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queenshelby · 9 days

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Daughter Dearest (Part Seven)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (47) x Step! Daughter (21)

Warning: Infidelity, Smut, Dysfunctional Family

Tag List will be updated soon! Please comment and engage!

When you arrived at the station, the police officers gave you an opportunity to explain yourself and, even though they couldn't do much about your situation, they offered to let you go.

"Who can we call to pick you up?" they asked after advising you to call your solicitor the day after to explain what you had already explained to them. They were going to have to file a violation report and, if your solicitor did not appeal, a magistrate would most likely order for your house arrest to be extended.

"I-I'll call my stepfather," you stammered, your voice shaky with the realization that yet again, your actions had consequences which affected not only yourself but Cillian too.

"No, we will call him. What's his name and number?"

one of the officers asked you as you sat nervously in the waiting area, your heart racing with anxiety.

"Cillian Murphy," you replied while fidgeting with your phone to read out his number.

"Cillian Murphy?" one of the officers asked, chuckling loudly. "Seriously?" the other officer chimed in, also looking surprised. "The Cillian Murphy? The actor?"

You nodded, feeling a mix of embarrassment and annoyance at their reaction. You weren't used to this kind of attention and you certainly didn't want it now, when you were in the middle of a mess.

One of the officers quickly made the call, explaining the situation to Cillian in a calm, official tone. After a few moments, he told you that your stepfather would be there shortly to pick you up.

You nodded, grateful for their help, even though you were still shaking with apprehension about what was to come.

Cillian arrived a short while later, his face etched with worry as he rushed up to you.

"Y/N, what happened?" he asked urgently, taking in the scene inside the station without any kind of judgment from his part.

"It's a long story," you replied, exhaustion written all over your face. "I'll explain it all when we get home."

"Alright," he responded quietly before asking the officers whether he needed to do or sign anything and they shook their heads and informed him that he was free to take you home.

After a brief nod, Cillian guided you outside where the cool evening air enveloped you. The sky was a deep shade of blue with flecks of orange and pink from the still-visible sunset. It was a picture-perfect scene that would have been a joy to take a photograph of, but given the night's events, not even the beauty of creation could tame the whirlwind of emotions surging inside you.

"You are so lucky that your mother isn't home," Cillian murmured, opening the car door for you.

You nodded silently, climbing in and closing your eyes as exhaustion overwhelmed you.

As he settled in behind the wheel and started the car, the silence between you was deafening. The weight of what had happened hung heavy in the air, and neither of you knew where to begin.

Cillian was the first to break the silence. "Y/N, what happened back there?" he said gently.

You took a deep breath, recalling what had transpired earlier that evening at the hostel.

You told Cillian everything, starting from your call with Nadine, to finding out about Lucy's involvement, and ending with your decision to confront her despite knowing the consequences of leaving your designated area.

Cillian listened intently, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter with every word you said. By the time you finished, his expression was a mixture of shock and anger. "That explains a lot," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. "And we need to get in touch with your solicitor tomorrow to get this sorted out," he added, switching gears as he drove you home.

Your heart sank at the thought of what this all meant - the possibility of an extended house arrest or even a harsher sentence. But you found comfort in the fact that you had Cillian by your side, supportive and understanding, even when your mother would have been furious.

"Can we not tell mum about this?" you asked hesitantly, not wanting to deal with the added stress of her disappointment.

Cillian glanced over at you, his eyes softening as he took in your nervous expression. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he replied gently.

You nodded, relieved but still worried.

"Thanks again, for picking me up and for not being angry," you said, turning to face Cillian who pulled into the driveway and, after he parked the car, he smiled at you reassuringly. "I wont lie, I am a bit angry, but not at you, but rather at your friend. She clearly wronged you," he said, his voice filled with compassion.

You sighed deeply. "I know, I am so angry too. I can't believe she would do something like this," you said, still troubled by the turn of events. "I feel so betrayed."

Cillian looked over at you, his heart ached at the pain and sadness etched on your face. "Hey, it's alright," he said softly, reaching out to comfort you. "Let's go inside, have a glass of wine, and talk about it," he offered , trying to lighten the mood.

You silently nodded and got out of the car, heading towards the front door. The cold evening air did nothing to quell the turmoil burning inside of you.

"Come on, let's sit," Cillian said, his voice unusually gentle as he helped you out of your jacket.

You then let yourself be led to the couch, still in disbelief over the night's events.

Cillian poured a generous glass of red wine for each of you and then sat down next to you. You took a large gulp, feeling the warmth spread through your body.

"I am such a fucking idiot," you then muttered, sitting back on the couch and running a hand through your hair.

Cillian placed a hand gently on your knee, holding it there as he looked intently into your eyes.

"Y/N, it's okay. You didn't really do anything wrong. You just acted hotheadedly and we all do that sometimes," he said, his voice gentle as you started to sob , trembling with the release of all the anger and frustration pent up in you.

"I know, but I just can't have my house arrest extended. I am starting my photography course in New York soon and...fuck...this is all just too much," you blurted out, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes.

Cillian didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at you with a deep understanding, a look that pierced right through you, seeing you for who you truly are - vulnerable, scared, and utterly alone.

Without a word, he caressed your face and wiped away your tears with his thumbs.

"Hey, look at me," he then said, making you meet his intense gaze. "It's going to be okay. We will make sure of it."

You looked at him, your eyes glistening with tears. "How?"

'Well, we will get your lawyer to get the charges dropped so that you can still go to New York and if he can't do that, I will smuggle you out of the country," Cillian said, only half-joking.

His words caught your attention and a smile appeared in your trembling lips. "You will smuggle me out of the country?" you chuckled through teary eyes.

Cillian laughed at the absurdity of it but then leaned in towards your face, his eyes locked with yours. " Yes, I will smuggle you through the airport and on to the plane," he whispered jokingly, still caressing your face.

"Now you are being an idiot," you replied with a soft laugh, feeling a flutter in your stomach at his closeness.

He leaned in a little closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Am I?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You swallowed hard, feeling a heat building up in your center as you looked at him. "Yes," you giggled quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "A beautiful and kind and somewhat sexy idiot," you gasped at your own admission, causing Cillian to exhale a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

He leaned in closer, invading your space while still caressing your cheeks as, suddenly, he crashed his lips against yours, driving you back into the sofa.

Your hands reached for the back of his head, clutching his hair tight and pulling him closer.

Cillian groaned, deepening the kiss as his tongue traced the creases of your lips before delving inside. His other hand went up to you, cupping your cheek before it slipped behind your head, cradling it as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth.

A moan escaped you, sending a hot wave of desire coursing through you as he dominated your mouth.

You met his every move with fervent passion, the taste of coppery wine on his tongue as it danced with yours.

Your hands roamed his back, gripping at his shirt, frustratingly unable to reach the skin beneath as you both gave in to your desires like two wild animals.

The raw chemistry between you two spurred out of control. Your mind was fuzzy, and all your senses were heightened, focusing entirely on Cillian's touch.

He slid his hand down your side, resting it heavily on your hip before grabbing a chunk of fabric, pulling at it feverishly. Impatiently, you broke the kiss, your breath hitching as he scattered desperate kisses along the curve of your neck, growling at the contact.

"What are we doing Cillian?" you eventually moaned as he trailed fiery kisses from your collarbone to your heaving chest.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked, his breath possibly howling around your neck, and you caught a glimpse of his eyes, lustrous and sharp with hunger.

You looked back at him, met his gaze, and without a word, you tossed your head.

"Good," he said, and his mouth covered yours once again, sucking your lips aggressively, slipping his tongue into the openings, wrapping his arms around you, and twining his fingers in the hair at the back of your head.

His touch was fierce and all-consuming, and you couldn't help but melt beneath it. Your mind reeled and swarmed with a potent mix of naughty curiosity and lust.

Almost breathlessly, you agreed, "I want you, Cillian. I want you so fucking much!"

His eyes burned as he pinned you to the couch beneath him. "Then take your clothes off," he demanded harshly.

You didn't protest one bit; instead, you sat up and obeyed, tearing off your t-shirt over your head.

Cillian's hungry gaze followed your every move as you did so, his pulse quickening at the sight of your bare breasts.

Without hesitation, you quickly shrugged out of your jeans, but leaving on your panties, your heart hammering against your rib cage in anticipation. Cillian swallowed heavily as he watched you, his own desire burning hot and wild.

You lay back down on the couch, your limbs splayed and trembling, as Cillian finally shed his own clothes, revealing his toned but lean physique.

"Oh my god, you have so many freckles," you whispered, feeling your mouth go dry. He was unlike any guy you had ever met and, even despite him being more than twice your age, you found him incredibly irresistible.

His greying chest-hair and the tiny wrinkles around his eyes did nothing to detract from his sex-appeal, instead making you only hungrier for him.

Cillian crawled over to you, placing his hands on either side of your head, his eyes burning holes into you. His body hovered above yours, casting a thick shadow over you. You could feel your heartbeat pounding in between your legs as he smirked down at you, that handsome face twisting with raw desire.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he murmured, brushing a few loose strands of hair off your forehead . You could feel the heat of his breath on your cheeks, and your lips parted involuntarily at the sound of his voice.

He leaned in, his warm lips claiming yours in a passionate kiss while you caressed one another.

Much to your surprise, your hands exploration of his body came more natural than you could ever imagine as if you had been doing this forever.

He moved slower with you, savoring every moment of the game, playing lightly with your sensitive lips and pressing into you as you opened up to him.

His hands roamed down your sides, tracing the curves of your hips and the perfect swell of your breasts. His fingertips moved over your nipples, then plucked and teased them until reaching your navel, moving back up to you with his thumb caressing that spot. Your underwear barely covered anything as he slipped his fingers beneath it, moving up to your mound.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his palm rubbed at your clitoris, and his fingers slipped inside your entrance.

"Oh my god," you groaned as sensations took over. Your body writhed in pleasure as he began to pump into you with ease, your wetness covering his hand. He wasn't desperate, but precise, stimulating you in a way no one else had done before.

"Fuck, just feel how wet you make me," you muttered against his lips, your breath hot and heavy.

"Oh I can feel it, trust me," Cillian groaned. "You are soaking," he mumbled against your lips, his fingers slipping in and out of you in a slow, steady fashion, his thumb still applying consistent pressure to your clit.

Your eyes rolled back at the feel of him, the way his expertise were driving you so close to the edge. And just as you felt the first wave of ecstasy shudder through your body, he pulled his hand away leaving you gasping for breath and craving for more.

"Cillian, don't stop," you pleaded.

He gave you a mischievous smile as he moved down your body, trailing hot kisses along the way. His stubble tickled you, sending shivers running up and down your spine.

"I want to taste you," he murmured, his voice hoarse and hungry.

You gasped when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. He threw them to the side, and your bare sex was exposed to him.

Cillian groaned at the sight, his eyes darkening with desire.

"Like what you see?" you asked provocatively as you looked down on him, running the tip of your tongue tenderly over your swollen bottom lip.

"Very much so ," Cillian growled in response, as he moved further down between your legs. Your thighs shook involuntarily at the touch of his breath upon your labia.

He parted your lips with his fingers, exposing your clitoris to him. You looked down on him, anticipation and hunger in your gaze. His tongue flicked across your nub, gentle and seeking, and you struggled not to scream in pleasure.

"Oh God, yes," you stammered out as he continued his assault upon your sex.

You hadn't expected him to go down on you, but once he started, you realized how badly you wanted it.

He teased you, gently at first, circling his tongue around your clit, just barely touching you. His talented tongue danced and swirled over your sensitive area, ratcheting up the pressure in an agonizing, glorious crescendo.

You felt his other hand slip around your leg, his fingertips trailing a blazing path up your thigh as he pulled you closer to his face.

You could feel the warmth radiating from his mouth, and you squirmed as anticipation coursed through your veins.

Cillian's tongue lashed at your clitoris with more intent now, lapping at your engorged nub with a rhythmic hunger that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your legs jerked involuntarily, and he held you firmly in place.

He parted your lips further with his fingers, slipping his tongue deeper into the recesses of your sex.

He tasted you, teased you, drove you wild, and sent you over the edge. You writhed and bucked below him, your hands clutching at the fabric of the couch as his tongue plunged into you again and again.

The pressure building inside you reached its boiling point, and you cried out as your orgasm tore through you with a strength that seemed to shatter all barriers between your minds and bodies. Your vision blacked out, and for a moment, you were floating, lost in the sea of pleasure he had created within you.

It wasn't the first time you climaxed, but it had never felt like this before, so intensely and powerfully.

Cillian held you through it, his tongue making slow, soft strokes against your sensitive skin. You whimpered at the sensation, all your muscles rigid with the force still coursing through your veins.

When you finally came down, you were shaking and trembling, clutching at the couch as if it were the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

"Fuck, that was insane," you gasped as Cillian's mouth continued its slow, gentle laps at your clitoris, soothing you through the aftershocks of your climax before, after a while, he eased himself up your body. "I don't think I ever came that hard before! Jesus!" you cursed.

After you finished swearing, Cillian kissed you deeply, letting you taste your own pleasure on his lips, and you couldn't help but moan into the kiss, overwhelmed by the taste of yourself, by the intensity of your connection.

His erection pressed into your thigh, and you found yourself rubbing against him, desperate for more.

"I want you inside of me so fucking much, you have no idea," you whispered, your breath hitching as you felt him hard against your leg.

"Yeah?" he asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as his hand slipped between you, his fingers once again slipping inside of you.

You cried out in pleasure, nodding your head and pushing your hips against his hand, urging him on.

"I need your cock inside me, right fucking now Cillian, please," you demanded, wrapping your legs around his waist while pulling on the fabric of his briefs.

"I don't have a condom Y/N," Cillian struggled to reason, his voice creaking with weakness under the barrage of your desires.

But you didn't give a fuck about anything but relieving the burning desire between your legs.

"Please, Cillian. Don't worry about it and just do it," you whimpered, helplessly clinging to his arm with your nails, as you begged him to take you, to drive inside you.

Seeing your determination, Cillian couldn't resist any longer. With a groan, he pushed down his briefs and pulled out his hard, throbbing shaft.

It was thick and long, and the tip was already wet with pre-cum. You looked down on it and couldn't believe that this was happening, that you were about to have sex with your stepfather and he looked goddamn perfect.

Cillian moved between your legs, spreading them a bit wider as he grabbed his shaft, guiding it to your entrance. He pressed the tip against your slick folds, his jaw clenching with every passing second as he, again, wrestled with himself and his guilt.

You felt your legs shaking against his sides, a pleading cry escaping your lips.

"Please, Cillian. I need you to fuck me," you begged, rocking your hips up to meet him, causing him to push his invasive thoughts of guilt aside.

But instead of taking you right away, he moved his shaft down to your entrance and began to rub its head around the rim, collecting the wetness there before he pushed in slowly. He ducked his head to kiss you, his tongue plunging into your mouth with the same torturous slowness that his thick cock easing inside of you.

The feeling was incredible, the stretch of your tight pussy around his length made both of you groan in bliss, and your nails dug into his firm ass as you pulled him closer. Inch by inch his manhood filled and stretched you. You felt every twitch and throb of his erection deep inside you, causing your channel to clench involuntarily, which drove him wild.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so tight," he muttered as he broke the kiss, unable to contain how good you felt. Cillian leveraged himself up onto his elbows, using every ounce of self-control he had not to lose himself in you in that very moment. He hadn't had sex for almost three years and being with you was almost too much to bear.

"I feel so full," you whispered, wrapping your legs around his hips, urging him deeper inside of you.

Cillian's face darkened with hunger as he pulled his hips back and sank even deeper into you, causing you to cry out loudly.

"Fuck," he muttered, unable to hold back a groan at the unbelievable feeling of being inside you.

He repeated this motion several times, pulling out a few inches before plunging himself back into you.

Each stroke stretched and massaged your sensitive walls. You were loving every moment of it, quivering with a building, unrelenting pleasure—a pleasure that begged for more.

You clawed at his arms, urging him on as he moved faster and deeper. You were incoherent now, barely able to form words as his pace quickened.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you to meet each thrust. Your breasts bounced enticingly as gravity played its part. The sensation between you both grew incredibly intense.

"Oh, oh, yes, Cillian," you managed to say, your legs gripping tighter around him as your pleasure heightened.

You knew you weren't going to last and neither was he. As you felt each thrust, your eyes rolled back into your head.

Cillian adjusted his angle and hit the right spot causing you to gasp loudly.

"Fuck, that's the spot!" you exclaimed.

A slight sheen of sweat formed on both of your skin as your bodies melded together, your hips rising to meet each desperate pounding thrust.

"Cillian, don't stop, please, don't stop," you pleaded, the words barely coherent coherent as Cillian's tempo increased.

Your body begged for reprieve, aching for release from this earth-shattering pleasure. Yet, at the same time craved for it to last longer, for this moment to never end.

You could feel Cillian's breath panting heavily against your neck. The heat from it branded your skin as his pace quickened, driving himself into you with a wild urgency until you exploded once again.

"Oh my god!" you cried out as the climax tore through you, ripping away all control and thought as you writhed beneath him, eyes rolling back and legs tightening around him.

Your orgasm was a blinding flash of pure pleasure, a devastating force that swept you away in its current. Cillian couldn't last much longer. As your pussy clenched around him during your climax, every muscle in his body tensed with the effort not to cum too soon.

But he fought against it, needing to prolong this moment just a little bit longer. He wanted to savor the feeling of being inside of you, of hearing the way you moaned his name and seeing the pleasure written all over your face.

After a while, you started to slow down, your body spending a few moments catching up with your exhilarated senses. As your still-throbbing sex eased around his shaft, Cillian felt the pressure in his balls build to an almost uncomfortable degree.

With a final, desperate moan, he buried his face in your neck and gave in.

The first spurts of his release jetted deep inside of you, splashing against your cervix, the warmth of his load filling you completely. You relished in the feeling of him coming hard, his own release triggering another small orgasm inside of you, the combination of his warm seed mixing with the contractions of your pussy brought you to a peak yet again, a last wave that sent you crashing down.

Cillian's hips jerked erratically beneath you, and he groaned your name as he continued to pump every last drop of himself inside of you.

Your walls contracted around his shaft again and again as you whimpered with each pulsating wave of your orgasm.

Cillian held still for a few seconds before slumping over you, still buried deep inside your warm welcoming embrace. Your breaths came out in short pants as his did the same, leaving him with a few shudders and aftershocks as he caught his breath.

"Oh fuck, Y/N," Cillian managed to say after a while, his head still buried in your neck. "That was...that was..."

He couldn't seem to find the words, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Intense," you suggested, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

Cillian chuckled at that and blew out a long, slow breath. "Yeah, that."

The weight of his body upon yours felt anything but unpleasant; you found yourself wrapping your arms around him tighter, delighting in the feeling of his warm skin against yours which is when guilt consumed him once more.

"Fuck," he cursed again before slowly pulling out, then extracting himself from your grasp and your body, standing up on the plush carpet that lay between the couch and the fireplace, watching as your limbs dangled over the edge of it like a rag doll's.

"We shouldn't have done that," he muttered mostly to himself but loud enough that you heard him, just as he noticed that you'd opened your eyes to peer up at him from under heavy lids. "Fucking hell, what is wrong with me?" Cillian mumbled to himself as he stood naked in the vast living room of his home, the air heavy with the scent of his own arousal.

He had been unable to deny that fire burning deep within him any longer. That forbidden connection with you, his stepdaughter, had grown too intense to ignore.

The way your lips had parted as he ravaged your body... the sounds you had made as your sweet body responded to his every touch...the sighs, groans, cries, and whispers that escaped your lips... the way your legs had trembled, then wrapped around him, your heels digging into his backside as you urged him on... all of it had driven him to the brink of madness.

And now, as he looked down on you sprawled out on the couch, a deep sense of shame and betrayal filled him.

"Please don't do this," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you slowly sat up and pulled a throw over your naked body.

You looked at Cillian, pleading for him to see things from your perspective, too. You understood the gravity of what you had just done, but you also couldn't deny the powerful connection that you felt.

"I need to go," he muttered, turning away and gathering up his clothes from the floor before disappearing upstairs to get dressed in private.

"Fine," you sighed as you slowly got up from the couch, your legs feeling like jelly beneath you, and wrapped yourself in the blanket. "Just walk away then. It seems to be a common occurrence in this fucking house," you hissed, the words sharp and filled with anger as Cillian walked off to collect his thoughts.

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dreaminrainbows · 21 days

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Hello lovies, August did slip away like a moment in time so here are some amazing fics i got to enjoy this month. Please consider leaving comments and kudos, you most definitely will make someone's day.

Look To The Sky by babyhoneyhslt/@babyhoneyheslt |[82.6k]

“Harry, it’s been five years,” Liam says softly, heaving an exasperated sigh. “I know it’s hard, but you need to let it go.” “I can’t let it go.” Harry shakes his head. “He’s my husband, Ash’s father. I can’t give up on him.” “I’m not asking you to give up on him, but you need to stop questioning them. Or trying to get your nose in places it’s not wanted.” Liam watches him. “You know you’re one of my best workers, and I can’t lose you. I’m giving you a warning now, please stop this.” “Or what?” Harry looks at Liam. “You’ll fire me? For wanting answers to what happened to my husband?” ~.~ On the 28th January 2019, British Airways flight BA289 took off from Chile at 10:04am. The fight was due to land in London Heathrow Airport at 12:44am. The flight was flown by experienced Captain Louis Tomlinson, accompanied by the first officer Oli Wright. Around five hours into the flight, BA289 disappeared from air traffic controls radar, and did not arrive in Heathrow at the estimated time. Search crews are currently looking for any signs of wreckage, but the question stands, what happened to flight BA289?

Feels Like Snow In September by louisismycat (tiflamomet)/@liminalkitty369 | [75k]

A mysterious teenager shows up at Louis' door claiming to be his daughter...with an omega he hasn't seen in 16 years, whom believes their secret love child to be dead.

is this flying or falling by HoldingOnToChaos/@holdingontochaos | [55.7k]

Harry Styles is a recently divorced omega who has been planning his lavish solo trip to Tahiti for six months. The trip is to treat himself on the one-year anniversary of his divorce from his long and horrible marriage. Unfortunately, he can’t seem to escape the annoyingly persistent and wildly handsome alpha named Louis. Louis Tomlinson is a workaholic who was forced into taking annual leave by his boss. He doesn’t love the idea of leaving work for so long so he gets drunk and buys a trip to Tahiti on a whim. When he meets the gorgeous omega, Harry, he finds a purpose for this trip after all. -- OR the one where Harry and Louis both go on a trip to Tahiti and meet on the plane.

Here Where Life Beats by MarWritesStuff (Ta_Ma)/@marwritesstuff | [42.9k]

Harry is a single mum who moves to London for a new job and fears that the move might be affecting his four-year-old pup too much. But when Noah starts at his new school, they meet Louis Tomlinson. A sweet alpha who seems to be almost too perfect to be real.

Rooms on Fire by softfonds/@softfonds | [34k]

Ten years ago, Louis helping Harry through a heat was the start of a romance that ended in heartbreak. Now, Harry's marriage is over thanks to his husband's very public infidelity, and Louis is fresh off a Golden Globe win. The last thing they both expect is to be cast in the same movie.

everything of mine is yours by blueskiesrry/@blueskiesrry | [33]

"Did you two have a good time?” Harry in his bathroom, brushing his teeth with frizzy hair and tired eyes. Harry on the couch cuddled up with Posy, cradling her in the crook of his elbow, humming a soft song. Harry laughing with his friends in a pub on a Friday night, a flower field in his eyes. Harry in his bed tucked under the covers, naked against fresh sheets like a shock of moonlight cutting through a storm. “Yeah,” he says. “We did.” or: With Harry in New York finishing up his PhD and Louis in London working as a solicitor, they try to navigate their eight year situationship including almost-daily phone calls, the occasional indulgence of casual phone sex, and endless gossip sessions as the feelings they have for each other get harder to ignore.

Subtletys by thinlines/ @gaygodlou | [32k]

The alpha wanted to run, to sprint from the room and throw himself into the campus traffic, but he remained frozen and barely breathing as the omega pressed the tapes down, keeping the pressure soft and gentle. Everything about Harry was soft and gentle, even when he was furious at Louis. “Can you—” Breathe, don’t panic. “Are you done?” He bit back a hiss when Harry’s fingers danced over the edge of his bondmark spot yet again. OR Alpha Louis is trying to perfect the art of pretending not to care for his volleyball team manager. Let's all assume he isn't headed for failure.

Have You Coming Back Again by whoknows/ @crazyupsetter | [31k]

It’s five o’clock in the morning. Louis has a lecture at half eight. He could be using this time to study or to do his readings or to go to the gym, but - well. He doesn’t have any exams coming up, he’s not going to his seminar today anyway and he hates the gym. Instead he’s using this time to fuck with Harry Styles’ poor little brain. Louis jogs across the street and jabs the key into the car door. It opens easily, not that he was expecting anything else. He copied the key for a reason, after all. He’s got Harry’s schedule memorized, more because the guy keeps following him around than anything, so he doesn’t bother looking around before climbing behind the wheel and setting his bag on the passenger seat. It’s a Monday, which means that Harry doesn’t even get out of bed before noon unless he’s planning on harassing Louis.

Lost But Won by 2tiedships2/ @2tiedships2 | [16.5k]

“If you start out by talking about your weekend of golfing I swear to god I will stab you with a pen,” Louis said by way of greeting. “You’ll have to give me a few minutes though so I can see if I even own a pen. But the warning stands.” “Hello to you too, dearest Louis,” Niall yelled from where he still sat on the couch next to Harry. There was a clunk on the floor and what sounded like shoes hitting the wall as Niall announced, “We have a guest. You might want to save stabbing me until you don’t have a witness.” “Well if they are obsessed with golf then…” Louis trailed off as he made his appearance in the living room. Harry’s mouth dried up. This was not the alpha that Niall had described. When Harry loses his passport after a weekend trip to see Niall, the inconvenience of being stranded in America becomes a little more bearable after meeting Louis. Or a lot more bearable.

At your service, for you usage by HoldingOnToChaos/@holdingontochaos | [16k]

Louis is a doctor who works so much that he has barely any time to himself for pleasure, let alone to clean his house so he hires Harry as his naked maid and kills two birds with one stone.

who's that girl? by vintagehistories/@adoredontour | [13.7]

“So, do you want to tell us a little bit more about why you’re here?” “What do you mean?” Harry asks, furrowing his eyebrows together. “I’m here because I need a place to live and you guys need a roommate.” “I guess let me rephrase that,” Leo (or maybe Liam) says. He taps his pen twice against the notepad, drawing Harry’s attention away from a large hole in one of the walls. “Why do you need a place to live?” “Oh, that’s easy.” Harry sits up straighter in his seat. “I walked in on my boyfriend of four years banging my boss. I couldn’t very well keep living with them, could I?” harry is canadian, louis owns a bar, zayn comes and goes as he pleases, liam's just trying to keep everyone alive, and nobody knows what niall does. a new girl au.

It's halftime. Are you ready to go? by momentofclarity/@gaycousinlarry | [12k]

Reason #12 - Because it's halftime. Harry would like to think that he doesn’t know how he got himself into this. Only… he’d be lying. Because he knows exactly how he got himself into this. Oh man, does he know, and it’s all because of a certain Louis Tomlinson. Alternatively - football is gay and Harry is trying to cope.

Tuxedo Dress-Up by Blaaake/ @newleafover | [11.9k]

Louis is an aspiring song writer by day, a make up artist for drag queens by night, and masquerading as a full time real estate agent for his third most famous (and first most handsome) client Harry Styles. Or, five times they fail to fuck in a closet, and one time they get it right.

Smells Like TEAM Spirit by persephoneflouwers/ @persephoneflouwers | [10.7k]

Punk Louis and quarterback Harry have been secretly dating for years. Feeling overwhelmed by his commitments, Harry suggests a short break, fearing he can't give Louis enough time. As Louis reflects on his vulnerabilities, Harry struggles on the field without him.

every day and tomorrow night by justanothershadeofblue (zjofierose)/ @justanothershadeofblue | [8k]

Harry stares. The new boy is beautiful, there’s no other word for him. He’s got caramel brown hair in a tousled cut and cheekbones for days, skin that’s tanned a deep gold, and eyes a shade of blue that’s visible even from across the room. He’s standing with his hands on his hips and one knee slightly bent, his thighs thick where they extend past the ragged hem of his denim shorts. His biceps are defined and his hands look small but capable, and Harry’s mouth is quite literally watering. “What’s his name?” Harry asks, without taking his gaze off the boy in the doorway. He doesn’t want to blink and miss a single moment of eye candy. Zayn chuckles. “See something you like, then?” “You know the rule, Z,” Harry answers, still not pulling his eyes away from this unexpected Adonis. “If I lick it, it’s mine.”

Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover by lovingstheantidote/@lovingstheantidote | [6.7k]

Harry laughs. He actually giggles until Louis sucks behind his ear and surprisingly turns that giggle into a little moan. And oh, god, does Louis want to make him do that again. “Pasta shape, Harold. Sure you’ve got one yeah?” More tiny breathy kisses. Warm air on Harry’s long neck. He feels Harry smiling as he switches sides. He thinks about all the other long parts of Harry’s body. Will he get to touch them, get to suck them too? or Louis is infatuated by the hot new pasta chef. He gets so much more than just dinner.

Wish You to Ashes by LetTheMusicMoveYou/@letthemusicmoveyou28 | [6k]

There in the middle of the candle triangle on Harry’s dining table, is the source of all Harry’s turmoil. His ex, Louis Tomlinson, in all his glory. Literally. Louis is sat on his bum looking confused, not a stitch of clothing on him. It takes him a few beats to comprehend what’s going on as well, and when he does he attempts to cover his crotch with his hands. ”Harry?” He glances around the kitchen then. “What the fuck?” Harry shrugs, a bit helplessly. “I don’t know. I was trying to banish you, not summon you.” Louis narrows his eyes. “Banish me, really? Very mature Harry.” (Or the one where witch Harry is heartbroken, and resorts to a risky spell to rid him of his ex. It doesn’t exactly go as planned).

tastes so sweet by 28goldensfics/ @28goldens | [5.6k]

louis is information desk mates with harry at the aquarium and has grown quite fond of the way he talks and the way his mouth moves. but louis thinks if harry doesn’t stop sucking on those stupid, cherry, heart shaped lollipops, he might have to do something about it.

Let the Feeling Last by allwaswell16/ @allwaswell16 | [5.5k]

Omega Harry thinks the alpha at the grocery store buying a cart full of vegetables must be an amazing chef. He doesn't know that Alpha Louis is feeding all those vegetables to his pet pig.

Turning into something else (day 28) by cwrote/ @cwrotes | [5k]

“Louis has been having very strange nightmares for the past few nights, in which he is attacked and devoured by a beast with abundant hair and sharp teeth that triples his size. It's the same dream every time night falls: he stands in front of his bedroom window, under the moonlight, with his hair standing on end and a racing pulse that catches the attention of the creature lurking and assaulting him over and over. He thinks it's all in his head when he wakes up in his bed bathed in sweat, but things start to get complicated when paranoia finally takes hold of him. Or where Louis is suffering from nightmares in which he is preparing to be abused by a huge beast capable of tearing him apart.”

Only Angel by starryhaze/ @starryhaze28 | [5k]

“If I’m an angel, what does that make you?” The angel asks. “A sinner,” Louis answers. ʚɞ or the one where Louis is in Japan and stumbles upon a boy wearing angel wings

Stars over Amsterdam by HelloLovers13/ @hellolovers13 | [4.7k]

Louis remembers how stressed they were, trying to get tickets at all. The waiting for the email with the code, which only Louis got, the actual On-sale. How Harry stood behind him, peeling at his nails nervously. Trying not to distract Louis. But it had all gone smoothly and he had gotten the tickets within just a few minutes. Harry had jumped around Louis’s chair in excitement like a bouncing ball. Already starting to plan their outfits. A gold fringe dress for Harry, Fearless was his favourite album, after all, and a matching shirt he had found online for Louis. So people could tell right away they were an item. That was their plan. Before it all went to shit. or Fate in form of Eras Tour tickets forces Louis to meet up with his Ex. Hopefully soon to be Ex-Ex.

Miracle Massages by red_panda28/ @red-pandaaa | [3.5k]

It took some effort, but Harry finally got his mouth to cooperate. “Wanna take a bath,” he mumbled. “Alright.” There was a small pause. “Are you gonna move?” Louis asked, the amused smile audible in the question. OR Alpha Louis pampering his pregnant Omega, Harry. Featuring nests, a sprinkle of angst, and belly massages

I just wanna be yours (wanna be yours, wanna be yours) by Dreaminrainbows/ @dreaminrainbows | [3.5k]

Harry studies his sixteen year old self’s face for a long moment and it's truly pathetic how in fourteen years nothing has really changed. He's had enormous success throughout the years, has a couple of Grammys to prove it, yet he'd still be Louis Tomlinson’s vacuum cleaner in a blink of an eye. Louis does like his coffee hot and Harry would gladly be his coffee pot. He groans again, throwing his phone to the other side of the bed. He's been trying to get a grip on himself for the past fourteen years, the only grip he's gotten is on his man.

Stuck in Midnight Traffic by LetTheMusicMoveYou/ @letthemusicmoveyou28 | [2.9k]

The curly haired man sniffles again, but the tears seemed to have stopped for now at least. “I was supposed to spend Christmas Eve with my boyfriend, that is until we got into a horrible fight.” He seems to wince at his own words. “I guess I should start getting used to calling him my ex-boyfriend. But anyways, we just couldn’t stay there any longer. Kevin and I had to get out.” Louis blinks before looking around the empty tube car confusedly. “Kevin?” The man nods and then squeezes a little tighter to the little potted plant clutched in his arms. “Kevin is a Christmas Cactus, but he doesn’t bloom.” He quickly adds. “Which is completely fine, because I love him just as he is.” Louis’ not sure what most of that means. All he does know is that he needs to make sure this strange, beautiful creature is never sad again. (Or the one where two broken people meet in an empty tube car on Christmas Eve. Can they find a way to heal each other?)

What’s in a Name by HelloLovers13/ @hellolovers13 | [2.6k]

Louis had always known Harry was his soulmate. The name on his arm disagreed. But what did his soulmark know about true love anyway.

little alpha by DaddyAlphaLouisBabyOmegaHarry/ @bottomhaztoplou | [2k]

Harry's not a typical alpha, but he doesn't care as long as he has Louis.

I long for that feeling to not feel at all by ineverateakiwi/ @ineverateakiwi | [2k]

When he is not around and Harry needs to feel more grounded, steady on his own feet, he thinks of Louis. It's probably not healthy to rely on someone this heavily, but it's better than nothing. It's what he has right now. And, right now, it's working. Is thinking about that feeling, the feeling of being real, being alive, that he whispers – without thinking – those two words. — "Hurt me." Harry needs to feel something, even if it's pain. Louis gives what he needs.

Gotta Feeling by allwaswell16/ @allwaswell16 | [2k]

When Harry's life in Manchester isn't turning out the way he thought it would, he decides to visit his best friend in Mexico City. Maybe Niall can convince him to move halfway around the world.

Coming Home To You by TiredTiredTz/ @tiredtiredtz | [807]

When Louis Tomlinson passed suddenly at 82, Harry Tomlinson didn’t know how he’d survive even one day without him. Seven years later, Harry is getting tired.

Hope you enjoy the amazing work of our very talented authors.

Please please please leave COMMENTS and kudos!!!

You are the force we need to continue!

Happy reading!

#monthly fic rec #august fic rec #hlcreators #hlficlibrary #trackinghome #tracksintheam #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #hljournal #larry fic #larry fics #fic rec #larry fic rec

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dark-side-blog3 · 8 months

Text

Ignore that this Home Alone inspired poly adeuce fic is a month late. Or choose to read it for 2024 Christmas, up to you.

I had a lot of fun writing this! Put it into a word counter just for fun, and I'm surprised to see that my first real WIP I finished in 2024 is 3k long! It was just so fun to imagine a twist one of my favourite Christmas movies, and I got so caught up in the fun of it I didn't make my deadline ^^; It was originally meant to be a short little crackfic, but it was just too fun! There are some cracky, campy elements, but that's just in the spirit of the movie I based it off!

Anyways: MDNI, warnings for standard yandere things, and creepy crawlies.

++++++++++++++++++++++

"Shouldn't we be pouring salt on the pathway?"

"Nah," you smile, splashing another bucket of water on the front steps. "This is so we can have a nice slip-and-slide for tobogganing tomorrow, Grim! Same reason I'm filling up a little ice rink in the back-- I wanna do some skating. I can't wait for it to freeze over and teach you how!"

Grims' head shakes fervently as he beams; "Just you wait! I'll show you the grace and speed of a master figure skater! I'm gonna be teaching YOU how to skate by the time we're done!"

"Well if you wanna do that, you're gonna need to be well rested. Can you grab us some cookies for before-bed snacks?" you encourage, the monster agreeing and scampering off inside the dorm house to pilfer the cupboard.

You continue pouring water on the steps and trudge around the house's perimeter to check on the steps leading outside to make sure they're freezing over like you intended. You have several other home security measures to check over...

Most of the staff, and students for that matter, went home for the holidays. Family to see, vacations to take... A life to live outside of the school and other people in it. Should anything happen, Crowley was unfortunately unavailable (what else is new, the old bastard), nor was Vargas, Trein, or Crewl. Normally they'd be spattered throughout the holiday to watch over the students. But there are other teachers on the premises, and hardly any students who can't return home for whatever reason, and they let it slip by... One night during the whole winter break when none of your trusted faculty members nor any of your more powerful friends like Malleus or Idia could help if you got into trouble.

And maybe, maybe your brain has been rotted by movies and defending yourself from overblotted students.

But it's better safe than sorry.

With everything seemingly in order, and the sun setting quickly behind the treeline of school woods, you rush over to the front gate to hang a large sign:

NO SOLICITORS

Hopefully, this will deter anyone planning to intrude on you tonight.

You trudge your way back to the front door, carefully avoiding the steps. You spend the next few hours snacking with Grim while watching movies together, playing card games, and chattering about what ifs and would you rather... Before too long, it's time for bed, and Grim is out like a light, thanks to several pounds of turkey stuffing, potatoes, and cookies you still had after the holiday party days ago.

The party was fun... It did leave you with more leftovers you knew what to do with, which is always great. You got to wish Rook Joyeuses Fête, decorate cookies with Jack and Jade (the merman being much better at decorating, likely due to working in the lounge), and say goodbye to everyone dear to you before they left for their own plans... But it also had Ace and Deuce.

Which, on the one hand, they're harmless. You know they are. They're just jerks sometimes.

They should be focusing on their studies, and you had to devote your time to keeping Ramshakle clean, and Grim on task to graduate... The little monster became somewhat of a family member. Surrogate son or little brother you're not entirely sure, but you want him to succeed.

And even if the pair of heartslabyul boys were gifted students that excelled at every course with time to spare, Grim wasn't-- Grim needed your help to study, to get to class, to handle some of his projects for him when his paws would cause accidents in the potion lab. Grim needs your help to get through college, and it keeps you way too busy for a relationship with either guy.

And even though they soured the mood of the party right after you told them as such, it's the truth, and that's what it is. You're not going to jeopardize Grim's future just to date college students.

They acted like jerks for the rest of the winter break.

When everyone was opening presents, they bitched at everyone for the gifts they exchanged, teased relentlessly, knocked over decor, and told each classmate going through the magic mirror over the week to 'take their time coming back, if at all'. Poor Idia had an anxiety attack when they started teasing him; it took you half an hour to calm him down enough to stop puking and stick to just dry heaving. Grim scampered off after Idia fainted a second time... It took another hour after that to help him through the magic mirror, with his robot escorts. You would have walked through with him, but he insisted holding your hand as he left would be enough, only dragging you somewhat through the portal.

It was rubbing you the wrong way how they were picking fights with everyone, and snubbing Grim anytime they saw you and the monster around campus.

Suddenly, the front gates screech open, drawing you out of your thoughts. You peek out the sliver of the window from behind the thick curtain in the bedroom to see two figures shuffle through the snow.

It can't be them. Even if you were just thinking of them, that would be too... Convenient. Like some movie logic. Thinking of people doesn't summon them.

Whoever it is will be getting a nasty surprise in three, two, one--

A muffled thud and string of curses can be heard from the other side of the glass. You sneak your way down the stairs so you can at least see who's at the door.

"Son of a--! Grim!" Deuce shouts. So much for not summoning them.

"Open the door, little buddy! We know that you're in there and that you're all alone... Your precious prefect is spending the last night of the winter break with someone else, right?" Ace yells, quickly being joined by a snickering and rapping at the door.

A shadow presses itself against the window, trying to peer through sheer curtains. You duck behind one of the striped couches on the outside of the room, close to the walls. Through the reflection of the glass cabinet, you can see the figure stay and linger at the window, tapping against the glass with a small can.

"Come on Grim. We've got tuna for ya if you just open the door and have a chat..." Deuce says, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yells through the glass.

His shadow straightens up, before pounding back on the glass, rattling the old pane against the tight frame, the narrow strips of wood being tight enough together that neither of them could just force their way through the window; Even if they shattered all the glass.

Which Deuce just might, slamming himself into the frame as hard as he could.

"I saw you move in there! Don't ignore us!" He shatters a pane, shoving his hand through to grab at the sheer curtains and tug, ripping them.

You duck back behind the couch, scanning for tools to protect yourself. Shut up. Don't be stupid, just think. Think quick, and smart.

The banging stops for a second. Before becoming far louder-- powerful enough to feel the floor shake. Metal creaks against its hinges, and the lock crashes into the strike plate of the door.

Ignore that, focus. Cleaning supplies. Always nearby, the dorm is filthy. Dish soap and mop bucket.

You dart out from behind the couch to grab the bottle of dish soap, grabbing it and rolling up against the wall just in time as the banging stops, the door knob jiggles and a thin wire pokes itself out from the cracks between the door frame. It makes quick work of the locks on the door, before opening, and Ace proudly struts into the room. The second he does, you pop the cap and squeeze the bottle, squirting bright blue goop into his eyes and smarmy mouth! And you splurt the floor for good measure!

You sprint back to behind the couch he pulls back, sputtering, and wiping it from his eyes in thick globs. You watch through the reflection of the cabinet as Deuce shoves his way past Ace as he splatters fistfuls of goop onto the floor, next to the bottle of leaking dish soap. Ace shoves Deuce for the push, and the resulting shove has both of them slipping on the puddle of dish soap you left in your hurry.

"Ahg-- Ace?! Why are you on the floor?"

A visibly wet smack as dish soap arches off Ace's gloves, slapping damply right into Deuce's face as he grunts from under his classmate: "Get off me, you buffoon! Go find the cat-- Grim, I'm gonna skin you for this, you little creep!"

"Don't make threats until after we have the little rat, runt. If he goes tattling we're screwed--"

"There's no one to tattle to! He's all alone in this big house! Even the ghosts aren't here! If we stick his claws in an electrical socket or force-feed him motor oil, no one would think anything of it! He's just a dumb animal that killed himself without supervision!"

Something glints from under the couch. You grasp at it, finding a spare ornament, and an unused ziptie, threaded through the top. There's got to be something you can use to create a bigger distraction and get you and Grim out of here.

There has to be something in reach-- going back to the bucket in plain sight of them is too risky. Shoving your hand under the couch, your clutch the first thing that your grasp: An aerosol room freshener. Score.

Wrapping the ziptie around the spray trigger, you tighten it and roll it over to the boys, still scrambling about on the floor. You watch from the reflection in the cabinet as Deuce gets a heavy spray right in the eyes, hollering in pain!

"AUGH-- Fucker! You think you're so smart, punk?! Your little bomb just gave away your position!" Deuce shouts, whipping out his magic pen, covering his eyes.

You feel a sense of dread. Primal instinct. You leap out from behind the couch just as he summons a caldron to crash into the couch, narrowly missing you as it smashes the solid oak to splinters. Splinters stick to your socks, embedding in your feet as you scamper off to another room, streams of water and gusts of wind being shot after you.

Just as you turn the corner to climb up the stairs and rush to Grim's room, you hear Ace curse exasperatedly, stumbling his way to the end of the hall to stare at you, still wiping his eyes on his sleeves. Another string of sighed curses leaves his lips as he watches you scramble up the stairs, making accidental eye-contact.

They know their plans are botched now.

Gotta climb faster.

On all fours, you claw up the stairs, just as a tug on your ankle forces your jaw to slam into them. Casting a glance backwards, Ace has gripped your ankle with his sticky gloves, grinning madly as you struggle to tug your ankle away from him, and try to dodge the other one of his hands trying to grasp for your other leg, only to end up sloppily groping your ass before trying again. You try to shake and kick him off, getting a hits to the side of his head, but not as effective as if you had room to wind up. He's gripping so hard it feels like he's going to break something. You scramble, shifting your weight side to side to get him off, prying yourself off the stairs and scratching your nails into the old wood. Your nails cling to the baseboard, prying the edge as much as you can, the wood creaking and snapping off with each desperate tug to pull yourself up.

The baseboard snaps, and you find yourself with a small wooden shiv, thinking to whip around and stab it into Ace's hand, leading him to retract for a second long enough for you to scramble up a step again-- before being slammed back down into the wood as you're grabbed again.

A girthy, irrate red centipede wiggles its way out from the hole in the baseboard, defensive of the now-ruined home.

You snatch it up, close to the head and the snapping mandibles as it wriggled and writhed, as you slowly reached back around to Ace, still clinging to your legs as you tried to shake him off. The teen was so focused on keeping you still as he pulled some ducttape off the roll with his teeth, that he didn't see the massive, snakelike body of the centipede until it was too late; And you stick it right on his face.

He seemed to freeze, giving you enough time to tug your leg again, just as he screamed an ear-piecing shriek!

Ace pawed at his face squirming violently on the stairs, thumping loudly on each step back to the bottom as you sprinted your way upstairs, into Grims room, slamming and locking the door behind you!

"What the hell is wrong--"

"PSYCHO PREFECT IS WHAT! Is it in my hair? Fucking thing was thick as a finger, and they put it right on my face! Is it in my hair?!"

"The prefect is home?! Dude! We're so screwed!"

"So go up there and get them, dipshit! Why are you standing still when they're up there getting a fucking bear trap or something ready?! Are you having an aneurysm or something?! Why are you just staring at me like that?!"

"...Ace... Don't... Move."

"Deuce... What are you talking about? Go get them-"

"Don't. Move."

"Deuce..?"

The telltale crash of a cast iron cauldron smashing through your rotten wood floors makes you nearly shit yourself, glancing back at a sleep-stirring Grim.

"DID I GET IT?"

"YOU ALMOST CRUSHED MY SKULL YOU NUTCASE!"

"DID I GET IT?!"

"You fucking moron!"

You snatch Grim up, using the blanket he was sleeping with like a hobo bag to hold him in, and open the window, edging your way carefully onto the roof. If you can just make safely to the other side of Ramshackle, you can try scaling down the ivy. And it will at least give you a head start-- Maybe hiding out in Sams is the best idea. A store owner must have a CCTV, right? And if Ace and Deuce try and kill either of you, then even if something happens to you, they'll get caught...

You wrap the corners of Grims blanket around your shoulders, like a makeshift baby pouch. You can definitely feel him squirming on your back, starting to wake up. You let go of the window, slipping down the rough roof tile. Laying on your stomach, you side-shuffle over, staying as low to the roof as you can to get the most traction. The edge nearly takes you by surprise when your foot doesn't connect with length that's not there. Slowly, you shuffle even closer to the edge, swaying your arm around the edge to find the vines of Ivy.

"I FOUND 'EM, ACE!"

Your head whips around to see Deuce leaning as far as he can out of the window before he scrambles to get onto the roof.

Whipping your head back to focus, you grab a fistful of vines and pull the rest of your body off the roof! You snatch another fistful with your other hand as you fall.

And fall all the way down, watching in horror as the ivy peels itself from the brick walls.

You feel Grim claw his way out of the pouch and onto your face just in time, as you land on your back with a sickening crunch.

"Oh shit," Ace comments, seemingly having been waiting for you at the bottom of the wall. You see Grim flee across the yard out of the corner of your eye, unable to lift your head.

The sound of snow crunching underfoot, and Deuce panting like crazy soon joins Ace in staring at you as you lay helpless on the ground. As soon as he arrives he gets asked: "Are we gonna get Grim?"

"No point, really..." Comes the huffed response; "We were gonna get him to fuck off, and he's fucked right off. Tonight didn't really go to plan anyway."

A boot gently kicks at your side as Ace turns his attention back to you: "Are you paralyzed or something? That was quite the fall."

You open your mouth to speak, but only a cracked whine makes it out. You cringe and try again, but nothing intelligible comes out.

"Holy shit, they're brain-damaged!" Ace grins, laughing as he backs away from you.

You feel Deuce tugging at your legs in the snow, dragging you from your shallow ditch in the snow. He begins tugging you closer to the dorm, before he drops your legs, moving to grab you under your arms and haul you that way, up against a wall. Breaking a window, he shoves you in, head first. The cold floors of Ramshackle are still warmer than the ice and snow.

"Alright. Hey, real quick, can you feel this?" Deuce begins poking you with a wire from an ornament, starting with your legs, and making his way up on both sides. You nod, wincing at some particularly sharp pricks, to which Deuce responds by rubbing the area to dull the pain.

"Can you say where you are right now? Do you know who I am? Who you are?" You nod again, voice stumbling through a pained response.

"Awesome. You're not brain-damaged! You're probably just winded from the fall. Is anything broken? Can you wiggle your fingers and toes? Try twisting side to side. If you can't it means your spine might be broken, and you need a doctor."

You comply, weirded out by the sudden care, but the doctor comment means they will call someone. And that someone will keep you safe, and them away. The pain's already fading, and likely nothing serious, but you could trick them... Deuce particularly seems like a soft touch. You wince as you try to twist, feigning inability.

Deuce makes a worried expression, like he's about to piss himself from fear.

He backs off slightly, giving you a bit more breathing room: "Try crossing your arms and lifting them as far away from your ribs as you can".

You comply again, feigning difficulty,

And duct tape wraps around your wrists instantly. Deuce presses his knee down into your chest to pin you down as he wraps as tightly as he can, while Ace ties your legs from outside.

"This really, really isn't my style. But we've got to get you somewhere that is not here when the teachers come back tomorrow, and we can't have Grim knowing where to find you." Deuce rambles, soaking his glove in a bottle of something, before pressing it to your face. He continues rambling, leaning in closer to whisper: "And I know how this looks! But I promise we won't do anything to you while you sleep. Or when you wake up! I swear! It's all more normal than it seems tonight-- or it can be anyways. And... And if you give me some time, give me a chance, we can even ditch Ace and forget this night ever happened! You just need some time somewhere else..."

The room spins with dark spots as Deuce presses his soaked glove further into your face. He continues rambling at you, while you feel Ace begin dragging you back out the window again. The snow doesn't feel cold this time as you fall into it. It just feels soft.

#my writing!#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere poly #poly yandere #yandere ace trappola #yandere ace #yandere deuce #yandere deuce spade #yandere adeuce #yandere poly adeuce #bug tw #creepy crawlies tw #yandere crackfic #sorta~! It is for sure all over the place. but so is the moive tbh #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #holidays.!

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serial-serializednovelreader · 2 months

Note

For the ask game: 10 and 17, Jonathan Harker!

Yay! Always happy to get an ask about one of my favorite characters in fiction :))))))))))

10. Best moment on screen (or in the book):

This is super hard, since he has SO many good moments!! I am going to keep this spoiler-free, since I'm not sure if you've read Dracula all the way through or not and I don't want to spoil anything (if you have read the book, I do talk about a few of my favorite moments with Jonathan that take place later in the book in this ask!).

I would have to say him attempting to save the child he hears the three sisters feeding on in Dracula’s room. I think it's truly a defining moment for him. We've just seen Jonathan (understandably) scream in fear for his life after seeing the three women again and only feeling safe in his room. He knows as long as he stays in there, he will remain safe. But as soon as he hears a child in danger, he's willing to risk facing those women again *and* Dracula to save a child he doesn't know and doesn't even know if he can save. I don't think he even considers any of that in the moment — he's just ready to do it. That's what makes him a hero in my eyes. Being willing to do what's right, no matter the cost. Of course, Dracula prevents him to do so by locking the door and...he cries. It's such a human moment from him and I appreciate that we get this moment of raw honesty. It's the first time we see him do so in his time at castle Dracula.

I think Shovel Day is very important too, don’t get me wrong. I just think that this moment is what truly defines him — in my eyes — as a hero and is his best moment on screen followed by him hitting Dracula with a shovel!

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them:

Going off of this moment, I have two quotes that I think go great with it:

"There are stories about every hero. How they became great. Most have one thing in common. Their bodies moved before they had a chance to think. Almost on their own." -- All Might, My Hero Academia (dubbed version of S1 Ep.2)

"Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are alive." -- Charlotte Brontë

Now for my favorite quotes from Jonathan Harker (again, spoiler-free!):

“(Mem., get recipe for Mina.)”

“‘Do you know what day it is?’ I answered that it was the fourth of May.”

“Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor—for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor!”

“If there were any one to talk to I could bear it, but there is no one. I have only the Count to speak with, and he!—I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place.”

(about Dracula yeeting his mirror) “It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave”

“(Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow—or like the ghost of Hamlet's father.)”

“Once more have I seen the Count go out in his lizard fashion.”

“I am surely in the toils.”

“Despair has its own calms.”

“This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed cudgelling my brains…”

“It makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I am shut up here, a veritable prisoner, but without that protection of the law which is even a criminal's right and consolation.”

“Let me not think of it. Action!”

“Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has gone why may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from his window. Why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window?”

“As he went down the wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might destroy him; but I fear that no weapon wrought alone by man's hand would have any effect on him.”

“Good-bye, all! Mina!”

As for songs, I made two playlists about Jonathan Harker, one about his time trapped in the castle and one about his relationship with Mina (here's the post with the playlists included, for your reference!). I'll highlight one song from each that are my personal favorites.

Striking and ominous with an epic feel, Run Boy Run by Woodkid definitely embodies what we're all shouting to Jonathan while he's going to the castle. However, I can definitely picture this song taking place as he's climbing down the castle walls (lizard fashion, of course) and attempting to escape. I imagine the musical interludes are flashbacks during his time at the castle and the various horrors he experiences. What happens at the end with the hopeful swell of the song is up to you...

Lyrics to highlight:

Run boy run!/ This world is not made for you Run boy run!/ They're trying to catch you Run boy run!/ Running is a victory

Tomorrow is another day/ And when the night fades away/ You'll be a man,/ boy! But for now it's time to run,/ it's time to run!

An 80s rock ballad, You're the Inspiration by Chicago is swoony and romantic with an electric edge. This is one of my favorite love songs and it definitely embodies how Jonathan feels for Mina! If Dracula was set in a modern time period, I could definitely see Jonathan serenading Mina with this song during karaoke night (bonus points if he can’t sing, but it’s the sweetest music to her, lol).

Lyrics to highlight:

You should know,/ everywhere I go/

Always on my mind,/ in my heart

In my soul,/ baby

You're the meaning in my life/

You're the inspiration/

You bring feeling to my life/

You're the inspiration

And I know,/ yes I know that it's plain to see/

So in love when we're together/

Now I know that I need you here with me/

From tonight until the end of time

Ask game here

#thanks for the ask anon!#hope you like <3 #:)))#jonathan harker #dracula daily #dracula #ask game #anon answered #answered asks

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uniquevoidflowers · 8 months

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Linked Arena-Part 1

(From the perspective of Masks or the Hero of Time)

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Coming!”

Link rushed to the door of the ranch and swung it open to see a cloaked figure there. Rain poured outside, pattering on their hood and soaking everything. “What do you need?” Link asked, leaning slightly against the door.

“I have something for you.” The cloaked figure told him quietly.

Link’s eyes narrowed. “For me? From who?”

“It’s a message. You’ll know who it’s from when you read it.” The cloaked figure insisted and pulled out an envelope.

Link took the envelope, curiosity getting the better of him. The symbol of the Triforce was stamped onto the envelope.

Interesting.

“So this is from the royal family? Who are-“ When Link looked up the cloaked figure was gone.

“Fairy boy?” Malon called and hurried over. “Who was that?”

“I don’t know.” Link replied and shoved the envelope down into his pocket before Malon could see it.

“Was it another solicitor? There have been so many of them coming to the ranch.” Malon huffed, scowling.

“…Yeah.” Link answered uneasily.

His wife sighed and grabbed a sign. “I’m going to put this up now. Hopefully they get the message.”

Link watched as Malon left, sign in her hands. He pulled out the envelope and teared the top off. He had never really been patient with these small things.

Hero of Time

You bested the evil man Ganondorf, and the ugly creature Majora.

You defied time and fate with the intent to save others.

You have proven how strong you are…Yet…

Many heroes have risen up to defeat evil, whether it be before your time, or after your time.

They are also incredibly strong…All of their hearts are pure. Just like yours.

Where am I going with this? You’re probably asking…

All of you heroes must fight each other in an arena I have prepared.

The winner will be gifted the Triforce.

More details will be explained at the right time, but train as hard as you can Hero of Time.

Your opponents are no pushovers.

The letter wasn’t signed. The piece of paper slipped out of his shaky hands and fell slowly to the ground. “A f***ing arena?!”

Malon peeked back inside, looking concerned. “Link? What are you talking about?”

Link grabbed the letter and ripped it into pieces and then stormed off. “Wait! Link!” Malon called rushing to him and grabbing his arm. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“She wants me to go fight in an arena against other heroes. The prize is the Triforce.” Link growled.

Malon’s eyes went wide. She certainly wasn’t expecting that. “You don’t have to go, right?”

“I hope so.” He murmured his anger fading a little.

Malon picked up the shredded pieces of paper and threw them away. Link sat down at the table, fists clenched. “You know…maybe there is some good to this arena fight.” Malon mused.

“What?”

“Hear me out! You’d be able to make sure that Ganondorf doesn’t come back. Ever. You could make sure that Hyrule stays a kingdom of peace.” Malon explained, hope shining in her eyes.

Link wanted to immediately reject the idea but she had a point. “Of course if you don’t want to, don’t. I just…want you to feel at peace instead of going away every month to fight something and coming back with various injuries.” Malon admitted.

“I’ll do it.” He decided, deadpanning.

“You sure you want to do this?” Malon asked, only care and love in her features.

Link nodded and hugged her. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“You better be.” She replied and let him pull away.

Malon kissed his cheek and walked away. Link sighed and grabbed his bag and a sword, and then he walked outside. He looked up at the sky, eyes blazing with determination. “I’m ready, Hylia.”

Right in front of him reality crumbled and stretched so there was a hole in the air. He walked through and saw a dungeon-like room. Other Hylians, kids and adults sat there, keeping to themselves. None of them even spared a glance at Link. Link sat down in a similarly manner, since he wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence. A light filled the dim dungeon and a woman walked through. She had white long hair and golden eyes, her dress was more like a robe, a white robe with golden details on it. “Heroes.” She thundered.

Everyone looked at her. “Welcome to my arena. You have chosen to come here and fight and I commend you for that.” She smiled. “After this there is no going back. Nothing you say or do will take you back to your home. I will give you one finally opportunity to leave.” Her voice irritated him. It was like she was taunting them.

No one moved. “Very well. Here is how this will work.” She turned around and revealed an arena.

It was bare but lights illuminated the ground and seats surrounded the battleground. A barrier separated the seats from the battleground. “There will be rounds. You will not die at first…only if you are not the last one standing at the end of these rounds. You will fight each other, in duos. The winning duo will gain a point. The duo that has the most points at the end will face off against each other. Whoever wins that will get the Triforce. Make sense?” She finished.

“I have to work with one of my opponents?” The one with the blonde and pink hair scowled.

“Yes. This will truly test your physical and mental abilities. Now, I will give you a few days to train and rest before the battles begin. There should be rooms with your names on them. You will share a room with your teammate.” She demanded.

After that the heroes split up and Link searched through the hallways for his name. He found his room. The sign read:

Hero of Time, Hero of Legend

Link walked inside to see the room split into two sides. One had Link’s belongings and was decorated to his own preference. The other side had tons of bags spread out across the bed. There seemed to be a theme of bunnies. Suddenly the door burst open and the blonde and pink haired hero walked in. He sat down on his bed and sighed.

Should Link say something? Introduce himself?

“So, we’re a team, huh?” The blonde and pink haired hero spoke, surprising Link.

“It seems so. I take it you’re the Hero of Legend?” Link replied.

“Don’t like being called that but yeah.” He responded something bitter in his tone.

“So what do I call you?” Link asked.

“I’m Link.” The Hero of Legend answered.

“…Funny thing is that my name is Link as well.” Link told him dryly.

The Hero of Legend merely huffed, not surprised. “I guess we need nicknames then.”

“Hmm.” Link responded, thinking.

“I think you could be nicknamed Mask or Masks or something like that. You seem like the mysterious type.” The Hero of Legend shrugged.

That was…fitting. “Sure. Call me Masks.” Masks decided.

Masks took a look at the Hero of Legend and his side of the room. “Reverie.” Masks said out loud.

“What?” A shadow crossed over the Hero of Legend’s face.

“I think you could be called Reverie…maybe Rev for short?” Masks suggested.

The Hero of Legend thought for a moment before nodding. “That works. Call me Rev.”

“This is going to be long. I can already tell something’s off.” Masks sighed. “But no matter. We should discuss strategies for the upcoming battles.”

“It’s important to get rest before you strategize or fight. We’ll rest first then discuss.” Rev retorted.

Masks purses his lips but nodded. “Fine then.”

Rev curled up into his bed and closed his eyes, Masks following in suit. Suddenly a scream filled the air and Masks eyes flew open. “What was that?” He asked no one in particular.

“I’m going to check it out. There’s no telling what happens in this place.” Rev ran off and Masks followed, both curious and concerned.

“Why would you do that?!” Someone screeched.

#unique writes #linked arena #linked arena masks #linked arena reverie

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farfromstrange · 1 year

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Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter Twelve: Just Let Me Adore You

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael takes you someplace special for your first date, and you have the best night of your life.

Warnings: Fluff. Like seriously, this is fluffy as fuck. 9k words of pure fluff.

Word Count: 9.1k (I am so sorry this got a bit out of hand)

A/n: You have a bit of suggestive language in here, but nothing explicit. That’s reserved for the next chapter, which will be a pure Smut update. I thought I’d keep the goods to myself for a little while longer and give you a break before the Angst Train drives into the Michael Kinsella station…

You have been to a few dates in the past. Most of them ended in a dirty bar or a restaurant, but you at least knew what you were signing yourself up for.

When Michael texted you while you were at work, telling you he would be waiting at your front door at nine in the evening exactly, you of course texted back and asked where he would be taking you, but he didn’t react to that.

So you text him again, ‘Just tell me so I know what to wear :(‘

‘Wear something u feel comfortable in xx,’ is all he replies.

Something comfortable is a broad range of clothes and it doesn’t help your confusion at all. No matter how many times you keep pressing him, he won’t tell you where he is taking you, and that makes you uneasy.

He told you he would use the time he has left today to get his records straight and make an appointment with the solicitor that is helping him get visitation rights for Anna.

The copy of the contract Ava whipped up for him has been in his hands like precious cargo ever since you left the office building. He insisted to walk to his house from the café, which isn’t that long of a walk compared to your apartment, and you only hesitantly agreed to let him back there after everything he told you.

He insisted that he needed to do this because he has to somehow learn how to navigate his life on his own again after staying with you for a few days. Things are different now, he told you, and you had to agree because he has a new job now and you haven’t been together long enough to move in together, so you both need to coordinate things on your own.

Once he knows what his chances of seeing Anna again are, he has to take the necessary steps to assure the court of granting him those rights. Another thing you agree with. You support him fully, but the thought of his family somehow luring him back in and then you’ll lose him – it’s not the crime you’re worried about, it’s losing him to jail or a gun or any other weapon that might kill and take him away from you – keeps occupying your mind.

A stable home, a job, and a good track record do wonders when it comes to cases that involve children. He needs that. The meeting with Ava gave him a boost you didn’t expect, but he seemed lighter and a lot more motivated when you kissed him goodbye. And he seems stable enough on his own, no longer angry or sad, which is also something you never thought you’d say.

It might be the adrenaline, but you like to believe he is on a good path and he cherishes that enough to see things a lot more positively this time around.

He told you he loved you. It still hasn’t fully settled in, but you said it back because it’s true; you love him. It’s a surreal scene in your head and you have been floating ever since you clocked in.

There are only a few more hurdles in the way. For one, it’s your past. For two, Michael’s family. And three, there is still a chance a judge won’t rule in Michael's favor, and that might actually break him. You hope that the meeting with his solicitor goes well, at least, and he gets to have a chance at getting to know his little girl again. You want nothing more for him.

He was right when he asked if the reason you understand his situation so well was because of your sister. You’re not a mother, but you’ve felt like one many times in the past and it’s a kind of love that never dies.

You should tell him the truth, you think. About everything, not just your sister but the rest of your family as well. He needs to know who you are and what baggage you’re carrying. It’s baggage that could affect your relationship once it takes a turn for the worse. You want to be honest, but where would you even begin to explain the shit show your life was before you moved to Ireland?

You can see the hope clearer now. You have someone by your side who is willing to do anything for you if you as much as asked him, he said so himself, without knowing the full story, and that means you can trust him. You know you can. But you don’t know if you can trust yourself.

You’re always worried for those you love, and you’re always on the lookout. It’s not like your secrets could end in a war; you’re carrying a dark past that might come to haunt you one day, but that would be entirely on you. You can’t drag Michael into that, no matter how much you want to because once you get hurt, he won’t be able to live with himself.

He might start worrying too much, trying to fix your situation, but there is nothing that can be fixed. You have to sneak around with your own sister to even know she’s alive, and it has always been this way, at least ever since you moved away, and you would have to continue doing so before–

You shake the dark thoughts off. You were so happy a few seconds ago, thinking about Michael and your future and your feelings for him, and the thoughts about your family didn’t hesitate to overshadow the little light he lit in your heart. But you won’t allow them to do that. You love Maya, you love her more than life itself, and you’re going to do anything in your power to keep her safe once it comes down to it, but things are okay right now. You can look at it with a clear head and make a wise decision instead of a rushed one, maybe even make a plan and find another way than the ones you’ve mapped out before.

You need to take what little peace you have now and use it for good instead of being a reckless idiot and letting the memories of your past that the last few weeks have triggered in you affect the way you live your life.

And maybe then you can talk to Michael about everything and take the helping hand he has offered you.

Looking back at Michael’s ominous text about your equally as mysterious date, you frown. You considered a few different possibilities. He could be taking you to a less fancy dinner, or he could be taking you to the park, which would explain why your clothes have to be comfortable, but you’re not sure, and that irks you.

You ask him again, but all he sends back is a winky emoji. Up until this point, you didn’t even know he was capable of using emojis. He always seems so confused with electronic devices of any kind, it’s endearing. But he’s just a normal human being who has been away for a long time and now he’s experiencing the world again in a brand new light and that can be fucking confusing.

He’s a father, but he lost eight years with his daughter and now he’s deemed a danger by many, especially the woman taking care of his daughter, and he’s not even sure if she wants to see him, and that is even more confusing for him because he has never learned how to deal with all of these emotions.

Michael always had to function for everyone else around him. He never had a chance to discover who he is and what he wants, even though he had what he wanted for a while, but that was taken from him again and now he has to learn how to live with the guilt and with himself. It’s hard. You get it.

You’ve been there, in a way. Your situations are different, but you feel a deeper understanding because you relate to his pain, and that’s what makes you love him so much more. He’s trying in more ways than one, and that should be acknowledged. He should have someone to support him, even if it can’t be his own family.

He’s not a servant, he’s a human being; he deserves to be treated accordingly.

“Thanks for nothing,” you grumble to yourself, still not close to deciphering what he is planning to do with you.

Part of you is hoping it will end in bed at the end of the night because you’re weirdly horny – checking your period tracker, you notice that you’re ovulating, and it makes sense that you suddenly want to jump his bones while he’s not even near, which will also make for an interesting night, but you push that thought away to focus on the mystery at hand.

What is he planning for your date?

Michael can be such a tease if he wants to be.

Soon enough, after getting home and taking a long shower for your aching muscles, you find yourself panicking in front of your closet like a teenager.

You would consider yourself a romantic; you love rom-coms and romance movies, and you love going on dates as long as they’re meaningful. Atop the broken heart you carry inside, there’s a protective wrap that has been built up on fiction and romanticizing your life. It’s the only way you survived as a child and is surviving now, but living so much in your head prevents you from seeing reality clearly, and that tends to hurt you. You hurt yourself by ignoring the truth, as you did with Maya, and then things turn to shit. Michael is your little beacon of hope. He’s your lucky charm.

You haven’t finished a book or a story because you’re still hung up on the past and it seems like too much of a responsibility. Or maybe you don’t feel capable enough.

You never had support. It wasn’t a lie when you said your parents weren’t happy with your career choice and that’s why you left, but it isn’t the full truth, and the real reason why you left runs deeper. You thought you could start writing once you’re far away from that hellhole, but everything you have started since then landed in the trash because you get insecure, and then you realize that what you have romanticized isn’t true and you don’t ever go back to it.

Maybe it is time to change that now. Your eyes flick to your laptop. The Duke and his promised badass Princess of a promised wife are waiting for you to stretch your fingers and start typing, but once again the claws around your heart pull you back. You can’t. You shouldn’t.

But maybe it’s time that you do, anyway.

You turn back to your outfit for the night, which you haven’t decided on yet and it’s already half past eight.

Only one date in your entire life has been thoroughly thought-out, and the guy dumped you after that.

Frustrated and out of your mind, you dial Sarah’s number and hope she has some smart advice for you since she is the one out of you two who is addicted to going on dates every chance she gets.

After a few rings, she picks up. “Hello!” she cheerily answers. “What is my favorite sunshine up to? Couldn’t go a day without me?”

You plop down on your bed. “I need your help,” you say.

“With what?”

“Picking an outfit for a date.”

There is a short pause before she sighs. “So Mister Mobster asked ya out?” she says. “Is it like to celebrate his ass gettin’ hired or somethin’? Because if it’s bout tha’, I still haven’t been able to fully accept your text message.”

“I’m sorry I did it over text, Sarah, but you weren’t working today and I didn’t have the time to call. And it’s not just a celebratory date, I… we… okay, promise you won’t hate me after this?”

“Depends on what yer about to tell me.”

“He told me he loved me,” you admit.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” She takes another deep, dramatic breath. “I am not nearly drunk enough for this.”

“You said you’d accept him!” Your voice changes pitch. “You said you’d try and I want you to try. For me. Because… because once you meet him—”

“What, I’m gonna like him?” she cuts you off. “Ya know it’s not that easy to look over all the crimes he’s been involved in, right? You were the one who told me about all of tha’, so it’s kinda your fault, too.”

Silence settles between you. She is a lot more composed than the first time around, but her frustration is still palpable. You can’t say you blame her; you can’t blame her, not after you ran to her when you first found out and you, yourself, were still somewhat uneasy. Sarah cares about you. This isn't just about Michael’s past, this is about her not wanting you to get hurt, and if she knew about your past, she would take it even more seriously. That is just the kind of person she is and you love that about her.

You look up at the ceiling. Your voice sounds brittle when you finally speak, but she can feel the passion and the devotion radiating off of your tongue with every word. “I love him,” you say, “and I want to be with him. You either accept it or you don’t, but I want to turn his head more than once tonight and I do plan to get thoroughly fucked at the end of this, so I could really use your expertise on the outfit. I’m not asking for relationship advice, I’m just asking for you to be my friend.”

Sarah lets out a long, exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. You can almost picture her rolling her eyes before finally speaking. “Alright, alright, I get it. Ya really know how to pull the guilt card, don't ya?” she says, her voice tinged with a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Fine, I'll help you. But don't expect me to suddenly embrace Mister Mob-Daddy-That-Said-I-Love-You-First with open arms. I do want ya to have a good night though, and I want ya t’be devoured ‘cause honestly if he's good in bed, ya go get him, girl.”

You chuckle at her enthusiastic response.

“Now, puttin’ aside the fact that I still don’t understand why you fell fer a mobster, out of all people, let’s talk about this date. Where is he takin’ ya?”

“That’s the thing,” you say with a look at your closet. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” she asks.

“It means I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. He said he’ll pick me up at nine and we’ll walk there together.”

“That’s… ominous.”

“Yeah, but not in a dangerous sense. Don’t even start.”

She throws her hands up, the rustling of her dress betrays her. “I wasn’t even sayin’ anything!”

“You were thinking it,” you retort. “No. He told me to wear something comfortable. That is all I know about tonight, and it’s freaking me out. That’s why I called you. I’m not good with clothes. I need your help.”

“Okay, okay,” she caves, “I’ll help ya. In fact, I do you one better and tell you exactly what to wear.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I know yer wardrobe inside and out and I know exactly what you should wear tonight with Mister Mysterious Mobster on your Mysterious Mobster Date.”

“Would you stop saying mobster?” you say and try to sound annoyed, but your lip twitches into a smirk anyway. “He’s just Michael,” you add.

“Just Michael it is then,” she says, and you can hear the smile in her voice. “For tonight, I’m gonna accept that.”

“Thank you, Sarah, I–”

“Silence!” Her voice echoes dramatically in your ear, and she puts on a fake posh accent that has you cringing. “Let’s find you something marvelous to wear, my dear.”

“Only if you drop the accent.”

“Fine. Way to ruin the fun, but anyway…”

She picks a pair of jeans she weirdly knows exactly where to find. They’re your most comfortable pair, and she chooses a top to match with that, which she says will be easier to take off, and you once again wonder how many times she analyzed your closet when she visited you.

“Throw on some ankle boots, a denim jacket, and those cute little butterfly earrings you have,” she continues. “Cross-body bag, red lipstick, hair tied back with a butterfly clip and you’re a hundred percent yourself but also smoking hot. Oh, and don’t forget to wear that green lingerie set. The one with the lace. I think he’s gonna love that.”

You stare at the outfit on your bed, a little surprised that she managed to put together something that screams your name, but it's also a little more adventurous. When you consider that on your first night with Michael, you wore the ugliest underwear known to man, and the next day you did it again; he never minded because underwear, in his eyes, is something that demands to be taken off, but wearing lingerie would drive him crazy nonetheless, and you feel a little better about yourself when you think about tonight. Sarah's choice boosts your confidence.

“I don’t even want to know how you know all of my clothes,” you say, “but thank you, Sarah. This is… this is going to work great.”

Sarah laughs on the other end of the line. “A girl's gotta have her secrets, sunshine,” she answers. “Just remember to have a fabulous time tonight and enjoy every moment.”

You can hear the sincerity in her voice, and it warms your heart. Sarah has always been there for you, supporting you in her unique way. You appreciate a friend who is not afraid to say what she truly thinks.

You carry your outfit into the bathroom, squeezing the phone between your shoulder and ear. “I'll let you know how it goes,” you tell her. She requires you to give details whenever you go out, and tonight is not going to be any different.

She claps. “Of course! I want all the juicy details. Top to bottom. Bed to the dining table. His end to your end. I need it all!”

You laugh, your cheeks flushing bright red. “Oh, God! That's... that's a lot of details.” But you can feel yourself getting lighter and more excited than before. “Thank you. I will update you,” you say. “And send you pictures. Of the outfit, I mean.”

The smirk in her voice is audible when she retorts, “I don't mind other pictures…”

“Okay,” you remove the phone from your ear, “No nudes for you. Bye, bye!”

And you hang up on her, your lips still curled into a smile, and as you watch yourself in the mirror you can tell that it’s not just pretense – you’re happy.

Taylor Swift blares in the background as you start getting ready. You slip into the carefully chosen outfit, making sure every detail is in place.

You know he won't care that much; he prefers you to wear what you want, and it's something no man has ever told you before. It is the bare minimum, but it draws you to him even more because he accepts you and accepts that you're your own person capable of making your own choices, and it means he appreciates your style at least to a certain point.

The jeans Sarah picked hug your curves just right, and the top accentuates your figure in all the best ways. As you fasten the ankle boots and put on the denim jacket, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You have struggled to accept yourself for a while, but you can't deny that you look pretty.

The lingerie underneath is a small, intimate secret that only you know, a little surprise waiting to be revealed. A gift to be unwrapped. It will drive Michael wild once he discovers you're wearing it, and your heart skips a beat when you think about the things he would do to you.

With your hair tied back and the butterfly earrings adorning your ears, you take a moment to apply the bold red lipstick. A bold lip goes a long way, Sarah once said, and she stands firmly by that. Lipstick often wears off after a while, but she got you one that is actually kiss-safe; Michael would kiss you even with lipgloss on, but you don't want to annoy him with the taste too much.

Looking at your reflection one last time, you feel confident.

Taking a deep breath, you grab your phone and keys, slipping them into the cross-body bag. For a night, you can allow yourself to let go just a little and enjoy yourself with the man you love.

Love. It's still such a big word and it feels weird to even think about it, but at the same time the thought alone fills you with endless warmth and you can't believe he is yours, and he has vowed to be yours now.

At nine exactly, there is a knock on your door. You take a deep breath. This feels like your first-ever date and you’re nervous, but you’re also excited. This is new for both of you, but you are determined to make it work.

When you open the door, Michael stands there wearing his best black jacket, the tight-fitting green sweater underneath that he wore the first time you met and a pair of jeans that hug him just right. His hair is messy, but in a way that seems wanted. He seems to have trimmed his beard and he’s wearing clean shoes instead of his dirty boots tonight.

He cleans up nicely, and he looks good. He is a sight to behold and your cheeks flush bright red at the sight of him.

What makes it worse though is the bouquet of daisies and beautiful violets in his hands. He’s not carrying classical roses or tulips; the bouquet is colorful and adorned with the sweetest flowers you know, and the scent hits you just right.

Your heart skips a beat. He remembered little details about you that you don’t even consciously notice about yourself, and if that isn’t a silent gesture to tell you how much he loves you, you don’t know what is. Telling you the truth must have taken him a lot of courage, and he might struggle to do so again, which you understand, but he’s showing it to you and that’s more than enough.

Michael’s jaw drops when he sees you. His lips carry a small smile of surprise, his cheeks soon matching your color as he takes in the sight of you, shamelessly checking you out. The flowers quiver in his hands and he has to refrain from throwing them aside, pushing you back into your apartment, and fucking you right there against the wall.

“Wow,” he exhales.

You return the sentiment, subconsciously reaching out to touch one of the violets that are pointed in your direction. “Wow,” you murmur.

“You look…” He licks his lips, struggling to find a word that conveys your beauty. He’s awestruck, and his mind stops functioning.

He was stupid enough to plan a whole speech to make this night perfect, but you stole his breath and now he can’t seem to get it back. You’ve stolen all of him, but he loves that because that means he is yours – body, mind, and soul – and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I wasn’t sure what to wear,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I wasn’t sure where we’re going and you said to dress comfortably, not to dress up, but then I didn’t feel comfortable just wearing something random, and you said comfortable, so I tried out a few things, called Sarah, and… here I am.” You open your arms, awkwardly showing off your whole outfit to him. “I hope it’s enough,” you say.

He blinks a few times, his mouth opening and closing. He looks like a computer trying to reboot after a circuit failure. You watch him, your eyebrows furrowed. Does he not like it? You put a lot of effort into your outfit — Sarah did, anyway. You feel pretty, but what if he doesn’t think so?

You would never let your worth be defined by a man, let alone him, but it would hurt a little because you wanted to look good for both of you tonight. You wanted him to enjoy looking at you as if you were a meal he can’t resist. You take his silence as a bad sign, insecurities eating away at you, until he finally snaps out of his trance when he sees hurt flash across your face.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says.

Maybe you were expecting the worst, after all. Your blush deepens out of embarrassment this time, looking down at your feet to hide it.

“Oh, and... I, uh... got these for ya," he stammers, realizing he forgot to mention the flowers. “I dunno if they're your favorite, but... I noticed you like violets and daisies 'cause ya have a lot of scented things…” He offers the bouquet to you. “Couldn’t exactly get ya a vanilla plant.”

Well done, Michael. He internally curses himself for the stupid joke. But then you laugh and his worries fade away.

“First date means flowers, right? Or so I’ve heard. I’m not up-to-date on date culture. Is tha’... Is tha’ what they call it? Date culture?”

You only start laughing more.

The lighthearted tone brings a smile to his face. You cover your mouth, trying to stifle your laughter, but it still fills the room with its song and his heart with warmth.

“First date, date culture, whatever you want to call it,” you say after calming down, and you take the flowers from him with a smile. “And these flowers... they're perfect, Michael. Thank you.”

He exhales a sigh of relief. “I'm glad you like them,” he says. “I was worried I got the wrong ones or somethin'.”

You delicately hold the vibrant blooms in your hands, tracing the petals with your fingers. You get lost in thought for a moment before turning back to him. “They're exactly what I needed. And what I wanted. No one…” you trail off, your chest heaving with a sigh. “No one’s gotten me flowers before,” you admit. “So, thank you.”

Michael's cheeks turn a shade of pink, matching the color of the flowers in your hands. “I... I wanted to make tonight special. I know we're both new at this, but I want it to be a night to remember. And yer so beautiful, you deserve all the flowers.”

Your eyes crinkle. “I'm already having a night to remember.”

“I'm glad,” he says, matching your soft smile. “So…” He switches between the bouquet and your face, and you take it as a hint to put them aside. “Should we go? I, uh, have a surprise for ya.”

His smile looks genuine and you love how the happiness defines his dimples and magnifies the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the hazel of his irises glows like fire whenever he smiles.

You nod. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

As you make your way out of your apartment complex, he takes your hand in the chilly night air, offering you warmth and something to hold onto, and you make your way down the street, away from the gas station that has given you one too many sleepless nights. He walks close to you as if to shield you from any possible danger, and every so often you look at him to find him peeking over his shoulder behind you.

“What are you looking for?” you ask eventually, growing a little uneasy yourself.

Michael chuckles softly, his breath creating a small cloud in the cool air. “Just makin' sure nobody's followin' us,” he tells you. “Can't be too careful, can we?”

His nerves are playing cruel tricks on him. Alone the thought of missing something and getting you hurt makes his blood run cold, and he urges you to walk a little faster to get out of the darkest part of town somewhere he knows no one has stationed any suppliers that interact with him or his family – and that is where you are safest.

You walk for a while in silence. Time continues passing by, the night air brushing through your hair and his own, creating a cool yet gentle atmosphere around you. He squeezes your hand for warmth as you continue.

Eventually, you come to a stop. You can hear the faint sound of music and laughter in the distance, and you crane your neck to get a better view, but Michael’s hands soon cover your eyes.

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he whispers in your ear, “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” you murmur, grabbing onto his wrists.

“Ya’ll like this one, trust me.”

You trust him to walk you toward your destination, but you’re weary about his coordination skills. You feel helpless with your eyes covered. After a few steps, you relax a little, but it’s still unsettling.

“You ready?” he asks you then.

You nod eagerly. “Just show me already.”

The laughing and music get louder, followed by high-pitched ringing and the smell of popcorn, corndogs, and candy floss.

You giggle when he presses his lips to the back of your neck, trying to pull the hands away from your eyes. “Where are–” you begin, but then he allows you to open your eyes and you’re so surprised, you forget what you wanted to ask.

In front of you, there is a small carnival. It’s so small, you can overlook it from inside, but the lights are brighter than ever, shining in different hues of red, blue, green, orange, and purple and other variations of the color wheel. Music is playing in different parts, but it all blends well. There is an auto scooter in the middle, a Ferris Wheel at the end, different booths with games and food, and you can make out some smaller carousels for children.

Glitter is strewn around, feathers of boas pass by you, and you see a clown somewhere. Balloon animals are being made in one corner while in the other, a couple is laughing loudly as they get out of the bumper car area. There is also a faster ride with spinning teacups and a freefall tower, but there is not much more to it.

This is probably the tamest carnival you have ever seen, but the scenery is breathtaking. The music is phenomenal. You find yourself in awe of the lights and the artworks painted on the attractions. You love the layout of the booths, as far as you can see them, and the photo booth catches your eye; you haven’t seen one of these in a while.

Your heart swells as memories flood over you, but they’re kind and they’re somewhat happy, and you realize that this is an escape like the one you sought when you were a child. For many, this is an escape right now.

You’re not sure what’s more beautiful, the lights or Michael, but you have to settle for the man beside you because his eyes are just as wide, but not because of what he sees inside the carnival, he’s only looking at you.

“Oh, my God,” you whisper, still looking around. Your lips curl into a smile. You squeal. You feel like a teenager again. “Michael, this is–” There are no words to describe how nostalgia makes you feel.

He smiles shyly. “Ya like it?” he asks.

“Like it? I–” You stare at him, your mouth still agape. Without a word, you step forward and press your lips against his.

Michael kisses back, his arms coming to wrap around your waist. Music and laughter blend into the background. It’s just the two of you right now, illuminated by the color-changing lights and the comfort of your lips.

You break apart breathlessly after a few seconds. “I…” you shake your head in disbelief. “I love it. I love you.” The most childish giggle escapes your lips. “But you’re fucking mad!”

He chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Why am I mad?”

“Because… because you brought me here. To a mini carnival.” You emphasize the size, but the way you say it makes it sound cute. “In the middle of the night with all of the lights,” you say, “It’s truly beautiful. You are beautiful. This…” You break apart, opening your arms as if to show him the obvious. “This is beautiful.”

The sounds of laughter and music from the carnival blend with the pounding of your heart. He leans back in. “I wanted to create a moment tha' was just for us, somethin' that would make you feel like a kid again. And seein' that smile on yer face, knowin' that I could bring you joy like this... it means the world to me.”

“You're insane in the best possible way,” you repeat. “Who else would think of a mini carnival as a surprise?”

He brushes his thumb gently against your cheek. “I love you too, more than words can express,” he whispers, the carnival almost drowning out his voice. “And seein' ya happy like this, it's all I ever wanted. Means mission accomplished.”

You find yourself lost in his eyes, the vibrant lights of the carnival reflecting in them. “You're beautiful,” you whisper back. “Thank you so much.”

He kisses you softly again, this time making sure to savor every moment. You break apart with a mischievous glimmer in your eye, grabbing his hand, and you tug him playfully toward the entrance. “Come on now! Let's have some fun.”

He lowers his head with a chuckle before allowing you to drag him with you into the carnival, his heart a million pounds lighter now that he is with you.

Michael pays for the tickets, and he pays for the drinks you get once you enter because you wouldn’t admit that you’re thirsty, so he forces you to have something to drink before you pass out in the crowded space.

Surprisingly, it’s not as crowded as you expected. There is a lack of children because it’s the middle of the week and they’re all asleep in their beds, and the teenagers that are there to waste their time away don’t bother anyone but themselves. You see a few couples walking around, but there are not that many people, and it offers you and Michael some time just for yourselves. It’s almost as if he planned it to be this empty, and maybe he did, but if he did, you appreciate his efforts because you hate crowds, anyway.

Seeing the flashing lights and listening to the high-pitched noise of some of the attractions, you wearily roam your eyes over Michael’s face for any sign of discomfort.

“Are you sure we should be here?” you ask.

He frowns. “Why?”

“Your seizures…”

He says your name, pulling you into his arms as you stop in front of one of the most colorful rides. The passengers in the wagon get tossed around and they’re all laughing, even though you know the plastic can hurt. It’s a lot of fun, you remember.

“Can we please not talk about tha’ tonight?” he says. “Please? I just want to have a good night with ya. Just you and me and forget about everythin’ else. Can we do that?”

Your eyes soften, your hand coming up to rest on his cheeks. “I’m just worried,” you say.

Flashing lights and loud noises are triggers for epileptic seizures. He doesn’t know what he has, but his seizures paint a picture of their own, and without medication, he could get triggered. You don’t want him to get hurt when you’re supposed to be having fun. But you also don’t want him to feel like you’re walking on eggshells around him. He knows his body and condition probably better than you do because you can’t feel what he’s feeling. You’re simply worried, and his eyes tell you that he knows, but he still doesn’t like to dwell on it.

“I’m okay,” he assures you. “I’d tell ya if I wasn’t, but lights… lights usually don’t give me seizures. I can ride rollercoasters and all of tha’, I think. It’s… I don’t know, it happens when I’m– I’m stressed. Hasn’t happened anywhere else before, so I’m alright.”

You sigh. He wouldn’t lie to you after telling you the truth, you know that. And maybe it’s good that you know in case something happens, but you hope it won’t.

“I love you.” You lean in to brush your lips over his.

He brings his lips to your forehead, pressing a gentle kiss on the skin there. “I love ya too,” he says.

“So… you won’t mind if we ride that thing over there?”

Following the line your finger is pointing, Michael’s eyes widen visibly when you point to the moving teacups on the platform a little further away. They continuously keep spinning, and he can already feel himself getting nauseous at the thought.

“Oh!” you exclaim happily when you see the free-fall tower so close to you. “Or that one?”

His eyes are still wide in shock when he stares back at you. “I thought we were gonna ride bumper cars,” he says, “not… not defy death.”

You burst out laughing. “What, as if you’re afraid of carnival rides?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Wait. Michael Kinsella, are you afraid of carnival rides? Or is it heights? Don’t tell me it’s heights.”

He blushes. “That thing falls!” he tries to defend himself as he points toward the tower. “And that one…” he can’t find the words for the spinning tea cups because they just look ridiculous. “Teacups don’t spin,” he says. “And towers are not supposed to… fall.”

Your laughter turns into a soft, teasing giggle as you pull him close and kiss him. The kiss is tender and he melts under your touch, though the fear in his veins remains. When he decided to take you there he was thinking about riding the things Anna used to ride when she was little like bumper cars, a carousel, or the Ferris wheel, not whatever you just pointed out to him. He always steered clear of that.

“Michael Kinsella, part of the most dangerous crime family in Dublin,” you sigh dramatically, “and he is afraid of carnival rides.”

That makes him seem so human, all you can do is pinch his cheeks and kiss him all over.

“Don’t judge me.” Michael pouts at you. “I’m not a fan. I like bumper cars though.”

His smile warms your heart. It looks giddy, a little shy, maybe, but it’s an honest smile.

“I like bumper cars too,” you say. “Perhaps we should try that out then.”

“Yeah.”

“And then we could ride… the carousel with the little animals as wagons?”

“Mhm.”

“Ferris wheel?”

“Only if ya hold my hand,” he says.

You chuckle, taking his hand in yours already as you make your way to the bumper car area. “That can be managed, my dear.”

The sounds of laughter and the aroma of carnival treats fill the air, heightening the atmosphere.

“You wanna drive with me?” you ask when it's your turn.

He smirks and shakes his head. What you didn't expect was for him, who claims he doesn't have a license, to be so good at bumper cars – and then you remember that he might have lost it and that he knows how to drive, he just isn't allowed to, and in that case, it makes you competitive.

You and Michael strap yourselves into separate cars, your eyes focused on each other. Your cars are several rows apart, but you can make out each other just fine, and he looks as if he's about to destroy you. As the ride starts with a blaring song through the speakers, he maneuvers his car with surprising skill, finding you and bumping straight into your car. You gasp, blowing the hair out of your face.

“You're going to regret that,” you say.

Hitting the gas pedal, you chase after him now, the people in your way disappearing as you bump them out of the way to back him into a corner. And you manage to do so until he puts the car into reverse and bumps you back.

“Rude!” You bump him right back.

He laughs. “Not so smart now, huh?” he retorts.

“Oh, fuck off!”

“You first!”

You keep chasing each other around the track until you’re both laughing like maniacs. The cars come to a halt and you struggle to get the seatbelt off after being tossed around so much.

Michael, ever the gentleman, offers you his hand and helps you out of the vehicle. You poke his tongue out at him, but you take it anyway.

After the first ride, you make your way to the carousel, hand in hand. The colorful lights and the gentle music create a magical ambiance as you choose your favorite animal to ride. You both simultaneously point out the unicorn, and it feels like you're mentally connected in a way. You find comfort in the simplicity of the carousel, the feeling of the wind in your hair, and the warmth of Michael's hand in yours.

He watches you as you lean back, closing your eyes and simply enjoying it like the few kids in the wagons around you. It's a moment spent in absolute silence, and you wouldn't have it any other way. In this world, it is just the two of you, and you are having the time of your lives. All the worries fade into the background, overshadowed by the comfort of each other's arms.

Finally, after another ride with the carousel, you reach the Ferris wheel, the grand centerpiece of the carnival. It is much smaller than the London Eye, obviously, but you prefer it that way. As you step into the gondola and the wheel starts moving, Michael clasps your hand.

The metal feels unstable under him, and it is a lot shakier than the stable gondolas in a bigger Ferris wheel, but you find that to be the beauty of it. With a soft chuckle, you squeeze his hand and encourage him to place his head on your shoulder until you have reached the top.

“Don't laugh,” he says with a pout, and you try not to, but the thought of Michael Kinsella having a fear of heights still amuses you.

The view from the top is breathtaking, to say the least. You nudge him to open his eyes and take a look around Dublin with you, the city lights forming little blobs on the night sky, and you can make out the river as the moon reflects off it. The stars barely stand a chance against downtown, but once you turn around and look in the direction where nature is, you can make out the different constellations, and you point out Orion to him.

“It’s so beautiful,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” says Michael, but when you turn to him, he is looking directly at you. “The sight is truly breathtakin’.”

You blush, turning your head away, but he catches your chin and pulls you back toward him.

“Don’t look away from me…”

You shiver at the sound of his voice. “Sorry.”

He strokes your cheek, then your jawline before resting his hand on your throat, feeling your pulse jump at his subtle touch, and then he finally leans in to kiss you. With the stars in the background and the city in the distance alive and bustling, you find yourself enveloped in your bubble again.

As you kiss under the stars for the first time, illuminated by the colorful lights of the carnival high atop the Ferris wheel, you continue falling deeper and deeper in love with him.

The world seems to fade away as you lose yourself in the moment, in the gentle caress of his lips against yours. With each passing second, your hearts beat more and more in harmony, aligning like the planets that make the stars.

As you break apart, breathless and filled with a sense of wonder, Michael stares at you.

“I never want this moment to end,” he says.

You smile, tracing the outline of his nose. “Me neither,” you say.

“You remind me of a star.”

“Why?”

“Because yer bright… and you fill me with wonder.”

“Wonder?”

“Yeah, wonder.” He kisses you again even softer. “I’m just mesmerized by ya.”

“Good,” you smile, “because I feel the same way about you.”

The Ferris wheel shakes, and your moment is torn in two as Michael grabs onto your arm. You try not to laugh, but you fail miserably.

“And we’re goin’ down,” he says.

You look away, but your laugh reaches his ears, and he pouts all the way down, making sure you feel every last bit of his displeasure. But you can’t help it; the sight is too adorable not to laugh.

Passing by the many booths littered along the carnival as you walk away from the Ferris wheel, you notice one with particularly fluffy stuffed animals lined along the walls.

“I’ve always wanted one,” you point out. “Had a small one as a kid, but I… lost it.”

He looks at you and then the teddy bears you’re pointing at. It’s one of these games where you get a rifle and have to shoot a target – but it’s not real; it’s filled with air. He bites his cheek, then grins at you.

“What?”

He tugs at your arm as he pulls you along toward the booth.

“Hey,” he greets the owner. “I’d like ta take a shot at winnin’ that bear up there. The big one?”

The man eyes him curiously, then looks behind him to see you. “She belong to ya?” he asks.

Michael doesn’t like the way he’s looking at you. His eyes darken, and his fingers brush the rifle. If those held real bullets, he would give the man the fright of his life. Still, he takes it and charges it expertly, his attention focused on him.

The man’s eyes switch from you to him, Michael’s sour smile almost taking him out. He looks dangerous with his jaw clenched and hand wrapped around a gun that wasn’t meant to hurt anyone, but he could make it work if he wanted to.

“If my girl wants a teddy bear,” Michael says, “I’m winnin’ her a teddy bear. Now, may I take my shots, sir?”

You’re not surprised when he hits all targets on the first try. The owner of the booth didn’t see it coming, but you are more than happy when he takes down the biggest teddy bear and hands it to you. His hand is shaking.

Michael winks, pulling him down further when he hands the gun back. “If ya ever look at another woman the same way ya just looked at my girlfriend again in yer miserable life,” he says, his voice bordering on a growl, and his eyes bore into the man’s, “trust me that I’ll come back here with a real gun and make sure it’s the last time ya ever lay eyes or yer dirty little fingers on one again. Ya don’t wanna mess with me. We clear?”

He swallows, all color fading from his skin.

“I asked ya somethin’–“ Michael’s fist collides with the counter, but it’s a silent collision that only catches the attention of the one it needs to; you seem oblivious, even though maybe a little curious. “D’ya hear me?” he repeats. “I won’t tell ya twice. The next time, ya won’t be so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Yeah, got tha’,” the man is quick to respond. “I’m sorry, I–“

“Shut up. Just let her have the teddy bear and move on.”

I get dangerously angry, sometimes, when someone touches what’s mine.

He is not a mind reader, but Michael knew from the moment the at least sixty-year-old man first stared at you he would have done something if he hadn’t been there. And then someone could have bought his hands off the dark web after Michael would have cut them off with a dull knife.

Michael offers the man a big smile and wishes him a good night before taking your hand and the teddy bear and pulling you away from the possible danger he saw in him.

“What was that about?” you ask, curious about what could have conspired between the two men.

It didn’t look friendly and neither did it sound like it, but you were too focused on your new stuffed animal to really pay attention. And you don’t really care, anyway. Michael must have had his reasons.

He simply presses a kiss on your temple instead of answering and says, “Nothin’. All good here. Let’s take a walk.”

You walk the last few meters in silence, your arms hugged around your new toy and his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. The silence isn’t uncomfortable or loaded. You’re enjoying each other's company without disturbing it with words.

After a while, Michael contemplates, his eyebrows furrowing before he looks up at you and admits, “I used to bring Anna here all the time when she was little.”

You meet his eyes. “You did?” you ask.

“Yeah, she, uh, loved bumper cars and everythin’ that was blinkin’, so…” he smiles to himself. “The guys from the carnival come here every few months, and it’s always been a happy place fer us, so I thought it could be yours, too. Ours, maybe. I don’t know.”

You used to take Maya to carnivals all the time when she was younger. It was your way of getting a few hours of freedom without fights or violence, and you always made sure to check out all the rides and win stuffed animals. You ate your way through half of the booths and came out with a sugar rush, but every night was worth it.

His confession weighs heavily on you because even the happiest memories are now overshadowed by a different kind of memory, and it causes the muscles around your heart to contract in agony.

“I’m sure she loved it,” you say with a soft smile, even though the smile is fake.

“She did,” he says, and he grows a bit quieter now, too.

To lighten the mood, you tug at his arm and point toward the photo booth. “What do you say we try that next?”

He frowns. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Deadly.”

“I don’t usually take photos of myself. I hate ‘em.”

“But it’s not just you, is it?” you say. Your eyes crinkle again. “Please? Just a few pictures of the two of us together? And Mister Bear?” You use the teddy’s hand to wave at him.

Michael chuckles. “Mister Bear?” he asks.

“Yes, that’s his name. If you don’t want to take a picture with me, I will trade you for him as my cuddle buddy.”

He raises his eyebrows at your playful threat. The smirk gives you away, but he still fears you might replace him for the stuffed animal in the end if he doesn’t comply. “Alright,” he caves, “let’s take some pictures of us. But I can’t promise they’re gonna be good.”

You pull him into the photo booth with an excited giggle. “You always look good.”

“Beg to differ.”

“Beg all you want, it’s not gonna get you out of this one,” you say.

You get five pictures in a row – five attempts at striking the poses you want to in the small booth.

During the first shot, Michael manages to look particularly grimy, so for the second one, you decide to force the teddy bear in his face, which makes him laugh just as the flash goes off. Then, for the next one, you lean your head against his shoulder and smile, and he has never looked more endearing. You decide to do a silly pose for the fourth one, and he joins in, now feeling less serious about himself. As you stare into each other’s eyes for the three-second break, you let the inner urge take over and kiss him on the lips just as the flash goes off and captures the moment between you.

Walking out of the booth, Michael is quick to catch the photo strips to be the first one to look at them; thankfully, you get two versions, so you both each get to carry the memory of that day with you.

He smiles when he sees the pictures, he genuinely smiles, and he puts the strip into his wallet where there is an empty photo slot.

“We look cute,” you say, pointing at the last picture. “Especially in that one.”

He chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We do look cute when we kiss, don’t we?” he says.

“We do, indeed. But not just when we kiss. We always look cute.”

“Sure, always.”

You store it away in your cross-body bag, not wanting it to get ruined by dirt or accidentally lose it.

You are about ready to make your way to the exit when he checks the time on his watch and stops you in your tracks by calling your name. “I have one more surprise for tonight,” he says.

“One more surprise?” you ask.

“Yeah, one more. C’mon.”

“What is it?”

“If I told ya, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“But I hate surprises.”

He repeats his words from long before with a smile, not a smirk, “Yer gonna like this one.”

As you settle in the grass on a small hill that connects directly to the carnival, you watch the last few people pass by before it closes. Your teddy bear is nestled comfortably against a tree as you and Michael lie next to each other. It might seem weird, but there is something intimate about how you cradle each other’s cheeks and stare into each other’s eyes as if the person you have been looking for all your lives is finally next to you – in your case, that is.

In the distance, a fire is being lit, and soon enough, colorful fireworks explode above your head. It catches you both off guard. Your eyes widen, mesmerized by the beauty of it all. The night sky is alive with color now, and you get lost in it.

“Michael,” you breathe.

He follows your gaze and watches the fireworks explode in front of the stars he compared you to. “I know,” he says.

There is something special about fireworks. The different colors and shapes lure you in, and everyone views it as a spectacle.

Fireworks, with their fleeting nature, teach you to appreciate the transient beauty of life and to treasure the moments of joy that come your way. They are seen as means to celebrate, not just milestones but life itself, and every human being is drawn to it. Explosions are only pretty if they're fireworks. Humans find beauty in disaster.

Fireworks, with their dazzling display of colors and patterns, evoke a sense of wonder, allowing us to momentarily escape from the complexities of life and immerse ourselves in the beauty of the moment.

You fill him with wonder, too. You fill him with all the good feelings and he’s always floating on cloud nine when he’s with you.

Curling into his side, you place your head on his chest, watching the fireworks continue their dance on the black canvas.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Tonight was… the best night of my life.”

Michael wraps an arm around you. “And it was mine, too,” he says.

“I don’t want it to be over.”

“We can stay as long as ya want, my love.”

“Watching the fireworks?”

He smiles, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “‘Til they’re over,” he assures you, “every last one of ‘em.”

You snuggle closer with a content sigh. “Sounds perfect to me.”

As the fireworks continue, he holds you close to his heart, making sure you’re warm and taken care of, and you find yourself letting go in his embrace. His arms form a protective shield around you, protecting you from the world and the pain that always seems to come back to haunt both of you. But love has been known since the beginning of time to keep us alive; lying on the grass in each other’s arms is all you need, and your love exceeds all expectations either of you had for the future.

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella #kin amc #charlie cox #chaos theory #reader insert #x reader

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sabakos · 1 year

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OK so like what is the deal with the rationalists every time you post about them there are new and wild details what are their beliefs why do you hate them. Sorry if you've answered this 1 billion times before

Nota Bene: This post is for informational purposes only, anyone who tries to argue or "debate" with me on it is getting blocked with no further warning.

Yeah, sorry, I've been a bit worn down by discourse so I think I'm going to mostly pass on this one and lean on someone else's work. Especially since RationalWiki (which, confusingly, predates and is mostly not aligned with Yudkowsky brand Rationalism) has a fairly thorough exposition.

It's certainly far from unbiased and I don't necessarily endorse everything in this article at the time of my posting, but I don't think it's unfair either. Here's a summary from the article:

The good bits are not original and the original bits are not good. The well-written explanations of cognitive biases are taken idea-for-idea from Kahneman. In contrast, the quantum physics sequence not only makes actual physicists throw things at walls, it builds to an essay arguing that you should use Yudkowsky's version of Bayesianism rather than empirical science.

I feel this is mostly true, except I would lean heavier on even the parts about cognitive biases also being fairly out of date at this point. Still far better than the quantum bayesian nonsense though, it's at least interestingly wrong. I would say that Kahneman's worth reading if you can be properly skeptical about him, but Yudkowsky isn't.

As for why I personally hate the Rationalists, well, it's like if the Jehovah's Witnesses knocked on your door over a hundred times per year: you'd be polite the first few times, but after a dozen or so you'd probably put up a "No Solicitors" sign, and soon you'd start chasing them off with a shotgun. I have an overlapping set of hobbies with many of these people (e.g. philosophy, physics, computer science), which attracts a disproportionate number of them into my life. I then somehow (???) give these people the initial impression that I'm intelligent and thoughtful, but when it turns out that I'm unwilling to extend that courtesy of "thoughtfulness" to their insane pseudophilosophical beliefs, there's a great deal of friction. Especially so since one of the main vulnerabilities that this group plays on is their victims' need to feel intelligent, an opinion I categorically do not share about them!

#the warning at the beginning mostly isn't directed at the question asker it's for all the proselytizers who are going to be pissed off by it #just linking to rationalwiki alone would send many of these people into a rage #tw robot cult

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watrwords · 4 months

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Abigail [2024] - Fanfic/Drabble - The Gift

I don't really plan on continuing this but I really needed to get this idea out. I love me some Rickles x Joey.

Summary: Abigail sends Ana (Joey) a well deserved gift. _______

The crisp spring air of the early morning was soothing to Ana as she walked back to her recently bought house. After that harrowing day, which she tried to erase from her memory, Ana had inherited more money than she ever imagined acquiring.

Outside of saving it for her son’s education, she couldn’t help but wonder what she would use it for. The memory of warm brown eyes and a teasing smile caused her to stop in her tracks. Out of everything, out of everyone, HE was the one memory that she allowed herself to indulge in. He had vowed to get her back to her son and there she was, walking back from dropping her son off at school. Would he have walked alongside her, his hand warm in hers? A quick shake of her head dispelled his memory, forcing it back to the recess of her mind. It was merely useless thoughts.

She took a deep breath and forced a smile on her face, nimble fingers unwrapping a lifesaver and popping it into her mouth. Right, she hoped to be able to finish that fence by the end of the week and perhaps surprise her son with a puppy. She was sure it would bring out a big toothy grin out of him, which filled her with a warmth that erased any and all fears.

A light pink envelope was taped to her front door.

Ana stared at it, at first wondering if it was some solicitor but as she neared closer, she realized it could only be from one person. Her name was scrawled upon it in a flowy script, a sticker of a ballerina sealed the envelope close. Trembling fingers hesitantly opened the envelope, dread falling down to the pit of her stomach. The child form of the vampire tugged at Ana’s heart, even now after knowing what she was capable of. She needed to remember that this was not a child, not really.

Dear Joey,

I hope you do not mind that I use the name which was given to you by Lambert. I realized that I had not properly thanked you for helping me. I spoke with my father and had the following gift delivered to you.

I hope you like it. Abigail

Ana did not know what to expect when she walked inside her house. What sort of gift should she expect from a vampire?

The large box in the middle of her basement was not it.

“Fuck,” she cursed as she stared at the human sized box. Was it a coffin? Did vampires even sleep in coffins? Was this a message of what was to befall her?

Carefully, she moved forward, tentatively placing her hand on top of the box, waiting for any sign of movement. There was nothing.

Slowly, very slowly, Ana began to push the lid off, ready to spring into action if anything jumped out of the box. There was nothing. No sound. No movement. The lid slid onto the floor with a loud thud and still, there was nothing.

No movement. No sound.

Ana moved closer, just enough to look inside and….

“Rickles?” the name slipped out without meaning to. There, laying on a plush velvety cushion, unmoving, was Rickles.

That was not possible. It couldn’t be, could it? Stupidly, she reached out her hand, needing to know, was he real? Was she meant to find closure by burying him? Why was he her gift? She wanted to be angry at being reminded of his murder but all she felt was bereft.

Her fingers gingerly pressed against his cheek.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open, making her scream.

#abigail 2024 #rickles (abigail 2024)#joey x rickles

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jeonsfrvr · 1 year

Text

high-end (jjk) : zibermuda

→ summary: jungkook is a best-selling erotica novelist living in a lavish neighborhood. He spends his days cruising on yachts, tasting the world’s most expensive wines, and fucking bar-staff. But, as soon as you move in next door with your fruity cocktails, tight bikinis, and odd philosophies, his hobbies shift. To put it plainly; you’re sex on legs and he wants to write about you in his upcoming novel. But first, he has to get to know you inside and out.

→ genre:smut, fluff, angst (erotica-novelist!jk, architect!reader)

→ words: 13,050

Let’s get one thing straightened out; rich people love to do rich people shit. Whether it be deep-throating oysters in the coastal towns of France, raiding designer stores, or pretending to relate to the lower class, they do it and they do it often.

Jeon Jungkook is guilty of most of the above. At 25 years of age, he lives in a multi million-dollar house situated in the privacy and luxury of the Hills. His neighbors live just as lavishly; some actors, some dentists, and some wealthy by marriage. Their problems seem bizarre to the average person, but respectfully, problems are problems. If you’re feeling off about something — even if you’re standing in your ten-acre garden and can’t seem to decide where to build your own personal water park — you still have a problem.

Jungkook has a problem of his own, but we’ll get to that in a moment.

How the fuck did he get so rich and where do I sign up? You might be thinking to yourself. He writes about the intimate and explicit details of sex. Each of his novels revolve around a successful individual dealing with life’s obstacles and ultimately leaving their imprint on the world. The sex scenes are a by-product of the power play. There’s a lot of power in sex, there’s a lot of love in his heart for life and its obstacles, and there’s a lot of money in publishing well-written (debatable), fantasy-driven erotica novels.

To say he was born with a silver spoon sticking out of both of his ears would be a bit of an overstatement, but not too far from the truth. His parents are the masterminds behind a multi billion-dollar tech company that develops security software. From day one, they drove the tech-fantasy into their sons head, and even though they persuaded him to graduate college with a Bachelor of Advanced Computer Science, things took a different turn once he stepped foot into the real world; he grew a little too cocky with his qualifications, social status, and good looks, and so spent his time entertaining a rowdy bunch of people, partying, having insane amounts of sex, drinking whatever was handed to him, snorting blow off bars, and everything else the champagne life entails.

And then, like most young people, he was inspired by a short-lived summer romance. She was an aspiring solicitor, beautiful, confident, and determined, but her determination made her use people like dental floss. She bat her eyelashes a thousand times, said anything to grow her network, and lied like it was a 9-5 job. But, as much as it hurt him, he never grew to hate her. There was something about her — maybe it was the way she could tame every doubt in his mind, or the way she built herself from the ground up — that made it clear that she knew the world was hers. She was the inspiration behind his first novel.Similar to how musicians write an array of emotional lyrics and dedicate music videos to ex-lovers, he too found a way to tell stories. The difference is that he never writes out of spite.No matter how many chapters of heartbreak he could write, he believes it to be wholly unproductive. He sees the good and the fun in others or he doesn’t see at all.

He knew many fine publishers through his parents, so it wasn’t long before he was an official published author with a new network of literate friends. His novel was a quick success thanks to his advertising team. They worked their ass to the bone to gain a cult following for him. Posters were on bus-stops, library walls, retirement home notice boards, and even on the ‘Do Not Feed the Ducks’ signs at parks. If the ducks and the elderly weren’t already into sexy, but also kind of odd novels, they sure as hell are now.

He was crowned the king of erotica just a week after his first publication.

The average Joe appreciates a little sex every now and then, but this isn’t a story about average Joe’s. It’s about filthy rich savages who can’t get enough of it; in every position, at every time of the day, at every setting. They put rabbits to shame. For all intents and purposes, Jungkook is one of these rabbit-shaming savages. He loves dubious, sweat-inducing, vulgar sex with loose women; MILFS, teachers, models, lawyers, doctors, bartenders, and even the neighbor living in the colonial mansion opposite from him. She’s forty-three years old, freshly divorced, and had been a fan of his writing since the very first publication, so she thought ’what the hell? I’ll just knock on his door, crack open a bottle of wine, and gush about how much I love his work. Maybe I can work on my game, too.’ She came for conversation, but never thought that he’d be spelling it out with his tongue between her thighs.

When it comes to conversing with him, there’s often tension, whether sexual or just plain enlightening, and a tipping point. He always says the right things to aid out unlikely confidence within people; a type of confidence that makes a person say what they truly mean and want. He likes to ask unlikely questions and do unlikely things, sex aside.

Back to his problem, though; writers block. He’s lacking very specific inspiration, but this is where you come into play. He was curious about you from the very moment he saw you chatting with the driver of the movers truck. You’d been standing outside your new house with your summer dress and broad-rimmed hat, and he’d been curiously scoping out his new neighbor from his window. It’s not uncommon for him to feel such curiosity toward a successful person, nor is it rare for him to adapt and characterize them for his novels. Only the devil knows what kind of woman you are. Maybe you’re a teacher of fine arts, a model, a marine, a police officer, maybe you married into wealth, or even a decoy sent by the FBI. He learned many years ago to not judge a person by their cover.

It was only yesterday that he saw you standing on your driveway with a shadow cast over half of your face, and if he hadn’t been preoccupied with avoiding various voicemails and bickering with his lawyer over the phone, he would’ve introduced himself. Today, though, he plans on doing just that. In fact, he’s already half-way down the stairs with a free schedule and the brighter side of your face clear in his mind.

The staircase banisters are glass panes adorned with silver hand-railings, and each step is a thick, hand-cut slab of grey marble. The steps cascade from the second floor to the kitchen, where contemporary wine racks have been built underneath. Stocked on the racks are hundreds of bottles of imported red wine, white wine, and limited edition champagne taken from events and given to him as gifts. Most, if not all, are purely decorative. He prefers whiskey.

Bright, white spotlights are tucked underneath floating wall dividers to brighten up the home and most, if not all, of the walls have been coated in a light grey paint. A theme of dark wood runs true to his home; dark counter tops, coffee tables, and sculptures. His home is very much an open plan, quite like himself.

Money has never been an issue for him, but it’d be foolish to say that wealth is what got him here in the first place. He has always been smart, has always known the right people, and has always been ambitious to the core. You could give him nothing but an empty bottle, and he’d soon be the best-selling bottle maker in the country.

Jungkook takes a few moments to pick out an expensive bottle of wine — a house-warming gift, if you will — before heading outside. The sky is a pretty shade of blue and almost void of clouds, except for a single cloud spread across the sky like a stroke of white paint. He knocks on your door three times and checks his Rolex after waiting an excess of fifteen seconds. Almost a minute passes before the front door swings open to reveal your shadow-free face. You have light, complementary makeup and a small smile adorning it. If he were younger and a little more naive, he’d drop to his knees.

It’s 4:48PM on a Sunday, yet you have a half-empty, strawberry cocktail in your hand. It’s 4:48PM, yet he has an expensive bottle of wine in his. He already likes you.

“Hello.” You say with those strawberry stained lips. Something about you suggests that you’re a little bit introverted, but it’s definitely not the cloud-white bikini and black, sheer cover-up wrapped around your figure. “I don’t suppose you’re the pool man?”

“No, but I can take a look if you’d like.” He smiles a true Hollywood smile. “Your neighbor. To the right.”

His home is the biggest in the neighborhood. Many of the other homes are half the size, but just as lavish, including your own.

“Y/N.” You offer out your hand for him to shake and he does so without hesitation. “Architecture is my forte, but that’s not usually the first thing people guess.”

He tells you his name and you repeat it back in a way that makes him raise his eyebrows ever so slightly. And, as you invite him inside, you size him up; from his broad shoulders, slim waist, to his surprisingly perky ass. What is it with men and winning the genetic jackpot for good asses and eyelashes?

You’re not the only one, though. He’s already taken note of your half-naked body, ring-less fingers, and the dimples in your lower back. Your house smells like clean laundry and fresh paint, and an array of gin, brandy, vodka, and whiskey bottles sit on a silver platter on your marbled kitchen counter, right next to a bouquet of deep pink Dahlias. He places the wine bottle nearby, slightly defeated by the wrong choice of drink.

You’re not a wine-drinker, he notes. Cocktails are your best friend.

“Thank you.” You say, genuinely, as you inspect the brand and age of the wine. It looks expensive and by the looks of him, it has to be. “You really didn’t have to bring me anything.”

“I would’ve brought you a pie, but I can’t bake to save a life.” He humors. “You’ll get one, though, just not from me.”

The sun is far too warm to keep the conversation strictly inside. Summer has always been your favorite time of the year.

“What do you do, by the way? I don’t think I asked.” You inquire as you step past the large, glass sliding doors and wander around the great length of your swimming pool. Sundays are the only days where you have the time to lounge around in a bikini and drink cocktails before 5PM, so you make the most of it.

“I’m an author.” Even for someone like him, he’s never seen such a huge personal pool. Are you coaching the Olympic swimming team or something? He can just about picture you lounging on an inflatable pool float, skin wet and glistening in the light.

"What kind of stuff do you write?” You ask with your drink in one hand and his full-attention in the other. “Let me guess.. Science fiction? Business advice?”

His tan skin, wavy hair, and aura yells — practically screams — ‘leisure’, so he could easily be mistaken for a businessman with a habit of visiting the Bahamas every weekend. That’s not far from the truth, to be fair. He isn’t one to shy away from self-indulgence.

“Erotica.” There’s no hidden shame behind his confession, nor is their a flicker of embarrassment. He owns it, just like he owns that white, button-up shirt and that dark, ruffled hair. He’s physically fit, too, thanks to his interest in recreational boxing and high intensity training.

“Erotica?” You repeat, way-off, but entirely captivated by this strange man. “So, you’re addicted to sex?”

Cheeky, he notes.

You tap your finger against your glass and drink in everything about him. The longer you look, the shyer you feel. What’s that about? You’ve never been one to shy away from a hot, single neighbor; that is if he’s actually single and not just a cocky husband of a woman who deserves a whole lot better. There’s something very intimidating about him. He carries himself like nothing in this world could bother him or make him stutter over his words.

He likes that you asked that. It gives him incentive to ask you the same thing. “Aren’t you?”

“We’re living in the hills, Mr. Author.” Your laugh strokes his ears like soft velvet. “I’m sure everybody around here is in some sort of sex ring.”

He touches the bottom of his chin and your eyes linger there for a few moments. His face is perfectly symmetrical; sharp jaw, deep brown eyes, pretty pink lips. A small mole sits directly under his bottom lip, too. “You free Thursday evening, Y/N?”

“Could be.”

“Could be.” He repeats, amused. “A friend of mine opened up a bar down on boulevard. Real fancy shit. They serve $1,000 diamond cocktails and everything else pretentious. I’d like to take you.”

“Sounds fun.” You agree without much hesitation. “I get home from work at 7.”

And that’s how Jeon Jungkook meets you for the first time. He doesn’t stay for too long, though, because he prefers to pace himself. Too much of a good thing isn’t good for anybody. You’ve only spoken to him for twenty-five minutes, but he’s already so intrigued. You’re two years his senior, graduated college twice; first with a Bachelor’s Degree in Architecture, and the second time with a Master’s in Architecture. You love what you do, but you hate where you work, even though it’s one of the best studios in the city. Interior and spacial designs interest you the most, but your boss compresses what you’re allowed to do out of fear that you might be better than he is. Jungkook can already tell that you’re better than a lot of people, especially your boss.

“I won’t be mad if you pour that wine down the sink, honestly.” He wanders past your front door and eyes the way you ever so slightly lean your hip against the door frame. “I mean it.”

You laugh, knowing damn well that that very thought crossed your mind just moments before. “See you Thursday, Mr. Author.”

He heads back home, but catches you again from the same window he’d seen you from yesterday. He observes, slightly hypnotized, as you bend over to place a cocktail glass on the concrete nearby the pool. The sheer fabric of your beach kimono rides up your lower back, revealing the curve of your ass and the white bikini thong clinging to your skin. And then he notices his own novel in your hands. The coloring of the front cover suggests that it’s one of his older novels. He then wonders if you already knew who he was and are just a really convincing actress. You didn’t, really, but his novel was stuffed into a box of books that you had just started to unpack. You recall a friend gifting you the erotica novel for your 25th birthday, but you never even read the blurb. It’s been gathering dust at the back of shelves for two years, but now you just have to know what it’s all about.

Not expecting much, you flick through a few chapters until you land on a random sex scene. You drink in every word like it’s a new cocktail flavor, tasting the incredibly lewd descriptions of wall sex shifting to wet, shower sex. The way he describes each scene has your imagination firing up like an old truck. You can picture each water droplet sliding down the two bodies, the hand print left on the main character’s thigh, and the thick, misty air in the bathroom. A little warm in the face, you flip the novel and peer at the image of Jungkook printed just above the blurb. He’s wearing that same Hollywood smile.

Monday rolls around far too quickly. You bid farewell to your bikinis and cocktails until next Sunday, and head to work with armfuls of files.

Your boss, David Woods; a man with a passion for development and architecture; ushers you to his large office before you can even make it to your desk. He’s tall and lean; at-least 6′1; with a short quiff that he feels the need to gel back. His hands are abnormally large and disproportionate to his body. Pressed suits, solid-colored ties, shiny shoes, and white button-ups are all that he wears in fear that he could be mistaken for anything other than a rich man.

A dark oak desk sits toward the further end of the room, closest to a blue-grey wall and a painting of something dark and abstract. There are countless awards for god-knows-what lined up on his bookshelves, and a prayer plant is sat on the left side of his desk in a tall, gold vase. If it weren’t for that plant doing regular plant things, the air in here would reek of death.

He takes a seat at his black leather chair and places his big hands on the desk, grinning wickedly at you. The gold light fixtures match the thin, gold necklace that’s half-tucked beneath his button-up.

“A little birdie told me that you’re planning to open up your own studio.” He interrogates. Woods has never been one to mind his business, let alone speak to another human being without a condescending tone. “When was that? Sometime this year?”

“A little birdie?” You’re not afraid to call him out on his blatant dishonesty. “You look through my laptop when I’m at lunch.”

“The company’s laptop.” He corrects. He’s amused by your boldness, but if you squint, you can see the irritation behind his pale blue eyes. “You know how I feel about my people taking clients from The Woods. It’s not good for business.”

No, he’s not talking about literal tree-dominated land, although he does a good job at making people feel as if they’re lost in such a place. The Woods is quite literally him and anything he owns. Once you step foot into the building, you’re in The Woods territory. There’s a difference between being proud of what you’ve made for yourself and being an overbearing asshole who thinks he has a say in everyone and everything.

“I’m just trying to help you out, Y/N. You know that’s all I’ve ever done for you.” He says as condescending as ever. “I just don’t think you’re ready to be your own boss.”

“I’ve been ready for a while.” There’s no reason for you to say this out loud, because, well, both of you are already aware of it. You’re his best. You draw in clients like no other, have a network exceeding 500 professionals, and are a complete realist. You could run five successful studios, but with the right investors, you could run one of the best in the country. “If it’s clients that you’re worried about, don’t. I won’t steal from you.”

“Oh, but you’ve been stealing from me since I let you in these doors.”

Loyalty is a big thing for Woods, but he holds it against people to an extreme extent. He interferes with personal lives, often ordering people to cut ties with others he holds a grudge against or because they don’t ‘fit his vibe.’ If you have an ugly pet, he’ll refer you to the nearest pet sanctuary. If your wife or husband is an under-performer, has one too many blemishes on their skin, or can’t bear a child, he’ll introduce you to somebody he deems worthy.

You leave his office with a plunging feeling in the pit of your stomach and a need for fresh air.

The receptionist greets you as you walk past and toward the revolving doors. She’s a woman in her mid twenties with a noticeable French accent. Light highlights run through her shoulder-length, brown hair. She’s fond of wearing sneakers to work as it makes the train commute a lot more comfortable for her feet, she likes ice-cream scented candles, cats — that’s evident by the few cat hairs stuck to the sleeve of her blouse —, and keeping up with local gossip. She’s good at her job, reliable, and always greets people with a warm smile, even Woods. She’s no-doubt the glue that holds this place together and prevents people from strangling each-other to death.

“Long day?” Mylène, the French receptionist, asks even though lunchtime has yet to hit.

“You could say that.”

“11:11AM.” She says like it means anything to you. “That’s an angel number. I’ll make a wish for you.”

From Monday to Thursday, you work and you work and you work. You have countless meetings with new and old clients, draw up elaborate designs, revise old designs, and visit various construction sites. Your desk grows littered with pens, pencils, cuts of fabric and woods, and random slithers of wallpaper prints. During your lunch breaks, you often grab a coffee with old college friends and colleagues, making the effort to really nourish relationships.

Thursday rolls around faster than usual and you find yourself sitting at a bar with Jeon Jungkook at 8:48PM. He’s wearing a black button-up shirt with a slight satin finish, rolled at the sleeves, black dress pants and shoes, and a Rolex around his wrist. His well built chest strains slightly against his shirt, as do his biceps. You’ve come straight from work in a deep blue pencil dress. There’s not a single casual tee or distressed jean in sight, only high heels, neutral colored ties, gorgeous dresses, and styled hair.

Soft, white down-lights shine from the ceiling above the bar table, illuminating whatever vibrant drink the bartender has served to a customer. Pleasant jazz hums from cleverly hidden speakers. The atmosphere couldn’t get any more intimate. You often find yourself at bars like these after a shit day at work with a drink in both hands. There are specific things that make a shit day, but your boss is always the garlic and onions behind recipes like those.

Jungkook orders a scotch on the rocks and takes the first gulp like a parched man. You order yourself a strawberry-mint gin and tonic.

“What got you into writing?” Is your first question of the night. “I’ve heard that the industry is hard to get into. A friend of mine was rejected dozens of times and told that her plots were all wrong.”

He ponders carefully before settling on an answer. “Life and its shit. I’ve been rejected before, but that’s just how it is out there. Wouldn’t it be boring to be right all the time?”

You chuckle at the notion. “My boss begs to differ.”

Writing — putting your thoughts out into the world for crass feedback — isn’t an easy thing to do. It’s often praised as brave; to open yourself up to such interactions with people who should have zero impact on your self-worth because, they’re, well, complete strangers with a different set of values, literary interests, interpretation skills, and are often just doing their job as a well-paid shit-stirrer.

A handful of people get a kick out of sharing anonymous, hateful comments. Jungkook deals with those kind of comments every day of his life, but if there’s one thing that he’s learned by being in the public eye, it’s that opinions aren’t facts. It’s important to take them and then let them go. Hell, you even have the power to build your own foundation with the bricks people throw at you. His life is his. Your life is yours. It’d be a very big mistake to see your life in eyes that aren’t yours.

People are always going to be cunts with zero regard for other people’s feelings. The difference is that you and him know the difference between being a decent human being and being that. That’s something to take pride in.

“Sure, but how do you deal with criticism?” You ask, intrigued by his extraordinary life. He’s so young for the empire he’s amassed. Sure, he’s two years your junior, but he could teach you a thing or two. “Do you rewrite or try somewhere else?”

He swirls the whiskey in his glass and watches as it glisten beneath the lights. Amusement is written all over his face, but there’s something foreign wavering in his eyes. “I deal with it by sitting in my mansion and not changing a fucking thing about myself.”

“Touché, but wealth isn’t everything.” You challenge. “A lot of people learn to love the money, but hate themselves.”

“I don’t hate myself.” He says and you believe him. “Not always. I try to hate the choices I make instead of hating myself for making them.”

“Smart. You’re your own best friend.”

“I’m never going to know somebody as well as I know myself, so why not? I am my own mind. I know what I’m thinking at most times of the day.”

He makes an interesting point, but you can’t help but challenge it further. “Then again.. you see yourself, but you also don’t see yourself. There are some things that I know about you that you don’t know about yourself. For instance..”

He holds his glass with a limp wrist, listening attentively. “Enlighten me.”

“Well.. I’m sitting in front of you and I can observe the expressions that your face makes during our conversation. You don’t always realize that you’re making them, but you can’t carry a little mirror with you and check what your face is doing all the time. Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“I’ve never thought about that before.” He says with a smile. “You’re a bit strange, aren’t you?”

His answer disappoints you slightly, but you don’t bother verbalizing it. He can tell you feel this way by the slight lowering of your eyebrows. Only, you don’t realize yourself that you’ve taken on this expression. Funny, he thinks to himself. Ignorance was bliss.

You both discuss your the past few riveting days that you’ve had; you speak about your boss in the kindest way possible, and he speaks about the people he recently met in only good tones and smiles. He doesn’t ever poke fun at another persons flaw, or their dress choice, or their intellect. He could sell anyone any product, no matter how shit it actually is, with that talent. You find yourself laughing and cringing like he’s an old school friend. It’s a nice feeling.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve done?” You dare to ask with your straw poking at your bottom lip. You’re on your third gin and tonic.

“The worst thing?” He repeats, amused by your formidable question. He could list a few things that’d shift the mood, but he isn’t ready for you to meet the skeletons in his closet, to evaluate the bad decisions he’s made, or to sympathize with the people he’s hurt.

“Yeah, you know-” You take a sip from your drink before returning it to the bar. You’re in a prying mood. There’s something about him, maybe it’s the way he looks at you with those big brown eyes, that makes you want to try your luck. “The naughtiest.”

The naughtiest? He thinks to himself. Maybe it was when he bent his lawyer over her desk and showed her what ’taking it from the back’ really meant, or when he fucked a prestigious critic for a better review on his novel. He’s been everywhere, done a little bit of everything, and a little bit of everyone. To choose just one naughty thing would take a weeks worth of contemplation, but then, something of value comes to mind and he leans closer to whisper it into your ear; something so filthy that it makes your breath catch in your throat and your posture improve.

As he speaks lowly, his breath tickles your neck, sending goosebumps down the length of your arms. If you were slightly more sober, and some may argue — smart —, you’d recognize them as warning signs.

“And then..” His voice is intoxicating and has you hooked on every syllable that falls from his lips. He smells like a delicious mix of whiskey, vanilla, and pine. And, during the most telling part of his confession, he runs his palm from your knee to your upper thigh, taking the fabric of your dress with him.

You definitely took him as the promiscuous type, but this is far beyond anything you’ve ever heard before. When he pulls away, your skin is engulfed in an arousing heat. A warm flush had been crawling it’s way up your neck, but has well and truly settled between your thighs. "That’s pretty naughty.”

“Think so?” His confident tone arouses you more. You’re wet. That’s clear to the both of you. “I like the way you’re looking at me.”

You’re way too lost in his eyes and consumed by the feeling of his fingers tracing small circles against your thigh. Your eyes are probably begging for something, a portion of your bottom lip is probably caught between your teeth, and your chest is probably rising and falling quite quickly. “What way?”

“That way.” His eyes flick to your mouth, and then, just like that, his lips are on yours. He kisses you slowly at first, gently sliding his tongue against your own and relishing in the warmth and wetness of your mouth. He craves you; from your bashful smile to every inch of your body that always seems to be wrapped tightly in designer. He wonders what sounds you’ll make when he fucks you, whether or not you prefer to go slow and make love, how wet you’ll get you with just his fingers, and if your panties are thin and lacy and riding up your ass.

He hates wondering, so he takes you home. You unzip your dress and let it fall to the hardwood floor, and he pours himself a whiskey on the rocks. His curious eyes roam all over your skin, from your hardened nipples to your bare thighs, as he guides your lower back against the kitchen counter. Every touch against your skin makes you shudder, whether it be the pads of his fingers or the grey marble of the countertop.

“Look at you. Fuck..” He says, mostly to himself, as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. Your eyes flutter shut at his touch.

He runs his palm up the curve of your ass and hooks his fingers underneath the band of your panties, tugging it tight against your pussy. The feeling of your skin burns into his memory, and as he looks at your face, really looks at it, he knows he hit the jackpot; your face is as beautiful as your voice, your voice is as beautiful as your mind, and your mind is as beautiful as your body. To him, you’re fucking faultless. He knows he’ll be on his knees for you before the night is over.

The ice sitting in his glass glistens beneath the kitchen light and it gives him an intriguing idea. He wants to see you come undone, to make you so stimulated that you can’t pinpoint where the feeling is coming from. He takes an ice cube between his lips and presses it against the side of your neck. You gasp at the feeling of the ice running against your skin; so cold that it almost stings. Your fingers grasp at the fabric of his button-up as he drags the ice past your collarbone and down to your nipple, pressing it firm against the bud until your back arches away from the counter. A thin sheen of water maps out exactly where his lips have been.

Just like he knew he would, he sinks to his knees and tugs your panties down your thighs and off at the feet. The ice melts in his mouth. His lips are still cold and wet as he presses a hard kiss against your pussy, and the feeling draws a startled gasp from your chest. He spreads your folds with his fingers and teasingly drags his tongue against your pussy hole. His nose digs against your clit as he licks into you. His own saliva coats his chin, and at one point, drools from your pussy to the hardwood flooring.

“Right there.. Like that. Fuck!” You sigh as he alternates between sucking and licking your clit, and curling two fingers inside of you. He touches you right, really making the effort to listen to the sounds you make and taking note of the way you squirm against his mouth.

He licks your pussy and digs his fingers into your ass until your moans double in volume and your breathing turns rapid, and then he stands to steal your breath again with a deep kiss. You fumble with the buttons of his button-up as he fervently kisses you. The pace of the kiss is erratic and you find it difficult to keep up. He bites and sucks on your tongue until your lips are swollen.

His body is dreamy and something you’ve been curious about ever since he turned up in that tight, black button-up; wide shoulders, slim waist, defined abdomen and pecs, and small nipples that harden slightly as you run your hands over his skin. You tug on the zipper of his pants and reach beneath for his cock. It’s stiff and warm in your hand.

He lifts your leg and wraps your thigh snug around his bare waist, eager to feel you. A relieved sigh falls from both of your mouths as he sinks into you. He pulls your hips flush against his own, delving deeper and filling you up until he can’t any more. You feel so warm and wet wrapped around him. It couldn’t be any better.

“You feel so good.” He praises and he means every word. “So fucking good..”

Similarly to the first kiss you shared, he starts off gentle and slow, but is quick to lose himself in the moment and set a quick pace. His pecs and abdomen flex as he bucks his hips against yours over and over again. The sex has you in a trance. Moans drool from your lips, your nails rake across the back of his neck, and your head grows increasingly dizzy. Your lower back digs firmly into the counter top as he fucks you against it, and profanities fall from his tongue in arousing moans. You can’t imagine your night getting any better.

The sex migrates from the kitchen counter, to the doors of the pantry, and finally to the nearby couch. He sinks onto, almost into, the couch as you straddle his lap. Nothing else is running through his mind aside from you; the feeling of your wrapped tightly around him, the sight of your parted lips and low eyes, the sound of your pretty whines and stuttering breath, and the bounce in your tits as you sit on his cock over and over again.

“Oh my.. god. Oh my-” You chant in desperate whispers. “Fuck..”

He reaches for your tits, squeezing the flesh and pinching your nipples between his fingers. Your skin is delicate beneath his touch; he almost feels like he could break you at any moment, but you’re proving to be a bigger girl than he made you out to be.

You come twice that night; once on his cock and the other on his tongue. You’re breathless when it ends and it takes you many, many more moments spent in his arms before you can gather your thoughts and clothing.

Jungkook has had enough sex in his life to understand that sex is never perfect and that’s a very normal and human thing. Sometimes it takes a few different touches and manoeuvres to turn somebody on, and other times it’s a walk in the (water) park. Sometimes he’ll laugh while he’s balls deep in somebody because one of them made a funny noise. He might miss their mouth and accidentally kiss their chin. He might come too early or too late, lose his erection halfway through because a bizarre thought crossed his mind, or even fall asleep before he can take his pants off because he’s had a little too much to drink. Sometimes sex is boring, or silent, or just an itch that needs to be scratched. But he saw no fault in the sex he just had with you. His mind didn’t wander, but his hands definitely did. He liked everything about it; from the sounds you made to the way you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He still sees zero faults in you.

Woods hands you the client on Friday morning. Just like that. He strides to your desk and slaps down a file full of various sketches, building plans, and contact details. You flip through the pages with an abundance of enthusiasm as he glares down at you. He wants you to stay at the studio and he’s hoping that this will buy your confidence. That’s what this is.

“Don’t disappoint me.” Is all that he says.

You meet with those clients on the very same day, introducing yourself and chatting about various design ideas over coffee at a nearby cafe. They’re a married couple in their late fifties and as rich as ever. They carry themselves well and decide on a budget in the millions. They want to build a retirement home for themselves; somewhere secluded and surrounded by gorgeous scenery, open plan, modern, lots of light, white and elegant decor.

“Plants.” The man adds as you’re taking notes on an iPad. He’s handsome; short, dark hair, well-built figure, pretty brown eyes, and a soothing voice. “Lots of house plants. They make the air better.”

“Actually..” The woman adds as the meeting comes to an end. She’s as attractive as her husband; pretty eyes, shiny black hair, and delicate fingers. “We’re heading to a literature event tonight and the venue is exactly in the style we’re looking for. Why not come? It’s a nice excuse to get you out of the office, isn’t it?”

You accept with a smile. Who are you to turn down free champagne during a weekday? You’re not much of a reader, not because you don’t like to read, but because you rarely have the time. Regardless, you put on your nicest dress and your nicest heels, and adorn your face with pretty makeup.

The venue is stunning; high ceilings with expensive chandeliers, white Victorian walls, indoor ivory hanging from aged wooden beams, huge windows that allow the sunlight to pass through. It really is beautiful here. The other guests are dressed to the nines; shawls, glistening dresses, designer ties and suits, and priceless shoes. As you’re looking around and sipping on a glass of complementary champagne, somebody all too familiar catches your eye. He notices you just moments after and comes bounding over with a handsome smile on his face.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Jeon Jungkook, your neighbor and the man you had literal sex with the other day, joins you by the table of champagne glasses. A huge chocolate fountain and a few vases full of white flowers are sat on the table, too.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, a bit taken aback by how good he looks; black blazer over a tight high-neck sweater, black dress pants, and shiny shoes. His hair is styled neatly and pushed off to one side.

“I was invited-” He quirks an eyebrow. “-to the author’s events because, believe it or not, I’m an author. Why are you here?”

“Right.” You breathe out all of your tense energy in one, long sigh. With little conviction, you gesture toward the middle-aged couple who are enjoying champagne with a slightly younger woman. “Those are my clients. They want a home in a similar style to this. They didn’t have to invite me, but it’s nice that they did. Could’ve just googled this place or visited later in the week..”

“My parents?” He asks, unaffected.

“Your parents?”

He points two limp fingers in the direction of the same couple and you can’t help but remember the feeling of them between your thighs. “The pretentious looking couple, yeah, my parents. I was so sure you were the type to read through my Wikipedia page and draw up my family tree.”

Small world, you think to yourself. It seems like every rich person knows all the other rich people in this world. They all meet at some point, buying and selling parts of themselves in the good name of business. The world makes the strangest connections sometimes.

“If you ever feel nervous, just remember this.” He says. “Their son writes sex novels, so nothing can really disappoint them any more than that. You’ll give them what they want, though. I’ve seen some of your work.”

“They don’t support you?”

“They do. My mom tells people that I write about science and the order of the universe, though. She’s still holding out hope that I’ll suddenly want to work at their company. My dad doesn’t really care.. as long as I don’t overdose on some yacht in Cancun.”

Jungkook’s eyes drag from your exposed neck and arms, to the curve of your ass. Your glittery dress is as amazing as everyone else’s, maybe even better. The soft skin of your back is exposed and a delicate string of jewels runs down your spine. “You look nice, by the way. Really nice.”

The opportunity for mingling comes to a close once a young man — about the same age as Jungkook — steps up to the mic that’s been set up at the front and center of the venue. He’s wearing round glasses and a black, fitted suit. The guests take their seats at their allocated tables. It comes as no surprise to you that Jungkook is seated at the same table as parents. You sit at the table behind with a few other rich women draped in designer. The eldest woman sat around the table taps your shoulder and compliments your dress.

“Stunning.” She says and you smile.

“Thanks for coming everyone. I’d like to start us off with a passage from my latest self-help book.” The young man with the glasses begins after tapping the mic with two fingers. He’s not nervous, just eager to change at least one person’s outlook. “If somebody doesn’t bring anything positive into your life, let them go. You’ll feel bad and question whether you’ve done the right thing, but just give it some time. Don’t check up on somebody who doesn’t check up on you. Don’t try to keep in contact. Stop associating things, music, and people with that person.”

“Maybe they said something mean and you said something back or vice versa, but in reality, it just doesn’t matter. You were both upset. You’re not defined by a petty argument. People in this world kill each-other, steal, abuse power, and assault the most vulnerable. You’re not a bad person for being upset and saying something hurtful, and that rings true if you feel any ounce of regret. It happened and you can’t change it. Sure, you might’ve had some awesome times and genuinely have love for that person, but if they continuously make you doubt your worth, intellect, choices, values, invade your privacy, and lash out at you for being somebody other than who they want you to be, let them go. You don’t even owe them an explanation or a goodbye. Don’t apologize when it isn’t your fault. Don’t apologize for mistakes that you didn’t make. Don’t waste time reflecting on shit that just isn’t worth it. This world is full of people who you will love and who will love you. Don’t settle. You lose part of yourself when you do.”

And then he nods to the crowd and returns to his seat. An older woman takes his place and introduces a passage from her own novel.

“Lessons in love hurt.” She says. “If there was a class for love, nobody would turn up. We’re not lab rats and we’d all prefer to learn without pain. I don’t ever remember feeling like I’d spend life alone after a math class, do you?”

Despite Jungkook being the most famous author here, he doesn’t get up to speak at all during the night. All he does is listen to the others and clap once they finish reciting their bit. When the event ends and all the rich people have shaken all the other rich people’s hands, he offers to take you somewhere where they serve a lot more than champagne, and you accept without a hesitating thought.

He drives a black camaro and it smells exactly like his aftershave. You don’t bother to ask him where he’s taking you because you trust that he’ll show you a good time. He drives for fifteen minutes down a busy road before turning a corner and continuing down a narrow driveway toward a federal colonial house. The driveway widens five times it’s previous size, making room for at-least twenty decent sized vehicles. He parks among nine other cars and walks toward the large front door with your hand in his; just in case you trip in the dark with those heels on.

Dim, alternating colors of light emit from each of the windows; floor to ceiling on the first floor, and half the size on the second. A huge lawn surrounds the property and is dimly illuminated by outdoor solar lights that are impaled into the soil. Loud, electropop music booms from the walls of the building. You can practically see them shaking in tune with the bass.

“Where is this?” You ask over the volume. Bunches of balloons are fastened around an assortment of topiary bay trees.

“A happy house.” He lets himself in like he’s been here one hundred times before. He has. This is the one place that he won’t ever outgrow. People do every type of drug here, party for three days in a row, and have boatloads of sex. The police don’t bother intervening because too many celebrities are fond of this place and come often. If offered enough money, even the law can turn a blind eye. “You get very happy here, if you know what I mean.”

The air is thicker inside the building and more difficult to breathe in. It doesn’t feel like a home at all. You can smell weed, sweat, sex, and alcohol. The flickering lights illuminate parts of people’s faces and bodies. They’re chatting quietly, touching each-other through and beneath their clothing, smoking cigarettes, and exchanging saliva in the hallway. Some have multicolored hair, streaks of neon paint smeared on their face, missing shirts, cocaine melted into their upper lip, and a light sheen of sweat adorning their skin.

Jungkook takes no notice. He guides you past the bodies in the hallway and toward what looks like a pumped-up, party-haven living room. Two couches sit opposite from one another and in-between a table that’s littered with empty glasses and glow sticks. It’s hard to see much else.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again.” An older woman comes out of nowhere and engulfs Jungkook in a tight hug. She’s wearing a turquoise jumpsuit, lots of jewellery on her wrists and fingers, and bright pink lipstick. The flickering lights make it difficult to make out the true dimensions of her face, but you can tell that she’s very beautiful. She has yellow neon paint smeared down her neck and arms.

“Huifang, Y/N.” Jungkook takes the joint that she offers him and lights it between his lips. The smoke rises to the ceiling and changes color in tune with the lights. “She’s designing my parent’s old people home.”

The woman steps forward and you expect her reach for a hug, but she cups your face and presses a hard kiss against your lips instead. You’re wide eyed when she pulls away, but her smile doesn’t falter. This is definitely a happy house.

“She’s very friendly.. Ever since the divorce.” Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in the light as he laughs. It’s a playful gesture that Huifang returns by nudging his arm.

“Wow.. Yeah.” You pat your lips and check your fingers for her bright pink lipstick.

Somewhere along the flashing lines, Jungkook vanishes beneath the lights and Huifang pulls you down on the the nearest couch. You’ve never been so bewildered in your life. There’s so much going on that you don’t understand, but the three glasses of champagne that you had previously are doing their bit at calming your nerves.

“You’re free here.” She says. “You can do anything around these people; take every kind of drug, have sex on the tables, commit fraud in the hallway. Nobody fucking cares here and I love living this way.”

She points a manicured finger toward two people sat on a dining table chair. Balloons are tied to the legs of the nearby table and confetti litters the floor. A woman, about the same age as Huifang, has the straps of her dress at her hips. She’s hungrily kissing a man whose lap she’s occupied. The flickering lights make what their doing seem slightly more private, but they’re still definitely having sex. There are other people slumped against the wall, some are on the couch, some are cutting up cocaine on the table, some are walking past the couch and into the back garden, where sex is also definitely being had. It all seems very normal here. It’s like a frat party on steroids and Viagra.

“You and I are from the same spaceship. I can tell.” Huifang says, but doesn’t elaborate until she lights a cigarette between her lips and takes a long drag. “Ambitious as hell when shown a little faith.”

“I wasn’t always like this.” She gestures to her styled hair and the expensive rings on her fingers. “I was dirt poor when I had my son and couldn’t even afford to send him to school with lunch like all the other kids. Selfish, right? I got pregnant when I knew I couldn’t take of my own kid. And then it got even harder; I couldn’t afford to pay for his bus tickets when the school fees starting increasing. Something to do with expensive development in the area. That’s when I knew I was in real shit. I thought about pulling him out and teaching him a thing or two around the dinner table, but what the hell do I know? I dropped out of high school to raise him. I couldn’t teach him half the things a decent school could. All I could do was work unstable jobs.”

In the time it takes her to preface her story, her cigarette burns out completely. She takes a new cigarette from the pocket of her turquoise jumpsuit and lights it between her small, pink lips. “Anyways..” She says with a cloud of smoke chasing each syllable. The lights make her dark eyes look like they’re shifting colors.

“I met him during my shift at a bar when I was thirty-two and he was twenty-one. I couldn’t believe how smart and handsome he was. He spoke like he knew the answers to everything.” She doesn’t point to any man, but you know for certain that she’s referring to Jungkook. “He was interested in my life, so I told him everything. I told him how my parents would frown at me for living how I lived. They were rich, but I didn’t want to live off money I didn’t earn. They didn’t understand and scolded me for being selfish. My son wasn’t ever a depressed or spoiled child and he knew the value of money from a very early age. I guess that’s one thing I could teach him.”

“He wrote about me, you know?” She admits. “It’s a complete autobiography, really. He’s a talented writer, always describing things that others wouldn’t have thought to. And he gave me 100% of the profits he made from it. I refused at first, but he insisted that I deserved it.”

You’re so engulfed in her story that you don’t notice when Jungkook takes a seat next to you until his fingers push your hair away from your neck. His hand is smeared in pink neon paint, which is now glowing in a section of your hair. In his other hand is a clear drink. He offers it to you and you smell it; vodka and lemonade. Classy.

“Having fun?” He leans close to your neck so you can hear him over the booming music. “She’s funny, isn’t she?”

“You could say that.”

He watches as you take a leisurely sip of your drink. Your lips are slightly wet and glisten beneath the flashing lights. “Can I ask you something?”

You give him a playful look, the same one you’ve been giving him most of the night, and he responds by placing a hand on your thigh. The silk is smooth against his palm, but so is your skin as he reaches underneath the skirt of your dress. Huifang isn’t sitting next to you when you look for her.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve done?” Jungkook coos against your neck as his fingers dance against your skin. They inch higher and higher as each second passes. The music grows louder.

You’ve had plenty of sex with ex-boyfriends at questionable places, but you haven’t been touched so publicly before, nor have you been so aroused that you’d even allow somebody’s hand to reach any further than your knee.

Your heart slams against your rib cage and you swallow hard. You can’t find the strength to recite your response in anything other than a quiet whisper. You’re no stranger to sex, but you feel like a virgin again. “The worst?”

He can’t hear you. His hand vanishes beneath your dress, now delving beneath the fabric of your panties and running against your wet skin. You sigh at his touch.

The music and chatter has dimmed around you and the only thing your ears listen for is his voice. “The naughtiest.”

Completely void of shame, he eases two fingers into your pussy until his palm is flush against your clit. You instinctively reach for his inner thigh and dig your nails into the fabric of his pants. He moves, slowly pumping his fingers and rubbing his palm firmly against your clit. You’re hazy and light-headed, completely drunk on his touch.

He takes your earlobe between his teeth before pressing a gentle kiss against the sore skin. “I think I can guess.”

You bite back a moan into a whimper that only he hears. Your pussy aches around his fingers and you instinctively push your hips closer toward his touch. He presses a hard kiss against your neck and drags his paint-covered hand from your neck down to your breasts. A trail of neon pink paint vanishes beneath your bra, where he has your nipple between his fingers.

Arousal drools down his skin as he increases the speed of his fingers. Your hips move on their own, circling and following the rhythm of his fingers. A fire grows between your thighs and you have to really, really focus to not drop your drink on the floor and smash the glass.

“That’s pretty naughty.” You can hear the amusement in his voice.

On Saturday, you work yourself to the bone. Jungkook crosses your mind when you’re alone in your bedroom, but you fall asleep before you can do anything about it. On Sunday, though, you just can’t fall asleep. The thought of his touch and the insanely perverted thing you did in that house full of people lingers in your mind. Things like that would usually repulse you, but you can’t help but ache for it again.

Shamelessly, you touch yourself. You run the tip of your vibrator up and down your pussy, spreading your lips and slicking up the toy. You picture the shower scene you had read in his novel; the hand-print on the woman’s thigh, the slapping sounds of wet sex, and the heavy water flowing from the faucet. You picture his fingers rubbing hard against your clit and easing deep into you, just how he had done on Friday night. You picture the dimples in his lower back as he dips in-between your thighs, his wide shoulders, toned abdomen, his voice in your ear.

A whine falls from your mouth as you delve deeper into your imagination. His sex, his moans, the furrow in his eyebrows when he concentrates on fucking you well, the kisses that he likes to press against your neck. Your back arches off the bed as you draw yourself closer to your climax. You can barely contain yourself. Moans and gasps fill your bedroom. You grasp at the sheets and think of him when you come.

From Monday to Friday, David Woods invites you into his office before you reach your desk in the morning and before you step outside at the end of each day, demanding updates on the rich couple you’re working for. They may be Jungkook’s parents, but they’re your clients. You’re smart enough to know that it’s always best to leave personal-life far, far away from work-life.

“Well?” Woods always begins with.

“Well what?” You always finish with. “They’re happy with how things are progressing.”

Sunday is supposed to be the day that you can dedicate to yourself and to your peace of mind, but you find it increasingly hard to wind down. No matter how delicious your cocktail is, how warm the summers night is, or how pretty the pool looks as the water glistens beneath the moonlight, you just can’t seem to settle your thoughts.

“Rough day?” A familiar voice calls from his second story home. You don’t need to lift your head to know that Jungkook is hanging out of his window with a glass of whiskey in hand and a handsome smile on his face.

“You have no idea.” You call back, making no effort to meet his gaze. You’re wearing a short summery dress and he likes the look of it.

“Well.” He lifts his glass like he’s making a toast to God himself. “I’d like to have an idea.”

He invites you over and you hesitantly accept the glass of red wine he pours for you. A gin and tonic would’ve been nice, but he’s keen on you tasting this exclusive bottle of wine. You take a tiny sip and are pleasantly surprised. It’s not vinegary like all the other wines you’ve tasted. It’s floral and soft on your throat.

You tell him everything about your ordeals at work; from the first time you met your boss, to the time he told you not to wear a particular color because it ‘washes you out’, and now to his constant breathing down your neck. You want to leave and create your own business as soon as you can, but you can’t leave a client before construction work begins. You’ll look like a fucking idiot.

It feels good to vent and it feels even better to vent to someone who holds zero judgement toward you. The conversation shifts and you ask about Huifang. He tells you that her son recently received a scholarship for university.

“What’s your favorite color?” Jungkook asks as he refills your wine glass for the third time that night.

“Why do you ask?”

He’s amused at your sudden defensiveness. Is it that bad? “Trying to get to know you.”

“I don’t have one.” You say without giving it a single thought. It’s such a simple question, but you don’t want to answer it. There’s something much more intimate about telling somebody your favorite color than, for example, drawing them a labelled diagram of your vagina and asshole. You don’t want to be that kind of intimate. Not now.

“Fine.” He says, smile not faltering. “Mine’s blue.”

You decide to ask him a question of your own; one that you’ve been meaning to ask since that night at the bar. “Nothing in this world bothers you, does it?”

“Things bother me.” He admits. “But I see no point in hanging onto things that I can’t change.”

When midnight strikes, you announce your departure. You pick up the bottle of red wine and make a rightful request. “Mind if I take this? It’s better than I thought.”

“Help yourself.”

You leave and he rolls himself a tight joint. His personal phone rings from the kitchen counter and he picks up after five rings.

“Yes?” He asks, wholly uninterested.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” A pretty female voice murmurs through the receiver. “I’m a few hours behind, so I’m sorry for calling you so late at night.”

His joint hangs loosely from the side of his mouth, the filter growing slightly damp. It crosses his mind that this woman behind the phone may be his first love, but that thought leaves his mind as quickly as it comes. He changed his phone number multiple times to avoid a handful of others, so how could it be? “Who is this?”

“You forgot me already?” Her laugh rings in his ears like a high school bell. It is her. Only she has that laugh. It’s beautiful, but also sort of villainous. “How long has it been? three years?”

“I don’t keep track of time anymore.”

“Because you’re so rich, right? Nothing really matters to you anymore. You can do whatever you want.” He can picture her rolling her eyes so clearly in his mind. That was something she often did when she disapproved. “Money is a nice feeling.”

He doesn’t say anything, too taken aback by the exact same person who used him up like a favorite lipstick three years back. He doesn’t understand why she called him.

“I read your novel, by the way. The one about me.” She cuts the silence with a softer tone. “You made me look a lot better than I’ve been. Why?”

He lights the tip of the joint with an old, silver lighter and inhales the smoke deeply into his lungs. The smoke chases his response and then vanishes into the air. “No hard feelings, right? We agreed on that.”

“Did you mean it?” She switches the topic at the very moment he notices the lights to your bedroom flick on. “When you said you’d always love me? Wait for me?”

“I meant it then.” He admits, his vision and mind softening. He checked out of the conversation just moments before. “But that was then.”

You work like you always do. Jungkook crosses your mind, but it’s far too often for your liking. It concerns you how he easily he can creep into your mind while you’re sitting at your desk, waiting in line for a coffee, or driving home. You always look at his house before pulling up to your own. This isn’t seeming like a no-strings-attached arrangement anymore and that bothers you.

Jungkook is presented with countless opportunities, but he doesn’t sleep with anyone during the time spent away from you. He touches himself to the thought of you a few times; a clear picture of your face in his mind as he runs his fingers over his skin. He can’t help it, but he doesn’t quite know why. He wonders what you get up to at work and if your boss has backed off yet. He hates wondering.

You don’t speak for almost three weeks and that irks him. He writes a lot of his novel in that time, but it’s not enough to ease his mind. He wants to see you, to listen to you ramble about your life, to see that bashful smile. He calls you on a Tuesday night, but you don’t answer. He calls you on a Friday night and you answer after six rings.

“Where have you been?”

“Working.” You hate the effect that his voice has on you. “Where have you been?”

“Working. Wanna hang out?” He asks because he wants to touch you and you agree because you want to touch him, too.

For a change, he knocks on your door and you have sex in your house. The sex is just as good and dirty as it had been the last time, maybe even better; he pulls your hair, pushes his fingers in your mouth, and slaps your ass as he fucks you from behind. He makes you come twice, makes you say his name, and ties your wrists with your own panties. You lick his cock from the base to the tip and coat his skin with your saliva. You hollow your cheeks, swirl your tongue, and run your tongue along his slit, and he fucks your throat until tears prick at the corner of your eyes. The both of you let completely loose and crumble beneath each-other’s touch, but when all is said and done, you immediately start searching for your clothes.

“Are you avoiding me?” He asks as he watches you step back into your panties. He’s laying back on your bed, naked, with a hand resting under his head.

This is where he had his heart broken for the first time; not with his dick out, although, that does come to mind whenever he reminisces, but after being avoided for a period of time. He remembers what his ex said to him; ‘I’m moving away. Away from this fucking city. I’ll call you.’ And then he let her. He let her glance at him only once, get on that flight, and leave his heart on the runway. But he’s not a total idiot. He picked it up and shoved it back into his chest where it should’ve stayed and where healing only comes with time. Even after publishing his first novel, he still felt alone. Money, fame, and sex isn’t everything. He was missing a kind of company where he was allowed to be flawed. And then he met you. You let him say the wrong things, drink too much on a night out, have messy and imperfect sex, and express dissatisfaction even toward his wealthy lifestyle.

You hesitate before answering. Have you been avoiding him? You couldn’t say. You’ve definitely been running from thoughts of him. “No, why?”

“Don’t know. Maybe you’re not.” He doesn’t pull his eyes away from your frantic movements. “I like spending time with you, so it sucks that I can’t see you more often.”

To you, he’s just another contact in your phone book. To him, you’re just company that he’s very fond of. That’s what you’ve convinced yourselves, at-least. Maybe you were both raised the same way; taught to not put yourself in risky situations unless they’ll bring you success and fortune. Emotions are messy and complicated, and feelings of heartbreak aren’t worth the trouble. Sex is fun, but falling in-love isn’t. You go from occasionally thinking about a person, to becoming a vessel for their entire existence. You’ll no longer put yourself first and that can be a dangerous thing. After sex, you can just get up and leave. But, when you’re in-love, it stays with you no matter how far you run.

“I’ve just been busy.” You say. It’s not a lie. “You know how it gets.”

“Yeah, I do.” He grins at you and you feel a huge wave of guilt wash over you. Why is he such a nice fucking guy? Why do you never want to see that smile leave his face?

You can’t hold it in much longer, so you just let it all out. You need to make sense of this. “This is just a friendship, right? We’re clearly friends, but then there’s all of this sex. Really good sex, don’t get me wrong..”

Jungkook knows that he has love for you, but he’s not in-love with you. He could be, though, and that’s something that intrigues him. If you would just look into his eyes a little differently and let him see past the shades of your iris’, he knows that he could fall in-love. Seeing you stand in front of him, now, with nothing on but panties and his shirt makes him wonder. He’s seen what’s beneath, but he hasn’t seen much of what’s even deeper. You don’t talk when you don’t want to. You don’t let yourself be wholly vulnerable around him.

“Why wouldn’t we be friends?” He realizes how that sounds as soon as he says it. You’re just trying to draw the lines and he’s really fucking awful at coloring within them.

“Okay. Let’s agree on friends.. Just to be clear.” You hold out your hand like you’re offering him a life-changing deal. It may not be life-changing, but it’s definitely a one-way deal. How can he refuse? If he does, he’ll lose you completely. If he agrees, he’ll lose you in the way he wants you, but you’ll still be around.

This has happened before, something similar at-least. He should’ve seen it coming, but he gets so lost in your eyes and lost in the way your voice envelopes all of his senses. This is how his life will continue to be; others will do great things and he will be the messenger. Willingly, of course. There’s something quite intriguing about being the pawn in another person’s self-discovery plan. Besides, he’s not leaving empty handed; he gets another plot for his next novel. He gets to feel whatever pain he feels and he’ll make millions out of it. People will do just about anything to succeed in this world, whether it be playing the devil or the fool. Both warrant profit and a status of some kind.

He wants to ask if you’re sure, but who is he to question your choices? He doesn’t know what goes on in your head, what’s best for you, or how you truly feel about him. Some may say that he deserves to know, but he doesn’t. Nobody in this world is entitled to your thoughts, your body, or your time, no matter what they’ve done for you.

His expression shifts to one of amusement — like he’s saying ‘well played’ — as he takes your hand and shakes on it. You’re one hell of a woman, the most intriguing one he’s even met. There are layers to you that are never-ending, depths that are too dark for him to see in. And, until you hand him a torch bright enough, he’ll appreciate the things that you do decide to show him. “Friends, whatever you want.”

No matter how much it hurts, nobody can force what isn’t meant to be. Maybe time will change the story, but for now, everything is how it’s supposed to be. He won’t force any of his feelings onto you and that’s what will make him a good friend. You’ll just look at each-other, exactly how you’re doing right now, with tight lips. You’ll share the warmth of each-other’s palms and bathe in the silence until somebody picks up their pride and makes the easier decision.

Just because two people love each-other, even in the most platonic way, it doesn’t mean that they’re meant to be together. For some, pain is pleasure. For others, pain is pain, and they have a habit of letting it go along with the person who sparked the feeling. Life is a cycle of giving and receiving pain, but it’s also a cycle of giving and receiving love. Without pain, nobody would know love, and vice versa.

But, before he can pull his eyes away from yours and be the one to leave, to make that easy decision, you give him that very look; the look that makes him fall in-love with you.

“Purple.” You say, holding onto his hand like it’s keeping you afloat. You feel like you might lose him forever if you let go, like you might drown in the most painful way. You don’t want him to leave. “That’s my favorite color.”

He doesn’t say a word, far too afraid of missing one of yours.

“Not a hickey-colored purple, more like a lilac.” Your eyes are wide and desperate. To be friends isn’t what you want, even if it’s what you said. You know that you’ll never feel what he makes you feel with any other person. Maybe he’ll break your heart into a million pieces, or maybe you’ll break his, but you wouldn’t want anyone else to do it. You’ll never trust somebody like you trust him and that’s important to you. “I didn’t like wine until you poured me some, daises spark up my allergies, my parents have been separated for nine years, but can’t be bothered to divide their assets, so, technically, they’re still married. My friends and I have a Sex and the City marathon every Christmas..”

You succeed in your own studio because that’s what you put your mind, body, and soul towards. You rarely question your identity, femininity, and self-worth, but when you do, you take a step back and take a long look at the empire you’ve amassed for yourself. You cry when you need to, you scream at the ocean when things bottle up, you have the filthiest sex with Jungkook and let him kiss every inch of your skin when you want to be touched, and you allow yourself to be wholly vulnerable with the people that love you. You take a look at the kind friends you’ve made, the supportive clients, investors, and even those who despise you in silence.

And, on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, you take a good look at a newspaper article displayed behind the window of a news agency: David Woods, former CEO of Woods Architecture Studio, is under fire for subjecting his employees to bizarre company policies, underpaying, and failing to provide adequate training and feedback opportunities to female employees.

The article displayed on the following newspaper makes you smile just as wide: Jeon Jungkook, author and new-found owner of a whiskey distillery, sold more than one million copies of his new novel in the first seven days, and has achieved the title of Best Selling Author for the third year in a row.

You might be thinking to yourself: did he ever write that odd, sex-filled erotica novel about me? The answer is yes. You just read it.

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storiesofsvu · 2 years

Text

Brazen Qualities Ch 1

Warnings: Language.

The 24 hour news channel was playing quietly on your office t.v while you were working through your most recent argument, yet another senator caught in a scandalous affair, no surprise there. Now it was your job to remind both the upper politicians and the public that just because he preferred 21 year old blondes to his wife didn’t mean he wasn’t good at his job. There was a knock at the door, your assistant announcing that you had a visitor. You gave a quick nod of ‘let them in’ while you finished up the page you were on.

“Ms Dunbar,” you greeted, “what can I do for you?”

“I want you on my team.”

“That was fast.”

“So you heard?” Heather chuckled as she settled into a seat across from your desk, referring to her announcement that she was running for the democratic nomination for president.

“‘Course. Can’t let something like that slip by unknown when I work predominantly in the world of politics. You have any more details to lay out for me?”

“Your official title would be my legal advisor. I want you working alongside myself and Cynthia as we plan the campaign and on the trail with us. You’ll look over speeches, debates, interviews and the like before they happen, make sure everything’s in check. If anything comes up in an attempt to slander my name, you’ll be representing me.”

“A lot of that sounds like a job for someone fresh out of law school…” you leant forward, propping your elbows on your desk, linking your fingers, “why me?”

“Because you’re the only one that took a battle to court and got the Vice President to step down. You’re also the only one to defend a politician to the Supreme Court against me and win.” She grinned, “you’re well liked and respected in both the courts and in the White House, and you’re damn good at your job. One of the finest lawyers in the country.”

“Flattery won’t get you want you want Heather.” You half teased, “you do remember I’m childhood friends with Jackie, right?” She chuckled,

“Sharp’s already gotten you has she?”

“No.” You pursed your lips, “besides, she’s too…high strung. And there’s no doubt in my mind she has more than a few skeletons in the closet.” You tapped your chin on your hands, deep in thought for a moment, “but you’re offering me a job with a definite end date. What more do you have to offer?”

“You’ll have a spot on my campaign through to the election, once I’m in office, I can offer you something more substantial.”

“And if you don’t win? I highly doubt they’ll replace me with a temp here while I’m gone. I won’t have a permanent job to come back to.”

“What’re you asking for?” Heather wasn’t one to make promises this early in the game, hell she wasn’t one to make promises a week out from the election, but she needed you on her side, and if that’s what it was going to take, she’d bite. After all, a good lawyer always knew when to make a deal.

“Solicitor General.” You replied, your forearms dropping to cross in front of you on the desk, a small smile on your lips.

“I’m not sure I can promise you that. As small as the chance of me losing is…I would hate to make a breakable deal.”

“You don’t have to worry about it if you lose. My name’s already in the running, but if I take the time off to support you it might affect my chances.”

“Underwood’s already called you?” She quirked a brow and you let out a small chuckle.

“He was on the phone with me before your resignation even hit his desk.”

“Bastard….” She muttered.

“Agreed. So what’re we talking for salary?” She slid a folded piece of paper out of her purse, placing it on the desk in front of you. You shot her a glance before unfolding it, eyes skimming the scrawled numbers, “seems generous enough.”

“There’ll be a raise after I secure the nomination.”

“Are we doing this as a verbal agreement or do you have a contract for me to sign?”

“Good girl…” Heather grinned, knowing you were too smart to enter into not only a job, but a deal like this without having it signed and written down first.

“I’ve been doing this for fourteen years Heather, I’m no yuppie.”

“I’ll have something drawn up and to you by Monday.”

“And once I’ve looked it over…you’ll have yourself a deal.” You smiled, mirroring her in standing, a hand extending to shake hers firmly, “I don’t suppose you wanting me as a visible and prominent presence on your team has anything to do with my father?” You quipped.

“The support of someone with your last name may help my standings, but this is because the only person with a finer legal mind in this country-“

“Is you…” You smirked,

“Exactly.” She smiled, picking up her bag, “I’ll call you. Thank you.” Her hand was almost on the door knob when you called out.

“Heather!” She turned back to you, a question written on her features, “I know Underwood already announced he’s not running this term, but I’d watch your back.”

“Oh?”

“We both know he’s not to be trusted. He’s already tried to pull you away from the race before he even knew you were considering running and attempted to give away your job while you were still employed. You wouldn’t even be the first person he’s blackmailed this week.” Heather paused, her hand dropping to her side as she fully turned her attention to you, a brow quirked while she decoded your words.

“You know about Justice Jacobs…”

“I used to babysit his kids.” You shrugged, “and…when you’re not available people tend to come to me. If there’s a secret within the Supreme Court, there’s a pretty good chance I already know about it.”

“Which is exactly why I want you on my team.” Heather gave you a knowing grin before leaving your office, the door shutting behind her.

In all honesty, you weren’t surprised by her coming to you, despite being a special prosecutor herself, she would need a second set of eyes with similar legal knowledge to help her get through this. Especially when she would be so buried in the political side of things. It certainly did help that your father had been one of the highest ranking Senators for Washington for years before he passed. You’d spent your entire life growing up around politics, you watched the news every morning before school by the time you were six, government related conversations were part of the usual dinner time talk. You did homework surrounded by the senate, and you won every school president election you put your name in for. Your father often bragged about it, even when you were still much to young to even think about your career, but your connections certainly helped you rise through the ranks faster than a normal law student applying for a political career would. Not that you ever wanted a seat in the office, you loved law far too much to leave it behind you, not to mention the madness that came along with politics.

Though as Heather had mentioned, it wasn’t just that you knew someone high up, you’d dedicated so much of your education to leaving no nook or cranny of the law, the constitution, or anything related unturned. You knew it as well as you knew the back of your hand. Even fresh out of Harvard you won cases no one ever would have expected you to, your wit and intelligence far beyond colleagues your age. It wasn’t long before you secured a job working with the government, and it surprisingly didn’t take you very long to prove that you were more than the young pretty thing with a law degree roaming the halls. You were barely thirty when you took down the Vice President, facing off against Dunbar herself a few years later. She’d been so confident that she had the case in the bag, someone like you couldn’t possibly have the skill to take her on, but you’d rendered her speechless more than once during the trial, a simple smirk on your face as you headed back to the defence table.

It was in that moment she knew she needed you on her side, no matter what the circumstance. You became slow friends, exchanging pleasantries whenever you ran into each other in the halls. You rarely interacted outside of the professional environment aside from the very few run ins on days off. Though she was quick to offer a business card, offering up advice or support if you ever needed it on a case. You were hesitant at first, politics were always involved obviously, and you could never know what someone’s true motives were unless you really knew and trusted them. You reluctantly went to dinner with her when you had a very difficult case, and were surprised when she actually was in support of you, giving more than great advice that ended up with you winning the case.

From then on in you trusted her, you’d always respected her, admired the career she’d managed to build for herself. Your interaction was still minimal, professional, but it seemed like things were about to evolve. She was no longer your superior lawyer, she was a candidate, and you were her entire legal team for until she won this race.

It was safe to say that your relationship with Heather Dunbar was about to take a very big change.

#heather dunbar #heather dunbar x reader #brazen qualities #house of cards

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marvelous-harry · 3 years

Note

what if you did a blurb where someone says something mean to the reader about her relationship with harry and floss and they comfort her

"Hey, I'm at the shops, do we need anything at home?" I asked as I plucked the Rubik's cube off the shelf and putting in my basket, definitely needing one of those.

"Hi, baby! Hold on, let me go check the fridge," Harry said as he answered the phone. "Florence! Do you need anything from the store?" he shouted up the stairs.

"Jesus, fuck, Harry! Move the phone next time," I flinched as he yelled, clearly not moving his phone away from his ear.

"Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to do that. Florence says she needs portabello mushrooms. 10ish should do," Harry opened the fridge and looked inside.

"What the fuck is a portabello mushroom?" I asked confused as I headed for the fruit and veggies section.

"Them white mushrooms she always cooks with. Think the underside of the cap is brown? Oh, we need almond milk," Harry mused as he shook the last carton that was in there.

"If I end up buying the wrong ones and they turn out to be mega poisonous, it's not my fault," I put my phone between my ear and shoulder as I grabbed a bag and shook it out before plopping some mushrooms down into it.

"Pretty sure they don't sell poisonous foods at the store, babe," Harry chuckled as he headed back to his spot on the couch.

Dropping the bag into the basket, I grabbed my phone properly again and went to get the milk. "But you're not 100% certain. I rest my case," I smiled as I grabbed three cartons of milk. "I'm just about done, so talk when I get home?" I said as I headed to grab a few bags of crisps and some chocolates.

"Yeah, alright. Drive safe," Harry told me, making me smile as always.

"Of course. Love you," I replied before hanging up. Heading to the checkout, I grabbed a magazine with Harry's face on it - very curious to read about how our relationship was doing lately.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" a young lady asked suddenly, making me jump a bit as I finished packing up the things I'd bought.

"Emm, I don't think so?" I replied and gave her a polite smile before walking towards the exit.

"No, I think I do," the lady said and followed me. "Oh wait! I know! You're that girl who's with that boy and girl! Fucking slag," she spat out, following me the whole way to the car.

I didn't say anything as I unlocked the car and put the bags in the back.

"It's so obvious you're just after their money. Let me guess? Got you this car did they? Can't even make your mind up about who you want... Greedy little gold-digging bitch,"

"Oh, fuck off," I muttered as I glared at her while going round to the drivers' side.

"You fucking swear at me?! You fucking cunt!" the lady screeched before I felt something warm splash all over front and side.

Gasping, I looked down and pulled my jumper as far away from my body as it allowed before I watched her run away. Staring at her in shock, I only looked away when I couldn't see her anymore.

Feeling my eyes welling up with tears and my bottom lip starting to tremble, I opened the car door and quickly got in - locking the car as soon as the door was shut. My hands were trembling as I grabbed the seat belt and buckled myself in. It was fine. Everything was fine.

Before I knew it I was pulling up in the driveway not really remembering anything about the drive here. Quickly wiping my face, I took a deep breath and got out of the car. Grabbing the bags from the back, I hurried inside.

"Hi, babe," Harry called out from the living room.

"Hi," I stuttered out, kicking off my shoes quickly and putting the bags down. My hands were still shaking. Hearing Harry getting up, I bolted up the stairs, hoping he wouldn't see the state of me or my jumper.

"Woah, where you going?" Harry asked as he looked up the stairs.

"Nothing!" I called back before realizing my mistake. Dashing into the bedroom, I grabbed the bottom off the jumper and took it off quickly before doing the same with my top.

"You okay?" Florence asked.

Letting out a little scream as I looked over and saw her on the bed. "Fuck. I'm fine," I replied shakily and walked towards the bathroom. "Fine, just need to clean up,"

"Wait, you sure you're okay?" Florence asked as she got off the bed, putting down the script she'd been rehearsing when Harry came in.

"I'm fine," I said just as a tear rolled down my cheek as I closed the door and locked it quickly.

"You're crying. Baby, what happened?" Florence asked as she walked over to the door quickly and tried opening it, looking confused back at Harry.

Harry just shrugged before he picked up the discarded clothing and looked at it. "There's coffee on these," he said and came up to the door too.

I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't help but check out my skin to see if it was red. It wasn't. The coffee had only been warm, not hot. Seeing a stain on my bra, I took that off too and grabbed my big, fluffy hoodie that I'd wear before bed to get cozy.

"Darling, what happened? Did someone spill their drink on you?" Florence asked, leaning against the wall.

More tears fell from my eyes. I cleared my throat. "No," I sniffled, grimacing as I saw myself. Turning away, I jumped up and sat on the bathroom counter. "Someone kind of threw it at me," I said quietly.

"What? Say again? Did you say someone threw it at you?" Harry asked, staring at the door, brows furrowed.

I clasped a hand over my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut tightly as I tried to not cry.

"Open the door. Baby, please," Florence asked, testing the handle again.

"It's okay, I just need a minute. I didn't get burned or anything," I spoke up after taking a calming breath.

Harry clenched his jaw tightly as he closed his eyes while Florence walked over to the vanity and grabbed on her big flat earrings. "Baby, unless you tell me no I'm going to open this lock from the outside," she said and listened carefully.

I wanted to tell them to just go away and leave me alone but I also wanted them to close so I said nothing.

"Okay, I'm opening it," Florence said as she wedged the earrings into the slit on the lock and twisted it to unlock. She grasped the handle and opened the door slowly.

"Hi, baby," she spoke softly as she put the earring down next to me and put her hands on my arms.

I sniffled and wiped my face with my sleeve as I glanced at them both quickly before closing my eyes again. I couldn't bear to see how angry Harry was or how worried Flossie was.

"We need you to tell us what happened, okay? Did you say someone threw coffee at you?" she asked calmly.

I nodded.

"Where did this happen? At the store? Who threw it at you?" Florence rubbed my arms gently.

"It was at the store parking lot," I cried and wiped my eyes. "There was this lady and she didn't like me very much," I whispered.

"What lady? What did she say? Why the fuck would she throw her coffee at you?" Harry asked angrily.

I whimpered and grabbed onto Flossie.

Flo glared at Harry. "Calm down," she hissed before turning back to me. "It's okay. He's not mad at you, baby. I promise. What did this woman say to you?" she said as wiped away some of my tears.

"Just the usual stuff," I shrugged. "I'm a gold-digging whore who gets everything I want and I'm using you cause I can't even decide which one of you I want," I whispered tiredly, memories of past incidents flashing through my mind. I usually didn't take these people's words to heart cause I knew they weren't true and so did Harry and Flossie.

Harry made a noise and rubbed his hands together before crossing his hands over his chest.

"I don't mind the words, I just got scared when she threw the coffee you know? That's never happened before, and I didn't even know it was coffee at first. I just felt something warm and a million things went through my mind, thinking the worst," I rambled.

"Are you sure you didn't get burned? Can I have a look?" Florence asked gently, needing to check that first before unpacking everything else that woman had said.

I nodded and pulled up my hoodie. It was all over my front and side," I told her as I sniffled.

Harry walked over, biting down on his lip as he searched my skin for any sign of irritation.

"I can't see anything so that's good," Florence said as she pulled the hoodie back down. "Come on, let's go cuddle,"

Wiping my face with my sleeve, I held her hand as I jumped down from the counter and followed her into the bedroom. Getting under the blankets I snuggled as close to her as I could, letting the scent of her perfume, her warm touch, and the sound of her breathing calm me down.

"Harry, come lie down," Florence said gently as she looked at him, watching him pace back and forth.

Harry stopped his pacing and looked at Florence. "Shouldn't we be calling the police or something? Try and figure out who this lady is?!" he asked frustrated and angry.

"I'll call our solicitor in a bit and she'll take it from there. Come lie down," Florence said a matter of factly and held out her hand. "Come on,"

Harry let out a frustrated grunt as he walked over to the bed and got in. "You know what she said isn't true right? That we don't think that?" he said as he wrapped his arms around me tightly.

Pressing a kiss to Florence's neck, I turned around so I was facing Harry. "Yeah. I know," I whispered as I nudged his nose with mine.

"I love you so much. I'm sorry I wasn't there with you, I'm sorry it happened. Never letting you out of my sight again," he said, pulling me as close as physically possible.

"I love you too," I sniffled, smiling as Florence moved in a bit closer too, trapping me in a cuddle sandwich.

She pulled the blankets up higher over me and Harry before resting her arm over us both.

"I left the almond milk in the bags in the hallway. We should put it away," I said after a bit of silence.

Harry shook his head, holding on tighter. "Fuck the almond milk,"

#harry styles fics #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb #harry styles fiction #harry/florence/reader

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missymurphy1985 · 3 years

Text

Out of the Blue

*This was a request*

Warnings - smut / unplanned pregnancy / talk of abortion

I've used a fictional family for Cillian for this, names have been changed.

"That's it then," Cillian sighed, reading the letter from his solicitor, his friend Adam sitting opposite him in the kitchen of Cillian's new apartment in North Dublin. The Decree Nisi, his divorce from Kate now final. He felt a tinge of sadness, he couldn't help it, they'd spent most of their lives together and shared two teenage boys, but he couldn't forgive her cheating on him while he was away filming, the trust had left him completely.

"To a fresh start, Cill." Adam raised his bottle of beer to Cillian's pint of Guinness as they toasted, Ada ln trying to lighten the darkness in his best friend's eyes. "You're better off without her - now you can move on."

"Yeah no thanks, I'm done with women for a LONG time Ad, they're all the fucking same!" Cillian smiled, almost a laugh. "All I'm interested in now is the boys, they've been through one hell of a rollercoaster this last year."

"When are they coming to stay?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, I've got them all weekend."

"Then tonight Mr Murphy I am taking you OUT! Come on, we can go check out that new bar in the city, there's a band on!" Cillian groaned, that was not his plan for this evening. All he wanted was his pyjamas, a good book and an early night. This wasn't lost on Adam. "I'm not taking no for an answer here, come on! It's been months since you went out, let's do this!"

"Adam please... Not tonight yeah? Maybe next week, or.."

"Enough! No! You're not moping any more, I'm taking to out and that's the end of it." Cillian rolled his eyes. Fuck it, arguing with Adam was pointless, he'd known this since high school.

Within an hour they were ready, both of them in jeans and Timberland boots, Cillian in a blue striped t shirt and Adam in a green one. Hair fixed, they headed out to the waiting taxi outside.

"The first sign of someone trying to take my picture, I'm out of there Adam..." Cillian dreaded the thought of being papped out on the town following his divorce. The papers just wanted a scoop on who he'd be sleeping with now he was freshly single and available. Adam nodded in agreement a deal, as the taxi pulled outside the bar.

******************************

Y/n woke up, her head pounding. Opening her eyes she looked around at her surroundings, not recognising a single thing.

"The fuck have you done this time y/n..." You groaned, rolling your eyes and sitting up gingerly, trying to stop the contents of your stomach from evacuating violently over the unfamiliar bedsheets. Glancing at the alarm clock, you groaned again. 8am... Why the hell was it so damn early.. and where the fuck was she?? She heard a door downstairs open and close, and froze. She wasn't alone. Footsteps up the stairs, she quickly hid back under the covers pretending to be asleep as she heard the bedroom door open and the pressure on the side of the bed as someone sat down next to her sleeping body.

"Hey.. you awake?" An Irish voice filled the silence, as the smell of fresh coffee found its way under the duvet you were hiding under. Clenching your eyes tightly together, you slowly pulled the duvet back and opened them, seeing the man you clearly spent the previous evening with. Your eyes found his.. my god they were so blue.. he was handsome.. bit older than you, maybe? You couldn't tell for sure. You definitely recognised him from somewhere other than last night though, maybe he went to uni with you?

"Um... Morning.. I uh -" you sat up, taking the coffee from his hand, thanking him.

"Did we -"

"Did we.."

You both spoke at the same time. Clearly neither of you remembering the night before. You smiled, he smiled, before you both burst out laughing.

"Fucking hell, how wasted were we? We can't even remember if we had sex or not? I've NEVER been that drunk.. listen I'm sorry, this isn't exactly a great morning after huh?" He took a sip of his coffee, blushing slightly.

"Hey this is not something I do regularly okay.." he shook his head agreeing, neither did he.

"Cillian." He offered you his hand to shake, still smirking. "Listen if you can't remember if we had sex, you definitely can't remember my name..." Your turn to blush now.

"Y/n. And no. I definitely don't remember. But if it makes you feel any better, I'm still fully clothed? I don't think we had sex then redressed, do you?" You laughed, showing him you were still wearing the top and jeans you had on last night.

The pair of you laughed in relief.. eyes meeting again as the tension finally left the room.

"I can drive you home whenever you're ready y/n. If you need to get back?" Cillian offered.

"Erm.. oh yeah.. that'd be great, thank you.. listen, would it be cheeky to ask for a shower, or..."

"Hey, no not at all! Just through there," he pointed to his en suite. "I'll fetch you a towel, take your time."

You smiled. Those beautiful blue eyes were captivating you completely, you couldn't drag your own eyes away. He couldn't take his own from yours either, that tension was back, but it was a different kind of tension this time. Neither of you could remember how you got here, but neither of you minded that it had happened.

"You.. I'll go have that shower, yeah?" You moved to stand but stumbled slightly, landing closer to Cillian. He didn't move. Your face was now a mere few inches from his. Those eyes, once again never leaving yours. Your core burned, glancing down you saw the obvious excitement in his trousers, causing you to groan quietly.

He leaned in slowly, lips brushing yours carefully. You couldn't stop yourself kissing him back, within seconds the kiss becoming heated, tongues colliding. He leaned you back down onto the bed, moving his body to cover your own. You couldn't stop yourself, it was as if you were moving in autopilot, everything inside your core was on fire, demanding more of this incredible man immediately.

He stopped kissing you and hovered over your face, rubbing his nose against yours.

"Are you sure about this y/n?" You nodded, and kissed him again hungrily, parting your legs as he fell between them, grinding his own hips against yours. You could feel his hard-on, and you bucked your hips against his.

"Please... Don't stop now... I need this.. even if I never see you again after this Cill, just let me.."

"Baby I don't do one night stands... I'm taking you for breakfast as soon as we're done. Deal?" You smiled, no that was probably a grin. Breakfast sounded damn good right now, but not as good as he'd feel buried inside you.

"Deal. Now fuck me.. please?"

"Your wish is my command." Clothes removed, he grabbed a condom from his jeans pocket (Adam bought them the night before, he remembered that part at least, him slipping a couple into his jeans pocket as Cillian protested he wasn't going to sleep with anyone that night anyway...) Slipping it on, he pushed himself inside you, filling you completely.

"Fuck... Cillian that's fucking it..." You raised your hips with each thrust, he buried his face into your neck, biting the skin and sucking it slightly. You could hear him moaning into your collarbone.

"Shit you feel good... So fucking tight y/n..."

"Harder... Cillian, harder..." Your nails scratched down his back - if he was marking you, you were absolutely marking him in return. His thrusts now came hard and fast, as your walls clenched around him, your body finding that sweet release you needed, you hands pulling his hair hard. He came immediately after you, with a low moan into your hair as he pulled it in return, both of you panting trying to catch your breath.

"Shit me... I wasn't expecting that.." Cillian eased himself out, catching the condom before throwing it on the floor by the bed. Collapsing next to you, he turned to face you.

"I'm sorry... I don't even know you and I'm fucking you.. this isn't me y/n, I mean it, I don't do this, I've NEVER done this before."

"Hey, you've never had a one time thing? Seriously?"

"I was married for 20years until last night y/n!" He laughed, causing you to smile too. Suddenly your smile dropped a little.

"How old are you? If you don't mind me asking.."

"42. You?"

"If I tell you, don't freak out yeah?"

"Y/n I know you're younger okay, just tell me. It's okay."

"24." His eyes widened, was that in horror? Shock? Disgust? You couldn't tell but it didn't look good...

"24?? Shit me... The press are gonna have a field day with this..." You sat up, suddenly extremely self conscious. Age was never an issue for you, you actually preferred an older man, but it clearly bothered him.

"The press?" You asked, confused. "Why on earth would they be bothered?"

Cillian looked at you. You looked back at him completely deadpan. Shit, you were serious.

"Google me. Cillian Murphy." You reached into your jeans pocket for your phone and typed his name.

"Oh shit..."

**********************************

"Y/n, you still with me?" Cillians voice floated through the screen, knocking you from your daydream. Filming over in England for Peaky Blinders, Skype calls were your norm now.

"What? Shit sorry, baby, I was in a world of my own then! What did you say?"

"I asked if that delivery had arrived from Amazon, those books I ordered? You ok?"

"What books? Oh, those.. erm yeah I think so, something arrived for you earlier anyway, I left it on the kitchen side for you for when you get home next week. At least I think I did..."

"What's going on with you? Are you okay? You haven't been yourself for a few days now, forgetting things? You left your keys at work the other day, your phone in your friend's car.. what's going on?" Truth be told, you had no idea. Since your chest infection four months ago, you'd lost the ability to adult. You and Cillian had moved into a new home on the outskirts of Dublin 4 months ago, that morning after being the start of a blossoming romance, that led to you moving in together within the space of 6 months. Everyone had something to say, especially his ex wife who was still telling everyone who'd listen that you were obviously sleeping together while Cillian was still married, obviously he traded her in for a younger model, obviously blah, blah, blah... Never mind the fact that SHE cheated on HIM, no mention of that... Luckily your friends and family saw past all of it, and welcomed the new relationship - seeing how good you two fitted together, it wasn't hard to see why. You were the gin to his tonic, exactly what you both needed without you knowing you needed it. But these last few months, you'd felt completely spaced out - not even you could deny it.

"That chest infection really knocked the wind out my sales Cill, I haven't been right since! My mind's gone to absolute mush! Maybe I'm just run down, I've got the rest of the week off now so I'll get some rest, I promise."

"Maybe book a doctor's appointment y/n, you should be over this by now, you took all your antibiotics, yeah?"

"Yep, every one, right on time. Babe I'm so tired! I can't explain it!"

"Hit the sack babe, get an early one. I'll call you tomorrow. Don't forget to make that appointment okay?" You agreed, eyes growing heavy. You told each other I love you before closing the call and heading straight to bed.

You left the doctor's appointment the following day with tears in your eyes. This couldn't be happening... You took out your phone to call Serena, your best friend.

Approaching her front door, she opened it and immediately held you as sobs racked your body. Taking you inside away from any prying paparazzi, she put the kettle on.

"He's gonna kill me Serena... This isn't supposed to happen! We agreed - this wasn't part of our plan!! What am I going to do? How could I have been so stupid?"

"This isn't your fault y/n.. and he is not going to kill you, okay?" Nausea overcame you and you ran to her downstairs toilet, your breakfast evacuating violently into the toilet bowl. Serena made you a glass of water. Your phone vibrated, Cillian's name appearing on the screen. You ignored it. Again. Three times he'd called, three times you ignored it.

"You have to tell him sooner or later, y/n..." Serena was at the door, glass of water in hand.

"How? How exactly do I tell the man who is adamant he wants no more children that I'm fucking pregnant Serena? And I'm already 13 weeks gone? How did I not know?" Sobs overcame you again, your phone vibrating a fourth time. This time, a voicemail was left. Shakily, you listened to it.

"Y/n what the fuck? Call me. Call me right now." He didn't sound happy - from just a few missed calls, that was a bit extreme! Once you'd calmed down, Serena left you alone in her kitchen while you called him back via WhatsApp, hands still shaking.

"Baby, what's going on?? Paul's just shown me a photo on Twitter of you leaving the doctors with tears in you eyes, what the hell is happening?" You cursed yourself.. fucking photographers everywhere!

"Babe, are you alone? And sitting down? Put your phone on video call." He did as you asked and you saw his panic-stricken face fill the screen as you settled your phone on the counter. He saw your pale, tear-stained face and turned a shade of white.

"Y/n what is it?"

"I went to the doctor's -"

"I know that, y/n..."

"Look, this is easier if you don't interrupt me, yeah?" He nodded an apology and sat back, arms folded. "So that chest infection.. I had to take antibiotics. And it would appear that antibiotics... Well.. they render the pill completely useless and -" his eyes widened as he listened to you.

"The fuck are you saying y/n?"

"I'm pregnant, Cillian. 13 weeks." You closed your eyes, waiting for him to scream at you. Shout at you. Curse you. But he said nothing. Silence. Complete radio silence. You opened your eyes, tears threatening to fall any second. "Well fucking say something Cill!"

"I... I don't... Fuck y/n... This is a joke, right? You're joking? It's April 1st and you're having me on, yeah?"

"No, Cillian, it's July 15th and I am not FUCKING JOKING!!" The tears fell freely now, how much of an arsehole could he be. You saw him stand up and walk across the room out of view and your tears fell harder. Serena re-entered the room hearing your sobs but you waved her back. Composing yourself..

"Cillian... Cillian are you still there? Cillian?!" He came back into view and sat back down, eyes wet. He was crying.

"I'm sorry.. baby I'm sorry I didn't mean.." choking his words, so many emotions running through his mind. Another wave of nausea saw you suddenly dash out of view to throw up in the toilet again. All he saw was you run.

"Y/n?? Baby?? Where you going??" Serena came into view.

"Cill she's fine - it's morning sickness. She's okay don't worry." Cillian breathed a sigh of relief seeing your best friend there, at least you weren't alone.

"Listen, go take care of her yeah, tell her to call me when she's feeling okay.. and tell her I love her. We'll be okay. Everything will be okay, I promise." Serena smiled, nodding her head, ending the call, making her way back to you, still wretching into the bowl.

*************************************

"How are you feeling?" Cillians voice helped to ease the pain. Your morning sickness had subsided, at least for the last couple of days. Your bump appeared out of nowhere once you'd found out you were pregnant, but with the sudden change in your body came changes you really didn't appreciate - your pelvis was agony. Since you hit the 7 month mark, it felt like it was on fire daily.

"Like dogshit. Like my hips want to cripple me. This is hell Cillian, I miss you so much!" You started to cry again, Cillian feeling completely helpless. He'd already missed so much of this precious time filming, neither of you able to come home or visit due to Covid restrictions and y/n having a high risk pregnancy. Severe morning sickness, coupled now with severe pelvic girdle pain, doctors had signed you off on sick until your maternity leave kicked in in 6 weeks time. You couldn't walk now without crutches, relying on friends and family to bring you groceries. You were beginning to resent your own baby, which made you feel even worse.

"I'm on the first flight home tomorrow morning, we wrapped filming up a month early so I could come home sooner. I wanted to surprise you, but I'm shit at surprises!" He chuckled, causing you to giggle too. You perked up, still lay on the sofa like a bloated whale but at least you were smiling now.

"Really? You'll be home tomorrow?"

"Flight lands at 7am. I'll be home by 7:45. And I'm not going anywhere, y/n, I've cleared my schedule. Nothing coming up, no press, no interviews, I'm completely yours and the baby's for the foreseeable future. I promise." Tears fell again, but this time, happy ones. He'd be home in less than 12 hours. One more sleep, and he'd be home.

*************************************

"Come on y/n... You can do this!" You gripped Cillians hand hard as another contraction rippled painfully across your abdomen. Why the fuck did you refuse the epidural? What the hell were you thinking??

"I can't... I can't do it... Cillian I've been doing this for hours I can't..... Aaaaahhhhhh!" You screamed as your body took over and you bore down. The midwife ordering you to push.

"You can, you can baby, come on... She's nearly here! So close now, just a little longer..." He breathed with you, patting your head with a cold flannel to cool you down. Another contraction, another push...

Suddenly the room erupted with a baby's loud cry, swiftly followed by your own. Cillians eyes watered as your daughter was lifted in the air, still attached by the umbilical cord. Cillian cut it, taking your daughter into his arms. It was already decided he would hold your baby first, after all, you'd been carrying her for 9 months! You choked, seeing him holding your baby for the first time, as he carried her over to you to hold to your chest.

"She's here... She's beautiful.. look at her eyes Cillian!" Ocean blue, just like his.

"She has your nose y/n... My god she's perfect..." He kissed your head gently, openly sobbing now and not caring in the slightest. He thanked you. He thanked you for bringing his daughter safely into the world, for going through hell during the worst pregnancy you could've imagined..

"All worth it... Every second.. but I'm never doing this again Cillian.. I mean it, never again." You glared at him then at the scissors on the table, then down at his groin.

"Fuck off, y/n, I'm not having anyone snipping anything down there..."

"Looks like a life of celibacy then Murphy, that's the only logical conclusion."

"I'll book an appointment next week." You smirked. Very rarely did you not get your own way, and now he had two girls against him, he knew he'd never get his OWN way ever again.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Taglist:

@queenshelby @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @margoo0

#cillian x smut #cillian x fem!reader #fanfic #cillian x pregnant reader #cillian x childbirth

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awkwardgtace · 3 years

Text

Secret Brother Pt3 (Final)

Ending for Ian and Mikhail.

TW: mentions of abandonment. This part specifically mentions pet like treatment. It is painted as how wrongly Ian was treated Mikhail does not stand for it.

Part 1 Part 2

Secret Brother Part 3 (Final)

Ian was shaking his head mumbling no. Mikhail almost wanted to laugh at himself. He was so upset about everything, he didn’t even have to worry about growing right now. He took a step towards Ian who matched with a step back. He let out a deep sigh and sat down on the table waiting for Ian to approach. Ian just started pacing, clearly unsettled. This went on for a few minutes.

“Ian, can we talk?” Mikhail asked. Ian looked at him, eyes wide with fear. This is exactly what he was dreading since he first shifted to help out. He hated the fear borrowers always had when it came to him changing sizes.

“Why should I talk to you? I don’t know you at all.” Ian tried to sound fierce, but fear was seeping through.

“Ian, just because I can change my size doesn’t mean anything else is different. I’m still the same Mik who helped you.”

“You’re Mik?!” he screeched. All right, if Ian was willing to interact after this he was teaching the kid to focus on details. There wasn’t any other way for him to know his name. It was also kind of funny to hear just shock about it, Mikhail started laughing. “Don’t laugh at me! How was I supposed to realize!?”

“Buddy, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just funny. Here I was so sure you’d figured me out. That I had no options to avoid telling you now, but I could probably have played it off until next week when I was planning to talk to you.”

“So-so you’re the human, so you don’t need to be protected. So this was a waste,” Ian looked at Mikhail with a mixture of fear and acceptance. “W-What do you plan to do with me now?”

“Well we can talk, you can tell me about this human that scared you. You can just go back to the walls and I’ll leave you be. We can keep going like before if you want. You can move and I’ll help you or you can move on your own. Next steps are up to you. I’ll follow your lead, I know the fact I’m human sized most of the time can be troubling.”

“What will you do if the bad human shows up?” he asked.

“Keep you safe.”

“What if I ran away from them, wouldn’t most humans give me back?”

“Nothing will make me change my mind. You’re a person and from how you acted it doesn’t sound like they treated you like one.” Mikhail was positive he wouldn’t let Ian get caught by that person again. There isn’t anything Ian could tell him to make him change his mind. He wasn’t going to encourage Ian thinking he didn’t have choices. Ian was a person who could make his own decisions.

“Fine, I'll tell you what happened with the bad human. We’ll see how serious you are after that.” Ian moved closer to sit in front of Mikhail. His face was more serious than he’d seen until now. It made him nervous, this wasn’t an easy story it seemed.

“I lived in the house with the bad human and their family pretty much my whole life. My family didn’t like how curious the child was and had been talking about moving for a few years. When my mom got pregnant, my dad decided I should start borrowing. He didn’t want her out, and wanted me to be able to get supplies we needed once the baby was born. It went fine at first, I’d practiced a lot, but I was seen. I told my parents and we packed up everything, they’d been prepping for that for a long time. They didn’t want to risk staying with the curious human child so we left the same night. It was raining and I got caught in a current. My dad held my mom back from trying to help me. He said it was better to let me live with the consequences, it was my fault we were moving anyway. She fought against him, but the current was strong and I was pulled under. When I woke up I was in a room I recognized. It took me a few minutes to realize I was also in a cage.

“That was the bad human’s room. At first they were nice, they said they were just keeping me there so I wouldn’t get hurt. After a week I started to ask when I could leave. They would play up this idea that I would be in too much danger. One day I decided to try to leave, they hadn’t taken my things so I could open the cage pretty easily. Apparently while I’d been out they found all the entrances in the room and blocked them off. The human was angry when they came back. They took everything, but my clothes that day. Then I started getting punished if I acted wrong. Days without food and water, sometimes they’d leave a sheet over the cage so I couldn’t tell any time. A few times other borrowers showed up, they promised to help me usually. I would point them to an exit and never see them again. I can’t blame them, I probably wouldn’t risk capture by a human who kept an underfed borrower.

“I’m not sure how long I’d been with them, but eventually they started talking about some project. The human took me with them to that building. They kept saying something about the perfect topic. I’d been behaving for a while so they’d started making mistakes. They left me on their desk along with some other things. I stole what I could to make a hook and tried living in the walls,” Ian took in a shaky breath. Tears were falling down his face as he spoke. Mikhail was trying to stay calm as he listened, ready to go find the cruel person and show them how being caged felt.

“Then there was the day you showed up. I’d been listening to the bad human a lot and they were planning to try and capture me again. I knew climbing in your bag might be a bad idea, but you didn’t live in that building. I didn’t want the bad human to get me again. I figured once out I’d either make it work in the new human home or die trying.”

Mikhail couldn’t hold back anymore. He stood quickly walking over to Ian. He fell to his knees in front of him, pulling him in to a tight hug. He felt himself grow a bit, the desperate need to keep Ian safe taking a bit of control. He fought himself to keep close to Ian’s size, now wasn’t the time to loom over him. Ian froze, but soon turned into Mikhail’s chest crying. He grabbed the cloth of the shirt in tight fists, letting out everything he kept inside. Mikhail held him tightly until he’d worn himself out. Ian had started to fall asleep, it made sense and Mikhail let him. This was a rough night and he deserved some rest. Ian’s world was changed a lot. As Ian fell into a deep sleep, Mikhail moved to get them both off the table. He had grown carrying someone before, although this was the first time in a long time.

He sat at the table edge with Ian in his arms and focused on getting back to human height. He watched as the boy got smaller, sliding him off into one palm as he reached his human height. He slid off the table trying to be quiet enough for the borrower in his hand. He watched for any signs he woke up, then turned to grab the hook off the table. Mikhail took slow, steady steps to his room. He wanted to let Ian sleep, he’d clearly been on edge for a while. He placed the hook on his palm next to Ian and used his free hand to pull a pillow off his bed. He placed it on the nightstand and carefully slid Ian off on to the plush pillow. Ian curled up smaller, tempting Mikhail to lift him back up. He grabbed a shirt from his dresser laying it over the borrower, he placed the hook just out of the way in case he moved in his sleep. Mikhail wouldn’t let Ian think he was trapped.

Mikhail got into his own bed, facing Ian with a sad smile. He’d been through a lot, it wasn’t fair he’d had to deal with all that. He would make sure whichever student it was didn’t have a chance to get near him again. He felt himself slowly drifting off to sleep, hoping Ian wouldn’t have run off tomorrow morning. His sleep was dreamless and he was thankful. He wasn’t happy when he was woken up by someone banging on his front door. He opened his eyes, sleepily looking towards the pillow. He couldn’t tell if Ian was still there, he wanted to check, but more bangs came. He sighed knowing he couldn’t take the time to talk with Ian while this was going on.

He slid out of bed and stalked over to his front door. He wasn’t expecting anyone he knew to be there and was ready to yell at the rude solicitor. He opened the door, getting far more annoyed when a student pushed past him into his home. He glared at the girl who invited herself over. She had been far too pushy from the start of the year and this was a breaking point. He had no time for her today, especially with how sure he was that this was Ian’s captor.

“Can I help you Anise?” he asked, voice dripping with annoyance. “I don’t particularly appreciate students barging in to my home.”

“I’m sorry professor,” she said, with no ounce of remorse. “Just that topic I’ve been bringing to you for the last few weeks. I know it sounds crazy, but I did have proof that I could use for the project. I know this sounds crazy but if you’d just let me look around for a few minutes I know I could find it. I’m positive it left with you when you held the study session.”

“Anise, I’ve told you before this is a scientific course, you will not be doing a paper on the folklore of small humanoid creatures,” Mikhail was barely controlling his anger. “I expect you to leave. Now.”

“Professor, just trust me!” she yelled. He’d had enough of this student and was ready to kick her out. Unfortunately there was an audible yelp from the bedroom, one that she had clearly recognized. She started walking towards the bedroom seeming sure this was her chance. “Professor that noise, I’m positive it’s my proof if you’d let me just-”

Mikhail had enough, he slammed his arm across the doorway she was just about to enter. He could tell he’d grown a large bit, but honestly couldn’t care less. She stormed into his home, going on about using a person as proof, and intended to just wander around. He glared down at her, not willing to put up with her much longer.

“That noise you heard was my brother, who you just woke up,” he growled. “I’ve had enough of this fantasy. I will be removing you from this class effective Monday. I will also be contacting the school about this conduct. And to entertain your theories, even if these humanoid creatures existed based on the folklore you so heavily have referenced, they would be sentient and equal to us in intelligence. I question your ethics based on how desperate you seem for this fantasy. This field expects a level of compassion which you clearly lack.”

“Wait no please just-” she tried to argue. She knew that Mikhail was respected in his field, it wasn’t good to be on his bad side.

“Get out of my home before I throw you out,” MIkhail’s voice was dark. He had definitely hit over a foot higher than normal, he was lucky this girl wasn’t focusing on that. She opened her mouth to try again, but she stopped as she met his glare. She slowly turned and walked out of the house. This was poor conduct, it would be handled and he’d be letting his family know about her. He slammed the door behind her, a bit harder than he’d intended. He tried to calm down as he walked back to his room, Ian was probably terrified. He couldn’t calm down enough to get his size back to normal, unfortunately.

Ian was sitting up on the pillow, the shirt pulled up around him. It looked like he’d been shaking. Mikhail sat on the floor in front of the nightstand, it made him just about eye level to Ian. He couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes, he didn’t want to see him scared. It was bad enough he wasn’t a borrower, but he was pretty clearly bigger than his usual human size. Although he could luck out again with how oblivious Ian proved to be after last night. Ian seemed to be just as lost with how quiet the room was. Mikhail looked up a little, but couldn’t read Ian’s expression at all.

“You actually stopped them,” Ian said. Mikhail almost thought he heard awe, but that couldn’t be right.

“I told you I’d keep you safe,” he smiled a little.

“You said I was your brother.”

Mikhail blushed, he hadn’t meant to grow so attached. He didn’t mean to announce it like that either. “Yeah, I uh, I kind of think of you like that, after the last few months.”

“So what’s next if I stay here?” Ian asked. Mikhail looked at him with wide eyes.

“Then, we figure out the boundaries for us,” he answered. “You can stay in the walls or we can set something up out here. Up to you entirely.”

“Is it ok if I think you’re like a brother too?” Ian’s voice was small, Mikhail had to strain to hear it.

“I’d love to have a secret brother like you,” Mikhail smiled. He leaned his face closer to the pillow, just realizing he’d gotten down to his usual size. Ian crawled to the edge of the pillow hugging Mikhail’s nose. His smile grew and he carefully cupped his hand behind Ian. This wouldn’t be easy, but having a brother like Ian sounded pretty great.

#gt writing #gt #giant/tiny #gianttiny #g/t #g/t writing #OC:Ian #OC:Mikhail/Mik #OC:Mik/Mikhail

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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

Text

Hints & Histories

A JSE Fanfic

Yall better appreciate this one lol I’ve been caught in the middle of finals and still managed to find time to write this. Honestly, it’s a miracle. I was genuinely convinced I wouldn’t be able to finish. But I did. Even if it’s mostly a series of short conversations. Newson returns, for the first time in forever. Chase and Marvin try to get information and allies for their investigation. And JJ and Schneep...are still stuck and it sucks. And that’s it. Hope you enjoy :)

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

Someone was at the front door. They had been for the past minute or so, knocking regularly every couple seconds. Given the very clear ‘No Solicitors’ sign out front, this person was either a very stubborn salesman or visiting for some other reason.

But Jennifer Newson—formerly Dr. Newson, now unsure if she had the right to call herself that—didn’t trust visitors who dropped by without a call. They were usually strangers, and not the nice kind who were all “Oh I baked too many cookies so I’m delivering them to the neighborhood!” No. Recently, all the unexpected visitors she had were either journalists or there to tell her what an awful person she was. Which...they had a point. But it didn’t give them the right to harass her.

Still, out of curiosity, she peeked through the peephole in the door. The visitor was a dark-haired woman, wearing a brown jacket. She kept checking the time on her phone. Worried about something? Did she have somewhere to be? That possibility only further intrigued that curiosity. Newson hesitated, then slowly opened the front door a crack. “...hello?”

“Hello, I am sorry to bother you.” The woman’s voice was instantly familiar. Or rather, her accent was. “I just wanted to ask you some things. You are Newson, yes? The doctor who was on trial?”

“Why are you asking?” Newson narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She’d instantly known where she heard that accent before, and her mind was already forming connections. Could this woman know Henrik von Schneeplestein? A friend, perhaps? If she was, there could only be unpleasant reasons for this visit.

“I wanted to talk to you,” the woman said. “My name is Mina Pfeiffer—”

“You’re his ex?!” Newson blurted out.

“No! No, we are not exes,” Mina said. “We may have separated, but we did not get a divorce. It is different, a-and for different reasons. Anyway, can I talk to you?”

Newson was too shocked to say anything at first. What was Henrik’s ex-wife—or separated wife, whatever—doing here? Again, Newson was struck by the thought that nothing good could come from this. “I’m sorry, I’m actually uhhhh busy right now.” She started to slowly close the door. “You know how it is. Sorry.”

“Wait!” Mina hurriedly put her foot in the door, just in time to prevent it from closing. “This is not what you think! I am not angry with you.”

...That was even more unexpected than her appearance in the first place. Newson was stunned into silence again, for a significantly longer period of time, as she processed the possibility that someone so close to Henrik wasn’t angry at her. Was this...a trick?

Mina tried to fill the silence. “I know, I probably should be. And I have to be honest: I cannot say I...like you. But I need to—I-I need to know everything that happened. I have seen the news stories, and I’ve talked to the other doctor at the hospital, but...I-I don’t know. I do not know. I think you could help.”

Newson couldn’t help but laugh. Without opening the door any further, she said, “If you saw the trial, you know I was fucking awful to your husband. Why would you want my help for anything?”

“Because nobody will talk to me!” Mina’s voice cracked. “His friends hate me, Dr. Laurens was nice but I know she cannot discuss details. I even tried to find some of Henrik’s coworkers, but they were all busy and awkward and didn’t want to talk to me. I-I have—” She let out a small breath, heavy with exhaustion, and ran her hand through her hair. “I have been trying so hard to make up for the lost time. I-I need to talk to him so badly. But then, Dr. Laurens says he is...gone. Again. That he has been taken. So I cannot do that, a-and I...might not be able to ever again.” She pauses, blinking.

Unconsciously, Newson has opened the door a bit. It was...scary. Having someone so close to you disappear. She knew that. “You never know. The police could find him,” she said gently.

“But if they do not, I am missing this time,” Mina said quietly. “I need...I need to know what happened to him while I was gone. So that I can...” She pauses significantly, hesitating to finish that sentence. “I just need to know. Everything. You are the last person I can talk to.”

Newson laughed again, grimly. “Things must be really bad, then.”

Mina didn’t say anything more. She just...looked at her.

After a few moments, Newson sighed, and opened the door. “Alright. I can talk to you about him. It’ll put me in a horrible light, but I’ll help.”

Mina brightened up immediately. She started to step forward, but then hesitated. “You will tell me...everything you know? Even though it will make you look bad?”

“Yeah. I mean, I can’t hide from it, you know? I was...terrible. Can’t pretend I wasn’t, that’s how you stay stuck.” Newson sighed. “At least, that’s what Tom says.”

“Who?”

“My, uh...counselor,” Newson said awkwardly. “I should have gone to see someone sooner, but—a-anyway, I get it. You’re missing someone, so you’re trying to do what you can to make up for that. Seeking out information is pretty harmless.” At least compared to what she herself did in that same situation. “So...yeah, you can come on in. You don’t have to stay, though. If you decide you actually do hate me.”

A pause. “Thank you very much,” Mina said, her voice almost a whisper.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Newson stepped aside so Mina could come in. She really hoped this wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake.

But...somehow, she didn’t think it would be. Maybe it was because...for the first time in a while, she felt there was someone who knew, if only a little.

——————

“I must say, I’m surprised to see you, Mr. Brody. Is everything okay? People don’t usually just drop by the police station.”

Chase laughed awkwardly, shifting in his chair. For some reason, he was flashing back to the couple times he’d gotten in trouble in elementary school. Probably because it was the same setup, with him sitting across from an authority figure sitting at a desk. But this was different. Detective Nix was much nicer than his school principal. Of course, he also had the power to get him in much more trouble. So maybe that was why he was a bit nervous. “No, everything’s fine. I was heading somewhere else and this was on the way. I, um...I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Oh?” Detective Nix idly straightened some of the papers on his desk. “And what is it?” He sounded like he already had a good idea.

“Well...” Chase hesitated. “I just wanted to know if you could...like...tell me how the case is coming along. With the search. And stuff.”

Nix nodded, his expectations fulfilled. “You know you could have called me. You still have the number I gave you, right?”

“Yeah. But, uh, like I said, it was on the way.” Chase laughed again. God, why was he laughing? That didn’t sound suspicious at all. Not that there was any reason to suspect him of anything illegal. Nope. Just nerves. “Anyway...do you guys have anything new? Figured out?”

A pause. Then, Nix sighed. “Mr. Brody. If you’re worried about us being able to find Anti and your friends, you don’t have to. The police force is very capable, after all.”

“You didn’t manage to track down Anti or Schneep during those nine months.” Chase immediately regretted saying that the moment the words left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to; it was just a knee jerk sort of reaction.

But, surprisingly, Nix gave him a small smile. “Well. That’s true. But that was because this Anti was well-supplied, with various stashes and safe houses across the city, and probably outside of it as well. Now, we know about his existence, we’ve found many of those safe houses and confiscated their contents. And, with your help, we’ve even uncovered his website on the dark web. He’s running out of places to hide, and it’s really only a matter of time before we corner him.”

Chase nodded. “I know, I know. I’m not doubting you guys or anything. I don’t know why I said that, really. Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “But...even knowing you guys are on the case, I’m still worried. A bit less worried, but...still. That doesn’t just go away. And I’d really like to get updated on what’s happening. Preferably...frequently? If it’s not too much trouble.”

Nix stared at him. The silence that followed could not have been longer than a few seconds, but it felt like minutes to Chase. What he said, about being worried, that was true. But he and Marvin had decided they would no longer sit on the sidelines and wait for something to happen. They were going to look into this on their own. Which required information. And that was the true main purpose of his stop by the police station.

It was also why he was so nervous. Sure, doing an investigation on their own time wasn’t illegal. There was nothing saying that only the police could look into cases. Private investigators existed, after all. Not to mention true crime shows and podcasts did their own amateur investigations anyway, and those weren’t against the law.

But still. He was nervous. If Nix, an experienced detective, figured out what they were planning and tried to talk them out of it, Chase was worried he would cave easily and give up. And that meant going back to just watching...and waiting...and worrying. And he was so tired of that. He so badly wanted to help, and this was what he could think of doing.

“Alright, I can tell you a couple details,” Nix finally said, breaking the silence. He leaned back in his chair and pulled open one of his desk drawers. “Just so you know we’re on the case.”

Chase slumped in relief. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” After a short moment, Nix pulled out a file and set it on the desk, opening up to a printed street map of the city. “Here’s an example of our progress.” He pushed the map towards Chase, which had circles and dots on it in pen. “Those circles are where we suspect Anti has safe houses and weapon stashes. If it’s crossed out, that means we’ve found something there. Those two scribbles were mistaken locations.”

Chase looked over the map. “That’s a lot of X’s,” he muttered. There were about ten circles drawn on the map, and only three remained un-crossed out.

“Exactly.”

“How’d you find all these places?”

“Well, it appears that Anti has himself a symbol. Hang on.” Nix pulled a loose piece of notebook paper out of the stack on his desk, then grabbed a pen from the nearby cup and started drawing. “It’s a semi-common practice, often used in gangs. It signals to other gangs, as well as anyone deep in the black market or various criminal enterprises, that this territory belongs to them. Anti seems to be using it for a similar purpose. Possibly to either attract his ‘customers’ or warn off threats.” And Nix slid the drawing across the table to Chase.

At first, the symbol appeared simple. A circle, inside a diamond, inside a square. But in actuality, it was a bit different. The ‘circle’ was actually a dot inside a hollow circle, and the left and right corners of the diamond were curved. The overall impression was that of an eye tilted ninety degrees so it was vertical instead of horizontal. “Huh.” Chase furrowed his brow. “Isn’t that...the one...?”

“That your friend Henrik saw, that led us to finding the first safe house with your friend Jackie inside,” Nix nodded. “It was painted on the street sign, but we’ve also found it scratched on fences and spray-painted on building walls. Never any bigger than hand-sized. It always means that Anti has something nearby.”

“That seems...kinda stupid, honestly,” Chase muttered. “If someone figures it out, it’s all over.”

Nix shrugged. “Gangs usually bank on the safety of numbers, thinking we’d be too scared to get in a fight with them. But in this case, we know it’s just one person. Not as much risk.”

Chase nodded slowly. “Um...can I keep this?”

“Sure.” Nix shrugged.

“Thanks.” Chase folded up the paper and put it in his coat pocket. “Uh...do you have any ideas...where Anti himself could be?”

“Hopefully, at one of these remaining locations,” Nix said, gesturing at the map again. “We haven’t found the symbol at any of these places yet, but we’re looking. And if he’s not in any of those, well, there’s only so many places in one city someone can hide.”

Again, Chase nodded. But what if...what if they weren’t in the city? What if Anti had fled, taking Jameson and Schneep with him? He pushed the thought out of his head. No, he shouldn’t assume things that they had no proof of. That wasn’t good for his mental state, he knew. “Thanks, Detective,” he said, standing up. “Can you...You have my number, right?”

“I’ll call you with any updates,” Nix assured him.

“Thanks.”

Nix tilted his head. “You have a good day.”

“Yeah, you too. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Chase turned around, trying not to walk too fast as he left the police station. He came for information, and he was walking away with some. Not as much as he would have liked. But it was a start.

——————

Marvin took a deep breath as he stood outside the door. It was cool. Everything was okay. Nothing to worry about. In fact, shouldn’t he be happy? He was visiting a friend, one they had feared they’d never see again. That was great. He was just anxious. That’s all.

He cleared his throat, and stepped inside the room.

Jackie yelped, sitting straight up in bed and wildly looking around. He calmed down when he noticed Marvin, but still looked a bit shaken. “By jesus! Marvin!” He leaned forward, breathing out. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry, I thought you’d noticed me. I mean...the door is open. I was standing right there.” Marvin shifted awkwardly on his feet.

“You were. I was just, uhh...not paying attention,” Jackie said.

Marvin narrowed his eyes. The TV wasn’t on. Jackie didn’t have a book or a phone or computer. When Marvin had approached the doorway—and stood there for quite a while—Jackie had just been staring at nothing. Marvin assumed he didn’t say anything for some other reason, but...“Daydreaming again?”

“Yeah,” Jackie mumbled. “But hey. You’re here now. C’mon, sit down.” He gestured to a nearby chair.

Walking closer to the hospital bed, Marvin grabbed said chair and pulled it over. He sat down slowly. “So...How are you?”

“Uhhhh good, I guess. I mean, all things considered.” Jackie shrugged. “I can, like, walk better. But apparently I still have to stay in bed most of the time, unless it’s for physical therapy. Kind of boring. But that’s fine.”

“You’re...impatient, right?” Marvin asked. “It’s only been like two weeks, you know. This kind of thing doesn’t just fix itself overnight.”

“No, no, I know that.” Jackie waved off Marvin’s comment. “Doesn’t make it better, though.”

“Yeah.” Marvin nodded understandingly.

“Especially since...” Jackie hesitated. Then he scooted a bit closer to Marvin. “I met up with Jack a few days ago. He told me...he told me that Anti got Schneep again.” His voice cracked.

“...he did,” Marvin growled. “Fucking freak.”

Jackie was gripping the edge of the hospital blankets. He squeezed them tight, wringing them back and forth. “I—I can’t stop thinking about it,” he said quietly. “Schneep...Hen. The thought of—Anti—and Hen being stuck there again, it’s—it’s just awful.”

Marvin nodded awkwardly. He wasn’t sure if Jackie was looking for reassurance or just venting his anxieties. “Do you...want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“I—I don’t know. Why it’s so awful, I guess.”

Jackie looked at Marvin directly in the eyes—something that his friends rarely did, since they knew how Marvin wasn’t comfortable with eye contact. “Because Anti is fucking terrible,” Jackie said, dead serious. “Nobody else was there. I know how he interacted with Schneep. I-it was...” Jackie took a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to hear about this?”

“If you want to talk about it,” Marvin said evenly.

“I-it was just—the things he did, Marvin. It was like the whole thing was a game for Anti. I mean, I wasn’t there for all of it. Hen and I were separated a lot, I was stuck in the basement most of the time and he was upstairs. But what I did see a-and experience...fuck, man. I’d go a few days without seeing Schneep, maybe even a week or two, and then he’d show up again, a-and he’d just be a wreck. Half the time, he’d be sobbing because of what Anti made him help with. The other half, he wouldn’t even know where he was, o-or what he was doing there, because Anti would feed him a bunch of these lies, fucking...deliberately twisting his delusions.” Jackie shuddered, his tone disgusted. “Fucking...evil. Evil is the only word I can say.”

He paused, but then continued. “I-I remember one time, Schneep came down the stairs, and I had to just sit with him because he was terrified. He kept saying ‘Anti gets power from speaking his name,’ over and over, in English and German, too. Crying about Anti’s eyes being in the ceiling, or something. Calling him some sort of shadow monster. A-and I had to—I had to help him. He was having another panic attack, and I had to ground him.” Jackie’s eyes grew distant. “It...it hardly ever worked. Usually he just wore himself out and eventually fell asleep. I wonder if Anti was drugging him or something. Using some sort of substance to make it all worse. Because...it never worked. It never worked. He was just so...so scared of it all.”

Marvin couldn’t say anything. He was stunned, shocked speechless. Even if he could put the horror he felt into words, his throat had closed up. All he did was shake his head.

Jackie buried his face in his hands. He took a few more deep breaths, until the shakiness eventually subsided. “Sorry, Marv,” he mumbled. “You didn’t come here to hear all my trauma.”

“U-uh a-act—” Marvin struggled on his words for a bit before giving up and turning to sign language. Actually...I did come here to talk about something serious. I guess it’s related.

Jackie looked up at him. “What d’you mean?” he asked cautiously.

Chase and I are going to investigate, Marvin said. We’re going to find out where Anti is, and where Schneep and JJ are.

“...what.” Jackie blinked. “You...are going to...Marvin. I’m not sure if you know this, but that’s exactly how I got kidnapped. And I have experience in investigation.”

We’re not going to confront him or anything. Might not even go to any physical places. But we have to do SOMETHING, Marvin emphasized. So, if we can at least figure that out, we can tell the police and they can do all the dangerous shit.

“...okay.”

Marvin made a strange choking sound. “Y-you—just—like that?!”

Jackie smiled sadly. “I told you, right? I can’t stop thinking about Schneep being back there. And JJ, too, fuck. Anti was pulling every trick in the manipulation book on him, and it’s probably even worse now. So. Yeah. What can I do to help?”

Honestly, Marvin hadn’t expected it to be this easy. He didn’t know if Jackie would want to talk about the serious stuff. But apparently, he did. So...might as well. “Um...just talk about what you remember, I guess. Like, any details that might help find him.”

Jackie nodded. “Right. Of course. This detective came by a while ago, asked about the same thing. Only fair that you guys know too. Apparently the police have found a whole bunch of locations, including the first house.”

“First house?”

“The one Schneep and I were trapped in,” Jackie explained. “And Rya, too—er, Dr. Laurens. You know her?” He waited for Marvin to nod. “Yeah. She was there for a bit, but she escaped. And after that happened, Anti moved me back to that second house, where the police eventually found me. Well.” He paused, thinking about it. “Actually, I was in that flat for a while.”

“...you were in an apartment?” Marvin asked, confused. “Do the police know about that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I told them, too. It was—okay, let me start over.” Jackie sat up straight, holding his hands out in front of him as if indicating the length of something. He gestured vaguely along this imaginary length, silently getting his thoughts in order. Putting together a timeline. “Okay. I track down Schneep. He’s in this house with Anti, and I get caught and also kept there. That’s the first house. After months, Anti abandons Schneep or something, and for some reason takes me to this flat. I don’t remember much of that trip, I was drugged for most of it. But eventually, we go back to the first house. Rya—Dr. Laurens—is there for a while, then she escapes, and Anti takes me back to the flat. I think he was out of sedatives, because I was conscious for this. Then JJ gets caught, and Anti takes us to a second house, where we stay until he decides to take just JJ...and Schneep, apparently. And leaves me behind.”

Marvin nods. “So, those two trips to an apartment. You’re sure it was the same place both times?”

“Uh-huh. I recognized the wallpaper and stuff.” Jackie shrugged. “Probably not all that reliable, considering the drugging I mentioned before, but I’m like 90% sure.”

“Huh.” Marvin pulled his fingers. “Sounds like he retreats to this apartment or wherever when things get tight for him. It sounds like the two times he brought you there, he was worried about information about him getting out through Schneep or Dr. Laurens.”

“I thought so, too,” Jackie muttered.

“Do you think he’s there now?”

Jackie blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean...if he goes there when shit gets rough, and the last times he did was because he lost a hostage or whatever, wouldn’t he do it now?” Marvin reasoned. “After all, you could tell the police information same as Schneep or Laurens.”

“...huh. I...hadn’t thought of that.” Jackie sat back, and considered it. “But...I know about this flat. Would he risk going there?”

“You don’t know anything about what’s outside, though, right? And that’s what’s important.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Jackie looked at Marvin, impressed. “Good job, man. I didn’t catch that possibility. You ever think about being an investigator?”

“Nope. Sounds like too much pressure.” Marvin shrugged.

“But...you’re doing investigator stuff right now.”

“Yeah, but only for JJ and Schneep. I can’t imagine doing it for strangers like you do. Seems...overwhelming,” Marvin said carefully.

Jackie gave him a small smile. “Well...if you ever change your mind.”

“I’ll make a note of that.” Marvin returned the smile, then dropped it, going back to the serious matter at hand. “Now. Is there anything else you remember?”

——————

Laurens wasn’t sure why she continued to come in to work. She hadn’t had anything to do for the past two weeks. Dr. Fells didn’t want to assign her any more patients because of the “pressure she must be under,” and without patients, there was nothing for a psychiatrist to do.

Yet, it seemed a good thing that she kept clocking in. Because visitors kept coming here looking for her.

She was working the front desk today. Technically, she didn’t have to, but again, there was practically no job for her without anyone to work with. So, she volunteered to take over the desk during her shift so that busier people could do their duties. She was idly playing solitaire on the desktop computer when the front door opened. And when she looked up, she saw a pair of familiar faces.

“Oh cool, you’re just right here.” Chase smiled and waved at her, quickly closing the distance between them as Marvin followed.

Laurens nodded at them, faintly surprised. “Um...hello. What are you two doing here? You know, now that...” She hesitated to say it. “Well, there’s no reason to.”

“We, uh, wanted to talk to you, actually.” Chase fidgets with the zipper on his jacket. “See...we had this idea. We really wanted to, like, do something to help. You know? A-and we thought...you might want to help, too?”

Laurens stared at him over the edge of the desk. “Sorry, I’m a bit confused. Help what?”

“Uh—”

“So you remember how I broke in here?” Marvin asked. “To do some investigating? We’re gonna do more of that.”

“Breaking and entering?!” Laurens asked, alarmed.

“No, investigating!” Marvin hurried to correct. “We’re probably not gonna break into anywhere.”

“He means we’re definitely not going to do that!” Chase added, somewhat panicked. “Because that’ll be illegal and dangerous!”

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to be so loud about it.” Laurens was still unsure what the two of them were proposing. “What do you mean by investigating?”

Chase coughed, clearing his throat. He leaned closer to Laurens, across the front desk. “We’re going to try and find Schneep and JJ.”

Laurens blinked. “...wait. You mean...like vigilantes?”

“We were thinking more like private eyes,” Marvin said.

“But...don’t you need a license for that?”

“Actually, no,” Chase said. “I mean, you can get one. It gives you some credibility. But it’s not required by law, according to Jackie. At least, not in the UK.” He paused. “He has one, though. Says it makes it a lot easier. But, uh...we’re not becoming investigators. We’re just...looking for them. On our own. And...we wondered if you wanted to help.”

“I...” Laurens had to process this. Honestly, it seemed like a very dumb idea. Because...what if, in the course of looking for their friends...they found them? And, therefore, found Anti? What would he do if he knew they were searching for them? “Ar-aren’t the police handling this? You two really don’t need to—”

“We’re not going to just wait,” Marvin interrupted, frustrated.

“Well, why not?” Laurens stood up from her seat at the desk. “Yes, it’s terrible waiting, but it’s a lot less dangerous than looking for a serial killer!”

“Look, we might be in danger anyway,” Marvin said. “We’re friends with the two guys who Anti seems to be obsessed with. I wouldn’t be surprised if he decides to kidnap or murder us one day.”

“Grim, much?” Chase muttered.

“Grim, but possible,” Marvin insisted. “So, might as well try to do something along the way.”

Laurens started to protest again, but then stopped. Didn’t Marvin have a point? After all, Anti had...taken her, as well. Just because she was assigned to Schneep’s case. She didn’t like reflecting on the month she’d spent in captivity with Jackie, but that didn’t erase it from the past. Or erase the possibility that Anti could, once again, try to find her. She shuddered. “...alright. I guess...I can help a bit. I don’t really have much else going on, anyway.”

Chase and Marvin exchanged a look. Happy that she agreed, but also not forgetting the seriousness of what they were doing. “Thanks,” Chase said softly. “Is there...a time we can get together to talk, or...?”

“I have a pretty regular schedule. My shifts are around ten to three each day,” Laurens said.

“Great. Neither of us have anything to do, really. My only thing is when I have the kids over for the weekend, and it’s Monday so they’re already back with Stacy.”

“Yeah I got nothing. Sooner the better,” Marvin added.

The three of them talked for a few minutes before agreeing to meet tomorrow at 3:30, with Chase’s house as the designated meeting spot. Once they decided on that, the two men quickly left the hospital, with Chase once again thanking Laurens for agreeing to help them. Marvin didn’t say anything, but he nodded every time Chase thanked her.

Now alone again, Laurens sat back down, leaned back in her chair, and let out a long, slow breath. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Her every instinct was screaming “Danger! Danger! You’re going to get killed!” But...Anti had already planned to do that. So, really, what was stopping him from doing that on his own? Marvin was right. Might as well try to fix this mess on the way. So, even if she was still uneasy about it, she would try. She would try.

——————

It had been two weeks exactly. JJ could tell that Anti was going crazy being stuck in the tiny apartment. He was spending more and more time pacing about randomly, or muttering to himself angrily while on the computer. When not doing either of those two things, he was either messing with Schneep—he tried to do it when Jameson wasn’t paying attention, but JJ could still hear the things he was saying to Henrik—or pretending everything was normal.

That seemed to be his new strategy for dealing with Jameson. Pretend everything was normal. Like they were a normal family, and not, in fact, an assassin/serial killer and his estranged brother who he’d kidnapped. At first, Jameson tried to resist this strange new change. It was...weird. But that only led to Anti’s mask cracking, giving in to threatening him and Schneep. So, now? Jameson just went along with it. Not to say he cooperated. But he didn’t cause any trouble. Maybe, if Anti slowly lowered his guard enough, JJ and Schneep could find some way to escape.

Part of the “normalcy” strategy was dinner. For the past five nights, Anti had dragged Jameson over to the apartment’s kitchen, where there was a small square table set up, and made him eat dinner with him. As if that could convince Jameson to be friendly again.

Either way, Jameson refused to participate. Every night, he would just sit there quietly, listening to Anti talk. Afterwards, he would go back to the bedroom to bring Schneep some food, since he wasn’t allowed out. He’d stay there, talk with Schneep some more, and eventually fall asleep, waiting to see if the next day would bring an opportunity to get out of here.

This night was no different. At around 6:00, according to the living room’s wall clock, Anti put away his computer and silently appeared in the bedroom doorway, staring at Jameson until he stood up and followed him into the kitchen. Tonight was soup. Not that it mattered. The same thing happened anyway, they sat down, and Anti started talking about something or other.

It was always the same. Why? Didn’t Anti know by now that this wasn’t going to get Jameson to like him again?

Maybe he knew. But maybe, he just wanted to pretend.

“—swear to god, it’s like they’re trying to be as annoying as possible.”

Anti sounded irritated. Jameson briefly snapped out of his internal reflection on the fruitlessness of this exercise, wondering what he was going on about tonight.

“Maybe I just never noticed it because I never spent this long in this place,” Anti was saying. He scowled. “But I don’t think that’s it. I think they’re new in the building. Fucking hell, though, I swear they’re tap dancing up there. Have you noticed it?”

Jameson blinked, and said nothing.

“Of course you have, not sure how you couldn’t,” Anti continued. “It’s at like three a.m., too, fuck.”

Wait a minute. Jameson actually knew what he was talking about. A couple times the past few nights, when he couldn’t sleep, he could hear the sound of heavy footsteps from upstairs. It didn’t help the sleeping matter. Partially because of the noise, partially because it was really bizarre to think about other people, going about their lives, completely unaware of what was happening literally beneath their feet.

“I don’t want to talk to them or anything,” Anti muttered. “Don’t want to show my face to anyone around here. It’s very identifiable.” His tone sounded bitter as he unconsciously reached up to touch the scars on his face. “And I don’t even have anything here to make a proper disguise. Shit sucks.”

Jameson started to space out again. This wasn’t anything important. He looked down at the table, stirring his soup with a spoon. He wondered where all the utensils were. He hadn’t seen any in the two weeks he and Schneep had been stuck here.

“Luckily, nobody here cares. Which is good, that’s why I picked it out. This neighborhood sucks, most people know not to poke their heads into places where they might lose it.” Anti chuckled, but then his expression darkened. “Although...there was this one guy. A real fucking pox. He’d show up at everyone’s doors asking them to keep the place neat. Shut the fuck up, nobody cares about neatness in a place like this.”

Where was this apartment located, anyway? That bit about the neighborhood sucking was the first hint Jameson had gotten about that. Huh. Maybe, if he figured it out, he could then find some way to get a message about where they were to...someone? The police, maybe?

“He might’ve just been annoying if he hadn’t gotten all hot about the graffiti.” Anti leaned back in the chair. “Wanted to find out who in the building was doing it. And at that point, he crossed the line. Can’t have anyone paying too close attention to that.” A smile twisted his face. “Well. Doesn’t matter now. That guy’s been taken care of.”

He said it so casually. Jameson tried to keep his expression neutral. It didn’t matter. He already knew what sort of person Anti was. Anti had made that abundantly clear two weeks ago, when he’d left Jackie behind.

Was he still talking? He was. Jameson gave up on paying attention and let his mind wander. He wondered if Schneep would be awake when he went back to the bedroom. Wondered if he’d ask him about how dinner went. Wondered if...if Anti would follow through on any of his threats he’d made towards Schneep.

Well. According to Anti, that depended on Jameson.

And he knew he couldn’t let that happen.

So, for now, he sat at the table and pretended to listen to Anti. Pretended Anti was right, in thinking everything would go back to normal.

——————

It was late into the night by now. Newson could see the moon through the gap in her curtains. She couldn’t remember the last time she spent so much time with someone. And of all the people, it was Henrik’s ex-wife. Neither of them had meant this to happen. But somehow, they were here now. Honestly? Newson strongly suspected the half-empty bottle of wine on her coffee table had something to do with it. But she didn’t care.

“It’s the chance that...that we could have missed this, you know?” Mina was saying, half-lying and half-sitting on Newson’s sofa. “I think we never should have took a break in the first place. That everyone was right, I should have stayed by him both times.”

Newson leaned back in her chair, settling against the upholstery. “What was the deal in the first place? Why’d you take that break? Fighting or something?”

“He started to act strange,” Mina said. Her eyes glazed over with recollection. “Looking back now, I recognize the symptoms. But at the time, I just thought he was having weird mood swings from stress. I did worry he was depressed. But he did not want to talk about it. Eventually, out of nowhere, he accused me of...of...ah, what’s the word? Being...unfaithful.”

“He thought you cheated on him?” Newson repeated, surprised. “You seem really nice, though.”

“Danke. I mean, Thank you. But see, this is the strange part. He thought the other man was my tennis instructor. But...I do not have one. I like playing, but only with friends, for fun. Why would I have an instructor? And I think, at the time I think, I think...” Mina stumbled over her words for a bit. “I think he is wanting me out of the picture for some reason, and making up an excuse. So I say, ‘we take a break.’ And we do, and then about a month later he realizes the truth. This disorder that he has.”

“But you said you wanted to get back together, right?”

“Well, this is the thing. We were starting to. Around in...last June...ish.” Mina shrugged. “His idea. But he was not quite sure, so he didn’t want to be public about it in case we didn’t fit anymore. I say, yes. I want this. And...and things were all going great. Until that August.” Her eyes started to tear up. “And then I left. And I never should have done that.”

“Hey, I mean, it’s not your fault, is it?” Newson shrugged, mirroring Mina exactly. “Everyone was fooled. That other guy, uhhhh I’ve forgot his name, but the real bad guy. He did a good job of setting him up. We all thought he did it.”

“His friends hate me now,” Mina muttered. “Because I left.”

“Tell them to fuck off next time you see them. I bet they thought he did it, too.”

“I should have come back sooner.” Mina leaned forward, rubbing the sides of her head. “Before he was taken again. Because now...now I may not see him again. I may not get to tell him I’m sorry, or that I really...I really still love him. Or that...” She trailed off. “They’ll never meet. A-and I cannot bear to think of that. I should have come back sooner. Should have kept up with the news. But I did not. And now I’ve missed him. I-I cannot see him again. It’s too late.”

Newson fell quiet. Then, she nodded. “It sucks, doesn’t it? It’s like having a hole inside you.”

“You understand?” Mina asked, looking up.

“Kinda. It’s not exactly the same thing, but...kinda.” Newson paused. “I had a brother, you know. Jeremy. We were twins, each other’s only family. But he’s gone now. I thought Henrik killed him, but apparently it’s that other guy who did it.” She blinked. “That lost time...I hate it. I hate that we’ll never celebrate our birthday again. Or that I can’t text him and ask if he wants to go to dinner at that new shop that opened recently. Even the little things, you know? Like, he used to constantly complain about people vandalizing the building he lived in, talked about all this little graffiti. It was annoying, sometimes, but...now I miss it. He was determined to find the culprit. But he never did.”

Mina nodded. “The little things. Henrik and I would watch TV together. Only with each other.” She giggled a bit. “He would always complain when a character was injured and then instantly got back up. He said it was inaccurate and no fun, anyway.”

It was strange to hear these things about Henrik. And, really, it made Newson feel even worse than she already did about how she treated him. For the longest time, he was just the bad guy in her mind. The one who killed Jeremy. Not someone who had friends and a job and a partner. Not someone who did things like complain about TV shows. Maybe that was why she didn’t have any problem doing those things. Hard to be cruel to someone you knew was a person.

“...Mina. Listen.” Newson sat straight up. “You have a chance.”

“Huh?” Mina glanced at her, confused.

“Henrik isn’t dead. I don’t think this bad guy would hurt him. Er...at least not permanently. You have a chance to talk to him a-and watch TV shows together again.”

“Jennifer, they can’t find him,” Mina said softly.

“Well, then, you fucking do it. I don’t know.” Newson shook her head. “And if you can’t, get help. Henrik had friends, they’re probably as upset as you are.”

“Did you hear me? I said they probably hate me now.”

“I dunno,” Newson said vaguely. “Maybe they’ll put that aside if you’re real with them. Like you have been with me. I mean, seriously. How did this happen?”

Mina didn’t say anything, but she still looked unsure.

“Hate is a product of love,” Newson said quietly. “If you love someone, you hate those that hurt them. Even if it was an accident or misunderstanding or you only thought you knew what was going on. Henrik’s friends love him a lot. He’s lucky like that. Not everyone has that. So it makes sense they’re defensive of him. It’s not really your fault. After all, you didn’t mean any harm. So you have that going for you.”

“It is getting them to listen that’s the problem,” Mina mumbled.

“Well they can’t listen if you don’t talk,” Newson pointed out. “You gotta try, at least. Maybe you start out with the big news. You know. Come right out and say it. That’ll get them to think about it further.”

“I think...you are right,” Mina said tentatively. “It will be tough. But I have to try.”

“You have to,” Newson repeated. “Oh. And, uh, if I can give you any other advice? Just...about life in general? Don’t...hate. Even if it seems right. It’s just poison.” Her voice fell quiet. “It’s just poison.”

Mina stood up, staying surprisingly steady. She walked over to Newson, and took her hand, squeezing it tight. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Newson rolled her eyes. “It’s still weird to me that you showed up. But...well. You’re welcome, I guess.” Her voice softened. “I should be thanking you, actually. So...thank you. You’re a good person.”

Mina smiled a bit. “I will be seeing you, then.” And without another word, she left, heading out into the hall. The front door opened and slowly closed.

Newson stared at the moon out the window for a moment. She leaned back into the chair. “You’re a good person,” she repeated. “Better than me.” She closed her eyes, and slowly drifted into sleep.

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