exercised her feminine wiles to charm Raf and win his favor. At one time, she might have thought he’d marry her, but she’s long since learned of her disillusion. A few years ago, Raf retired her from the floor and now she manages the talent with a firm, but fair, hand, taking it upon herself to protect the ones who do good work. She spits fire and fights for what she wants, but she knows to bite her tongue when it comes to Raf. Vick, however, is a different story. She knows they stand on equal footing and is more than willing to throw her weight around when necessary. She has been involved in a long term relationship with Rafael Soler that spans both the personal and professional, though his attention towards her has waned since Annie March caught his lustful gaze.

Escort One — Annie March (24) FC: Josephin Skriver || played by Mady/ She’ll convince anyone who asks that she’s doing just fine, but Annie is always a step away from disaster. After attempting to steal cash and a car from Raf, Annie has been working for him to pay off the debt. But that hasn’t stopped her from borrowing more and more money from him to fund her drug habit. Annie has her share of secrets, including that she’s trying to get a little freedom after being under Morphos’ watch for most of her childhood and can make people do just about whatever she wants them to. At the end of the day, Annie is a survivor and she’ll play whatever game she needs to in order to get by.

Escort Two (20s) — Open Suggested FC: Zendaya Too smart for her own good, Escort has her own operations going on behind Raf’s back. She has private clients she sees on the side and is carefully stealing from Raf in order to fund her escape from the ranch and Arkney. She might come off as the cold type but she has a soft spot for Jockey, even though she knows this is the last place to start caring about people. Particularly close to the Entertainment Manager and almost feels bad for lying to her face but doesn’t fully trust anyone here. Doesn’t realize how dangerous her moves are getting and that the Legal Advisor is starting to catch on.

Escort Three (early 20s) — Reserved for Sam Suggested FC: Karmay Ngai A girl from a nearby town nobody bothers to remember, she is the youngest and newest addition to Raf’s coterie. Seeing the success of former girls like the Entertainment Manager, she has an idea that the ranch is her way out. It should go without saying that not all is as it seems. From the icy indifference of the Entertainment Manager to the questionable warnings and/or advances from the Horse Handler, nothing is given and she learns she must find her footing within the complex politics of the ranch. But how long will it take for the glamor of the ranch and its clientele to wear off? Only time will tell.

Jockey (20s) — Open Suggested FC: Regé-Jean Page, Reece King, Avan Jogia First spotted by Raf at the derby, something about his headstrong, self-assured nature found him in the man’s good graces. One of the fastest racers, Raf soon after offered him a resident position at the ranch with an income that put a jockey’s to shame. Aside from serving as a conversation piece at the ranch for the guests (he’s a skilled storyteller to boot) and eyeing Escort 3, he also has been unwittingly drawn into some of the ranch’s shadier dealings by Vick and the Horse Handler. He’s beginning to realize that he can’t see the bottom of the pool he’s entered.

[redstarwriting]

My Favorite Avenger

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Request: "Hi! Are you taking requests? It so could you pls write something with any Avenger of your choice falling in love with a SI employee but they're too shy to go and ask her out? Thanks!”

Word Count: 1,661

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: swearing, catcalling, elevators, probably an incorrect Russian translation

A/N: PIETRO MY BOY!!! Okay so I’m totally in love with this sarcastic silver speeder and really want him to come back to the MCU but I digress. I decided to write this about him because he needs some more LOVE okay? This was a really fun one to write, and I’m thinking of making this one a two parter too maybe? We shall see. Also, I wasn’t totally sure if SI meant Stark Industries but I’m pretty sure it does so I went with it! For now, I hope you enjoy!

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Pietro Maximoff was notorious for flirting with everyone he came into contact with, and you were no different. The man would always compliment you, but unlike the other people he did it to, he would just… run away from you afterwards. It honestly became a part of your work routine. You would come into work at the Avengers Tower and report to Pepper, you being her assistant and all. Without fail, he would greet you immediately, complimenting either your clothes or your hair before speeding away. Twenty minutes later you’d see him in a full-on conversation with one of Pepper’s clients. It’s odd because for a long while you two would have conversations too, but recently it feels like he’s been avoiding you. What a confusing man. “(Y/N)? Something on your mind?” Pepper interrupts your thoughts. “Oh? Um, sorry. I was just… thinking about something.”

“Something or someone?” You look at her with big eyes and she pats your shoulder. “If anyone knows how someone looks when they’re thinking about a guy who’s hopelessly confusing, it’s me. Now spill. What’s on your mind.” With that, you tell her all about Pietro. How it seems like he’s been ignoring you for some odd reason and how you don’t know what you did. “He likes you,” she says immediately after you finish telling her about it. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He likes you! Pietro puts up a big front, but he’s really a baby. He’s nervous you don’t like him back so he’s trying as hard as possible to avoid you.” You stare at her, blinking a few times before words comes to you. “You got… all of that… from the small amount of information that I told you?”

“Yep.”

“How?”

“You ever meet Tony Stark? You know, my husband? The guy who’s name is the start of the company you work for?” You purse your lips. She’s got a point. “Well, what did you do?”

“Honestly I just… let it happen. There wasn’t really any asking out or anything we just kind of… became a thing? Look, I recommend you tell him how you feel, because you obviously feel the same way about him,” she says and you bite your lip. She’s right, Pietro is quite an attractive man. He’s also funny. And isn’t afraid of a fight. You sigh, nodding. “I’ll try but, God, am I terrible at flirting.” Pepper laughs at this before going to a meeting. You head out to get her lunch, and little do you know that she’s plotting on how to get you and Pietro together. Her “meeting?” She just went to go see Wanda. “Wanda.”

“Pepper,” she replies, walking over to her as this meeting is literally happening in the Avengers Tower kitchen. “How much do you know about your brother?”

“This is about his thing for (Y/N), isn’t it?” she says with a slight grin. Pepper nods and Wanda groans. “He’s really liked her for a while now and I’ve told him so many times that she likes him back but he insists on saying she doesn’t when it’s so obvious!” Pepper laughs at Wanda’s riled up state and Wanda takes a deep breath, recollecting herself. “What do you say we get them together?”

“I’m listening.”

While this was happening, your day went from kind of okay to really horrible. While on your way to get Pepper’s food a bird pooped on you, someone said something very gross and derogatory towards you, and the sandwich shop got Pepper’s order wrong! So here you are, rushing back to Avengers Tower and silently cursing whatever God there is because GOD you are annoyed. You hurry into the lobby of Avengers Tower, heading directly over to the elevator. Right before the doors close, you see a flash of blue and boom, Pietro Maximoff is in the elevator with you. How convenient. “Hello, (Y/N).”

“Hi,” you mumble and he frowns a little. “You are upset?” he asks and you sigh, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing I’m just… bad day, you know?” The literal minute you finish saying that, you feel the elevator you’re both in jerk to a stop. “No fucking way,” you whisper and you can hear Pietro audibly gulp. And that’s when you hear JARVIS come on over the system. “Terribly sorry (Y/N) and Pietro but it seems that the elevator has stopped working. I will do my best to try and get it up again butt until then, I’m afraid you two will just have to wait.” You let out a frustrated sigh, immediately sliding down the side of the elevator. Pietro awkwardly sits next to you, and you close your eyes. You never particularly liked elevators, and knowing that you’re stuck in one very high up? That’s not it, chief. “(Y/N)? Are you okay?” you hear Pietro ask and you shrug. “Right now, yeah. As long as I don’t think about the sudden death that would come if this thing fell right now. Oh would you look at that? Now I’m thinking about it,” you ramble off. Pietro laughs a little because even though you’re scared, you’re still really cute. “Well, don’t worry if this falls I’ll get you out of here in like, a second.”

“But how? You can’t open the doors.”

“Well,” he points up to he ceiling, revealing a little trap door up there, “I would punch that open and run up the wall and then through the doors to another floor. I can do that, you know.” He grins at you and you smile a little. “Oh, my hero. What would I ever do without Pietro Maximoff,” you say, and you can swear you see him blush a bit. How soft. You suppose you could just ask him to do that, but that would also mean money. And you decide that won’t be necessary unless you two are about to die. “So, Maximoff. How should we pass time til JARVIS gets us out of here?” you ask him and he puts on a “thinking” face. “Well… we haven’t really talked for a while I guess. So… how are you?”

“I’ve been better.” “Hmm?”

“Well, I mean today just… really sucks. A bird pooped on me. I don’t know if you noticed this random white stain but it’s there! And along with that, I got catcalled again and-“

“Again?”

“Yeah, New York is… a place. It happens, it’s just annoying. In reality, I could absolutely destroy anyone who actually tried to go after me. Tony made me take self defense lessons led by Nat herself, so. I’m pretty set. I’m also just very exhausted right now. It’s like I never stop working,” you vent out to him and he frowns a little. “Well, have you been getting enough sleep?” he asks, genuine concern and sincerity in his voice. You just laugh. “Not enough, Piet.” He frowns even more and you look over at him. “It’s okay though. I can’t really complain considering I get to work in a building with the Avengers most of the time. That’s pretty dope.”

“Speaking of the Avengers, who happens to be your favorite hero?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Well that’s a random question.”

“I guess you could say you didn’t see that coming,” he teases. Him and that damn saying. “No, no I did not,” you say, shaking your head. You two sit there for a while before he looks at you. “Okay butt seriously. Who is it? Is it Steve? He’s strong and smart like you, that would make a lot of sense. Or maybe Nat? She’s really cool too. My sister? Everyone loves my sister. Oh, what about Tony? You work for him, your default answer is probably him, why did I even ask I-“

“Piet!” you cut him off from his wondering out loud and he jumps a bit, looking over at you. “Let me answer, yeah?” He nods and you lean your head back against the wall. “I do love Steve, but he is definitely not my favorite. Too responsible. Nat is amazing, yes, but she’s also not my favorite. And you’re right, I do love your sister, but she’s also not my favorite Avenger. Since Tony is technically my employer, I guess I could say him, but I’d be lying if I did.”

“Well then… who is it?” he asks, and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your. “Well, he’s new. He also isn’t what you’d expect. He’s pretty nonchalant with everything but wouldn’t hesitate to save all of his friends, even if they annoy the hell out of him sometimes…” you hint, and then you hear him groan. “It’s Sam, isn’t it? I should have kno-”

“Pietro, it’s you.”

“What?”

“You’re my favorite Avenger. He looks at you with big eyes before breaking into a smile. The moment he does though, the elevator starts moving again. You both immediately get up, and before you know it you’re at your stop. You begin to walk off the elevator before Pietro grabs your hand and pulls you back into him, giving you a hug. “You know, if you were an Avenger you would be my favorite,” he says with a wink before speeding off. You laugh, staring at the streak he left before walking off of the elevator. “Goddamnit!” you hear Wanda shriek, and you look to your left to see Wanda and Pepper peeking out from behind a ficus. “Why can’t he just say his feelings!” You then learn that the elevator didn’t actually shut down. Wanda just made it stop moving and Pepper let JARVIS in on the plan. After a while though, Wanda had to let it go, and the plan was foiled because Pietro is ‘A GUTLESS Мудак’ according to Wanda. Oh, and Мудак? Yeah that means asshole. She was… upset. But hey, at least Pietro knew who your favorite Avenger was. And now, he actually talks to you more, too.

[n-ctarinenga]

Flower Boy [ boxer!calum ]

flower boy series | pt.1 | word count: 5,659 | masterlist

"Thank you so much! I'll have these to you as soon as possible. Goodbye!"

Talia grins, as she farewells the family whos portraits she had just finished shooting.

As much as she loves photography, there were only so many matching outfits and unhappy children a person could handle in a day, and with the family that had just left her studio, Talia had reached her limit.

Draining days were something she had gotten used to, business booming lately thanks to the kind words of a handful of past clients. With doors only opening just under a year ago, Valentine Studios didn't exactly have the longest history in town, but Talia liked to believe her dedication and skill made up for lack of experience.

Her mother hadn't really approved of the move, her ideals for her daughter being stuck a few decades in the past.

With the thought of her mother flashing through her mind, Talia couldn't help but sigh as she moved to pack up her camera for the night.

After the great disbandment of the Alisley family, it was nearly impossible for either of the Alisley children to communicate with their mother, but that didn't stop Yvonne from making her annual call to her kids, mostly about the percentage paid out to them every couple weeks from their father's estate royalties, which in Talia's case, was this morning.

From that point onward, it felt like the universe had decided to torment Talia today.

Starting off with the phone call, and most recently manifesting as a set of twins who refused to do any form of posing with their parents, Talia couldn't wait to go home and sleep so she could start the next day fresh and away from the negative vibes of the current day.

Once her backdrops had been rolled up,  and her camera was safely stored in its bag, Talia finally had time to let down her dark brown hair, the two bright streaks of red framing her face. She took great pleasure in turning all the lights off, and locking the door of the studio behind her.

Taking a second to relax in her car, Talia looks at her phone, scrolling through til she reaches the contact of her brother, Brandon.

The Alisley family were estranged from each other these days, but that didn't mean that Talia and Brandon had stopped being lifelong best friends.

The two had always been close, only a couple years between the siblings. Growing up in a world surrounded by adults until they themselves were well into their teens, they were practically a package deal until they had both moved into their own apartments a few years ago.

As of late, while Talia was diving head first into Valentine, Brandon was knee deep in The Vault, the gym he had started not long before Talia opened her own business.

Sitting in her car, Talia contemplated calling him for a moment, her finger hovering over the call button as she thought.

With both of them being so busy, they had barely had time to catch up over the last couple months, and after the day she had had today, Talia needed a bit of chill time with the only other person in the world who could understand her situation.

Their father always joked they could communicate telepathically, and after not seeing him for so long, Talia missed speaking her native tongue.

Deciding to make her way over to the gym, Brandon always telling her he was there any Friday night she would try to make plans with him lately, Talia constructed a plan for what she would do once she finally had convinced her brother to stop throwing himself into his work every Friday night.

With The Vault situated downtown, it was a bit of a drive in Los Angeles traffic, but with the thought of the Thai food just up the street from the gym in her mind, Talia couldn't find it in herself to care about the lengthy journey.

The radio softly played one of the many playlists made on Talia's phone as she drove along, windows down and the breeze lightly whipping her hair around as she did her best to relax while she had the chance.

While most people were finishing their work week, Talia, being the head photographer at Valentine, was still one day away from her own weekend, working every Saturday since the studio opened. This made it easier for families to get together for their shoots, not having to worry about getting back to work and getting the kids back to school, and Talia could tell her clients appreciated it, which made the extra day of work worth it to her.

Propping her head up, with her left elbow resting on the top of the door, Talia can't help the frown that flashes onto her face as she approaches the gym.

Expecting to see only Brandon's car and maybe another employee's, the full parking lot beside the building confuses her. How many people would be at a gym after hours?

The confused frown on Talia's face lingers as she parks her car next one she definitely recognised as Brandon's, climbing out and locking it before pocketing her keys and approaching a man who looked slightly familiar, noticing he was one of Brandon's employees as she got closer.

"Johnny," Talia smiles politely, the man turning to her with wide eyes as he recognizes her, "what's happening here?" She asks.

Johnny stutters for a moment, looking around like he rather be anywhere else in the world at this exact moment.

"Oh, here? Just some regulars here for a get together. Your brother left a few hours back though." He says quickly, tripping over his words slightly, almost like he was making a story up as he went along.

Suspicion courses through Talia at the deflective words of the man much taller than she is, and if she didn't already know him, she probably would have been intimidated by his size alone.

"I just parked next to his car though, and it's kinda odd for Brandon to leave the gym open." Talia laughs awkwardly, not trusting of the excuse she was being given when she knew her brother better than to leave not only his business open, but also his car unlocked outside it.

"I think I'll just check things out for myself thanks Johnny." Talia states, before taking a step forward towards the entrance.

Sensing her disbelief, and his face turning to one of panic, Johnny takes a step sideways, blocking the door from Talia's path.

"Brandon said that you were banned from Friday nights. I'm sorry Talia." He finally says, and Talia can't help the look of surprise that covers her face.

"Me? Banned from the Vault? I hardly think so mate." She laughs, taking advantage of the height difference between them to duck under Johnny's arm, easily pushing the door open into the gym.

Immediately, Talia is met with a wall of noise.

A crowd, some seated, some not, surround the central boxing ring at the center of the building. The usual smell of cleaning supplies and sweat is amplified by the stench of beer radiating through the whole building, but even then, the thing that grabs Talia's attention isn't the crowd or their behavior, but instead, what they're watching.

In the center of the ring, two large, well built men circle each other. Talia watches on in horror for only a moment before one man launches his fist forward towards the others stomach, and it's in this moment she realizes that the men aren't wearing gloves, but thin bloodied wraps.

The crowd roar with a wave of life as the punch connects, the second man doubling over and leaving himself exposed to an onslaught the first delivers without hesitation.

Even with the presence of Johnny behind her, the only thing Talia can see is the pure violence playing out in front of her, realization growing by the second as her eyes finally break away from the ring to where her brother stands at the back of the crowd.

She can't help but think her father might have been right about the telepathy, because almost as if he could sense her eyes on him, Brandon's own find her.

All of the colour drains from Brandon's face as he excuses himself from the black haired man he's talking to, running around the outside of the crowd to reach his sister, who stands frozen in place.

He says nothing as he grabs Talia's hand, pulling her sideways into the office room to the right of the building, easily tugging her past the back of the crowd that still stare focused into the ring.

The clinical white lights above them come to life as Brandon flicks the switch beside the door, shutting it behind him quickly before he turns back to Talia.

"What are you doing here?" He asks quickly, inspecting her as if she was a wounded animal ready to pounce.

Fighting her disbelief at the situation and his question, Talia's eyes go wide as a wave of anger washes over her at his question.

"What am I doing here? What the fuck is that shit, Brandon?!" She throws back at him, her voice louder and stronger than she expected it to come out of her.

Waving his hands panicked, trying to get her to lower her voice, Brandon tries to shush her, which only makes her more ticked off.

"Look you weren't supposed to see that-"

"Answer my fucking question or I'll start screamin' it." She threatens, cutting him off mid sentence.

An angry and frustrated expression settles on his face as Brandon let's out a huff, not knowing how to word his explanation and remaining silent while he tries to find the right words.

"Is this why you've been blowing me off for months? You got some fucking fight club bullshit going on here instead?" She questions further, her voice breaking slightly with stress.

"I can't tell you all the fucking details in one breath, Talia. I wasn't exactly expecting you to find out like this."

Brandon argues, throwing his hand up in annoyance, which only confuses her more.

"What makes you think you have the right to be angry at me when you're the one that has the explaining to do?"

"Fuck! Alright! I get it!" He whisper yells harshly, face twisting in anger and making the siblings look even more alike than usual, Talia taking a step back at his sudden outburst, "look, the money is gonna get cut off one day, I'm thinking about my future, OUR futures here. That's what this shit is about."

"And what exactly is this shit, Brandon?" Talia asks, aggressively pointing towards the door that barely separated them from the crowd.

"It's boxing. Same shit you see on TV, just, not as commercial."

"This isn't the same shit as on TV! Those guys aren't even wearing gloves!" She argues, smacking the back of her hand as she speaks.

"Bare knuckle and wraps get better bets, the guys make their own decisions on if they do it or not." Brandon defends as he crosses his arms.

Talia shakes her head in annoyance, her face twisting. Everything was happening so quickly, meaning she barely had enough time to process all the information being thrown at her.

"You're scared of mommy cutting off the royalties so this is what you do instead?" She asks.

"The money is gonna get cut off and it's gonna be sooner rather than later. Do you expect me to suck up forever? To hide Sam til she dies too? Mom hates both of us now and you know it just as well as I do."

Talia feels her throat tighten at his words. Her stomach felt like it was close to emptying its content as the gut punch of his words hit her at a hundred miles per hour.

"Shut the fuck up. You know I love Sam and you know I don't want to do it just as much as you don't want to. But you're right, it will be sooner if she finds out about this." She spits back.

Taking a step towards him, arms crossed, Talia holds steady eye contact as she looks up to her brother.

"You're not the only one she can fuck over. When she finds out and cuts me off too, what the fuck are we gonna do, huh?" She whispers harshly as the crowd outside the room bursts into life again, the next round starting.

Brandon breaks the eye contact between them as he stares at the ground, fists clenched at his sides as the obvious stress of the situation flashes across his face.

"She won't, not yet."

Talia rolls her eyes as her arms uncross, leaning back against his desk.

"Mom always finds out."

"She won't this ti-"

Brandon is interrupted by the office door swinging open, a tall man with blonde hair and a panicked look on his face ignoring Talia to address Brandon the second his eyes land on him.

"Hood's broken Knight's nose." He says in a rush, causing Brandon to groan, following the man out the door before turning back to Talia.

"Don't leave this office, I'll be back soon."

Talia throws her brother a sarcastic thumbs up before he rushes off, the door clicking shut behind him.

Talia felt like her mind was in the worst spin she'd ever experienced. Finally the late nights, the astronomical bills being excused as gym costs, the secrets, they all made sense.

As angry as she was with her brother, she was more worried about him than anything.

Seeing the crowd, the action in the ring, it was more than just the sparring she would see from time to time as she made the rounds to check in on things. These people were out for blood, and would throw as much money as they needed at it to make it happen. This wasn't the kind of thing she ever expected Brandon to be involved in, and it shocked her that he's involved in that world obviously as more than just a spectator.

Sitting down in the office chair, Talia rests her elbows on the desk in front of her, covering her face with her hands as she tries to take a deep breath to calm her nerves, but jumping as the crowd outside roars again.

This wasn't something she was familiar with, and the uncharted territory this laid out in front of her felt like a minefield. Both her brother's lies, and the violence they were hiding.

With her anxiety peaking as she sits deep in her thoughts, she nearly yelps as the office door flies open, a tall man coming in and looking around for someone, before their eyes finally land on Talia.

If the sharp jawline, dark eyes and deadly look on his face didn't take her breath away, the ripped and bruised skin under his eye sure did.

A seemingly permanent scowl was set on the man's face, and his height and all black outfit just added to the intimidating stance he has as he lets the door swing shut behind him.

Talia couldn't help but notice that the man is attractive, even with blood dripping down his face, noticing his hair closely cropped to his head, apart from the wild bleached curls that fell onto his forehead.

For a brief moment, the angry look on the man's face softens upon seeing the smaller woman sitting behind his boss's desk, but it's instantly replaced by a look of confusion.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asks, his voice deeper than she expected with an unfamiliar accent laced into his words.

Slightly taken back, Talia frowns, withdrawing from the desk and standing up behind it, her defensive nature quickly taking over.

"I'm Talia Alisley, who the fuck are you?"

This time it's the man that's taken back, his eyebrows shooting up as he scoffs, arrogance in spades and tension building by the second as Talia crosses her arms in front of herself.

"I'm Calum Hood," He says, and Talia freezes.

Hood. Was he the Hood that the blonde man was talking about? The one who apparently had broken the nose of the guy Brandon was checking on?

"and I'm guessing you're the precious little sister." He comments, and this time it's Talia that raises her eyebrow. Did Brandon mention her to these guys?

"Too right I am, so don't fuck with me and we should be fine. Brandon said he'd be back soon." She replies, sitting back down with her arms still crossed and the scowl on her face settling in while in his presence.

Deep down, Talia knew it was probably a bad idea to piss off the guy who was not only bleeding, but the cause of a broke nose two rooms over, but her pride and defensive nature was far more powerful than the anxiety swirling in her stomach.

"No need to worry about that, princess." Calum rolls his eyes in annoyance. If Brandon was gonna send him to his office, he could at least show up instead of wasting his time, and give him a warning.

Talia was thankful in that moment for the low light of the room on account of the desk lamp being off, hiding the blush that made her ears burn. Yeah, he might be a dickhead, but he was still an attractive dickhead.

Slumping down into the chair opposite Talia with a huff, Calum shakes his head, while Talia stays stone faced across from him.

"You alright?" She asks after a moment, referring to where blood still sits on his cheekbone.

Calum frowns at her attitude change, not aware of the injury that he sustained from Knight's ringed hand landing a right hook before Calum landed his own.

In his defense, Knight should have known better than to touch his gear.

With the confused look flashing across his face for a longer period this time, Talia can't help but roll her eyes.

"You're bleeding under your eye, bro." She points out.

As Calum reaches up to touch his cheek, the door opens, the blonde man from before walking in with Brandon in toe as Talia thanks her lucky stars.

"Not gonna lie I thought you would have left by now." Brandon says, looking at Talia first while her eyes stay on the actions of the blonde man opening a medical kit on the desk.

"Oh don't worry, I want to." She comments.

"So do I, can I go now?" Calum directs towards Brandon as the blonde man touches an alcohol wipe to his cheek, making his aggressive expression falter slightly.

"Once Luke says you're okay and once I've dealt with you, yes." He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Look," Talia says, standing up and holding her hands up in surrender, "obviously you've got a lot of shit going on here right now so we'll deal with this tomorrow." She gestures between them, walking around the desk and past the three men.

Letting out a sigh, Brandon sends her a look of appreciation.

"Thanks T, text me when you get home." He replies, to which she sends him a short nod.

"Luke, can you walk her out?" He asks, turning to the man getting up from kneeling in front of Calum.

"Yeah, no worries." He smiles, taking his gloves off and throwing them in the bin.

Walking out the door with Luke, Talia winces at the loudness of the crowd, thankful for the taller, now calm, man standing between them and herself.

"I'm Luke, by the way." He smiles kindly, holding his hand out for Talia to shake as they make it to the door.

"Talia. Gotta be honest, I wish this was under better circumstances." She smiles tightly back at him, shaking his hand.

"Yeah," he laughs, "me too."

As they make it outside, Talia leads Luke around the building to where her car sits, right next to Brandon's.

"Well, this is me."  She says, signalling to her car with the keys in her hand. "Thanks for walking me past all of that."

"No problem. Drive safe." Luke says with a small wave to her, and she gives him an appreciative smile.

"You too. See you 'round, Luke."

Climbing into her car, Talia sighs, relaxing only slightly in the familiar surroundings.

As she pulls away from the curb, Luke sends her a final wave before walking back into the gym.

Driving away, the adrenaline of the situation starts to wear off, and the reality of the situation starts to sink in.

"God, I'm gonna fucking kill him." Talia mutters to herself, turning the radio up and going over the night's events in her head as she drives back to her apartment.

The next morning, Talia awakes with a rock of dread weighing down her stomach.

Her mind immediately flashes back to the events of the night before, and as she showers, gets dressed and locks her apartment door, it almost felt like she wore the dread of the impending conversation she needed to have with her brother as a scarf tied too tightly around her neck.

Instead of heading straight to the studio and editing the photos of the last few days as usual, Talia instead took a deep breath as she started heading back towards Vault, having a couple hours to hopefully get answers before her first clients for the day were set to arrive at eleven.

The parking lot beside Vault sat a lot emptier today. Only a handful of cars sprinkled around, and just like last night, Talia pulls into the space beside Brandon's car.

Taking a moment before walking in, Talia leans back in her seat, closing her eyes.

She was scared. Of Brandon's explanation, of possibly having to accept whatever the fuck she had witnessed last night, of walking out more confused than she was about to walk in.

Her and Brandon had grown up play fighting, and catching an odd round or two when their dad decided to watch Friday Fight Night, but violence had never really been part of their lives in a physical form. Apart from a questionable wrestling phase when she was 14, Talia couldn't even remember the last time she saw two people in a ring together that wasn't casual sparring when she would frequent the gym in its early days.

None of it compared to what she saw last night.

With what happened still fresh in her mind, Talia climbs out of her car, pushing the door shut behind her.

Johnny doesn't stand by the entrance this morning, meaning Talia easily walks into the gym, the door squeaking slightly in protest as she pushes it open.

It's almost like nothing had even happened. All the equipment that was pushed against a wall last night now sits in its normal place, the shelves of alcohol behind the check in desk now stocked with protein powders like less than twelve hours ago the counter wasn't a very convincing bar.

Hearing her come in the door, a couple people look up from what they're doing, sending Talia a polite smile before returning to their work.

Calum Hood is not one of these people.

Almost like the universe had put a glowing neon sign over his head, Talia's eyes instantly wander towards where Calum stands next to the black haired man she recognized as the same person Brandon was talking to last night when she arrived.

Noticing her too, Calum’s encouragement of his best friend is interrupted by his eyes catching a flash of blue hair in his peripheral vision.

While he knew any animosity towards the woman who could probably have him fired with a few fake tears was a bad idea to hold onto, he couldn't help but feel annoyed upon seeing her in what he thought of as his domain.

Face settling into a frown as she looks across the room to the man who easily got on her nerves last night, Talia almost doesn't notice Brandon coming up behind her.

"Hey." He greets quietly, holding a takeaway cup of coffee out to his sister. "Time for that talk, huh?"

"Yeah. Think so." She takes the coffee with a nod of thanks, and hesitantly follows him to his office.

Talia couldn't tell if Brandon was trying to suck up to her with free coffee, but after sitting down at the chair in front of his desk and taking a sip, tasting vanilla latte, she knows he is.

"So, where should we start?" He asks, settling into his seat with a heavy sigh.

Talia scoffs lightly, raising her eyebrow.

"The beginning would be good."

Brandon nods, looking down at his desk to avoid meeting her eyes.

"The fights started around one, maybe two months after we opened, so we've been hosting them for about fourteen months now."

Talia's eyes go wide, disbelief covering her face as she places her cup on his desk forcefully.

"You're telling me you've been hiding this shit for over a year?" She asks, anger already starting to build.

"Yeah, and if you haven't fucking noticed, it's not been the easiest thing to do." He snaps, before holding his hands up, taking a deep breath and rolling his seat back slightly to calm himself, too much tension already in the air.

Talia bites her tongue, looking down at her hands before she signals to him to continue.

"A friend of mine, Ashton, he was part of an illegal boxing league running out of a rundown place up in Hollywood. I saw him fight there a couple times, saw the conditions myself. The guy running the show was a complete asshole to his guys, but they all needed the money, so they stuck around." He explains, voice quieter than before.

"One night we got to talking. I asked Ash if  he thought we might be able to make our own ring, give people a safer place to earn their money. Then we figured out how much we could earn from it, and with shit going so wrong with mom, I figured that if she pulled the rug out from under me, I could use the league as a safety net."

Piecing together the timeline in her head, and doing the best to absorb the information given to her, Talia remains silent and slowly nods along when needed.

"Him and I have built this thing from the ground up, and it's working for us. I manage the books, he manages the guys, and we take care of the admin together. With my connections to the rich assholes who have more money than they know what to do with, and with Ashton's connection to the guys who need that money and want to do it, we're doing really, really well, Talia."

This time it's Talia who avoids eye contact, looking down to her shoes as she curses the logical side of her brain for seeing sense in his story.

"How many people do you have fighting for you?" She asks.

Brandon let's out a heavy breath, waving his hand slightly.

"Around twenty, twenty five. We keep the doors open for the more occasional guy who needs the cash that week."

"And how often are the nights like last night happening?"

"Weekly. Every Friday, normally."

Seeing the hesitation on her face, bottom lip pulled between her teeth, Brandon sits forward to bring her attention to him, her eyes flicking up to meet his.

"I know this is a lot, and I don't expect you to be okay with it, but I do want you to know I'm being smart about this."

Talia sighs, taking a sip of her drink before speaking.

"I know you, so I don't doubt it. It's just so dangerous, Brandon. You can't expect me not to be worried about you."

Brandon laughs lightly, trying to lift the mood slightly.

"I would never expect you not to worry. It's not in your nature."

A small smile tugs at the corners of Talia's lips, and it's enough to ease his mind.

"Anything you want to know about the ring, the business, any of it, I'll answer as best as I can. I trust you more than anyone and I want to do everything I can to make you feel okay with this, and make up for holding it from you."

Talia hazards a look to her brother, seeing on his face that he's been open and honest with her.

"You know I always ask too many questions." She smiles, joking lightly as she referenced something she would hear almost daily from her mother growing up.

Brandon shakes his head as he laughs, taking a sip of his own drink.

"If you get too much for me, I'll just pass you on to Ashton. It's what normally happens around here." He shrugs slightly, before tilting his head.

"Actually, do you want to meet him? He should be around out there." He asks, and Talia mulls the idea over for a moment before agreeing. After all, it would probably be best to know who she would castrate if something happened to Brandon.

"Sure, might as well." She agrees, downing the last of her drink and tossing her cup into the small recycling bin under his desk.

Standing up and following Brandon out of his office, Talia can feel her nerves already starting to act up, and does her best to shove them down as she follows him towards the bench press where the black haired man who she now assumed was Ashton, and Calum stood.

"Hey, guys. I got someone for you to meet." Brandon says, catching their attention as they approach.

Ashton sends her a warm smile as she steps out from behind Brandon, which is a nice contrast from the cold glare Calum sends her way, which she ignores to return the smile instead.

"Ashton, Calum, this is my sister, Talia. Talia, this is the demon on my shoulder Ash, and my blue rock em sock em man Calum."

"We've met." Calum says bluntly, while Ashton raises his eyebrow.

"And we haven't. Nice to meet you, I assure you Brandon's told us nothing but good things." Ashton grins, holding his hand out for her to shake.

Talia takes his hand and can't help but notice how strong his grip is without what looks like any effort, and laughs lightly.

"I'd hope so, but I can't promise my staff have heard the same about him. It's nice to meet you too." She returns, letting her hand drop to her side before she acknowledges the man beside him.

"And yeah, charmed." Talia prods lightly, seeing Calum trying to hide the roll of his eyes from Brandon.

"Talia is gonna be spending more time around, getting to know the workings when she can. I said if she annoys me too much I'm gonna pass her on to you, so fair warning." Brandon informs them, tapping Ashton's arm as he directs his sentence to him.

"Fantastic." Talia hears Calum mutter, not loud enough for the other two to hear it, but just enough that she does.

This time, it's Talia that rolls her eyes at Calum.

As conversation is made, Calum can't help but feel hyper aware of Talia, and the sun shining in from the high windows casting sunbeams through the few red hairs that fell out of her bun and framed her face delicately. He would admit that Talia was pretty, beautiful even, but not audibly, especially not in front of the girl who felt no hesitation in sending him a death glare every few minutes.

The small group spend ten or so minutes talking with each other before Talia's phone rings, letting her know she should start making her way to the studio.

"Looks like I should be getting to work." Talia says, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?" Ashton inquiries, genuine interest in his tone, making her see why Brandon was such a fan of him.

Talia believed she could read people well, and from her first impression of Ashton, she got nothing but good vibes.

"I'm a photographer, I own my own studio called Valentine." She smiles proudly, and Ashton nods his head in approval.

"My girlfriend works just down the road from you I think! It's not far from Dominion Books, right?"

Pleasant surprise spreads across Talia's face as she nods, happy to have found a common link.

"Yeah! I think I might have seen you there in passing now I think about it." She smiles.

Brandon watches on with joy as he sees both Talia and Ashton getting along, so happy about it in fact that he didn't even notice Calum looking like he would rather be anywhere else in the world.

Talia says her goodbyes to the men before turning to leave, her attention being called back before she makes it too far.

"If you ever need a fill in hunk for a photo shoot, you know who to call." Ashton jokes, sending a wink in her direction.

"Yeah, you can get your brother to pass you my number any time." Calum says sarcastically, surprising her but also making her scoff as she takes a few steps backwards before turning around.

"In your dreams, darlin'." She calls over her shoulder.

As the door swings shut behind her, Calum feels like his feet are glued to the floor, the eyes of his best friend burning into him as Brandon excuses himself to mock throw up against the wall.

"What's that all about between you two?" Ashton asks Calum quietly, picking up his water bottle as Calum picks up his own, holding it up and speaking casually before taking a sip.

"No idea what you're talking about mate."

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