#i mean it could be worse. i have my own desk. and cupboards!!! i’m just a little lost lol

[fingertipsmp3]

Survived my first day of my new job :)

[the7thcrow]

600 degrees

~

pairing: bang chan x (fem) reader

summary: you can’t cook. like, really can’t cook. good thing your cute neighbour is here to help clean up the mess.

word count: 5.1k

genre: neighbours au. strangers to lovers. the fluffiest of fluff, slightly suggestive.

warnings: a make-out session, bad humour, minho being a twat of a roommate, and tooth-rotting fluff.

rating: 14+

a/n: hi guys! hope you enjoy this one, it’s so much more wholesome and fluffy than what i usually write, but I'm pretty happy about it. don’t by shy to send me an ask or leave a comment. anything you have to say, I would love to hear. :)

...

..

.

“Fine. Since you won’t come, at least enlighten me on how you plan to keep yourself busy?” Minho asks, casually leaning against your kitchen island. He stares at you, with that familiar condescending smirk you’ve seen far too many times.

“I don’t know,” you state, rolling your eyes. Rising to your feet, you head over to your shared refrigerator, pulling a bottle of Sangria out of the fridge. “But I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“You know, if you want to drink, you could at least do it at the party.” Minho approaches you from behind, placing both his hands on your shoulders. “It’s a lot less sad that way.”

You slap his hand away, letting out a frustrated groan at the laughter he lets out from his own joke. “I get out plenty, quit acting like I’m some lonely cat lady,” you say, grabbing your favourite wine glass from the cupboard. “I like parties, I just don’t like Jisung’s parties. They always get way out of hand.”

“But Y/N,” Minho wines, picking up your freshly poured glass and taking a sip, earning himself a glare. “I never said you were a cat lady, just the lonely part.”

At that you snatch the glass away from his hands. Not wanting to deal with this torment any longer, you walk back to your comfortable, worn-in spot on the couch.

“You know I’m right,” he says, continuing despite the fact you begin to turn up the volume of the television. “And the only way you’re going to change that is by accompanying me to Jisung’s loud, out of hand parties.”

You turn to face him, raising your eyebrows. “Somehow, I doubt my soulmate associates himself with Han Jisung.”

“Well that can’t be right, because I associate myself with Han Jisung?”

“Shut up, Minho.”

Your roommate snickers to himself as he opens the fridge, taking a quick glance at everything - or for a better term, lack of anything - inside. “What are you even going to eat? There’s nothing leftover from last night.”

“I’ll make something,” you say. Frankly, you had expected the outburst of laughter, but that didn’t do anything to simmer down your growing annoyance.

“Make something?” Minho laughs, giving you an incredulous stare. “Y/N, I’ve lived with you for two years and I don’t think I’ve seen you cook anything once.”

“Hey, I can cook,” you return, wrinkling your nose. “But why would I, when I have you to do it for me?”

At this, it’s Minho’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I take that back. I don’t want you to come, have fun curling up on the couch alone with your three cats.”

“They’re literally yours.”

“Whatever,” he says, opening your front door. “Just don’t burn the apartment down, alright?”

As he closes the door, you flip him off. At first, you aren’t sure if he saw, but you’re given your answer as his laughter echoes down the hallway, fading as he walks further away.

You scowl. Of course you can cook. Well, at the very least, well enough to make a meal for one on a saturday night. Minho didn’t know what he was talking about.

Minho. Your best friend and roommate for the last two years. Man, does the guy have a way of pushing your buttons. You love him, of course. In the weird, bickering, just short of volatile friendship sort of way the two of you had developed.

Still, you can’t deny that even with his painfully irritable nature, he is still a good friend. No matter how many times you say no, he always offers to take you anywhere he goes. He pushes you out of your comfort zone. He’s there to console you when a date goes bad, or you failed a test you studied hard for. He makes all his meals for two, just because he doesn’t want you to live solely off shitty take-out.

He’s your rock. Your platonic other half. Your closest companion.

Which means you are going to prove him wrong, and then rub it in his face as much as you possibly can. Of course, because that’s what friends are for.

~~~~

Then again, maybe you wouldn’t. Or, at the very least, it was going to be exceedingly more difficult now that your apartment was full of smoke.

Covering your nose with one hand, you take the tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. If you can even call them that, as they now held a far closer resemblance to that of hockey pucks. Both in looks, and what you could assume in taste, as well.

Okay, you know chocolate chip cookies don’t really count as a decent meal, but they are the only thing you remember how to cook from when you lived at home. Or maybe you didn’t remember, based on the tray of failure sitting in front of you.

Then, to make matters even worse, your fire alarm starts going off.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. Now you are going to have to go to the front desk, let them know everything is okay.

Maybe Minho was right, you should’ve just went to Jisung’s stupid party and eaten something there. Putting all the other painful aspects of Han’s parties aside, Felix was his roommate, so the horderves were always excellent.

They were better than your hockey puck cookies, anyway.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, you open your apartment door, prepared to get a rough scolding from the lady working the front desk. However, you are surprised to find a man standing in front of you, his hand in the air, as if he were about to knock.

“Hi,” he says, awkwardly putting his hand back down at his side. He has messy platinum blonde hair, and soft eyes. He’s cute, and the realization quickly makes you recognize him.

“You’re my neighbor,” you say, pointing a finger at him. It’s not until he doesn’t respond immediately that you realize it was a strange thing to say. Obviously, he knows he’s your neighbor, and he might be a little offended you didn’t recognize him immediately.

Then again, the two of you had never really talked before. Everytime you would pass each other in the hall, he’d always give a polite nod and continue walking. Sometimes you’d try to say hello, or start a small conversation, but he always disappeared quickly. It had gotten to the point where you assumed he had some strange, unwarranted grudge against you.

So, it was safe to say that you were more than just a little surprised to find him at your door.

“Uh, yeah, I am. Are you okay? I thought I smelt something burning, and then I heard the fire alarm go off.” He asks, peeking behind you into your apartment, seeing if he can catch sight of any flames.

Instead, his eyes land on your tray of butchered cookies, and he… smirks?

“Oh,” he says, attempting to hide the smile growing on his face. “Having some cooking trouble?”

You stare at him for a moment, watching as his lips pursed together, stifling a chuckle. “Are you...” you begin, your jaw dropping slightly. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” he looks down at you, finally letting his grin free. “I would never.”

“Yeah, okay,” you frown, already not enjoying that sarcastic look on his face. You thought you’d be able to avoid that humiliating look considering Minho wasn’t here, but apparently not.

 “As you can see, it’s nothing. So if you’ll excuse me,” you continue, attempting to move past him. “I need to go get my neck rung by the lady at the front desk,” However, he doesn’t budge from his place in your door frame. You cast him a glare, which only makes his smile grow wider.

“Nah, don’t worry, I’ll go let her know,” he says, already turning to walk down the hall. You open your mouth to object, but he casts a glance over his shoulder, snickering. “You focus on cleaning up whatever those black lumps were supposed to be.”

You stand in your doorway, dumbfounded as your neighbor disappears down the complex staircase. Who did this guy think he was, openly laughing at your current predicament? Sure, if the roles were reversed, there’s no doubt that you would do the same. But that isn’t the point.

No. The point is that you are not impressed by the audacity of this stranger, and you are going to make sure that this distaste is known.

Grumbling to yourself, you dump the still smoking cookies in the trash can. It’s a shame, really. You’d thought you were doing so well, too. You thought this would be your chance to prove Minho wrong. Minho. Oh, he would be having an absolute hay day if he were here right now, and the thought only makes your scowl deepen.

“Well,” your neighbor calls from behind you, causing you to jump slightly. He reappears in the open door frame, sticking his neck inside, but not fully crossing the threshold into your apartment. “She’s not thrilled, but the alarm didn’t trigger the main system’s sprinklers, so you’re good.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

The man smiles. “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly were you trying to make anyway?”

An embarrassed blush casts itself over your cheeks. “Chocolate chip cookies,” you mumble, not meeting his eyes.

He lets out a burst of laughter, smiling widely. You can’t help but notice that he had a cute smile, dimples on both of his cheeks, eyes crinkled. Not that you were looking. Not that you cared, obviously.

“How’d you manage to mess up chocolate chip cookies that badly?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders helplessly. “You tell me.” You gesture towards the oven. Your neighbor smirks, walking inside your apartment. He bends down in front of your oven, before taking a look inside.

“Well, nothing seems to be wrong in there…” he starts, before glancing up at the set temperature. “Oh,” he states, before looking back at you, his eyes full of pity. “Oh boy.”

“What?” You ask defensively.

“The temperature. You forgot to convert it from celsius to fahrenheit. See?” He says, leaning away from the oven to give you a closer look. “So you thought you were cooking them at 350 degrees fahrenheit, when in reality they were at over 600 degrees.”

“Oh my god,” you say, smacking your palm against your forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t know,” the guy shrugs. “You could have burnt your apartment down, so I’d consider it a win. You’re lucky I got here on time.”

You cast him a scowl, although you can’t seem to relinquish the faintest hint of a smile creeping onto your lips. You know damn well you wouldn’t have started a fire, and that the man showing up really didn’t stop anything but an uncomfortable conversation with the front lady. You are also sure that he is fully aware of this too, which makes your smirk grow wider. Alright, you’ll play along.

“Right, what ever would I do without you?” you say sarcastically, causing your neighbor to playfully roll his eyes. He leans against your kitchen counter, relaxing slightly.

“Does my saviour have a name?” You ask, opening the fridge to take a look at what’s inside. You feel your stomach rumble, taking a glance at the clock to see that it was already past 9:00.

“It’s Chris,” he smiles, leaning over your shoulder. “So what are you going to eat, now that you’ve successfully butchered the easiest recipe known to man?”

“Hey!” You snipe. “That is certainly not the easiest recipe known to man.”

“Fine, fine,” Chris says, putting his hands up in defense. “Maybe not the easiest, but it’s definitely up there. But putting that aside, what are you going to eat? Because I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen a fridge so empty.”

You want to quip back at him, but he’s right. Minho usually does the grocery shopping, but because of Jisung’s party tonight he wasn’t planning on cooking anything.

“Good question,” you sigh, closing the refrigerator door before leaning your back against it. “Maybe I’ll just order some take out. I don’t think my pride can handle another failure.”

Chris smiles. “Or, I have an idea,” he says, his eyes glinting. He heads over to your apartment door, and for a moment you worry that he’s leaving.

No, you’re not worried. You’re curious. That’s all. You were curious whether or not he was leaving, nothing more.

When Chris returns, he has his arms full of ingredients. Spinach, penne, tomato sauce, cream, a variety of spices. The list goes on, and he stumbles slightly, almost dropping the surplus of food onto your kitchen floor. Imagining the mess, you rush over to help him, placing the load of groceries onto the counter.

“I don’t know if you couldn’t tell before,” you say, motioning to your overflowing counter. “But I really can’t cook. I have no clue what to do with any of this.”

“That’s no problem,” Chris smiles, already separating the food into different groups. “I’ll help you.”

“No, no, no. I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, waving your hands in protest. You step in front of him, squeezing yourself between his chest and the kitchen counter, preventing him from reaching any of the ingredients. “You’ve already dealt with the desk lady for me, and brought over all these groceries. You’ve done more than enough.”

He smiles, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and effortlessly moving you to the side. “Why would I bring you these groceries if I knew you couldn’t do anything with them?” When you don’t respond, he continues. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just let me help you.”

You sigh in defeat, ignoring the way your heart begins to beat faster in your chest. “Alright,” you say, grabbing Minho’s cutting board from the cupboard. “Let’s do this, then.”

~~~~

An hour later, you find yourself sitting on top of your kitchen counter, Chris stationed by the stove working on the pasta sauce. You had genuinely tried to help in the beginning, you really did. But after Chris criticized your (awful) cutting technique, and said he didn’t exactly trust you to do anything else, you gave up.

Besides, you don’t have a problem watching him work. Over the last hour, you’ve come to learn that Chris is an absolute whiz in the kitchen. Moving from place to place, adding spices by intuition and nothing more. This wasn’t something you could have managed to make yourself in a million years, and it’s obvious that if you tried to assist him right now, you’d only get in the way.

Of course, you’ve learned a lot more about Chris in the last hour than just that. Where he grew up, his hobbies, what he was currently studying at the university. Music theory, as you’d learned. As cool as it sounded, Han had managed to tarnish your image of music majors, but you suppose you could give Chris a chance.

“It’s almost done,” Chris says, glancing over his shoulder to look at you.

“Thank God, I’m starving,” you reply, leaping off the counter to stand beside him.

“What, no ‘thank you, Chris?’ No, ‘what ever would I have done without you, Chris?’” He mocks offence, placing a hand on his heart.

“It’s not even done yet. I’ll thank you after I try it, I promise.” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Ah, so you’re only thankful if you like it. I see how it is,” Chris says, crossing his arms in front of himself, pouting his lower lip slightly.

“Guess so,” you say, crossing your own arms mockingly. Chris smiles, those cute little dimples of his dancing across his cheeks.

Then you feel it, that little jump of your heart. The faintest skip of a beat that you’d familiarized yourself with over the last hour. That little hint of anticipation that makes you decide that you are, even if only slightly, a bit interested in Chris.

After all, he’s funny and sweet. Can carry a conversation well, and to understate it, undeniably easy on the eyes. That’s more than enough to give him a chance.

Most of all, however, you like that little flare between the two of you. The sarcasm, the banter. It doesn’t feel the same as when Minho does it, slightly condescending and done purely to harbour your annoyance. No, this is different. It is a challenge. He wants you to quip back, to push further. To make him smirk, or laugh, or roll his eyes.

“Alright, fine then,” he says, taking the large wooden spoon and scooping up some of the pasta sauce. “Tell me if this is up to par, your majesty.”

You aren’t sure if he wants you to take the spoon, or let him hold it for you as you take a bite. You decide to take the gamble, gently moving your lips around the spoon, tasting the sauce. You glance up at Chris, a small look of surprise on his face. However, you don’t miss the flash of something behind his eyes. The faintest hint of affection, interest.

The sauce itself is delicious. A perfect blend of tomato, basil and cream. You hum contently, giving him a thumbs up.

“Chris, this is amazing,” you praise, admiring the small blush that sprinkles his cheeks.

“It’s really nothing,” he says, diverting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, shyly.

“No, seriously,” you say, taking the spoon from his hand and scooping some of the sauce up yourself. “Try it.” You hold the spoon out in front of him, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. Your gaze remains firm. A challenge.

Hesitantly, he takes the bite, not breaking eye contact as he does so. You stare at him, watching the way his lips move around the spoon, the intensity of his gaze. The action itself should be innocent, yet you feel a warmth rise to your cheeks.

Chris swallows, taking his lips off the spoon. For a moment, neither of you say anything. You can feel the change in the atmosphere of the room. The spark between you two being brought alight.

You swallow hard. “So?” You ask quietly.

“Yeah, it’s good. Very good,” he says back, his voice low and raspy. He goes to take the spoon from you, and his hand lingers a moment, his thumb trailing the skin of your knuckles.

You feel yourself lean in slightly, fully prepared to take the leap, when suddenly he breaks away from you, eagerly taking a few steps back. He looks away, placing a hand on his face, as if he were ashamed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know you’re seeing someone, we shouldn’t be doing this. I’m sorry,” he babbles, completely turning away from you.

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Seeing someone? Where the hell could he have possibly gotten that idea?

“Seeing someone?” You ask, incredulously voicing your thoughts. You grab him by the shoulder, turning him around. “Why do you think I’m seeing someone?”

Chris still refuses to meet your eyes, instead focusing intently on the wall behind you. “The guy that lives here- Minho - aren’t you two?”

“Minho?” You gape, contorting your face in a look of pure disgust. “Ew, gross! No! Believe me, I am not dating Minho, I’d genuinely rather stick this spoon in my eye,” you exclaim, lifting up the utensil.

At that Chris finally looks at you, wearing his own look of pure confusion. “Wait, really? But whenever I hear you guys out in the hall, the two of you are always so… flirty.”

“Flirty?” You laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement. “If by flirty you mean he teases me literally every god damn second of every day, then yeah sure, I guess. But believe me, there is absolutely nothing romantic about that. Not in the least.”

Chris shakes his head, a smile forming at the corners of his lips. “Wow. I am such an idiot,” he sighs, a rediscovered lightness to his tone.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “Anyone could make that mistake, I guess. It’s really no big-”

“No, it’s not just that,” he cuts you off. “That’s why I’ve never talked to you before now.”

“You never talked to me because you thought that me and Minho were dating?” You ask, slightly confused. Even if you were dating, you didn’t see why that would stop him from starting a conversation with you. “Why?”

“Well,” he sighs, his cheeks reddening further. “I thought you were pretty, and based on the way you always quipped back at him, clever and funny as well. I don’t know, it just felt wrong to try and build a friendship with you, knowing how I already felt a little....”  

You smirk, drawing yourself slightly closer to him. “A little what?”

His smile transforms itself from embarrassed to a sly grin of his own. “A little into you, I guess.”

“It really is a shame,” you shrug, trying to hide the excitement building in your chest. “Because here I was, thinking my cute neighbor had some irrational grudge against me.”

Chris leans in, so the two of you are only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the strong fragrance of his cologne. Sharp with lemon zest and mint.

“We could always make up for lost time, you know,” he says, his eyes flashing with mischief.

That is all the invitation you need to break the space between the two of you. You press Chris’ lips against your own, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other along the line of his jaw. His lips are soft, you notice. Tender in the slow rhythm the two of you develop.

He runs his hands up along your figure. One of them finding itself locked in your hair, the other placed firmly on the curve of your lower back. Gently, he leads the two of you away from the stove, placing you so that your back is pressed up against the kitchen counter.

You run your hand down along his chest, reveling in the groan he let’s out as your fingers trail down his lower abdomen. The sound is electricity pulsing through you, charging the room and igniting the atmosphere around the two of you.

His lips leave yours, trailing your jaw before making their way down your neck. Each individual kiss is slow and sultry, sending a shiver down your spine. You take a deep breath to stable yourself, and it does not go unnoticed.

Chris smirks, shifting his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown out with desire. “You know, if we keep this up, the pasta sauce is going to burn,” he says, letting his fingers trail along your collarbone.

“Let it,” you shrug. “I wasn’t hungry anyways.”

Chris laughs at this, leaning forward so his face brushes the crook of your neck. “Yeah, right,” he says, allowing his lips to dust your skin. Suddenly, he bites down, not enough to break through the skin, but certainly enough to leave a small mark.  

You laugh, running your hands in his hair, half-heartedly pulling him off of your neck. “Hey! That hurt,” you exclaim, only half serious.

“Sorry,” he grins, before crashing his lips into yours once again. The pace between the two of you is much faster now, each kiss more passionate. More promising. Your desire rings through you, clouding your mind in a hazy fog of lust. It is dizzying, just how much you want him at this moment.

You're certain he feels the same way, given in how tightly he grips your thigh, his breath ragged every time you break apart. It is messy. Greedy. The two of you so deeply wanting more. More of each other.

You’re about to ask if he wants to move this to the bedroom, when suddenly the apartment door swings open. It’s almost comical, how quickly you and Chris break apart, springing to opposite ends of the kitchen.

“I hate to say it, but you were right,” Minho calls as he walks inside, not yet glancing up from his phone screen. “Shit got out of hand. Someone managed to break the pool table, don’t even ask how, I don’t know either. Almost gave Felix an aneurysm. I swear the kid was about to cry, poor guy. Han had to shut everything down. So you really didn’t miss out on-” Minho stops as he sees Chris, a confused yet bemused expression crossing his face.

“Oh, hey Chan,” he says, causing you to give Chris a look.

“A nickname,” Chris mouths to you, as discreetly as he possibly can.

“What are you doing over here?” Minho asks him, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. He has that smug smirk on his face that makes you want to punch him.

“Oh, well…” Chris starts, casting you a glance. “Y/N made some food, and there was too much of it, so she invited me over.”

“Really?” Minho asks, caught off guard. He walks past you and Chris, staring at the pasta and sauce currently sitting on the oven burners. “You’re saying Y/N made this?”

“Well, yeah?” Chris says, feigning confusion. “Of course, I wouldn’t lie about something like that. Why?”

You have to stop yourself from laughing, looking at the expression of utter bewilderment on Minho’s face. Minho glances at you, narrowing his eyes, before sighing.

“Well then, I guess you proved me wrong on two things tonight, Y/N,” he says, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he begins to scoop some of the penne into his dish.

“Oh, you said there was a lot,” Minho responds, raising one eyebrow. “Can I not have some?”

“Sorry, go ahead,” you say, still slightly flustered by the abruptness of his entrance. Minho finishes filling his bowl and takes a seat at the kitchen island. As he begins to eat, the room is filled with a rather tense silence. You and Chris share an awkward look, unsure of what to do next.

Minho looks up from his dish, glancing between the two of you.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing his bowl and standing up from his chair. “I’m going to go eat this in my room. Have fun you two.”

Before you can say anything, Minho disappears around the corner, down the hallway leading to his room. You turn back towards Chris. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, before bursting out into a fit of laughter.

“He’s a bit of a mood-killer, huh?” You say, grabbing two bowls from the cupboard, offering him one.

Chris nods in thanks as he takes the bowl from your hands. “Just a little bit,” he laughs, beginning to scoop some of the pasta into both of your dishes.

The two of you take a seat at your counter, spending the meal talking and laughing. Nothing else, the moment has passed, but that doesn’t bother you. You enjoy Chris’ presence. His quick humour and thoughtful conversation.

It really is something that you could get used to, you decide.

After you’re done eating, you walk Chris over to the door, handing him his surplus of spice bottles and leftover spinach.

“Thank you for doing all this, seriously. The food was delicious, you’re seriously gifted. And also, thank you for covering for me, I really didn’t feel like listening to Minho die laughing over the burnt cookies,” you admit.

“It’s no problem, really,” Chris smiles. He shifts all the spices over to his right arm, letting his free hand fall down to his side. Softly, he takes your hand in his, letting your fingers intertwine.

“Listen,” he continues, shyly looking up from your hands to meet your eyes. “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, you’re welcome to come over for a proper dinner. You know, so I can show you what I can actually make when it’s not a last minute attempt at salvaging a meal.”

You smile a goofy, genuine grin. “That sounds good to me,” you say. Hesitantly, you lean forwards, planting a soft, innocent kiss on his lips.

As you break apart, he hums contently. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, thanks for today. You made my night, Y/N.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Chris.” You watch as he walks over to his apartment door, which is of course, only a few meters away from your own. When he disappears into his own apartment, you sigh, closing your own door behind you. You lean against the frame, letting out a shaky breath, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve held any genuine interest in someone, you feel almost giddy.

That is until you see Minho, leaning against the corner of the kitchen wall, watching you with his cheshire smirk.

“Dinner tomorrow, huh?” He asks, walking into the kitchen and scooping himself the last of the pasta.

“What about it?” You retort, not giving in to that pestering look in his eyes.

“Oh, nothing. I’m sure it’ll be good, considering Chan clearly made this,” Minho says, shoveling some of the pasta into his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard.

“Save it, the lady at the front desk told me you almost set the apartment on fire,” Minho laughs as you pour the wine.

You let out a groan, handing him his glass. “God dammit.”

“Don’t blame her though,” he smiles, leaning back and taking a sip. “I wouldn’t have believed you could have cooked that anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“Had me fooled for a second there though,” he says, patting you on the head. “But more importantly, you like Chan huh?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. Nice hickey, by the way,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows.

You pull up the collar of your shirt, casting him a glare. “Okay, maybe I do,” you shrug. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” he replies, before taking a second to think. “Just please don’t fuck him or anything tomorrow. Walls are thin.”

You laugh, taking your glass of wine and flopping yourself back down on the living room couch.

“Shut up, Minho.”

~

thanks for reading loves <3

[demigodreading]

Saving Mini Benson Pt:1

Request: From @youngjusticeimaginesus​:  Hi, I was wondering If maybe you'd be willing to do a oneshot where Olivia's daughter gets kidnapped by Lewis instead of Olivia?

Summary: That’s right my favorite peoples... This is going to be a two part mini series because there was no way everything that I needed to say could be done in a one-shot! I won’t go into much because I don’t want to give it away but please note THIS PART IS A DOOZY! The next one may be worse but still this arc made me cry in the show and I cried writing this

Characters: Olivia Benson, Fin Tutuola, Amanda Rollins, Nick Amaro, William Lewis, Donald Cragen, Reader

Relationships: Olivia Benson x Daughter! Reader

Warnings: MAJOR Violence, Guns, Cigarette Burns, Episode Spoilers, Alcohol, Smoking Weed, Mentions of Shootings, Death, William Lewis, Mentions of torture... (I Think that covers it but if it doesn’t please let me know)

Word Count: 2320 (Like I said.. there was no way this was gonna be just a oneshot.)

And with that all being said: Let’s jump into it.

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

Olivia and her daughter rarely fought but when they did neither one wanted to admit the other one was right. Olivia loved and hated her daughter for being so similar to her. Even now as she watched the miniature version of herself stalk the interview room the exact same way she would send her heart racing. Usually the similarities would result in a smile but not today. Today Olivia’s vision was a deep red as she confronted her daughter.

“Y/N you were caught smoking weed underneath the bleachers during class! So not only did you break one rule you broke two!” Olivia shouted, folding her arms.

“Wow glad that you know how to count,” Y/N mumbled looking out the window.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Look mom I just don’t get what the big deal is? It was one joint. One class!” Y/N retorted, throwing her hands up, “I am a straight A student who has a full ride scholarship to Harvard.”

“Yes, because Barba stuck his neck out on the line for you and put in a glowing recommendation,” Olivia spat, “What you did was careless. You could have ruined everything that was given to you.”

“You know for once in your life could you ever be fucking proud of me! I do everything that I can do to make you proud and yet at the end of the day I am never fucking good enough for you.”

“That’s not…” Olivia went to argue but was interrupted by Cragen opening the door.

“Olivia we got a problem. I need you right now,” He said, then shut the door without waiting for an answer.

“Just go save another poor unfortunate soul mom. Don’t worry about your daughter.  I’ll pick up my own pieces like I always do,” Y/N said, wiping tears from her face as she grabbed her coat.

Y/N stormed from the room before Olivia could stop her. She made her way through the precinct eyes trained to the floor as her mother’s voice rang out, “You better head straight home Y/N!  We are not done having this conversation and you are grounded!”

Choosing not to say anything, Y/N merely raised her hand in the air flipping her mother off before the doors shut with a loud slam behind her. Tears made dark spots on the concrete as Y/N made her way back to their apartment. Even the noises of the constant car honks and people screaming couldn’t drown out the voices in her head today. Failure. Waste of space. Stupid. No one. Unwanted. Unloved. 

It was the repeated song that kept her feet moving forward until she finally placed her key in the lock. She threw her bag by the kitchen island and threw her keys on the counter. She was about to turn on the living room light when a noise caught her attention. 

“Hello? Hello?”

As she turned the corner her vision was filled with the sight of a gun pointed right at her temple. A smirk crossed William Lewis’ face as he looked at Y/N, “Ah welcome home Little Benson. I was hoping that it would be your mother who was walking through the door but I guess you will have to do.”

Y/N went to scream but instead Lewis jammed the gun against her throat, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. One small slip of my finger and your mom will be left with a new kind of art all over her walls.”

Y/N let a single tear roll down her face before Lewis’ gun made contact with her skull and the whole world went black.

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

Olivia had already tried to call Y/N twice but it kept going straight to voicemail. The last known location had been their apartment so at least she had the sense to head straight home. The guilt in Olivia’s stomach was insurmountable. Watching her daughter explain that she never felt like she lived up to her standards. Olivia had promised herself when she had Y/N she would never end up like her mother. Yet there she was shaming her child for one mistake. Y/N was more than just a good kid, she was excellent. She was smart, beautiful, humorous, kind, and so much more. She was everything Olivia could have ever hoped for. Knowing that her daughter thought she wasn’t proud was the worst pain she could have.

After the third call Olivia finally decided to leave a voicemail, “Y/N I know you are mad but I need you to know something. I am proud of you and will always be proud of you. You are the best daughter and the most amazing human. I was rough on you early. Please let’s talk through this. I’ll be home soon with your favorite Chinese. Just don’t do anything stupid? I love you.”

When she hung up the phone she placed her head in her hands and let out a large sigh. Fin placed a reassuring hand on her back, “Liv, it is going to be okay. She is just being a teenager.”

“No Fin, you should have seen her. It was like I was physically taking her heart out and ripping it in front of her. I should have never said those things. I didn’t mean any of them… I was just upset.”

“She knows, they always know.”

Olivia merely shook her head and began to gather her things to head home. She walked out of the precinct without a goodbye and headed down the street to Y/N’s favorite Chinese place. They knew what she was going to order as soon as she walked in the door asking where Y/N was. Liv pushed off their question and scrolled through her phone as she waited for the food. Y/N’s phone was still off giving Olivia an eerie feeling as she finished the walk to the apartment. 

Once inside she noticed Y/N’s bag on the floor and her keys on the counter. There was a sudden rush of cold air that made her notice the window that was open to the fire escape. She shut it quickly and then moved to Y/N’s room. The door was still open with everything the way she had left it that morning. Once her calls were unanswered Olivia opened the window again crawling onto the fire escape. Sometimes Y/N would go to the roof to watch the sun slowly crawl behind the buildings.When she reached the top however she was met with an unsettling emptiness. 

Olivia reached for her phone to call the only person who was able to calm her anxiety lately, “Amaro, Y/N isn’t here. I can’t find her. What if something happened to her?”

“She probably just went to a friend’s house to get away,” Amaro replied stirring the contents of his drink, “She will be back in the morning just to relax. Sleep off the anger and come back with a clear head tomorrow.”

Liv pondered this suggestion over and over deciding what she should do. When the silence became too long Amaro interjected again, “Liv, I’m serious. You two had the biggest blow out that I have seen in awhile. Give her time to be mad at you and think. If you smother her she might only push further away from you.” She thanked her partner for the advice and then shoved her phone back in her pocket taking a sweep of the roof once again. Finally she slowly made her way back to the apartment shutting the window with a slam before locking it. Olivia wandered over to the kitchen moving the cereal that covered the top of the fridge to get to her secret cupboard. From the opening she pulled a large bottle of her favorite red wine. She popped the cork and decided to forgo a cup taking a long swig directly from the green glass. A large sigh escaped her lips as she plopped down on the couch going over the events of the day in her head.

As the contents of the bottle slowly drained till there was nothing else Olivia realized her fears were all coming true. She was becoming her mother. A woman she never once wanted to be. Three empty bottles later she finally curled under Y/N’s sheets crying into her pillow until she finally was able to fall asleep.

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

The next morning when Y/N did not return and her phone was still shut down all bets were off. Olivia was furious but more importantly she was terrified. Something was horribly wrong. Her morning was spent talking to Y/N’s two best friends and searching their houses for her. When that search was unsuccessful Olivia went to the school hoping Y/N had gone there. However, she had been absent all day and there hadn’t even been a call to excuse her from the day. 

When the morning bled into the afternoon Olivia was running around the city to all of Y/N’s usual hangout spots. The search of the library told her that Y/N hadn’t been there in over a week. The local bakery hadn’t seen her in three days. The coffee shop where Y/N always bought Olivia’s coffee when she came to see her at work had seen her two mornings ago but nothing since then. Even the old lady that had Y/N over twice a week to help her with errands and chores around the house hadn’t seen her. 

It was dark by the time that Olivia fell into her desk chair at the precinct. With her head in her hands she let the tears fall. A whole day was gone and there was still no sign of her daughter. If she had been kidnapped they were running out of time and losing it quickly. The longer she was out there the longer the person had to get away with whatever they wanted.

The squad huddled around in Cragen’s office looking at Olivia curled over her desk. Rollins was the first one to speak, “I bet you Lewis has something to do with this.”

“And what makes you think that?” Amaro asked, “There are plenty of people who could have a vendetta against Liv.”

“It’s just a feeling.”

“Yeah well have you ever considered the idea that maybe Y/N just ran away,” Amaro retorted.

Fin, Cragen, and Amanda all turned towards Amaro, shocked. Cragen was the first one to speak, “I know you haven’t been here long Amaro but this isn’t Y/N. Something is horribly wrong and we are going to figure out what is going on. Fin and Amanda go check out Lewis’ usual hiding spots. I’ll take Liv through her apartment once again to see if we missed anything.”

“And me cap?”

“Amaro… you stay here and set up a tip line,” Cragen responded curtly and then they all disappeared to find where Y/N had disappeared to.

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

Y/N woke with a jolt as she felt cold water splash her face. She was met with Lewis staring only a couple inches away from her face. He grinned and grabbed Y/N’s chin as she tried to look away, “Well well there. Looks like someone is finally awake. Feeling thirsty?”

Y/N nodded her head yes waiting to scream as he curled his fingers around the edge of the duct tape. As he was about to pull it away he jammed a gun against Y/N’s throat, “Make any noise and I will shove this gun straight down your throat.”

Finally when he pulled the tape away Y/N spit right in his face, “Just shoot me already if you are going to threaten me with it.”

“And miss out on all of our fun Mini Benson. I think not. There is plenty that I want to do to you before then.”

Y/N began to panic as Lewis lit another cigarette. She remembered the way the others had burned against her chest and sides. She had lost count after twenty perfect circle burns and after the second pistol whip to the face she had passed out a second time, She couldn’t go through all of that again.

“My mom knows I am missing and she will be out looking for me. Just let me go and she will never have to know that you did it. Please,” YN begged.

“What is she going to think about that bruise on your face? Or the marks on your skin? I can’t let you go… plus I know that you both fought before you came home. I bet you that she thinks you just ran away and are leaving her,” Lewis chuckled.

“How.. how did you know that we fought?

“This lovely voicemail your mother left you,” Lewis said, placing your phone against your ear.

Tears began to run down Y/N’s face as she heard the apology her mother had sent her. Damnit! Why did I have to fight with her? We could have avoided all of this. Is the mantra that ran through her head as Lewis slammed the phone against her head and threw it at the wall.

“She isn’t coming for you,” Lewis snickered.

“Please… just let me go. I will do anything.”

Lewis pulled his gun and placed it against Y/N’s scalp, “You are still bargaining with me? Really. We are way past that baby.”

“I am the daughter of an NYPD detective. A decorated well known detective. My mother, her partner, her squad, the entire department will hunt you down. You think that you’ve put people through hell. It will rain back down on you.”

“You know what… let it rain,” Lewis said and then hit Y/N once again making her world go black for a third time. 

[study-coffee-chicago]

Seasons of PD: Season 3: Jay’s Missing (A Halstead Brothers + Halstead Sister! Imagine)

As always, I don't own any quotes from the episode that happen to be in here!

Your age: 14

Jay's age: 28

Will's age: 30

"C'mon Jay," you muttered as you called him for the third time in an hour.

It was the one night a month where you and your brother would go out to dinner together and if there was a hockey game on, you'd finish watching it at his apartment. Then, he'd take you home. He was skeptical about doing it tonight since you had end-of-the-year exams next week, but you reassured him that you'd be fine; taking a break for a few hours never hurt anybody. And, you had all Saturday, Sunday, and Monday night after school to study since exams didn't start until Tuesday.

"You've reached Jay Halstead--" You quickly ended the call and began texting Ruzek. Hopefully, he'd cave and tell you what was going on.

But, when the read sign popped up seven minutes later, you knew something was up. If Jay was going to be late, he would've called you, or at least texted.

Since it was late May, the sun was out later than in the winter, which meant that it wouldn't be dark for another couple of hours. So, you grabbed a light sweatshirt and pulled it on, grabbed your phone and a few dollars and put them in your pocket, shouting a "bye Dad" on the way out...not that he cared what you did anyway.

You walked a few blocks to the El train stop, put your dollar in for your ticket, and hopped on. While you were on there, you were sure to have Ruzek's number pulled up on your phone and were ready to hit the call button in case something happened to you.

You looked at the map. The 21st District was just a few stops away. Soon, you'd know why Jay wasn't answering you. Hopefully, he was just out on a raid, handcuffing the bad guys.

***

"Kim," you said as you rushed into the district and saw the officer. "Do you know where my--"

You were cut off by the faint sound of a scream.

"Do I know where who is, Y/N?" she asked, completely ignoring what she had just heard.

"Jay, but that sounded like him screaming!"

You ran up the stairs to Intelligence, tugging on the gate even though you knew it wouldn't open without a member scanning their palm or Platt buzzing you up.

"Was that Jay? Is he there?" you yelled.

"Y/N, we can't let you up there right now," Kim explained.

"Why not? Jay told me we'd go out for dinner tonight and he always calls if he's gonna be late."

You looked up to see Ruzek coming towards the door.

"Would it kill you to answer a text?" you asked.

"Sorry, been busy."

"At least let me upstairs and then you can tell me where Jay is and I'll be out of your hair."

Ruzek sighed and allowed you to go up, Kim following you as well.

"Or Detective Halstead winds up as fertilizer in some cornfield in Indiana. We understand each other, Sergeant?"

"What'd he want?" Antonio asked, everyone totally unaware that you were now in the room.

"Halstead's life for all our CI files."

"H- His life?" you asked, frozen on the top step to the bullpen.

"Shit," Kevin muttered.

"Is he in trouble? Is he dead? Is that why he didn't answer my calls?" Your bottom lip started to tremble.

Antonio took a deep breath. He knew that if Gabby was in trouble that he'd want as much detail about what was happening as possible. "Something uh, something went wrong earlier," he supplied. "And then, because of that, some dealers took your brother."

"They took him? Took him where?"

"We don't know yet, kid," Al said. "But, that's what we're trying to find out."

When you heard that they didn't know where he was, you ran off towards the locker room. Ruzek tried to put his foot between the wall and the door to stop you from closing it and locking yourself in, but you were too fast for him.

You pulled out your phone and dialed a number you knew you probably should've called earlier when you first thought that Jay was in trouble.

"Erin? Jay's missing. You gotta find him. You're his partner."

***

Erin blearily reached for the phone, still trying to get over her hangover from last night--which lasted well into this morning--to go out for another night of non-stop partying, drinking, and drugs. She furrowed her eyebrows when she saw your name pop up.

"Hell--"

"Erin? Jay's missing. You gotta find him. You're his partner."

"He's--" She cleared her throat. "He's missing? What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. I- I called him because we had a dinner and he didn't pick up, so eventually I just- I came down to the district and I heard someone on the phone say they're going to turn him into fertilizer, Erin."

"Do you know who it was?" she asked as she grabbed her service weapon and slid it into the waistband of her jeans...the same clothes she had been wearing since last night. A call that her boyfriend was missing was definitely curing her hangover fast.

"I don't know. It was- It was some dealer. But, you gotta come here and help them find him. You're his partner. Please." Your voice cracked on the last word.

"Okay, okay, I'll call Will to come pick you up and explain the situation. I'm leaving my apartment right now. I'll be there soon."

"Please don't call Will," you urged. "He's gonna be mad at me."

"Why's he gonna be mad at you?"

"Because I took the El and I'm not supposed to take the El by myself."

"Y/N, you taking the El by yourself is the least of his problems at the moment. Just sit tight and I should be there in about ten minutes."

***

"Y/N, c'mon open this door. Please?" you heard your oldest brother's voice on the other side of the door. "I know you're worried about Jay, but it's not gonna help at all if you just lock yourself in here all night."

You sniffled and then walked over to the door and unlocked it. "Will!" you cried, rushing into his arms. "He's gone, he's gone, he's gone."

"Hey, hey it's okay. You're okay. They're gonna find him and then you can have two dinners with him next month because you missed yours this month."

The number of times Jay had been shot or hurt on the job had caused Will to basically be immune to hearing bad news about his little brother. But, if Jay didn't come back or flatlined, then he'd be freaking out. And, despite Will wanting to scream at all of Intelligence to go find him, he knew he couldn't do that. He couldn't lash out right now because it'd only make it worse for you.

Your stomach growled, making Will go into even more protective brother mode. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Lunch," you answered.

"Y/N, it's 7:30. We gotta get some food in you."

"But, but what if he comes back? I wanna see him when he comes back."

"I'm gonna be honest with you. When he comes back, he's probably gonna need to go to the hospital just as a precaution. And, I know you have exams soon and your algebra one is stressing you out. I don't think Jay would want you to fail an exam just because you were worried about him."

"I hate math," you grumbled.

"I know. That's why you need to make sure you study."

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna end up liking it because I have to work on it."

Will didn't know what to say to that because he knew that you were right. So, he reiterated his previous point. "Let's go get you some food."

"Can-Can we just eat at home?" you asked. "I don't wanna not be home and hear bad news about Jay."

Will knew what you were getting at: you didn't want to break down in public.

"Yeah, we can do that. Still got a bunch of mac n cheese at home?"

"A few boxes," you answered, remembering how bare the cupboards were at your and your dad's house.

"We'll just grab something on the way home. C'mon."

"Can Erin come, too?" you asked.

"Go ask her. And, don't take the El by yourself. That's dangerous."

You rolled your eyes and followed him out of the locker room and into the bullpen.

"Erin," you started as you walked up to her desk. She had her head in her hands.

"Hmmm?" she asked looking up.

"Do you wanna come back to my house and eat dinner with me and Will?"

"I don't know if--"

"She'll come," Voight answered before she could finish.

"Hank!"

"Erin, we'll still be here working when you're done with dinner. Lord knows you could use some food in you."

"Fine." She stood up and grabbed her coat. "Not like you're letting me help with the case anyway," she muttered. But, no one heard that part.

Since she had quit Intelligence in Bunny's bar a few weeks ago, Voight was right in having her not work the case...not that she'd admit that. But this was her boyfriend, her partner, that was in trouble and she'd be damned if she didn't help get him out of this mess.

***

"Dad's not home?" Will asked as he let them into the house using the spare key that was hidden under a layer of dirt in the flower pot.

"He never is," you mumbled.

"What? What do you mean he's never home?"

"I mean, he's never home on Friday nights because he always goes out to the bar with some old friends," you told him. That was at least true. He did go out to the bar with some old friends...but it wasn't just Friday nights anymore, it was Friday, Saturday, and sometimes Thursday and Sunday, too. Because of this, he ate out a lot and didn't cook. Therefore, he had no reason to buy a lot of groceries, which was why there wasn't a lot of dinner food left in the cupboard...not that there was a lot of breakfast or lunch food here either, though. There was just enough for you to play it off that your dad just needed to go to the store. There was just enough for your brothers not to worry.

"Okay."  Will started to grab the Olive Garden you had ordered out of the bag. You said you weren't hungry--you didn't want to eat when you were this nervous-- and had only wanted to get some minestrone soup. But, Will insisted that you needed more than that so you compromised: minestrone soup and half an order of fettuccine alfredo...plus the breadsticks and the salad that came with the meal obviously.

A while later, Will was almost done with his food and was grabbing another breadstick and Erin was putting more salad onto her plate. You, on the other hand, had barely managed to finish your minestrone.

"Y/N, can you please eat a bit more? How about a breadstick? I know you love those," Will said.

"I'm not that hungry," you said quietly.

Will was about to say something when Erin stepped in. "How about you work on some of your homework? Maybe that'll make your appetite come back since you're using a lot of energy to focus. And, Jay mentioned that you have exams next week."

"He did?" you asked. You didn't think that Jay would mention stuff that you had going on in your life, like exams, to Erin.

"He always says how proud of you he is for working so hard in school...because he says that he was never as good in school as you."

"He really says he's proud of me?"

"He sure does."

"You guys mind if I do it out here? It's a lot easier to write stuff down when I'm writing in my notebook on the table instead of balancing it in my lap on my bed."

"Sure, kiddo," Will said.

You went to your room and grabbed your backpack and then started to work on your homework.

As you were working on it, your brain wandered back to the first time Jay had helped you with your math homework, all the way back in kindergarten, at this very kitchen table, when both of your parents had been working and Will was all the way in New York for his first year of med school.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, trying not to crumple up your math homework sheet and throw it across the room. It was only five subtraction problems, but subtraction was hard! You had only just started understanding addition!

You threw your pencil across the kitchen, where it narrowly missed the wall. It clattered to the floor, causing Jay to look up from where he was reading a book in the living room, the chair he had been sitting in was facing the kitchen, so he could keep an eye on you.

"Did you throw that?" he asked as he walked towards you.

"No," you lied.

He picked up the pencil. "If you lie, you get nine minutes in time out instead of six."

You didn't want to go in time out that long!

"I throwed it," you admitted, looking down at your math homework.

"It's threw, but thank you for being honest. Can you tell me why you threw the pencil?"

That was something his mom always did with him when he was younger: asked him why he did something and then, possibly put him in time out. Sometimes, he just needed to talk it out, and if that was the case, he didn't have to go into time out.

"I don't get sub-trac-shun!" you complained. "It's stupid!"

"Hey, we don't use that word."

"But it's hard."

"I know, but what if I help you? Would that help you to get it?"

"But Will said you not good at math," you pointed out, remembering something your oldest brother had said.

Jay chuckled. "I'm not good at big kid math. This stuff is easy for me."

"It's easy?"

"Oh, yeah. And, I think I might have something that can help you."

He walked over to the cupboard and reached up to the top shelf where he grabbed a bag of chocolate chips. He poured some into a small bowl and then walked back to the table and sat down next to you.

"We gonna eat chocolate?" you asked. "Even though I throwed-- I threw my pencil?"

"This is gonna help you learn subtraction."

"How?"

"Just watch." He paused and looked at the paper in front of you. "So, this one says five minus two."

"I know that," you told him proudly. "I know it says five minus two. I dunno what the an- the answer is though."

"Okay, well, take five chocolate chips out of here."

He held the bag out to you while you took five out, counting each one out loud. "What do I do now?"

"Now, if I eat two--" he popped two in his mouth. "--how many do you have now?"

You looked down at the chocolate chips. "One...Two...Three. I have three choc-chips!"

"That's right! So, five minus two is...?"

You scrunched up your face, trying to piece together what he had done. "I dunno."

"We had five chocolate chips. I ate two. How many did you say we have left?"

"Three!"

"Yeah. Five minus two is the same thing...just without me adding chocolate chips to the end."

"Huh?"

"Here." He took your paper from you and on the first three problems, he wrote chocolate chips after each number. "Five chocolate chips minus two chocolate chips is...?"

"Three!"

"Yeah! Good job! Now, write three down as your answer."

The next problem was three chocolate chips minus one chocolate chip and you did the same thing this time. Except, you got to eat the chocolate instead of Jay. You had two chocolate chips left this time.

Then, when you got to the last two problems that didn't say chocolate chips after the numbers, Jay showed you on your fingers how to figure out the answer.

Then, since you did such a good job, he let you watch Dora and eat some more chocolate chips.

"Y/N? Y/N? You good?" You were snapped out of your thoughts by Will saying your name.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine." You reached over the table to grab your pencil that had rolled towards Will. But, as you were reaching for it, your elbow knocked the two-liter of pop. "No!" you cried out as it spilled. It didn't just spill anywhere though...it spilled right on top of your algebra notebook. "Fuck this! I can't do this!"

You threw your pop-covered and sticky notebook on the ground and sprinted to the bathroom, ignoring Will and Erin's calls for you to come back.

You locked the door and slumped down against it. God, you needed that notebook. That had your entire exam review in it. And, if you didn't finish the exam review, you couldn't take the exam.

You only had 25 more problems left out of the 220 you had to do, hence why the review was given to you a month before you actually had to take the exam, so you had time to do it. And, some kids would wait until the last minute, but you figured you'd start early and do a certain number of problems a day so you didn't have to stress out and had time to ask your teacher questions if you had any.

But now, now you had a matter of days to do all 220 problems...and you had other exams to study for...and your big brother was missing...and...

Shit, here comes the Olive Garden.

You jumped up and lifted the lid of the toilet, quickly emptying the minestrone soup from your stomach.

"Y/N? Y/N! Open this door!" Will yelled as he banged on the door.

You leaned back against the bathtub and took a few deep breaths, willing yourself not to throw up again. You groaned as you felt the liquid rise in your throat and were back above the toilet in a matter of seconds.

You were panting at this point and trying to take a few breaths before more came out. Because you were so focused on making sure you didn't inhale your own vomit (ew) you didn't hear Will pick the lock and enter the bathroom.

When all that was left for you to throw up was bile and you were finished, you closed your eyes and leaned back against the bathtub once more, and took deep breaths.

"So that's why you didn't want to eat any more than you did," Will said.

"Will? How'd you get in here?"

"I picked the lock, Jay's not the only person in this family who knows how to do that, you know."

"I hate this," you mumbled, eyes still closed. "It happened last semester with exams too, but it wasn't this bad."

"Kid, you're stressing yourself out too much. You have to take a chill pill."

"I c-can't!"

"Okay," Will started as he crouched down next to you. "Why can't you relax?"

"I spilled pop all over my notebook!"

"So? You already practiced those problems. You know you don't need to practice them again, so just do the ones you need to practice."

"You don't get it!" You frantically rubbed the heels of your hands over your eyes as tears started to stream from them. "I needed that notebook! If I don't turn in the entire exam review I c-can't take the exam." You sighed and just put your head in your hands. This night seriously could not get any worse at this point. "And, Jay's miss- Jay's missing!"

"Y/N, I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? Just take one."

"O-Okay." You took a deep, yet shaky breath.

"Now another."

You took another deep, yet shaky breath. And, you continued this cycle until Will deemed your breathing to be back to normal.

"How about you brush your teeth and then we'll figure out what to do for the homework once you do that. Sound good?" You nodded and stood up to go to the sink. "I'll be in the kitchen with Erin."

Then, Will exited the bathroom to go back into the kitchen like he told you.

"How is she?" Erin asked when she saw him come in. She had started cleaning up their take-out containers while Will had been busy trying to calm you down. "Sounded like she was puking."

"Because she was."

"Is she sick?"

"Not in the technical sense. But, she is what I like to call stress sick."

"Stress sick?"

"Exams are stressing her out, so add on top of the fact that Jay's missing, and she got so stressed out that she threw up."

"Poor kid," Erin sympathized. Then, her phone buzzed. "I gotta get back to the district. Tell her to feel better from me."

"Will do." He started to walk Erin towards the door, but stopped when they were almost to it. "And Erin? Bring my little brother back. Even though he's a pain in my ass half the time, I can't lose him. And, I know Y/N would take it really hard."

"Will, he's got the best unit in all of Chicago looking for him. We'll bring him back."

A few minutes after Erin had left, you walked into the kitchen, with clean teeth and the gross taste of vomit now out of your mouth, to see Will sitting at the table, staring at your notebook with a roll of paper towel next to him. "What are you doing?" you asked as you sat down.

"Trying to get the stain out," he replied.

"How? It's like the entire notebook, not just one page."

"You're talking to the king of spilled coffee on homework. And, lucky for you, pop and coffee are both water-based. So, I think I know how to get this out. You're gonna need to rewrite it in a new notebook, though."

"Okay. Need any help?"

"Can you just get me a bowl filled with water?"

"The paper's already wet. Why do you want to make it wetter?"

"Just trust me on this one." You yawned. "After you grab that for me, maybe you should go to bed. It's been a long day."

"Will you stay here?"

"Of course. I can just sleep in my old bedroom...unless Dad did something to it. Speaking of Dad, is he usually out this late? Does he usually leave you home alone this late at night?"

You were filling up a bowl with water and turned to look at Will. You shrugged. "Sometimes. It's okay, though." That was a lie. Most nights he didn't get home until two or three in the morning...but, Will didn't need to know that.

"I'm going to have a chat with Dad about that. He shouldn't be leaving you home alone this late at night."

"Will, it's not even that late. I'm fine." You placed the bowl of water on the table.

"Fine. But if it hits midnight and he's not home yet, then I will be talking with him about this."

You nodded. "Well, I'm gonna go to bed. 'Night Will. Sorry about getting sick."

"You don't have to apologize for that." He stood up and pulled you into a hug. "Goodnight."

You started to walk towards your bedroom when you remembered something and turned back to Will. "Will?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you think Jay's okay? He's gotta be okay, right?"

"Y/N, he's got the best unit in the city looking for him."

"And Erin."

"And Erin," he confirmed. "He'll be okay." But, in that moment he didn't know who he was trying to reassure more: you or himself.

***

"You wanna go somewhere today?" Will asked as you were both sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal the next morning.

"I have homework to do...a lot more than I thought I'd have, too. Did Erin give you any updates on Jay?" you asked.

He shook his head. "But, he's gonna be okay. And, you don't have a ton of homework to do. You have a ton of homework to copy."

"What do you mean?"

At this, he placed the notebook on the table. "I told you I knew what I was doing."

You flipped open the notebook to see that Will was right: he did in fact know what he was doing. Even though the pages were all still tinted a light brown from the pop, the writing from you doing all the practice problems was still legible. "How did you...?" you trailed off as you continued to flip through your algebra notebook.

"Like I told you, I spilled coffee on one too many notebooks in college. Now all you need to do is copy the problems down into a clean notebook. Save you some brainpower."

"Thank you."

"Now, I suggest we got to CCU's library so you can get a change of scenery while doing that."

"CCU? Why? And, you're not a student there anymore. How are we gonna get in?"

Will scoffed. "They don't check student IDs when you go in. And, a change in my workspace always helped me to focus when I was studying, so maybe it'll help you."

"Workspace," you mocked. "So professional. But, yeah, let's do that. Can we keep our phones on though in case Erin calls?"

Will nodded. "Of course."

***

Getting into CCU wasn't actually that hard. All Will had to do was pay $10 for a day pass to park and then you walked into the library, no student ID necessary.

"Okay kiddo, where are we sitting?" he asked.

"I don't know. I've never been here before. Where did you normally sit?"

"Second floor. It's generally quieter up there and the tables are big, so I could throw my books all over it. But, I'd come back down here for coffee a lot, too."

"There's a coffee shop?" you asked as you widened your eyes. "In the library?"

"Well, tuition is out of this world. So, at least we get something out of it."

"Can we go? I think I have $5 somewhere in my backpack."

"If prices haven't gone up since I was here when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, then I can get a muffin and a large coffee for $5. I'll have the coffee and you can have the muffin. I'll pay," Will told you.

"Okay, thank you! And, you're not that old, Will."

You got your triple chocolate muffin and Will got his large coffee. Then, you found one of the big tables that he had mentioned and started copying your algebra review into another notebook.

"What are you going to do? Sit here and stare off into space?" you asked your brother. "Wait," you began as you started to rummage around in your backpack for an eraser, "What's this?"

You set a big book on the table. And it's definitely not something you'd read because it was called "How We Learn", which you assumed meant that the book was nonfiction and went into the science of learning.

"I found it in my room. Must've left it there from Christmas last year and I haven't had a chance to read it, so I figured I'd bring it to read now."

"Fair enough."

***

"Did Jay ever want to go to college?" you asked a few hours later. "Or, did he know it just wasn't right for him?"

"I think he always knew he wanted to do something involving being on the front lines and being in all the action," Will answered, dog-earing the page in his book and setting it down. "Why? You don't want to go to college either?"

"No, I do," you said quickly. "It's just- I just want to know things that I've never asked him if we...you know..."

Will nodded. "I know you're worried about him, but if Hank Voight's anything like Jay's told me, he won't let anything happen to one of his own."

"But he let it happen to Jules," you said. What if Jay was the next Jules?

"Jules? Who's Jules?"

"She was Antonio's partner. Antonio's the reason Jay got into Intelligence. And one day, he said we were going to go see a movie. Like, he just randomly picked me up from school and everything. I could tell he was sad after the movie, and it wasn't a sad movie, and he told me that someone he worked with died. A little later, we were walking by the memorial wall by the district and he showed me her name."

"I see," Will said, drawing on his talking-to-patient skills because what else was he going to say?

Luckily, he was saved by his phone ringing.

"Hello? Erin?" Pause. "He's at Med?" Pause. "Okay, yeah, we'll be there in ten minutes."

"He's okay?" you asked as soon as Will ended the call. "Jay's okay? They found him?"

Will nodded. "He's at Med. Erin said he's a little bruised, but he was conscious, so that's good."

You took Will's book and shoved it in your backpack along with your schoolwork. "Let's go."

***

"Nat, really, my ribs don't need to be wrapped. I'm fine," Jay protested as he sat in a treatment room at Chicago Med, Erin standing next to him in some clean clothes that Natalie had let her borrow.

"Jay, your ribs are badly bruised. They need to be wrapped. If you're more comfortable with a guy wrapping them, I can easily call in a male nurse for help," Natalie suggested.

"No, it's not that. I don't care who does it."

"My little brother just doesn't want to bruise his big ego, that's what's going on, Nat," Will said as he entered the treatment room with you by his side.

You jumped when Jay turned and you saw his face and his chest: a black eye that went from the inside corner of his right eye to his right temple, a gash on the top right of his forehead, another gash on the left side of his forehead which was diagonal and above the outside portion of his left eyebrow, a jagged cut that went down his left temple starting at eye level, a split lip, and purple, blue, and red bruises along with some cuts and welts that littered his ribs and chest.

"You're okay?" you asked as your lips pulled into a frown and tears stung your eyes.

"I'm okay. Just a little beat up right now. Nothing to worry about."

Without thinking, you ran to his bed and gave him a hug. He let out a groan as you squeezed a bit too tight, irritating his ribs.

You pulled away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay, my ribs are just gonna be a little sore for a few days."

"I thought you were going to be turned into fertilizer."

"Fertilizer?" Jay furrowed his eyebrows. "Who told you that?"

"When you didn't call me back about dinner, I tried calling Adam, but he didn't pick up either, so I went to the district. I heard some guy on the phone saying he was going to turn you into- into fertilizer. I was so scar- so scared."

Tears rolled down your cheeks faster than you could wipe them away.

Jay stood up with a grimace and walked the few paces over to you, wrapping you in a hug. "Hey, I'm okay now. That's all that matters. And, you did a really good job calling Erin."

"I did?"

"You sure did. She told me all about how you told her that I was gone and that she'd be able to get me out because we're partners." He paused. "She also told me that you took the El by yourself."

"Erin," you whined. "You weren't supposed to tell him that."

"It's okay," Jay said. "I won't tell Dad as long as you don't do it again."

"I won't," you replied. Not like Dad would do anything anyway, you thought to yourself.

"Jay," Will started, "You need to get back into bed."

"It's just bruised ribs, Will. I'm fine," Jay argued.

"It's just bruised ribs, Will. I'm fine," Will mocked. "Yeah, tell me that tomorrow when you can barely walk because of how sore they are. Bed. Now."

"Fine." Jay sat down with a huff and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I swear, you're such a child, Halstead," Erin said.

***

You walked out of school a few days later feeling free. Summer was here and you were no longer a middle-schooler. You were now a high schooler.

You started to walk out of campus, the way you took to walk home every day, when you heard the thundering of footsteps behind you, causing you to jump and turn around.

"Jay." You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw it was your brother.

"Hey, figured I'd pick you up. My text must not have gone through."

"Oh, I turned my phone off because of exams. Sorry."

"No problem. C'mon, we're going out to lunch and then we'll stop home to grab your swimsuit."

"Swimsuit? Why?"

"Mom would always take us to Navy Pier on the first day of summer to go swimming. And, since Will's shift ends at 1:00 and I'm on leave because of injury, it's the first year we can actually do this all together."

You nodded, trying to hold back tears at the mention of your mom.

"Hey, let me take your backpack. That thing looks like it's gonna make you topple over." You took it off and handed it to him. "Whoa! What's in here? Rocks?"

You laughed. "Nope, end of the year locker cleanout. Everything that was shoved in my locker is now in there."

"No rotten food I hope," Jay joked.

"No," you laughed. "Why? Did you or Will leave food in your locker?"

"No, we knew better than that. But the kid next to me left a milk carton in there over spring break and that smelled funky when we got back. I started bringing my backpack around with me just so I didn't have to go back to my locker because it smelled so bad."

"We can't do that. Teachers say it's for our safety because of bombs."

Jay opened the door to the backseat and put your backpack in there while you got into the passenger seat. Then, he got in the driver's seat all the while thinking how you knew that that was the reasoning behind that rule. He knew the reasoning because he was a detective. But he thought that most of the time, kids just thought it was some stupid rule.

"How do you know about that?" he asked once he started his truck.

"One of my teachers told us. She was mad at a kid who kept bringing his backpack to class even though she told him not to, so he went off on her and called it a stupid rule and asked why we even had the rule. She told him it was because if there's a bomb threat then she has to check every single backpack. That's why."

"Oh," was all Jay said. He really didn't want to be having this conversation with you, but here he was.

"Is it different?" you asked.

"Is what different?"

"Like, is high school different now than when you were in high school? And how different is middle school from high school?"

"Are you nervous for high school already, kiddo? You just finished eighth grade like fifteen minutes ago!"

You shrugged. "I'm just curious is all." Jay quirked an eyebrow at you while he took his eyes off the road for a split second and then returned them back to the road. "Okay, fine. I'm a little nervous."

"Let's talk about this over brunch, okay?"

"Okay."

***

Of course, Jay knew that you wanted to go to iHOP because breakfast was good at any time of the day. Jay thought differently though and ordered a sandwich instead of breakfast food like you. You had gotten their cinnamon roll pancakes with bacon, sausage, and hashbrowns on the side.

You were waiting for the comment about it being a lot of food, but that never came...which you were thankful for. You didn't know how you were supposed to explain to your very perceptive brother that the reason that you were eating a lot here was that you only had about 3/4 cups of dry cereal this morning before school because you were out of milk. You were out of milk and your dad didn't go grocery shopping. And, it's not like you had enough money to buy groceries or that you knew where your dad kept the money so you could take $20 just to buy food and hide it in your room so that you had something to eat.

"So, what do you want to know about high school?" Jay asked. "Did you get your schedule yet?"

If you were going to Central Chicago High School after going to their middle school, you had the option to schedule your classes the month prior and then you'd see if you'd get those classes. Of course, it might not be possible to get every class with every teacher you want, but it was cool that you got to know right when you finished eighth grade. And, in high school, it was the same thing: on the last day of ninth grade, if you were staying for tenth grade, then you'd get your schedule on the last day of ninth grade. It was sort of weird to you, but you got used to it.

"Is Eva going to be at the beach, too?" you asked. You knew it was her's and Diego's last day of school along with Jordan's and Vanessa's, so you wanted Jordan and Eva to be there when you told everyone your schedule so they could tell you everything they knew about the teachers you had next year.

"I can text Antonio. Why?" Jay asked.

"I just wanted to see if Eva and maybe Jordan would be there because they could tell me everything about the teachers I have."

"I can text Antonio and Kevin. You know what, I'll text Ruz and Burgess too."

"And Mouse."

"And Mouse. Can't forget about him now, can we?"

"What about Erin? Is she coming, too?"

"Uh, I don't know about that. She's had a rough couple of days."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Why?"

"You know how Voight took her in?" You nodded. "Well, after Nadia died, she was backsliding. Badly. And now, she's detoxing and it's kinda hard on a person's body."

"Okay, but seeing you would make her feel better. She's always happy when she's around you. And you always have this big, dopey grin on your face whenever you're around her."

"I do not," Jay protested. You raised your eyebrows at him. "Okay fine, maybe I do that occasionally. I'll text some people and then we can talk about high school."

Jay sent the texts while you continued to eat. He took a few bites of his sandwich and then broached the topic of high school once more by saying, "So, what do you want to know about high school?"

"I dunno. How's it different from when you went to school like twenty years ago."

"Hey! It was not twenty years ago. I'll have you know it was ten years ago!"

"Same thing."

Jay rolled his eyes. "Well, shootings happened, but not as much as they do now." You opened your mouth to ask if Jay had ever responded to one, when he stopped you. "And I know what you're going to ask. No, I didn't respond to one and I wouldn't tell you if I did. What do I always tell you?"

"I'm trying to keep you innocent and sheltered from all the bad stuff in the world," you said verbatim of what he had told you dozens of times when you asked for details of what he was doing at work.

"Word for word. So, we got to carry our backpacks around and it was an open campus."

"It used to be an open campus?" you asked, shocked.

"Yup, we rarely even had to sign out."

"Lucky! I wanna leave school and go to Mcdonald's for lunch!"

"Too bad you weren't born like fifteen years earlier and that could've happened."

"Oh, and we could eat lunch on the roof. There was a way to climb through the ceiling above the indoor track. It's closed now, though."

"Why'd they close it?"

"Yeah, you might want to wait until we're at the beach for me to tell that story since I'm sure everybody else would find it funny."

"Okay..." you trailed off, drawing out the "y". You didn't know why everyone would find a story of a hole in the ceiling being closed funny, but you figured it was best to let Jay have his way...with this one at least. "What's the difference between middle school and high school?"

"Now, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret: nobody cares in high school."

"What do you mean?"

"Just ask Eva when we get to the beach."

"She's coming?"

"Her, Diego, Antonio, Kev, Adam, Kim, Jordan, Vanessa, Mouse, Erin, and of course Will are all coming."

***

Luckily, Jay decided to stay in the car while you ran inside your house and changed into a swimsuit, slipping your clothes over top of it so it would be easier when you got to the pier.

"Dawson!" Jay yelled as he walked up the beach, bag in hand filled with his swim trunks, water bottles, and a few bags of chips. Typically, he would've brought beer to the beach, but he had to drive home, with you in the car no less, so no drinking for him.

"Halstead!" Antonio yelled back.

Once you got up close enough, you saw that Gabby was there, too.

"Bring Gabby to be your DD, Antonio?" Jay jokingly asked.

"I mean, I'm sure Ruzek's bringing beer, so I might be able to get away with one."

"Uh uh," Gabby said. "If Kim brings some fruity drinks, you're driving home."

"So, if she brings regular drinks I can have a few beers?"

"Your cap is two, Antonio. You've got these two to take care of." She gestured to Eva and Diego. Diego was already jumping the waves and Eva was laying down on a beach towel starting to get a tan.

"Eva!" Antonio yelled. "Y/N's here!"

"Oh thank God," she said and walked up to you. "Girl, come sit your towel down next to mine and then we can look at your schedule."

"Yeah, I wanna see that, too!" Jay exclaimed.

"Should we wait for Will? And Jordan? Maybe Jordan has some input about the teachers. And, Jay said he has a story to tell about a hole in the ceiling of the high school and he wants to be sure everyone is around to hear it."

Ten minutes later, everyone had arrived and was in their swimming gear. "Okay, what's this story about the ceiling, Jay?" you asked.

"Oh, that story," Will joked.

"Yeah, that one. What other one would there be?"

Will rolled his eyes.

"Okay, before I start, I am going to preface this by saying that I was young and I was very stupid."

"He's stupid every day," Will dramatically leaned over Jay and whispered to Erin.

"Man, would you shut up and let me tell the story?" Will sat in silence for a few seconds. "Thank you.

"We all know about senior pranks. Well, it was my senior year and a few of us from the soccer team decided to pool our money together and buy some live chickens--"

"Did you say chickens? As in chickens with feathers? That squawk?" Kevin asked.

"Yes, real chickens. What other ones would there be?"

"Maybe they were chicken nuggets," Adam suggested.

Jay dramatically sighed. "Antonio, did you miss having me in the unit this week? You and Erin had to put up with these two bozos all by yourself."

"Hey!" Adam and Kevin yelled in unison.

"Anyway, as I was saying, some of us from the soccer team pooled our money together to buy chickens. Real live chickens, not chicken nuggets, Ruz. Then, we chose a Sunday night to get into the school--they always left this one back door unlocked--and we climbed onto the roof from the stairs/hole thingy in the ceiling right above the indoor track.

"Once we got to the roof, we dropped the chickens off of it. But, our stupid lookout got caught and then the cops came."

"You got arrested?" Adam laughed. "This is priceless."

"Didn't get arrested. Just had to do community service to be able to walk at graduation. But, nowadays, yeah, I'd have probably gotten arrested."

"So, that's why they closed it? Because you and your friends decided to drop chickens from the roof?" you asked.

"Exactly."

"Were Mom and Dad mad?" you asked. "I was little. I don't remember."

"They weren't thrilled, I'll tell you that much. I think if I would've gotten arrested it would've been a lot worse."

"He's downplaying it," Will said. "Mom grounded him from everything. Car keys, those crappy Motorola phones we had back then, GameBoy, dates with Allie. He couldn't do anything."

"Does not sound fun. I won't be trying that." You pulled your schedule out of the bag Jay had brought and passed it to your brother first.

"Aw, man, you got Cunningham for history," Jay groaned. "Or should I say Cuntingham."

"Jay!" you yelled.

"That old hag is still teaching? Damn," Will added.

"Okay, what's the issue with her? Eva? Jordan? Anything about this Cunningham lady?"

"She just hates freshman," Eva supplied. "When you become a sophomore it gets better."

"And she hates when you tip back in your chair," Jordan added. "She'll make you pay her 25 cents if she sees you do it in her class."

"Okay, no tipping in chairs, and I have to deal with her for a year, noted." You turned to your brothers. "How do you know of her?"

"I didn't have a problem with her other than the fact that she's a crappy teacher," Will said. "But  Jay, on the other hand, he's a different story."

"What'd you do?"

"So, I was a freshman when you were born and Mom went into labor the night before I had a test. And, because everyone hates tests, I went to the hospital with Will that morning and we waited for Mom to you know, be done giving birth to you.

"And, I went to school the next day and this old hag said that because there wasn't a doctor's note that I couldn't take the test--"

"He was this close--" Will pinched his pointer finger and thumb together so that they were almost touching. "--to taking you to school one day just to show you to Cunningham and saying is this a good enough doctor's note for you?"

"But Mom wouldn't let me do that...for obvious reasons. And then, because I couldn't take that one stupid test, I did not do well in that class."

"Just say you're related to me," Will said. "Don't mention Jay's name at all and you'll be fine."

"Got it. I'm gonna go in the water now."

You started to go in the water when you heard Erin and Will trying to convince Jay to go in.

"Dude, I can't roughhouse because of my ribs, you know this!" Jay told Will. "And, I am not going in the water with you again, not after what happened last time."

"Jay, that was twelve years ago, give it rest."

At this, your ears perked up. "What'd Will do?" you asked, walking back up to your brothers and Erin.

"He tried to drown me."

"Did not! I just wanted to see how long you could hold your breath."

"Yeah, see how long it would take me to drown!"

"He tried to drown you?" Erin asked.

"Yeah," Jay answered. "Me and Will were playing in the water. I was like 16 and Will was like 18. Y/N was a little toddler and was playing with her shovel on the beach. Then, Mom had to go to the bathroom, so she left me and Will in charge."

"Bad idea number one," Will said.

"There's more bad ideas. So, Y/N's playing in the sand, me and Will are playing in the water, and then next thing I know, Will's practically on top of me and holding my head underwater."

"And the minute I let you up was the minute Mom came back."

"Yup, perfect timing."

"And then you have Y/N who's sitting on the beach and decided to watch us and was just clapping her hands and chanting again, again!"

"Really?" you asked, as you tried to hold back your laughter. "I did that?" Will nodded and you shrugged. "Sounds pretty accurate to me."

"And then I didn't get ice cream after."

"Yeah, you didn't get ice cream after." Jay took a deep breath. "You almost killed me!"

You rolled your eyes. "I'm going in the water to cool off. Maybe it is best that you guys stay here. But, I mean, Gabby's here and I hope to God Will knows CPR because he's a doctor and that you cops do, too."

Once Will saw that you weren't focused on him and Jay anymore, he turned to his little brother. "Hey, how old was dad when he kinda, you know, clocked out on parenting us?"

"Early high school," Jay answered. "Why are you...oh shit, Y/N."

"Yeah, Y/N," Will reiterated. "And, we had Mom, so it wasn't that bad. But, she doesn't have that."

"She's got us," Jay said. "That's gotta count for something."

A/N: I was going to post this last night, but I almost fell asleep while editing, so it's coming out now. Anyway, not sure how I feel about this one, but I got it done, so that's all that matters. Thank you for reading! Please vlike/reblog and comment and tell me what you think! As always, if you want to be added to the taglist, just comment that you want to be added down below. PS: That story about chickens being dropped into the courtyard at school, yeah my older cousin did that for his senior prank and the lookout got caught and they had to do community service to walk at graduation.

taglist: @theambracer88 @virtualreader @kelelas-life @celyndavies @brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @anotherfan07 @thexplosivegirl @dreamingwithlens @xoxmariaxox @onechicago18 @iamasimpingh0e 

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 4 Co-Written with @southerngracela​

Summary: Ransom shows you a softer side, but when the table flips he leaves you with no doubt that he’s still just as dangerous as he has always been…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is Part 4 to our submission for @jtargaryen18​ ‘s Haunted House 2020  Challenge. My writing partner @southerngracela​ is currently on an indefinite hiatus from Tumblr, and I’ve sadly no idea when she will be back. However, this chapter was pretty much finished before she took her break and the rest of the series is also planned out to finish, so as per her blessing before she took time out, I’m intending on finishing what we started.

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 3

True to his word, Ransom had let you spend the day with him after Blanc's visit. It was a day interestingly enough your mind wandered back to, if not for the change in scenery, but for the change in his demeanour. A couple of weeks had since passed from then, but the memory was burned in your brain. And since, you'd spent far more than just a day above the confines of your room. Almost every morning since he’d ‘allowed’ you to make breakfast and most mornings, unless he was heading out to wherever he went, he then let you stay upstairs with him whilst he plugged away at the book he was writing. That in and of itself had come as a shock to you, to learn he was an aspiring author for sure, but you had simply nodded and encouraged him when he had told you. And you had quickly realised that when he was busy writing, you could get busy reading one of the many books or writing in your journal while sat in the large study and he left you pretty much alone.

Which is where you were currently sat now, curled up on the leather sofa as he sat at his desk, tapping away at his laptop, your journal open in your lap and a leather bound copy of ‘Great Expectations’ lay next to you, the page marked waiting for you to pick up from where you had left off the previous evening. As you thumbed the pages of your journal to find the next blank page, you had to smile at the little doodle of a Christmas tree that caught your eye in the top right hand corner of a page you’d written a few days back, the day you’d convinced Ransom that he should at least get one Christmas Tree. He’d obliged, had one; only the one, delivered and permitted you to decorate it how you’d wanted to and even managed a little smile when you stepped back and proudly showed the finished product to him. Then, of course, quid-pro-quo, he had had expected something in return which you’d given, because let’s face it, he’d have taken it anyway.

You’d seen a softer side to him that day, and not for the first time either. Granted, non-asshole Ransom wasn’t an everyday feature by any stretch of the imagination, but you’d seen it twice now. You paused, and then thumbed back a few pages to the day you were now remembering, the day you’d first been confronted with a very different Ransom to the one you were used to dealing with. One that came out of nowhere.

It was a wet day, an early winter storm passing through New England. You were sure it could have snowed but instead, it was just wet and cold. He'd come down with breakfast, instead of inviting you up. He'd brought you warm oatmeal with cream and cinnamon, a small bowl of blueberries on the side and a pinch dish of raisins, having forgotten how you took your oatmeal. A cup of coffee, steaming on the tray. He'd set up your breakfast on the table and sat across from you, not eating. He hadn't even brought coffee for himself. 

You'd assessed his mood as morose, distant even. You didn't press, but rather waited for him to out himself and his particular mood. You'd come to recognize when he was thinking and this morning, he was all thought and no presence. 

"I'll be gone most of the day," he finally came clean, just as you'd finished your oatmeal. 

"Okay," you replied. He hadn't ever really announced his plans to you before. He'd just come and go at all times as he'd liked, never leaving you home alone without the doors locked. This willingness to let you in on his plans for the day fielded a small red flag in your mind and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like this was a test. He said nothing else, just picked up your breakfast dishes and left. 

In the time he was gone, you'd managed to shower, nap, write and read. You were growing hungry for dinner, having had to skip lunch in his absence. Then you heard it, the tell-tale signs of his return. The clicks of doors and sounds of boots on the floor above you. The jingle of keys, and a few failed attempts at unlocking your door. A 'fuck' and a 'God damn it' before the door opened and there he stood. Soaked to the bone, dressed in all black from his coat to his toes. Was that ice on the tips of his hair? Was he drunk or just having a moment? Fingers frozen from the cold. 

'Jesus Christ, you're soaked.'  You said as you took him in. His lips looked a little discolored, his skin more alabaster than ivory. Throwing caution to the wind, you grabbed your throw from the chair as you passed it by. 'Get that coat off,' you pulled at its thick woolen collar. The heavy fabric peeled away from his broad shoulders and you let it fall to the floor. You heaved the throw over him and pulled it closed around his thick chest. 'You're not getting sick and leaving me here to rot.'

You moved to give him some space and guide himself further into the room, but ice cold fingers wrapped around your wrist and you stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes moved upwards from where his hand swallowed you're wrist, along the wet fabric of his black sweater, water droplet covered neck, to eyes that were lost and distant, just as they were that morning, but much worse. 

You were nearly as frozen as his fingers were, not sure what to say or do. Worried about consequence. So you just stared back. 

'Thank you', it was barely audible as the words poured from his lips. 

'Of course.' You weren't sure what he was thankful for but you replied anyway. Cautiously, you continued, 'Will you come sit down? Do you want something warm to drink?' You wanted to ask where he'd been but that was a slippery slope. 

'Not here,' he replied. 

'Upstairs then, in the lounge,' you suggested. He nodded and turned on his heel, a glance over his shoulder to see if you were coming. You followed, pulling your cardigan around you tightly as the chill from the basement filtered through you, or was it coming away from him, you weren't sure. 

You'd thought the lounge was where you were headed but instead, he'd headed for the kitchen, taking a seat at the table there. When he didn't provide instruction or conversation, you inhaled deeply and thought of something to warm you both from the inside-out. You felt his eyes on you as you gathered the ingredients you needed, cocoa, chocolate chips, milk. The cinnamon sticks from the cupboard. You were careful not to make too much of a clatter as you pulled the sauce pan from under the counter. 

In minutes, fresh hot chocolate was in two steaming mugs with whipped cream and freshly grated cinnamon. You handed him a mug and then sat across from him, your mug between your fingers. You watched as he sipped from his mug, blowing a little on the liquid before his lips touched it. His eyes closed as if he was stuck in a memory, his expression softening. 

His eyes opened and he sighed, 'I can't remember the last time I had something like this. I was just a kid, my nana was still alive. It amazes me how they turned out from the two of them.'

'Money changes people,' you commented. You assumed 'they' meant his family, or at least more specifically, his mother and her two brothers, one of which had been gone for years. 

He scoffed, 'fuck my family.'

Throwing caution to the wind, you asked, 'is that where you were?' You couldn't have guessed, given he was usually extremely angry and frustrated when he'd spent time with anyone in the Thrombey-Drysdale family tree. 

He frowned and nodded. 

'What happened?' You couldn't resist.

'Harlan's memorial.'

'Oh' . You said unable to think of anything else to respond with, because really what else could you say. He’d attended a memorial for the grandfather that would still be alive had it not been for him. 

'Oh, indeed,' he mused, long fingers flexing around the mug. 'Surely, you’ve figured out I wasn’t particularly welcome.' 

You couldn't say more, he wasn't wrong. You bit the inside of your lip and swallowed hard. He needed comfort. But would you give it to him? Was he deserving of that? Hell no, but your heart ached for him a little. It couldn't have been easy. But maybe this was his punishment for avoiding the ultimate consequence.

'Go on, say it.'

'Say what?' 

'That I deserve it.' He looked at you, 'I know that’s what you’re thinking.' He leaned back, 'maybe you’re right.' 

Well, that threw you. 'I don't know what I'm thinking, to be honest.' You leaned forward, intending to slip the mug from his hands and take them in yours, but you caught yourself and stopped. That was a step that you weren’t quite ready for, or willing as might be more accurate, to take. 'But, I can tell you're hurting and despite what happened, how it happened, you deserve to say goodbye without the rage and selfishness that got you here.'

'Well,' he leaned back and took another sip from his mug, 'that’s certainly not what they thought. Meg assured me I'm still the stuck up prick without my trust fund.'

A small smirk played over your lips, barely noticeable, 'fuck your family.' 

'Careful, Sweetheart,' he smirked, but there was no threat in his words, not this time. He was genuinely amused.

You managed a slight shrug, 'If there’s one thing I learned from writing about you and your ridiculously entitled family tree, it's that each and every one of you is all about everyone for themselves.' You took a deep breath, waiting for the repercussions to fall. 'What happened, happened. Now, this is what you have, so own it.' 

You flinched a little as his hand reached to scrub at his clean shaven chin, finger tracing his bottom lip as he studied you for a second before he took a deep breath and reached back for his mug. 'I think you need to make this for me more often.' He stated simply, and just like that, the deep foray into his emotions and psyche was over, and the barriers were closed once more.  

'Sure.' You nodded. 'Whatever you want.' 

At that he gave a little scoff. 'Sure, whatever I want.' 

Silence filled the room again, your mind not sure what to make of that last comment, and his was clearly working overtime, you could tell by the way his eyes were still glazed as he simply stared down at the mug in his hand. The rest of the time you sat by the table was quiet, and you were surprised to find yourself a little disappointed. This was the first real meaningful conversation you’d had with him since arriving here. Sure you’d talked, but never once had you got any insight into what exactly made him tick. You’d learned more in the last ten minutes or so than you had in the entire six weeks you’d been his captive.

His captive. 

The words echoed in your mind and you swallowed as you remembered exactly what it was you were doing here. This wasn’t by choice, this man wasn’t your friend or your lover, he was your captor, keeping you for his own entertainment, which he was no doubt going to be seeking from you again tonight.

'I think I need a shower,' he leaned forward, disturbing your thoughts.

'Okay,' You replied. 'I'll, uh, well you know where to find me when you're ready for me. Anything in particular you'd like me to wear tonight?' 

'No, not tonight,' he answered with assurance, his voice carrying a low yet soft tone. 'You can go read or whatever it is you do when I'm gone.' You blinked, temporarily dumfounded and he looked at you, snorting a little. 'What? You want me to come and have my way with you?' 

'Is that a trick question?' You blurted out before you could stop yourself, before you swallowed and waited for the admonishing, but it never came. Instead he chuckled and shook his head.  

'Didn’t think so.' With that he rose from his chair, reaching for your empty mug as he passed. His fingers lightly brushed yours and you were jolted by the sudden sparks that flew up your arm and you took a little breath as he passed, depositing your mugs in the sink. Without another word he breezed from the kitchen for the first time, leaving you alone in the room.

It left you perplexed. Completely and utterly perplexed. He never left you alone, even the weeks on your cycle he’d found other ways for you to satisfy him, with your mouth or your hand for instance, but tonight…

Taking a deep breath, you headed back to your room. You didn’t even look at the main door to the house, there was no point. It was always locked and you knew what the consequences would be if you left. Besides, you wouldn’t get far. Not to mention you had no idea where you actually where and the thought of being outside alone in the dark, frankly scared you to death. No, you were better here. At least you knew it was warm, and familiar.

You headed down the stairs and got ready for bed. You settled in with your book, and after a while your ears pricked up as you heard footsteps outside your room. You swallowed, clearly he had changed his mind. But, as you set your book aside, it wasn’t the sound of the door opening followed by his feet padding down the stairs that you heard, it was the lock clicking as he shut you in for the night.

The sound of the doorbell jerked you away from your memory. Ransom frowned and looked up from the screen of his laptop before his eyes caught yours and he gave a little smirk.

“Expecting someone?”

You rolled your eyes at his asshole joke and he chuckled to himself, grabbing his phone. As he saw who it was at the door his good humour slipped from his face and without another word he rose from his chair. He paused in the doorway and turned to you. “No funny business, remember…” 

 “Yes, I know.” You replied quietly. “You know where my family are.”

He hesitated, almost as if he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he turned and left the room to answer the door. 

The study wasn't far from the lounge merely the next room down, and the lounge was closest to the door so you tuned your focus to the voice speaking with Ransom. You recognized it and suddenly found yourself adjusting your tee and duster, making sure the cuffs on your jeans were even. You could hear the distress in his tone, the guest was unwanted and you hadn't realized you were now in the hall beside him. You noticed he took a step back towards you, as if he knew you were there. 

Linda Thrombey's eyes raked over you, in shock and disbelief. “What the hell is she doing here?” 

As she glared, you shifted uncomfortably, your hands pulling on the sleeves of the duster sweater you wore as you swallowed.

“She’s with me.” Ransom replied, his tone even.

“With you as in 'with you'?” Linda turned her eyes back to him, distaste evident on her face.

“Is that a problem, Mother, because you know where the door is.”

It was a problem, you could see it in her face as she once more looked at you, but instead of sniping back she simply took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"No, I just wasn't aware you'd have company." Her eyes flicked back to Ransom who simply shrugged.

"Since when did you know anything about what I do on a daily basis, Mother?"

"Don't start, Ransom. I'm not in the mood and I didn't come here for a fight."

 "Then pray do tell, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Can you stop being such a sarcastic little shit for once in your life?" she snapped.

You stilled a little, your eyes flicking to Ransom and you were surprised to find that instead of the usual anger you expected, his face remained passive on the whole, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that, well had it been anyone else you'd have sworn was concern. But Hugh Ransom Drysdale wasn't concerned about anyone but himself...

“What’s happened?” he asked, his voice still gruff but there was a softer note to his voice. Linda took a deep breath and she shook her head.

"I felt a call to tell you wasn't appropriate and this needed to be handled in person." She fixed him with a look. “It’s your Greatnanna Wanetta. She died last night, Ransom.”

You froze, hearing the news leave his mother's mouth and you suddenly felt sorry for him. Ransom, stood there stoic, his eyes fixated on his mother.

“Was it peaceful?” he eventually asked, his voice measured.

“In her sleep.” Linda replied, her tone soft.

Ransom stayed silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he took deep breaths. His expression was unreadable as he simply looked at his Mother, before he raised his eyebrows inhaling slowly.

“Was there anything else?” He exhaled, and Linda simply shook her head at him, a huff of annoyed laughter escaping her.

“That’s all you have to say?” She asked, incredulously, as Ransom shrugged with a petulantly nonchalant air, and you saw Linda’s face redden as she exploded "Oh for God's sakes, Ransom, you really are such a selfish little bastard, aren't you?”

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, his tone measured. “You said it was peaceful and she didn’t suffer.”

“No, I said she went in her sleep.” Linda corrected him. “I imagine she did suffer, how could she not after everything that happened, huh? Hell, she probably died of a broken heart”.

At that you saw Ransom’ nostril’s flare as his eyes burned into Linda’s face, a flush of red rising up his neck.

"Get out," he deadpanned. When Linda made no attempt to move, Ransom stepped forward yanked open the front door of the house, gesturing with his arm. “I’m not gonna ask again. Go.”

"Ransom..." Linda tried to strong arm her way to stay.

"Are you deaf or just fucking stupid?" Ransom replied, his voice didn't even raise in volume but something about it made you shiver. He was positively frightening when he was in this frame of mind.

You watched as Linda gave him a final glare and stepped outside without so much as a glance back, the slam of the door behind her making you jump.

Ransom saw his mother out but didn't return to the study, in fact he ignored Y/N's presence in the hall entirely. Instead, he sulkingly moved towards the wet bar in the lounge. He didn't even bother with the glass, he picked up the first bottle he could wrap his fingers around and white knuckled the neck, spinning the cap off, it clinking to the floor. He downed a long pull, the amber liquid burning sinfully as it coated his throat, his eyes stinging but not from the booze. 

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s soft voice startled him as he hadn’t heard her enter the lounge. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hand over his face, and turned to look at her, his jaw clenching.

“Did I say you could leave the study? Did I say you could join the conversation with Linda?” His voice was steely, flat, but he knew full well that she understood that to mean he was pissed and she visibly recoiled in the doorway, her eyes widening. When she didn’t answer immediately he slammed the bottle he was holding down on the bar top, and when he spoke again his voice was louder as he demanded an answer. “Did I?”

“No.” She answered with a quiver, “But I…”

“But I…” he mocked, sneering before he scoffed. “You know considering how smart you’re supposed to be, at times you’re really fucking stupid.”

Y/N blinked a little, and opened her mouth to talk but she fumbled over her words as she frantically began to apologise, which simply served to irritate him even more. With a frustrated growl he reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up to look at his.

"You do as I say, when I say it. That rule has NEVER changed," his voice was filled with venom. “I didn’t ask for your sympathy. And I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“That’s not...” she whimpered slightly, and the grip he had on her face tightened causing her to cry out. “Hugh, please!”

And there it was, that fucking name.

You immediately realised your mistake as his face burned red and his lips curled up into an ugly sneer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…you were hurting me and…”

“You think I give a shit?” He spat, and the hand suddenly released your face only to wrap painfully in your hair. Without so much as another word he began pulling you from the room, ignoring your shouts of pain and protest as you wrapped both your hands around his wrists, desperately trying to get him to release you. But it was no good, the more you struggled, the tighter his grip became.

Before you knew what had happened he’d dragged you to the door that led to your room and down the stairs, your feet slipping slightly, causing you to stumble, harshly banging your knee on the bottom few steps where he finally released you, shoving you harshly. Your balance already gone, you stumbled and collided harshly with the side of the vanity table, the pain in your cheekbone causing you to yell out once more as the stars exploded in front of your eyes.

It took you a moment to shake off the daze, and when you finally did you looked up to see his retreating back heading up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. With a gasp you slumped down, your back against the wood of the dressing unit, your hand reaching up to your tender face. From somewhere upstairs in the house you heard another door slam, then a moment or so later there was a roar of an engine, which was followed by nothing but eerie silence.

Hugging your knees to your chest you let out a sob as the tears streaming as uncontrollably down your face.

***** All he could see was rage. Red, hot, firey rage. He slammed the basement door and didn't miss the bar cart on his way out, a full bottle of top shelf scotch in his hand, coat and keys in the other. He drove for miles, no destination in his conscious mind but a rather interesting one in his subconscious.

Headstones came into view until his SUV stopped at the end of the grassy knoll where the mausoleum stood surrounded by trees. He climbed out of the car, bottle clutched in his hand and shut the door behind him, simply leaning against the dark metal of his vehicle. For a long while, he didn't move, he simply stared at the entry, gulping large pulls of the scotch as he stared. His thoughts raced and raced, almost making him dizzy. It was that or the fast burn of the booze.

It felt like a flash of his life replaying in his mind. His great-nana, his grandparents, his parents, a life of entitlement growing up, parties, recreational drugs, booze, women, his fight with Harlan, his sudden plot to commit murder and then the crime, his arrest, and then the visions came to a halt with a mind bending pain and at the end of that pain was Y/N.

Her face, her scent, her voice. The way she felt beneath him, around him…those breathy, little moans, sighs. They’d connected recently, Ransom was sure of it, ever since he’d invited her upstairs and let her do something as mundane as cook. They talked more, engaged more, he no longer fucked her and left, instead he’d dress and hang around for a while, and he liked it. But then, today, after his Mother’s visit, those eyes which had mesmerised him from the moment he’d met her had once more reflected fear and confusion.

And Ransom didn’t like it.

Where that fear had, at one point, given him a buzz, now it simply served to remind him exactly how things had been when he had first taken her, and he didn’t like that one bit. He’d grown to crave the other things, like the way she would touch his arm or squeeze his hand. The way she smiled and spoke. The way she made him feel human, not some ghastly, beastly monster capable of killing someone. But he hurt her, more times than he wanted to admit. He hurt her and did things to her, he was vile and despicable. He WAS those things everyone said. 

He was a fucking monster.

He felt the upheaval of emotions begin to collapse around him and he fell to his knees. The sting started and he couldn't stop it. An outpouring of emotions, years, decades even of built up anger, resentment, unhappiness, disgust, fear, pain all erupted in a strangled cry as his chest heaved and his heart raced. Salty steaks of tears wet his cheeks.

And all Ransom Drysdale felt in that moment in time was utter defeat.

His Greatnanna, the only other member of his family who truly ever cared about him, that remained on his side or remotely understood him other than Harlan was now gone and the realization of loneliness hit him like a ton of bricks. His body shook, his chest ached, his mind grew numb and all he could do was cry. 

What the fuck had he become, WHO had he become? What did he do? Why did he do it? This was all his fault, Harlan didn't deserve to be cold in the ground. He did this, all of this. Again, but why?

He had absolutely no answer other than because he could. 

It grew cold, dark, and late. The scotch was gone, his eyes burned and he couldn't breathe through his nose. At this point he didn't care if he made it back in one piece. He was a piece of shit and deserved everything that came to him by way of a tragedy. He climbed into his SUV and tried to collect enough sobriety to drive towards home. Towards her.

******

You had no idea how long you sat on the floor, but by the time you finished crying and had mustered enough about you to move; you were cold, stiff and aching from sitting in the same position for so long. Your face hurt from the blow you’d taken against the dresser, your knee hurt from where you’d banged it but all that paled into insignificance to the pain that was going on inside your chest.

You didn’t understand why Ransom had flipped like he had. For a few weeks now, things had been okay between you, good even. He’d been reasonably amenable to most of your requests and dare you say it, almost happier in himself. But all this served to remind you what lay underneath that façade. A dangerous narcissist with the ability to swap his face and mood at the click of a finger.

Or, in this case, a visit from his mother.

You wiped at your face, hissing as your fingers brushed your tender cheekbone and with a slight whimper of pain you pushed yourself up off the floor and stumbled over to your bed where you lay down and curled up, hugging your pillow to your chest.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you recall it was dark and you were still cold. Whilst the basement was equipped with heaters, you couldn’t shake the chill from your bones so you decided that your best option to warm up, and ease your aches and pains was a nice, hot bath. Stretching out slightly, you gave yourself a moment before you pushed yourself up, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand before you got up and headed into the bathroom, flicking on the light. 

You paused at the basin unit, glancing at your reflection and you swallowed at the sight of the bruise that was already forming around your right eye and cheek socket. Swallowing the emotion you felt at seeing your face marked once more in such a way, you turned your attention to the bath and the suddenly remembered that the other night Ransom had presented you with a bag from a Boutique you liked that sold home-made soaps and bath bombs, clearly having been in one of his good moods that day. You had yet to unpack it all and put it in the bathroom, so, deciding that you were going to use one tonight, you turned to head back and grab the bag, but as you emerged into the main part of your room, you were stopped short as a thick chest, covered in a ribbed white tee, a hint of a cardigan peeking out as broad shoulders kept warm by a camel coloured coat blocked your path.

You gasped and felt your belly drop out. Your body immediately began quaking in fear as he stood so close to you. You cowered away, taking a half step back but it wasn't enough to put space between you as his hand gently grabbed your upper arm and pulled you into his chest, a shriek emitting from your voice. 

"Don't," his voice cracked. "Don't scream, I'm not gonna..." his words trailed off and he just shook his head. 

He held you against him. You were sure he could feel you trembling as his large hands pressed against your back. You inhaled a deep, shaky breath through your nose and was met with his scent. He smelled so good, like an expensive aftershave with hints of amber and sandalwood, cedar and vanilla but there was an underlying, distinct aroma of alcohol, scotch you suspected, unless you were mistaken.  

You felt his face press into your hair as he took a large, shaky deep breath, as if he was inhaling your scent, which he exhaled before he pulled away, his hands cupping your face. He tilted your face slightly so he could examine your left cheek and you saw him swallow as he took in your bruising. Something stirred behind his eyes, a sad melancholy that you’d seen only once before crossed his arrogantly handsome features, and his head dropped slowly to yours. He held your jaw in his big hands, his lips on yours. You didn’t fight, fighting was futile, but as the kiss continued it soon became clear that this wasn’t like any of the times he had kissed you in the past. No, this one was soft, like a need to just feel you pressed against him. His plump lips pulling yours in and holding you there and you realised, from the lingering taste of something sweet yet ever so slightly tinged with sour, that your suspicions were correct.

Despite your earlier fear, you willed yourself to relax into the relative comfort. It was like he was back to how he had been before his mother had visited and whilst he was in that frame of mine, you knew you were safe, so keeping him there was in your best interests. Your fingers moved from your sides to his chest, the ribbed tee rough against your skin. You continued your movements as his mouth pulled you in just a little more until he traced his tongue over your bottom lip. Your fingers moved out to and up the lapels of his coat, the soft texture like a cottony suede under your fingertips, before settling on the back of his neck, his smooth skin and hairline a definitive juxtaposition to feel. He didn't balk or pull away as he had done previously when you’d tried to show him affection, and you continued to respond to his kiss, your touch seeming to be a comfort for him and in the back of your mind you wondered what had changed to make him act this way. He broke away and rubbed his nose along yours, almost as if he were touching a butterfly, soft and unsure. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He continued to whisper, over and over. A soft, barely there kiss to your bruises and broken skin and more words, "Let me take care of you."

You were scared to admit that this felt good, the way he was being gentle, apologetic even. Pain radiated from his body once again, like it had just a few weeks ago, his eyes telling you everything he was feeling. The outpouring of emotions there were hard to ignore. You weren't sure if forgiveness was in your repertoire, but compartmentalization was. You looked back at him, and with a slow blink, almost hypnotized, you nod in reply to his request. 

Long fingers reached out and tucked a tendril of hair behind your ear, the other hand simply cradling your jaw. You swallowed hard as he bent down and placed his lips on your neck. Your body shivered at the feel of his mouth warm against your skin. His breath hot on your ear, “do you trust me?”

"I don't know," your voice was breathy as you replied. 

“Let me fix this," his voice wavered. It was a question, not a demand. He nipped at your skin and you shivered again from a combination of desire and disgust at the way this asshole could make you feel, how traitorous your damned body was. 

Ransom felt her breath hitch against his touch. She wasn't fighting him, she wasn't combative, she was...receptive. The thought nearly made him crow for, in that moment, he could feel her trust in him coming in, even if she couldn't verbalize it. He was debating on his lips devouring hers but he was... oh God, he was actually afraid of losing her in the moment. Of her closing herself off. No, he thought, it's best to wait. Ignoring the throw blanket on the floor and the mugs of cocoa on the table, Ransom held her face in her hands. "Do you trust me?" He asked again. She swallowed hard and blinked again, slowly. It was as fair if a reply as he'd get. He could see the war in her eyes, her mind battling with her feelings, her heart. "Stay here."

He left her standing there while he started the hot water. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. He felt different, better even, from the moment he sought her attention when he'd come home. He started the tub faucet and as he brushed past her again, he shucked his coat, tossing it on her bed. He took a small bag he'd brought her earlier in the week and carried it with him. He emptied the contents of a small vile like bottle and watched a moment as bubbles began to firm in the hot but tolerable water. With the bath filling, he sighed to himself and turned to face her.

He peeled his own dusty blue cardigan over his shoulders and let it set over the basin unit. He pushed the sleeves of his white thermal up his forearms and held his hand out to her. She hesitated but slowly slipped her hand in his. He pulled her close and his hands gathered the lapels of her cardigan and peeled it away from her. Underneath her cardigan, Y/N sported a firm fitting white tee and jeans that looked well fitted for her hips and ass, toned legs, bare feet curling into the tiled floor. Ransom salivated as her nipples hardened through the material. He realized she had no bra on under her tee and his hand gently slipped under her rib cage, his thumb padding over her pert nipple. He lifted the thin white tee away from her body and tossed it to the floor. He was half hard just at the thought of her naked under her clothes and now he was solid. Discomfort growing by the second. 

A hooked knuckle traced down her sternum, between her breasts and along the center of her taught stomach. He watched as goose flesh covered her exposed skin. As his knuckle reached the waistline of her jeans, he took to his knees, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to her belly, just above her flies. With just his fingers, he undid the button, unzipped the zipper and the peeled the material away from her legs, all the while deep blue eyes peered up at her. He wasn't disappointed to find she'd still worn panties under the rough material, in fact he was delighted. His eyes roved down to her black, lace panties and he reached out, fingers gently tracing long the detailed waistband. Those came down next and as she stepped out of the material, Ransom's hands traced patterns up her leg, faint kisses to her thigh, her hip, her belly. He stood and admired Y/N, completely bare, with less than a foot of space between them.

Ransom hummed, his right hand reaching out, pads of his fingers again trailing a path down the valley of her heaving breasts to her navel. He paused as her breathing hitched and with a smirk his hand dropped lower still, over the faint tuft of hair he insisted she kept groomed, his fingers slipping into her folds. She gave a soft gasp, eyes widening as he continued to tease her, her hands reaching to up to grasp at his biceps as he played with her. She was wet, so wet from just this little bit of play and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he pushed two fingers inside of her. 

He leaned forward, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, “Just say the words and I’ll make you feel so damned good, Sweetheart, like you’ve never felt before.” Ransom pulled away, removing his fingers from where they’d been, his hand curling on her hip, sticky with her essence. He backed her toward the tub's edge, his forehead pressed into hers. All motion stopped the second the back of her legs touched the tub. "Get in," he whispered. 

You sunk down into the water, the aromatic smell of calming lavender swallowing your senses. Bubbles covered your body, to the point they tickled your collar bone. You eyed him kneeling as he reached over you, grabbing the natural sea sponge loofah and dipping it into the water before he squeezed it over your skin, gently scrubbing. Your face once more met his and you carefully watched him as he exhibited a patience you had never seen from him before. Those blue orbs bore into you, but still he made no move to take you.

And it was unnerving.

But then, as you stared into those deep, icy blue pools something suddenly clicked in your mind. He wanted you to want him. That was what this was about. He’d spent his entire life with people who regarded him as unworthy of love or any kindness and he was seeking validation. Whilst you could see he was genuinely hurting, you also still knew this man was violent, angry, had taken you without your permission, taken what he wanted from you and when. You knew he would take what he wanted tonight too, regardless of what your answer was, the moment for you to back out had been and gone.

But something felt so good about his touch that you were shivering in anticipation of more rather than in fear and the feeling of enjoyment on your mind started to overpower the feeling of disgust in your belly as your core tightened with each breath you felt against your skin. You blinked, your head a whirl, as you were shamefully turned on despite the depraved nature of this entire situation. You broke from your thoughtful trance as a hand cupped your face, a thumb pad tilting you chin upward just a pinch to look at him,

"What?" You whispered. 

"Let me in?" He asked, his tone a bit contrite and hopeful. 

When she nodded in a slow reply, Ransom felt his stomach drop out from under him. Butterflies grew to take flight like an albatross deep in his gut. He dropped the sponge in the water and stood tall, towering over the tub. He reached behind his neck, between his shoulder blades and pulled the thermal over his head, his hair catching slightly on the fabric. He ran a hand through it to straighten it back up and tossed the garment to the floor. He watched as her eyes grew noticeably wide as they roamed over his taught, well-formed abs, his bare chest. He flexed a little, his muscles twitching as he focused on the buckle and flies of his pants. He'd kicked his boots off as he'd undone his belt, the clank an ignored sound as all he could do was watch her and she him. Ransom allowed the material to fall between them, his pants hitting his ankles and he was quick to slip out of his pants and socks. He palmed his hard cock through his boxer briefs as she watched him touch himself.

He could see the change in her, the look of desire and lust in her eyes. The way she was admiring him now, rather than cowering at him. She was appreciating what was before her. His pale skin, his sculpted body, his naked form. He’s seen her, stripped her bare. But normally he's pulled his dick out and just fucked her. This was uncharted territory, this was new. And he liked it. He liked the way she was looking at him, feeding his ego and willingly participating. This, yes, this was something fun for him. And oh yeah, she wanted this, he could see it all over her.

One foot, then the other, Ransom stepped into the tub and sat opposite of her, careful to avoid the faucet. The water felt inviting, the company even more so. Her one leg nestled between his legs while the other just to the outside of them. She slid her left foot up close to his thigh, bending her leg at the knee. At this new comfortable position, his fingers started drawing intricate circles along her shin and calf. He watched her inhale deeply and tilt her head towards her shoulder, observing him. 

As you watched him, carefully, you saw him swallow, the hollow of this throat constricting a little before he took a deep breath, his touch on your leg still feather light. You wanted to lose yourself, give into the desire that you were feeling whether it be wrong or right, at that point in time you were past caring. You were in this position, nothing was going to change that, so was it really wrong to want to feel something more than fear? It was like there was a game of chess being played between your mind and heart, your gut and will.

And then, Checkmate, the idea came to you. You had a chance here to keep Ransom satisfied but on your terms. You had the power. And as long as you kept it that way you could control his temper and his actions, and get what you now shamefully admitted to yourself that you wanted.  And the realisation that you had the winning move here was almost liberating.

Ransom shifted a little, the water sloshing around him as he sat up, his chest poking a little further out of the water as he studied your face, and you waited to see what he would do. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, he was clearly going through a mental battle himself and eventually he licked his lips, his gaze dropping to your breasts which were just under the water line and he swallowed once more before his hand on your leg stilled and he squeezed your calf muscle gently before he moved, leaning forward, his large hand once more resting against your cheek as he drew you in for another deep, gentle kiss.

You leaned into him, letting his lips works softly against yours as your hand dropped under the water and grasped his solid cock, giving him a gentle stroke. The kiss stuttered immediately, and he let out a choked groan as his eyes flew open, locking onto yours.

“Sit back.” You encouraged, and he did just that, his back once more resting against the top as you followed him, your hand remaining soft but firm enough to keep drawing those noises of satisfaction from his throat. His head tipped back as he let you take control, his Adams apple bobbing, eyes closing as no words left his lips, no dirty talk, no hissed little demands about what depraved position he wanted you to adopt, nothing. You held the power, and that turned you on in a way it really shouldn’t.

He gave a strangled hiss as you gripped him tighter and then you shifted, letting go to allow yourself to move your right knee to his left side, following with your other, his eyes flying open, a look of surprise on his face as you lined yourself up and his hands reached up, surprisingly gentle as they rest against your hips. There wasn’t much room, but it was doable, and you sank down onto him, his eyes flying to your hips as you both gave a little whimper as he filled you completely.

His fingers flexed against your skin, blunt nails biting ever so slightly, as you remained still, your hands sliding up his chest, curling over his shoulders. He was tense, coiled like a spring, clearly fighting back the urge to slam up into you and you began to work at a little of that tension, fingers rubbing up and down his neck, the index on your right trailing that vein that was bulging along his throat. His eyes never left yours until you softly began to knead at the strained muscles along his shoulders and neck, massaging deeply as you worked at the knots, his hands still resting on your hips, contracting every so often as you found a particularly knotty spot.

Every so often, he would make the slightest of movements, simply because he was relaxed and you could feel your walls fluttering sporadically, just from being full and stretched to your fill. But, still he made no move to take over, until at one point you hit a particularly knotty area at the point his neck met his collar bone and he gave a little jolt which caused you to groan and he opened his eyes, searching almost for permission. When he found no objection, his hands gently started rocking you.

The pressure and friction on your clit was boiling. It was slow and burned in a way that was so delightful it was almost painful. And, before you could stop yourself you were rolling into him as he kept that same delectably slow rhythm, rocking you back and forth slowly, deeply, before one hand left your hips and grasped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a deep kiss.

Ransom pulled away from her, breathless, his forehead against hers. The words were barely heard, but he knew he said, "I want you..."

"You have me," she replied in a soft whisper. 

"Not here," he shook his head, their foreheads rubbing. He glided his nose against hers. 

He missed the way she felt around him the second she managed to stand and slip out of the tub. Ransom was quickly behind her, following, bubbles and water dripping to the floor from them both be damned. He followed her to the bed where she stood at its edge, her eyes inviting him. He took a seat, bare ass and thighs soaking the comforter, knees bent over the edge. His eyes roamed her body, taking her all in. His own deep appreciation for her firm an awakening in his soul.

Slowly, just like she had in the tub, one knee slipped passed a hip, the other following. His lips were on her breasts, inhaling the scent of the oils and bubbles clinging to her skin as his tongue traced a hardened nipple and then the other. As he did so, she sunk back down his shaft again, a guttural groan escaping them both. She was ready, the thick vein of his cock giving a seductive friction against her wall.

Ransom ran his hands up and down her back, long index finger tracing up and down her spine as hot open mouth, needy kisses covered as much skin as he could. His hands splayed over her shoulder blades as his hips met her grind, catching her as Y/N arched into his movements. Her head tipped back, sheer wanton pleasure radiated from her with a heat he could almost feel. His mouth moved to the spot he knew drove her wild on her neck under her ear and the little whimper she made was nothing short of delectable. 

As he began to lean back towards the mattress, he rolled her body against his, bringing her down with him. He planted his heels against the comforter and scooted them both to the center of the bed, still buried deep inside her. With a hand back to her hip, a gentle grip keeping his own pace with her rhythm, the other tangled in her messy hair as his tongue dove deep into her mouth, savoring each pass her own tongue made against his. He could feel her body flutter against him, sweet kisses her walls made against his solid cock. Her hands braced herself against his broad chest as she sat up, riding him with fluid, long rolls of her hips and he shivered, despite the searing fire between them. He was no longer fighting that desire to take control, he was more than happy to let her take the lead and respond accordingly, dare he say he was enjoying it. The slowness and sheer intimacy was something he never knew he’d craved until now and as she gave a particularly desperate roll of her hips he groaned, "Fuck yeah, Baby, just...like...that..."

A gasp and a shudder ran through you, your walls clenching down on him as a rush of power surged through your entire body. You rolled your hips deeper against him, the friction against your clit nearly too much. You brought your eyes down and looked down at his face, strong jaw, piercing eyes, his thick bottom lip sucked between his teeth. You had full control over him, beneath you he was as powerless as you had been made to feel. "Oh, God," you’re ready to sing a song of pure ecstasy as your body coils and tightens under your own volition. The signs of orgasm were just...right...there.

As you felt a deep thrust from his hips, hitting your sensitive and perfect spot within, your head lulled back and you felt his name roll off of your tongue, "Ransom...."

At the sound of his name spilling from her mouth Ransom gave a groan. It wasn’t Hugh, or Drysdale, it was Ransom. The one thing she had refused to say from day one and she had finally let herself go enough to give in to what he knew she wanted. His chest swelled, a warm feeling flooding from his toes right to his head and he surged up, his lips on hers, the kiss sloppy as with an easy movement he flipped them both so she was underneath him, all semblance of self-control now lost as her voice echoed round his mind, the soft, sultry way in which she’d cried his name repeating like a prayer. 

"Gimme one more, baby, just one more..." his hips were thrusting hard, but not painfully so."Say it again, please," his voice was laced with fire and emotion, a whimper or sob nearly on his lips.

"Ransom...." she replied coming again and his fingers gripped into her skin, holding her in place as his seed shot deep into her, filling her, his entire body shaking, no nearly convusling as he came.

Breathlessly, they laid there, his body gently caging her in, her fingers curling around his neck and into the nape of his hair.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and you blinked, not quite sure you’d heard him right.

“What for?” You asked, your breath still punctuated by your gasps as you came down from your high.”

“For trusting me.” His nose nudged yours and you looked into his eyes, “for forgiving me.”

“I’m not sure I have.” You replied honestly, and a frown furrowed his brown before he sighed and closed his eyes, his head hanging a little.

“That’s fair, I suppose.” He looked back at you before he moved, pulling out of you and immediately you missed his presence, the heat of his body gone as he rolled to his side. You waited for him to rise and dress as he usually did but he made no effort to move. Instead he lay still, looking up at the ceiling before he turned onto his side, his fingers gently trailing down your bruised cheek as it brushed the soft pillow when you turned to look at him.

“Can I stay?” He asked.

It was a pointless question. Because, let’s face it, you didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t want to go he wasn’t going to, and it wasn’t like you could leave. But, nevertheless, the fact he had bothered to ask you in the first place was another first. And you found yourself suddenly believing that if you did say no, he would leave.

Instead you nodded, and he gave you a small smile, not a sneer or a smirk, a genuine smile that lit up his handsome face as he leaned over and pressed his lips tenderly to yours.

Together you managed to get yourself under the duvet before you reached up for the lamp and clicked it off before settling on your side, facing away from him.

“My err, my cheek hurts.” You said quietly, offering him an explanation as to why you’d turned your back on him. He gave a small sigh and one of his arms snaked under your neck, the other curled round your bare body, resting just underneath your breasts. He gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, another unspoken apology before you felt him tug you back into him, your back pressing against the hard wall of his chest.

He was the first to fall asleep, his body spent as was yours but you laid there still feeling the electricity roll through your muscles, tiredness settling into your bones. You had given him what he wanted but kept your ground and done it on your terms. It's what he'd needed this entire time, to hear his name from your lips, to be wanted to be cared about, to be "loved". You internally scoffed. To be loved... you doubted he had any idea what that actually meant, to be loved unconditionally. But as you’d questioned the other day over hot chocolate, was that really his fault?

This situation was fucked up. What you were doing was fucked up, but, if giving him what he wanted and what he needed kept you in the driving seat, so to speak, you could work with it.

**** Part 5

[rodeoxqueen]

SMELLS LIKE QUARAN-NEROKIRI SPIRIT 

Nero/Kyrie

“In quarantine, Nero and Kyrie spend time together.” 

Rodeo’s Two Pieces: 

First time writing for Nero/Kyrie. Tread lightly with my take of their dynamic. 

(I)- Dalgona Coffee and Cookies. 

Despite how everything was shut down and the grocery was found vacant of basic necessities, Nero was grateful to at least be with someone he loved the most. 

“Look, we probably need some time off from kickin’ demon ass anyways,” Nico explained, smoking a cigarette during the video chat. 

“Yeah, not like demons care about being six feet away. People don’t even do that.” Nero looked at himself in the little square in the corner of his phone. Clad in a grey hoodie, he hadn’t even bothered putting on anything over his boxers. No one had come to visit since the mandate to stay inside, what was the point? 

Nico was in her garage again, from what he could see in the camera view. Cigarettes and old cups of coffee littered her desk, warbled country music playing off-view. 

“Who knows, maybe I’ll make something to fix that. I was thinking a mask-gun, rapid-fire reloading.” 

“Artisan of Arms, huh?” Nero laughed, getting up from his bed. 

“You fuckin’ bet. Now I gotta go. Got some things to weld.” 

“See ya, Nico. Stay safe, alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He gave a peace sign before pressing “end video call.” 

The video chat ended and Nero tucked his phone into his pocket. Even banter just wasn’t the same virtually. 

“Who was that? Nico?” Nero made it down the hallway to see Kyrie, bustling about getting things from the cupboards. 

“Yeah, still building stuff as usual.” 

Kyrie had been in their apartment’s kitchen, deciding to try her hand at some recipes she saw online. A bag of flour, too many bowls, and more chocolate than Nero remembered buying, all laid out on the table. 

Just when he wanted something to eat, he’d have to wait or his girlfriend would practically make enough to feed an army and be surprised when he didn’t want anymore. 

He opted for a cup of water instead. 

Nero admired her hair, how it looked when it wasn’t in a ponytail, how it sat perfectly on her shoulders. Seeing how she started to measure some ingredients, he took the hair tie on his wrist, careful fingers bringing it into a low ponytail. 

“Oh, thank you.” She commented, opening her booklet of recipes she had handwritten. Neat, slanted cursive in a smattering of blue, red, and black read out recipes for cookies, cakes, and bread. 

“You look busy, planning to make all of those?” Nero rested his chin on her shoulder, shrouding her with warmth. 

“Well, I don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck at home, might as well try some recipes out. Maybe we can deliver some to the orphanage.” 

“That is if I don’t eat all your prototypes first.” She laughed, birdsong to Nero’s ears. 

“As long as you help me I don’t mind if you do.” Kyrie handed him a measuring cup. Nero sighed, taking it. He always lost count of how many cups of flour he was supposed to put in the bowl. 

A jar of porous dough caught his eye as he sifted some baking soda in his white mixture. He took it from Kyrie’s side of the island. 

“Whoa, what is this? A science experiment?” Kyrie chuckled, watching Nero scrutinize the date on the white tape to the top of the mason jar. 

“No, it’s a sourdough starter! It’s basically wild yeast. We can make bread with it since people bought out all the dry yeast in the grocery store.” 

Nero shook it with curiosity and then opened the silver lid, making an “eh” face at the smell. 

“It’s yeast alright.” 

Kyrie continued whipping up the sugar and butter mixture, Nero helping himself to a handful of chocolate chips. 

“Have you talked to your uncle and father? They must be staying at the shop in Redgrave.” 

Nero shrugged. 

“Most likely, I haven’t talked to them yet. Dante probably didn’t pay the phone bill and Vergil doesn’t know how to use the phone anyways.” 

“Let’s just hope they’re getting along during this time.” 

Nero thought back to all the “family outings” he had since his uncle and father returned from hell, mostly just jobs becoming contests of strength that turned to friendly family fights. Endless banter and elbowing. 

Honestly, compared to that, standing next to his girlfriend while they shaped cookies for the oven was heaven. 

Once the chocolate chip cookie dough was done baking, Kyrie insisted they make some whipped coffee while they cooled.  

“I thought you didn’t like coffee, Kyrie.” She stooped down to find something in the lower cabinets. A robotic hand that was colored dark blue and black, his old Devil Bringer, appeared with a tiny whisk duct-taped to it. 

“Yeah, but that TikTok made it look so good.” Nero handed her the glass container of instant coffee. 

Turning on the Devil Bringer, the tiny whisk spun to life, rapidly mixing sugar, coffee, and water together. With her back turned, Nero popped a thing of cookie dough in his mouth. 

“Honestly, Nico should have patented these Devil Bringers, make a bunch of money, and maybe she’d stop trying to rip me off all those times.” 

“Support local businesses, Nero.” 

He looked over her shoulder, surprised at how an abysmal brown mixture had become fluffy and thrice its previous volume. 

Two cups of milk poured, the practically instantly whipped coffee laid on top like a decadent Mount Everest next to a still-warm plate of cookies. 

“Cheers!” Kyrie clinked glasses with him, stirring her mug vigorously with a spoon. He copied her, taking a sip of surprisingly light and sweet coffee. 

When he lowered his cup, Nero both revealed to the world a mustache of whipped coffee. 

Kyrie snorted into her cup, covering her mouth as she bit back a laugh. Embarrassed, Nero went to wipe it off when Kyrie pecked him on the lips. She drew back to reveal an imprint of the ‘stache on her own upper lip. 

“We match now.” Kyrie giggled, helping herself to another gooey cookie. 

Half a plate of cookies and two mugs properly drained of its contents, Kyrie and Nero loaded up the dishwasher to do the work. 

“This is coffee, why am I tired?” Kyrie yawned. 

The couch was this god-awful IKEA purchase that took hours for Nero to just figure out what the instructions meant. But right now, it perfectly supported both of them while they slept away their food coma. 

(II)- Curl Up And Dye. 

After the second time the mandate got lengthened, Nero could sense that Kyrie was starting to wane in her ever-positive attitude. The news had nothing good to say, and the number of shows they had binged left them indifferent to watching anything more. 

They did a lot of singing during quarantine, Kyrie always being the musical one. Evanescence was one of their favorites to sing together, Nero’s guitar skills and Kyrie’s ability to hit those high notes left many memorable nights of laughter. 

After a while, Kyrie began to just sit on the couch a lot and have Nero pay her company. 

“What’s wrong?” Kyrie sighed heavily, curling into Nero’s hoodie as he opted to stay shirtless. 

“I don’t know Nero, it just feels like everything is the same. We go through the same things every day and I just feel...trapped.” 

Nero kissed the nape of her neck, humming in agreement. 

“Look, I’m usually the one going to you for stuff like this but...it will get better. It’s been a really hard time for all of us, and we’re just watching everything go downhill. It’s not a good situation but, you got me. Always. And there’s still a lot of things we can change up if that helps.” He stroked her hair and rubbed her back, feeling her take a deep breath. 

“You’re right Nero. That really did help. Thank you for listening.” 

“Of course.” 

While he scrolled on his own phone, he didn’t heed all the things Kyrie was watching. She touched her own long hair, seeing the way other people recorded their own home-salon trims. 

“Things to change, huh?” She mumbled. 

So here they were now. 

“It looks so bad!” Kyrie exclaimed, her face in her hands, hair on the bathroom sink. Nero shook his head. 

“No it’s not, Kyrie! You look fine, just let me fix it!” In the mirror, Nero cringed at the way her hair was ridiculously over-layered. 

“Um, what did you try to do-” 

“Curtain bangs! Oh Nero, I shouldn’t have tried to change up my hair!” Kyrie was thoroughly upset, seeing how her bout of bravery lead to her bangs being mauled by her own hands. 

Nero hugged her, noting that she had been wearing his shirt while she trimmed her hair. 

Okay that shirt’s gonna itch for a while until all the hair comes out. 

“It’s okay, let me see if I can fix it.” Kyrie blushed in the mirror, groaning at how bad her hair was cut. 

“There’s no way you could make it worse than what I did.” 

Nero gingerly took the scissors Kyrie put in the sink, a little bit too small for his hands but good enough. Although he was no stylist, he could tell where Kyrie had either cut too much off or unevenly. 

Eventually, they did manage to cut it in a way that hid the previous mistakes. Kyrie took another deep breath. 

“I shouldn’t have been so impulsive.” She murmured, arms crossed. 

Nero chuckled at her rare emotional outburst. He was glad to have been able to be there for her. She always hid how she felt, helping others her way of expressing herself. Now with no one around but him, he totally understood that she felt helpless. 

No one liked being helpless. 

He kissed her cheek and a lightbulb went off in his head. 

“You wanna dye my hair?” Kyrie turned around in surprise. 

“What?” 

“I mean, who knows how long this shutdown is gonna be, it’ll be fun,” Kyrie noted how Nero had forgone shaving, his peach fuzz becoming something more. 

Honest blue eyes peered at her, wondering what she would think. Her surprise softened to a sort of relief in their solidarity. 

“What color, Nero?” 

“Neon green-” 

“Nico’s going to make fun of you.” Kyrie giggled. Nero shrugged nonchalantly. 

“I don’t mind it.” 

(III)- Can’t Get Out Of It, Get Into It. 

“Nero, you look so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Shut up, Dante.” 

His uncle finally managed to figure out how to work the virtual chat on his fossil of a computer, and Nero was already prepared to end the call. 

His father sat slightly off-camera, not in the mood to entertain Dante’s antics to ridicule his son. Although, he did look oddly radioactive with his washed-out green hair and strong quarter-past five o’clock shadow.  

“Quarantine did not do you a favor, good lord,” Dante commented, kicking his feet up on his desk. Nero flipped him off. 

“Good to know you’re still living in shambles, not surprised neither of you cleaned up after yourselves.” The number of bottles on the floor was a travesty and the couch littered with poetry books Vergil had slowly begun to hoard. 

Nico entered the zoom call, smoking another cigarette Nero was lucky to not have to smell. 

“Nice broccoli head.” 

Nero flipped her off as well. Kyrie came into view, smiling at her boyfriend’s family and their shared friends. Nero decided to get a drink, clicking a few buttons before letting Kyrie have the seat. 

As they discussed how the business would continue with Devil May Cry, Kyrie sat next to Nero. 

It was mainly business, until it got to a certain line that Dante said. 

“I don’t know, it just feels like things are just going to keep staying like this. Hate to break it to you Nero, but it’s going to be tough for a while.” 

Kyrie finally heard enough, scooching Nero aside so she could talk. 

“Kyrie, wait-” 

“We’re going to get past this. As long as humanity still keeps coming together for the sake of benefiting each other, and we keep working to make sure to keep safe, we will get past this. We just have to keep hoping, and sure, hoping isn’t always going to make you feel better. I would know. But in a time where we do feel helpless, we should connect with other people in a different way. That’s why we succeed, we keep moving, we keep adapting! And hope, hope keeps that going.” 

Kyrie took a long breath. Looking at the dumbfounded group, she waited for a response. 

“Um, Kyrie. You were muted.” Nero finally said. Kyrie realized her blunder and how Nero’s hand was attempting to unmute them. 

“Oh.” Kyrie flushed, looking embarrassed. 

“I have no idea what you just said, but that’s okay.” 

“I’m sorry, that was so awkward.” 

“Don’t worry yourself, Kyrie. I bet it was real sweet whatever you had to say,” Nico assured. 

The zoom call was full of laughter since, a business call turned to a time to discuss how each person was doing. 

Dante and Vergil had spent days and nights sparring, Vergil learning more about humanity from Dante, and “making their own pizzas.” 

Nico had continued welding and making weapons for her own curiosity rather than based off of commission-based instructions. The van finally had the vinyl player fixed and she apparently gave herself a stick-and-poke. 

“So what did you two love birds do?” Nico asked, lighting another cancer stick. 

Nero and Kyrie looked at each other, smiling at their shared memories of this strange period in human history. 

“Where do we even start?”  Kyrie said, thinking of all the days and nights that seemed to breeze by and also slowly progress. 

Nero ruffled his longer messy green hair, Kyrie tucking her curtain bangs behind her ear. As they were two peas in the pod, Nero had decided to get another set of gray sweats for Kyrie, matching finally. 

Kyrie bit into a cookie, offering Nero some. 

“Smells like quarantine spirit, huh?” Dante finger-gunned.

Nero chuckled. 

“Hell yeah.” 

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Five - Kintsugi

Kintsugi - Kintsugi (金継ぎ, "golden joinery"), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, "golden repair"),[1] is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, a method similar to the maki-e technique.

Wikipedia

He woke up in his bed, disoriented, wondering how he had gotten there in the first place. The last thing he remembered was being…

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The memories came all at once, flooding his senses, and he had no choice but to painfully relive every single one of them in his mind: the lawsuit, Mina’s death and funeral, his fight with Andrea, the glass hitting the wall, his panic attack. His wife’s hand, lovingly squeezing his, lighting his way back to sanity.

His son, crying, scared to lose yet another parent, called the paramedics. Victor recalled, in the middle of his mental chaos, being put on an oxygen mask and told to breathe, but the fact that he now had strangers witnessing his meltdown only made him panic more. Eventually, he was given an injection, as Andrea’s coaxing was no longer enough to have him relax. After the paramedics were sent away by her, she took him to bed, but not before helping him change his sweat-drenched clothes. He could remember how helpless he was, his body soft and useless, his eyes too heavy to be kept open. Andrea carefully laying him in bed.

“Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked outside the bedroom window, it was already dark. He wondered if Andrea had already gone to bed, but he already knew the answer. Just like he refused to sleep before he put the glass back together, she would stay put until she saw all of his pieces back in place, sturdy and strong. No matter how hard her fingers bled.

Victor wondered how many times did a glass have to break to be deemed irreparable. He felt like the glass on his desk, ugly and useless, unable to hold anything. He wondered if she would see that in him, now that he had shown her his weak side. He wondered if she would regret spending the time trying to fix him. He heard the whiskey glass hitting the wall, and saw the frightened look on her face, all over again. He had committed an unforgivable sin. And still, she held his pieces.

Victor jumped off his bed and walked to the kitchen to get some water. Part of him wanted her to be there, he didn’t want to be alone. But at the same time, another part wished she had become wiser and just left him. He couldn’t make her happy, he was too broken. And he was afraid eventually he would break her too. Broken glasses don’t stand in the cupboard like the others. They are disposed of. That’s what he deserved.

But not what he got.

She looked spent, her dark circles standing out on her fair complexion, her curls disheveled and held in an updo with a pencil, some kind of voodoo only Andrea could accomplish. She was focused on her laptop screen, occasionally typing with one hand, the other touching her forehead, like she always did when she felt overwhelmed. She looked like a fragile crystal, the slightest vibration enough to shatter her.

“You’re awake.” She was startled by his presence. “How are you feeling?”

“You’re here.” You shouldn’t be. I’m a waste of your time.

“Of course I am.” She got up, turning to the stove, opening the pot standing there. “It’s late, Owen already had dinner and went to bed, but I have some stew for you. You should eat.”

Owen. Victor recalled again his frightened voice, panicking on the phone. He could only imagine how that small child had spent his day: anxious, scared, traumatized, worried about his father, who was too weak to keep it together. “You just have to make a scene, don’t you?” He heard his father’s voice again.

“How is he?”

“He was scared at first, but I told him you were still processing what happened.” She gave him a faint smile. “He’s really insightful for his age, I think he understood.”

“What about your trip?” You should stay away from me. Both of you will be happier away from me.

“I canceled it. You are unwell, we can go some other time.”

Victor’s stomach turned with self-loathing. Worse than any insult was the thought of someone staying by his side because he was weak, especially if he didn’t deserve the sympathy.

“You should go. I’m fine.” Victor turned to the door, wanting to get away from Andrea as fast as possible. The sight of what he had and what he had lost was simply unbearable.

“I already told you I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Victor.”

The statement felt like a heavy rock falling into a pond, agitating the waters inside him. Victor froze in place, unsure of how to answer. He loved her more than anything, but he didn’t deserve another chance. It was clearly over between them, yet he couldn’t say it. He was a coward. Tears started rolling down his face, as he stood in silence, his back turned to her, keeping his distance, but also selfishly refusing to release her.

For the second time that day, loving hands held the back of his neck, pulling him to a warm embrace, and then all hell broke loose. Tears quickly turned into hysterical sobs, as emotions broke out of him like a tsunami, spilling all over. He leaned against his wife and accepted her reassurance, even though he knew he shouldn’t get it. If only he could have her forgiveness.

“I’m sorry.” He croaked as the retching sobs made his legs wobble, making him kneel on the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

Victor wasn’t sure who he was really apologizing to, there was so much unsaid in his heart. Maybe it was to his mother, for not being the child that she wanted, the one that would make her stay. Or perhaps he was apologizing to Mina, for not honoring like she deserved, for not saying he loved her or holding her hand in her last moments. But mostly, he was apologizing to Andrea. For disappointing her. For not being the kind loving man she believed him to be all along.

All at once, Victor was an adult and a child, and both were crying in Andrea’s arms. A memory of long before came to mind. The smell of polished wood and silver, the echo of the large hallway, suitcases on the floor. His child self, holding his mother, fighting the tears. The words he wouldn’t say to her came, at last, twenty years later, for the love of his life.

“Please don’t leave me.” He sobbed. “Please.”

Her embrace tightened.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Her arms felt like a loving home, where he could be safe. Her voice was so sweet in his ears, her hands so warm in his back, her heartbeat so soothing. So, for the first time in decades, Victor decided to surrender, lay down the sword and simply stop fighting. He held onto her and cried, facing the storm of his emotions, hoping he would come out whole in the end. He just felt so tired. Surrendering seemed to be his only option.

Victor cried enough for a lifetime. All that was inside him, thirty years’ worth of pain erupted in hysterical sobs, landing as salty water on Andrea’s sweater, and he couldn’t stop it. He cried of fear for his kidnapping, of sadness for his mother’s departure, of anguish for her and Mina’s death. He cried for all those times he felt utterly lonely and unloved, for all those times he felt angry for being unable to draw people closer. For all his moments of self-loathing and despair. By the time he was done, he was exhausted. And scared. Scared that if he let her go, he would lose her forever. Afraid that if she stopped holding his broken pieces, he would fall to the ground to never get up.

So Victor simply lingered on Andrea’s embrace, wanting to enjoy a little more of her tenderness, as he knew it would be short-lived.

“We need to talk.” She announced, and Victor promptly left her arms, sitting against the kitchen island, creating the necessary distance. He prepared himself for the worse.

“I’m sorry for the glass.” He blurted out, fearing he would lose his courage if he waited for too long. “I hate that you saw this side of me.”

“What side?” She frowned.

“My ugly side.” His voice tightened. “But I need you to know I could never hurt you that way. I would never do that to you.”

“I know that!” She hurried to answer. “I do, it’s just…” She trailed off with a long sigh.

You can’t live with a violent man. Just say it.

“I pushed you into it. It was a cheap blow to mention your parents.”

Victor turned his eyes to her in surprise.

“I know you didn’t mean it, I-”

“Could you just listen?” She interrupted him.

Victor turned his eyes to the ground, obediently waiting for her to continue.

“I was hurt. And furious. I wanted you to hurt as much as I was, so I used something that you shared with me in our intimacy, knowing fully well how deep it would go, forgetting that you were acting that way because you were hurting too.”

Victor sighed, at a loss for words. How could he hold anything against her? None of them had acted in an honorable way.

“I have an ugly side too.” She muttered.

Silence filled the kitchen again, and Victor stared at Andrea’s hand, wanting to take it. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he feared he wasn’t entitled to anymore, or that more words would just lead to more strife. He was done bruising her, he had done so much of that already.

“Victor… I really want things to be well again.”

The words caught up in his throat. He wanted it too, more than anything. But he wasn’t entitled to ask.

“Look, I know that you have been through a lot, and I can’t possibly imagine what you are feeling right now.” She jumped, kneeling in front of him, her hand taking his, while her eyes gazed at his earnestly. “And I know you are not the kind of guy that goes around talking about feelings, and I don’t need you to… That is something you should do at your own pace.”

Victor’s heartbeat quickened, wondering what she would say next. He desperately needed to make amends, he desperately needed her by his side, he desperately needed her consent in holding her and having her again. At this point, whatever she asked, he would do. He loved his light, and he needed her, like he needed air to breathe.

“But you need to know, no, you need to acknowledge I’m here. Because I am, and I always will be. I need you to know that, even if we disagree, I won’t leave your side. And if you fall, even if you don’t hold on to me, I will hold on to you, do you understand? I’ll never let go of you.”

His fingers caressed hers, so small in comparison.

“The only reason I mentioned that trip was because I felt my presence was hurting you. Victor, for the last few days, all I wanted was to be by your side, to love you and support you. I don’t even care about our fights, or what was said, we should stick together no matter what!” She squeezed his hand tighter. “This is the closest I have been to you in days! I missed you!”

Victor couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled her to his arms and kissed her, with an urgency of someone who had been starving for love for days. When he broke the kiss, he held her tightly, his face buried in the nape of her neck, wanting to have as much from her as he could.

“I missed you too.” He spoke against her skin.

“Are we ok?”

“I want us to be.”

She smiled at him, and that’s when he noticed. While he had been crying, she had been crying too.

“I’m sorry.” He hurried to apologize again, seeing the full effects of his actions on the woman he loved. “I will be better, I will never hurt you like this again. I promise.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” She caressed his bangs. “This is something we both do, you know.”

He watched her shift in place as she seemingly organized her thoughts.

“Do you remember when we came back from Switzerland?”

He remembered, yes. Her being in unbearable pain, pushing him away, while he tried to comfort her. And then it dawned on him. He had done the same.

“You and I are not that different.” She let out a sad chuckle. “We both need to be in control, to always keep our feelings in check, so we bottle them up. But we are a couple now, we are not alone anymore. We should learn to depend on each other. Do you think you can do that? Can you trust me enough for that?”

“I trust you with my life, Andy.” He was an idiot. He let all of his childhood insecurities take so much relevance these days, that he actually forgot the woman he was married to. He didn’t need her to tell him she loved him and she would always be there for him, he knew she was loyal. He knew she loved him. How could he have forgotten that?

“Wait, I have an idea.” She broke free from his arms, taking out her wedding ring.

“What are you doing?” He frowned, confused.

“Give me yours.” She instructed. “Here’s mine.”

Victor removed his wedding ring, handing it to her. She took his left hand and inserted the wedding band halfway through his ring finger.

“We keep talking about renewing our wedding vows, but you know what? We shouldn’t do it when things are easy. We should do it when things are hard.”

Victor watched her take a solemn deep breath before speaking again.

“I, Andrea, renew my commitment to you, Victor. My love for you grows with each day, and I truly believe we can overcome whatever comes our way, as long as we are together.” She lifted her eyes to him. “And I am sorry I hurt you. I love you more than I can possibly say. You are the love of my life.”

Victor smiled as he saw her gently gazing at him with affection in her eyes. And miraculously, all of his shards were put back together again. He took her hand, hoping he would be able to convey what was in his heart.

“I, Victor, renew my commitment to you, Andrea. You are the light of my life. I promise to always keep my eyes on you, and search for you when in need. I have no other place to be, but beside you.” He felt a few tears coming again. “And I am sorry. I’m sorry I ignored you.”

“For better or worse, we are in this together.” She affirmed, her eyes locked on his.

“For better or worse, we are in this together.” He promised with all his heart.

He pulled her to his lap, kissing her lips, their bodies pressed against each other in a warm hug, Victor losing himself in their embrace. Their bodies fit beautifully together. Sometimes they would hold each other so close that Victor could no longer tell where her skin began and his ended, so perfectly united that they truly felt like one.

It reminded him of Kintsugi. Golden leaf and glass shards are useless apart but when united with the patience only real love can bring, they can make beautiful art. It was indeed a fitting analogy. Andrea held his pieces together and made him whole. Patiently, she had picked each one of his shards, unfazed by the cuts they brought, and put them all together.

His wife chuckled against his chest, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. To hear Andrea laugh once again, while being held by him, was priceless.

“What is it?” He couldn’t help but chuckle as well. Her laughter was contagious.

“The time we spent planning where we would renew our wedding vows, and we ended up doing it on our kitchen floor.” She laughed.

“Well, we did want it to be meaningful.” He smiled, playing with one of her curls. “No place is more meaningful than this. We spent most of our happy moments in this kitchen.”

“Well, if we follow that line of thought, next year we could use the bedroom.” She smiled back.

“I said happy, not lewd.” He poked her nose, making her laugh again. “Any place will do, as long as you are there.”

“I feel the same.” She sighed, motioning to get up. “Maybe we should get up from the floor, you must be hungry and your buttocks must be getting numb.”

“We will in a minute.” He pulled her against him again. “Just a little while longer.”

She leaned against his chest, arms circling his waist, and he held her back, again marveled at how flawlessly they fit. He kissed her neck, lingering on her skin, taking a bit more of her scent. He held her as tight as he could, drinking from her love, letting her gold seep through his cracks.

Author's Note: This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

[redstainedsocks]

Found Wanting

(Reminder, and for those who missed it, I changed Eli’s name to Zach from here on out and retroactively by editing the other pieces. Same character, same backstory, new name ^.^)

Warnings: brief derogatory language, victim blaming, guilt, feelings of betrayal, hurt by someone that should be trustworthy, abusive tactics, blackmail set up, slapping, conditioned behaviour/trauma response, brief allusions to past NSFW/noncon acts

[Previous] [Other parts] [Backstory]

Zach was shattered. There were always more questions to answer and more they wanted to debrief him about and he’d also been assigned to have a session with a counsellor three mornings a week. It was hours at a time of dredging up just enough to let them know he was serious about his recovery, while keeping enough of his shame hidden where no-one would ever have to see it.

He spent every other moment that he wasn’t being interrogated one way or another either hiding in the bedroom he’d been provided or sitting in the break room hoping to go unnoticed. More often than not if one of the team saw him they would ask if he wanted something to do. He nearly always said yes, wanting to be helpful and polite. They asked him to describe locations or remember the names of people or had him look through dossiers to see if anything dredged up memories of things that he’d overheard and could give them information on.

It didn’t matter that he told them he wasn’t allowed to be privy to anything important, or that he was always in some back room and often blindfolded—they wanted him to feel useful. He was good at being useful, just not in the way they remembered.

There were other jobs on the books that he wasn’t part of and wasn’t allowed to know anything about. People bustled back and forth, computer screens were on all the time, voices talked continuously in low undertones. The fridge in the break room hummed loudly and the water cooler bubbled annoyingly often and all of it was too much stimulation.

He found, one afternoon, that the interrogation room was blissfully quiet. With it’s dark grey soundproof walls and uncomfortable seating, it wasn’t somewhere anyone else chose to spend time. It was a haven of quiet and he laid on the hard floor hoping that no-one would find him there.

He was wrong.

The door squeaked open and he froze before scrambling to his feet to see who it was and whether he was needed. It was Tom. He’d been lower in the ranks when Zach left, and they’d never had much of a rapport and no reason to be friends even then. Now there was a gulf between them that neither had tried to cross. Tom had barely stayed in the same room as Zach for more than a few minutes and wasn’t privy to the debriefings like some of the others were. Zach hadn’t sought him out and had barely said more than a word or two to him since he got back.

Now he twitched nervously as he waited for Tom to speak, his fingers tapping against his palm inside loosely curled fists.

“What are you doing in here?” Tom grunted, dropping a file of paperwork onto the desk. It landed with a soft thwack and Zach smothered a flinch.

“Just looking for somewhere quiet. You?”

“Looking for you, you’ve been MIA for almost two hours. They’re checking storage cupboards and all sorts out there.” Tom scowled, and Zach thought it made his usually bored face look ugly, and mean spirited. It sent a shiver of unwanted anticipation down his spine. “And here you are sitting around doing nothing, wasting everyone’s time.”

Zach inhaled slowly to calm his pulse, or try to, and nodded. He and Tom always grated on each other’s nerves, there was no telling why, but it seemed his time away hadn’t made anything better. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Tom crossed his arms and leaned back against the door, blocking the exit and smirking. Cruel, maybe, or some kind of power play. “Oh you will, will you? How generous.”

Zach gathered the tattered edges of his courage around himself like a cloak. Drawing it close and trying to draw himself up tall. “Do we have a problem?”

“I dunno, you just swan back in after so long being gone and expect everything to go back to the way it was? After everything you did?”

“What did I do?” Zach asked, curious now, at which thing in particular he was getting the blame for this time.

Tom’s face darkened, his eyes narrowed as he shifted his weight forward and pointed an accusing finger at Zach. “We all had to move, all had to go into hiding at a moment's notice—because of you.”

The sudden onset of anger was shocking, a bottled up rage that was opened and poured out in so few words. Zach nodded, once. A swift bob of the head as the rest of his body fell into absolute stillness. He knew how to avoid enraging someone further when they were angry with him. At least, he always hoped he did. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t fucking care if you’re sorry,” Tom said hissing, stalking closer. “I lost my fucking cat because of you, she was out the day I vacated and when it was safe to go back I couldn’t find her. I couldn’t visit my dying grandmother in case I was seen and it put my family in danger. You ratted us out and now you come back and expect to be treated like the golden boy all over again? I don’t think so.” He punctuated his sentence by stabbing Zach in the chest with a finger, prodding and prodding again until Zach stepped backwards.

“I didn’t—I don’t,” Zach had no defence, no come back. He had no way to make up for it. He’d given in under torture and duress, yes, wouldn’t anyone? He’d given their locations under threat of other people’s deaths too, but of course Tom didn’t know that and he was sure it wouldn’t take the sting out of the betrayal anyway.

“They might all fall at your feet and mop up your tears and coddle you, but why the fuck should I? Huh?”

Zach pressed his lips together, balled his hands into tight fists and tried to breathe evenly. He wasn’t safe for any of them, he knew that, he’d tried to admit as much. He couldn’t make this right and there was a strong chance he was going to make it worse, hurt everyone again. Unless...“Don’t coddle me,” he said. “You can… you can keep me in line.”

“Wait what?” Tom stepped back, and Zach chanced a look up at his face and saw confusion, furrowed brows and thin lips.

“I’ll do whatever you say, you can tell me how to be. Make sure I don’t fuck up.”

Tom laughed, bitter, acidic, sharp as knives and Zach cringed. “Maybe I want to see you fuck up, ever thought of that? Maybe I want everyone else to see the weaselly weak little arsehole underneath the façade. Why would I help you?”

“To keep them safe.” Always to keep them safe. Always to minimise the damage. He just wanted not to be hurt, or see others hurt, or to keep picking at the wounds that were burned into his own soul; he couldn’t do it alone and yet he was completely isolated.

Tom marched forward and slapped him, Zach reeled but turned his face back and offered the other cheek. The second slap forced his head so far to the right that his neck twinged and the impact site felt immediately warm, humming with a sting that would surely redden the skin. Tom shoved him and Zach stumbled before he fell to his knees, lowered his head and raised his hands in submission. He’d do it, he’d do anything, just please make it all stop.

He waited. And nothing came. No pain, no orders, Tom showed no intent that Zach could brace for. He thought about reaching forward for a zipper or a waist band, and wondered if that would help. He tried, moved forward blindly and his hands met fabric, his fingers fumbled for the opening until his hands were roughly pushed away.

“What the hell?” Tom said. Zach glanced up and saw disgust and cringed at the hatred in the eyes watching over him.

Humiliation washed over him, smothered all other thoughts as he stayed there on his knees, willing and open... and unwanted? He used to think he’d grow beyond humiliation to where nothing could touch him anymore but he was always wrong. It was a slumbering thing inside him that awoke over and over again at the slightest provocation. On the floor in the midst of his old teammates, waiting to be found pleasing, or outed as a traitor, the red burn of it was as fresh as ever.

Tom snorted in derision and Zach grit his teeth, hurting his jaw as he ground them down and clenched his eyes shut. Tom’s hand grabbed his jaw, rough and warm and gripped it tightly, his thumb pressed into the hinge and Zach’s chin sat on his palm. Zach swallowed as Tom turned his face one way then the other, before forcing his head back until his neck strained at the pressure.

“Open your eyes.”

Zach obeyed immediately, hatred ran deep but it was always, now, turned inward. Tom’s cool, icy stare appraised him, flicking over his features and down his body; disinterested and judgemental. Zach was laid bare again. Always. Weighed and measured, found wanting.

“They really did a number on you, didn’t they?”

Tom shoved him, and he choked briefly as his throat took the pressure of Tom’s hand under his chin before he fell backward, unbalancing off his knees to land on his backside. He sat there, stunned.

“I’ll keep this dirty little secret between us, and you... don’t tell anyone I hit you,” Tom said.

“Yes, all right,” Zach breathed out the words and lowered his eyes to the floor.

“I could use a stress reliever…” Tom mused, and then he laughed. “You’ve got yourself a deal, you can be my punching bag or my errand boy, or my bitch. Whatever works.”

Zach winced at the words but said nothing as dread pooled in his stomach, a cold and uneasy feeling. There was relief too, but it was smaller, drowned out by the knowledge that pain was sure to follow. By the time he looked up, ready to reply, the door was already slamming closed, and Tom was gone.

[Taglist: @haro-whumps , @whumpthisway , @hurting-fictional-people , @lonesome--hunter @crowned-avery @extrabitterbrain thank you to everyone who's asked to be on the taglist, let me know if anything changes!]

[frenchmemories]

Renaissance (Chapter 1/?)

Series: Axis Powers Hetalia (APH) Ship: FrUk NSFW: Yes

---------

It was late. One-thirty in the morning to be exact.

He didn’t know where he was going at a time like this. All he knew is that he wanted to get away from home right now. He barely got his phone and wallet into his pocket in his desperation to leave his house.

His dreams have become less subtle and more violent. It became harder to ignore. He used to be able to shrug it off after a few minutes and go back to sleep but recently, that had been nearly impossible. He found himself slipping back into his old habit of smoking late at night a couple of times just to stop the pounding on his chest every single time he would dream about it. It was getting worse.

His dreams have consisted of nothing but what happened. That night that he watched him walk away from him and out of the door. It was that night where the alcohol and the sex weren’t enough to pacify the explosion that was waiting to happen. The ticking time-bomb that was their relationship. Jealousy, pride, and lust truly were demons that ate you from the inside. They turn love into a minefield that could be catastrophic with one wrong move.

0--0--0--0--0

“Arthur, I don’t know what you are talking about.” Francis groaned after a sigh. He’s been dealing with this whole on-then-off-again relationship with this man for about four months and it’s been… bittersweet.

Francis loved him. Truly he did. He adored Arthur from the tips of his disheveled, blond hair to the last inch of skin on his body. Every breath out of his lips was a prayer that Francis held on to and revered. There was no denying that Arthur was a beautiful man. His sharp, green eyes and his thick, downturned eyebrows, as well as his skin that put cream and roses to shame. Arthur made every hair on Francis’s body stand with every time he would see him as a whole, sprawled against his velvet blankets.

However, Arthur was an unhappy man. He was jealous, insecure, and easily stressed. He makes small things feel like unsurpassable mountains. A look, a change of tone, a sudden silence, all could mean huge to him. Francis often felt like he was treading on eggshells around Arthur and was often being careful not to upset him. He found this to be absolutely tedious, but he bore it with grace as Arthur was the complete opposite when he was happy. Arthur was affectionate and loving when he was happy. When Arthur was happy, Francis was too.

Today was not one of those days though. Judging from the tight, downward line that his lips had taken shape into and the heavy, deafening silence he’d been emanating, Arthur had a lot to say that he kept inside him. So many unsaid things pounded behind the door of his curt reply as he crossed his arms.

“Don’t play dumb.”

Francis couldn’t help the exasperated scoff that he let out. His hand shakily flew to his head, his fingertips massaging his temples and his eyes closed in strain. Frustrated. Annoyed. He could almost feel how long he would have to work to stabilize his lover.

“Arthur, please-” he began, his voice a little tense and high. “I just want to know what is going on. Don’t make me guess again. How are we supposed to sort things out if you don’t talk to me?”

Arthur’s frown intensified as he heard Francis strain to keep his voice level. Shouldn’t he be the one frustrated and not Francis? He uncrossed his arms and he sat down on the bed, turning to Francis, equally frustrated.

“You have been doing a lot of overtime at work, you’ve been unreachable on your phone, and you’ve been too tired every single time you come home. We barely do anything anymore. Your weekends are always packed with activities with those two lunatics that are your friends-“ he rambled, pausing when he saw Francis’s eyebrows knit as he made that remark about his friends. “I just don’t know where I fit in to all of this. I can’t help but be a little suspicious Francis.”

Francis’s hand ran through his blond locks, and he bit his lips, a habit he’s developed out of stress. Here it is again. The jealousy and suspicion. He has become so adept at dealing with this, but he has become increasingly aggravated the more he had to.

“Arthur, it’s a job. I need to focus. I am working overtime because we are planning that vacation to Santorini in 2 months right? You need money for that-“

“- I KNOW THAT Francis. I am not a child!” Arthur interjected

Francis only gave him a look and a little raise of his eyebrow. “-then stop behaving like one. As for my friends, I have only gone out with them twice last week and none at all the weeks prior. Am I not allowed to spend some time with them?” he asked, his voice increasingly getting more tense and on the verge of breaking. “You got to keep me almost all the other days before that, Arthur. I am allowed to have a life outside this relationship you know?”

Arthur stood up and turned around to face away from him. He struggled to find words for his frustration and was combing his brain for a reply. It seemed that with the way Francis said his piece, it would make anything he said in response sound unreasonable and demanding. He groaned.

“I know that.” Was all he could manage. He frowned heavily and walked towards the cupboard where his liquor was. He heard a small “…of course…” from Francis as he grabbed a bottle and a glass only to start pouring himself a bit of bourbon.

The silence that followed was so heavy that Francis couldn’t help but just sit on the small armchair at the corner of their room. He leaned back heavily and threw his head back against the back of the couch, then sighed and closed his eyes. He could hear the soft sound of liquid pouring into a glass and Arthur setting the bottle down on the wooden desk. He could hear the quiet gulping sounds from Arthur’s drinking. He could even hear the soft whirring noise of the radiator and the faint, muffled noises outside that were leaking through the window. He sighed once more.

“I’m sorry” he whispered. This was routine too. He would apologize. He would always apologize just so they could finally make up. He was the type who couldn’t sleep unless they were on good terms. So, he would apologize. Always.

“I’m sorry Arthur.” He repeated firmly and didn’t open his eyes or made a move to look at him.

He waited.

Soon he heard shuffling and movement towards him. He stayed still. It was coming and he knew it.

Finally, he felt the soft hand on his shoulder and the slow adding of Arthur’s weight on top of him. His legs adjusted so he would catch Arthur slowly latching on to his lap. He waited a bit more and soon felt soft lips on his cheek. His hand naturally moved to pull Arthur closer by the waist. He let off a soft breath and opened his eyes, only to be greeted by those soft green ones, looking at him intently. His hand squeezed Arthur’s waist and he lifted his own chin up, leaning into Arthur’s proximity. Arthur took the cue and leaned down to kiss him.

He kissed back softly but keenly, and softly grunted. His lips moved with a slow need. He deepened the kiss a little more and now held Arthur with both hands on his thighs, gently squeezing. Arthur’s one hand pulled at his hair gently while the other rested casually over his shoulder. He could taste the bourbon on Arthur’s tongue.

This was how it always went. They would fight. They would get frustrated. They would stop, issue still unresolved. Arthur would drink and Francis would apologize. Then this. The heat would come. The touches would come. The passion takes over and he gets reminded on why he stays. He remembers how much he loved and wanted Arthur, and he would succumb. He would always surrender first and pull him closer to him, where he deemed Arthur belonged.

Francis groaned softly as Arthur’s resting hand began to move to unbutton his shirt while they continued kissing. He could already feel his pants tightening a bit and he was absolutely sure Arthur could feel that too. He felt the small smirk on Arthur’s lips in response to it. His face was heating up. His own slender fingers toyed with the button on Arthur’s trousers and popped it open. He was satisfied with the soft gasp he received in response.

“Francis….” Arthur whispered heatedly. Francis shuddered every time that Arthur would call his name that way. The needy, flustered breathlessness of it was like a drug to Francis. He hears it and he gets greedy to hear it more.

He couldn’t help how he squeezed at Arthur’s thighs before he pulled those pants down and exposed the pale, smooth skin of Arthur’s hips and legs. He growled softly. He would get to see it again. Arthur’s dangerous beauty.

“Mon amour….” He hummed softly. He took off those offending trousers and simultaneously, Arthur also slid Francis’s shirt off of him. Arthur’s beautiful fingers were now on Francis’s skin, exploring. Meanwhile, Francis gently moved his lips off of Arthur’s and moved more to his jaw and neck. He softly kissed one after another until he was at his nape. He then sucked softly, his hands now on Arthur’s ass, squeezing. Arthur stretched his neck and leaned his head to the side, letting out a breathy moan. Francis’s blood rushed.

All traces of the fight forgotten; Francis suddenly braces to lift Arthur. The other man must have felt it coming and moved to wrap both legs around him as Francis stood. He gently set the Brit down onto the bed and crawled atop him. His hands slid down to hold on to Arthur’s knees to hold his legs up, his lips still on Arthur’s neck, paying it the attention it deserved. He licked softly and nibbled at his skin. Arthur let out a breathy and flustered chuckle before whispering. “Git… don’t leave too many marks.”

He laughed softly as well before gently starting to rub their members together. He pulled back to look at Arthur’s face and wasn’t disappointed. He was greeted with such a lewd, erotic expression while Arthur panted and bit his lips, eyes closed, a couple soft moans escaping him.

“Mine” Francis mumbled.

That was that. Another cycle continues of them solving their problems through this, yet again. Francis heavily disagreed with this at first but after a few times of their arguments ending this way, his body craved it in a sick, twisted way. Each time they would fight, it would feel like his body anticipated the heat. As if it was automatic. There were times he found himself aroused by their arguments as he knew what came after. He hated it. He loved it.

-END OF CHAPTER 1-

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Snowdrifts ch.5 (spicyhoney)

Summary:  Sorry so quiet, it's been a rough week. Not as rough as Edge's first day into parenthood, he's ready for some time off...isn't he?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones, First Time Parenthood, Idiots to Lovers

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~~*~~

For a first day, all Edge had to say about it was that it could have gone worse.

He’d spent most of his day with Snow bound to him like squirmy little wormy, but there was no arguing that it worked. With a bit of experimenting, he found that he could have her facing outward while still being tied securely against him. She’d like that quite a bit and the only downside was having her tiny hands trying to assist in any of his tasks at hand. He could only hope Blue didn’t notice that the towels in the bathroom cupboard were folded somewhat…uniquely.

Not that there was any time for that when Blue came home from sentry duty. He’d barely taken off his boots and jacket before swarming over to steal Snow away. Edge wasn’t even entirely sure how Blue slipped her so neatly out of her sling, unless Stretch wasn’t the only family member who could bends the laws of physics.

“Aww, there’s a little wishbone!” Blue cooed. He swung her around as if he were about to make that nickname a truth. Edge only bit his tongue and said nothing. Snow was by no means hurt and Blue was already settling her on his hip as he bounced her gently.

Snow was somewhat doubtful over her new mode of conveyance. She looked at Edge, who tried to smile encouragingly. He was afraid that it was not one of his best efforts, but then, she was a baby, perhaps she didn’t yet know the difference between a smile and a grimace.

“I bet you’ve been cooped up all day, Edge,” Blue said happily, “Why don’t you go out and get some fresh air and I’ll look after our little Snow Monster?”

A little fresh air did sound nice. He was more accustomed to spending most his day outdoors, walking his traplines, not trapped behind four walls.

Still, Edge hesitated. “Well. I suppose I could go out for an hour.”

“That’s the spirit!” Blue said. He plopped down on the sofa, Snow in his lap. “Go out, meet some people! I, Master Babysitter Sans, will watch Snow for you!”

Well, meeting people was out of the question, Edge wasn’t about to enroll in a popularity contest on his first day, but there was at least one thing he wanted to do. “There are some bottles pre-made in the refrigerator. She likes it if you hold her outward so she can see. If she—"

“Edge,” Blue interrupted with gentle patience. “I’ve got this.”

“All right,” Edge still didn’t move. It was only when Snow began to tentatively explore Blue’s face with her little hands that he retrieved his boots. By the time he had them buckled, Snow was trying with some enthusiasm to poke her little fists into Blue’s wide eye sockets, something he was laughingly avoiding. It was ridiculous to linger any longer and Edge only took a last chance to say before he went out the front door, “I’ll be back soon.”

The moment the door closed behind him, he could hear a muffled wail coming right through it. He hunched down and struggled against the urge to go right back inside.

Stretch and his brother were right, he shouldn’t be the only one to care for her. Blue would simply have to learn the same way he was, the hard way. He wouldn’t be gone long, and she was perfectly safe, warm and dry, well-fed and well-cuddled.

So, despite his soul threatening to crack right in half listening to those bereft wails, Edge forced himself to turn away, boots crunching in the snow as he walked out of earshot.

It took him a moment to orient himself to the backwards layout of Underswap, but once he did, Edge headed off in the direction of the librarby. Despite his brother’s scoffing, a book on childrearing would surely turn out to be useful. Red certainly hadn’t been bitching about the worthlessness of booklearning when Edge found one full of recipes back in Underfell and began using it instead of relying on Undyne’s vigorous but dubious technique.

Once he was there, though, he stood in wonderment, briefly forgetting what brought him here in the first place. In Underfell, there was a librarby, well, a lib-arby, one of the ‘r’ had been stolen years ago, and why couldn’t those fools have taken the extra ‘b’ instead?. What few books were in it tended to have pages torn loose and trying to glean any information from them was something like scooping up water with a sieve. Most of the books Edge had—

(had, books he’d had, those treasured few books lost to him and never mind that he could recite them all by heart, they were forever gone, probably destroyed)

--were scavenged from the dump, days spent carefully drying them out. Perhaps if Red saw this librarby he’d be less doubtful of its usefulness because its shelves were burgeoning with volumes, every shelf filled and more stacked on the tables and front desk, so many books, and he itched to get his claws on every one of them, some underused literacy fragment of his soul woke and cried out for something to read.

Edge quashed it ruthlessly. He was here for books on childcare, not any of the ridiculous (wonderful) science fiction stories he’d sometimes found.

There were other Monsters sitting in twos and threes around the room, but aside from a curious glance or two, none seemed concerned about his presence. Edge lifted his chin and walked to the shelves as if he belonged here and began to peruse the selection. A little searching found him not one, but two books, one for new parents and another for the toddler years. He took them both, better to be prepared, and as he turned from the shelf, another book caught his eye.

A slender book titled ‘Pattycake with Pokey Puppy’. Obviously a child’s book and looking at the brightly painted cover suffused him with a sudden wave of nostalgia, a memory of curling up with his brother beneath a threadbare blanket in one of the back-alleys in New Home. The aching cold and constant gnawing hunger faded as he listened to Red softly read to him about Fluffy Bunny from a tattered old book, the front cover torn and filthy but so much like the one on the shelf.

Snow was entirely too young to appreciate being read a story. He already had two books, an entire townful of people needed to use this librarby, and it was a town he didn’t even truly belong in. He shouldn’t be greedy, he shouldn’t, and guilt was tight in his throat as he snatched that book up and added it to the other two, carrying all of them up to the front desk.

If the Bird working at the counter was appalled at his selfishness, they gave no sign of it. By all rights, they should have been looking at him in fear and given him the books in the hopes he would leave quickly. Edge knew very well the reactions that his appearance could cause, cultivated it in Underfell, and never let the way other Monsters cringed away bother him. If they were afraid of him, they would obey him, and their lives were more important than any petty wish to be admired.

Dressed as he was in one of Stretch’s rumpled sweatshirts, complete with formula stains and crushed up bits of cereal ground into the front, it seemed his threat level had decreased all the way down to acceptable Underswap levels. The Bird only smiled and stamped his books before handing them back over. He supposed the books themselves were also partly to blame for her lack of concern over having him in their quiet little librarby. Anyone checking out ‘Toddler Years: Surviving with your Sanity’ and ‘The Big Book About Little Monsters’ probably wasn’t going to go into a dust-crazed frenzy.

Books in hand, Edge started back to the Swap brothers’ house and he only took two steps in the wrong direction before he sighed and turned around. He’d get the hang of this Snowdin soon enough, at least no one was around to see him stop in his tracks and head back the other way—

“Sir!”

Edge paused warily, turning in the direction of that voice even as he struggled not to ready an attack, just in case. It was easier to dismiss the urge when he saw a young Bun dressed in bright purple stripes running towards him, carrying a large paper sack.

“Sir!” she panted as she skidded to a stop, kicking up slush and snow. “You’re Papyrus’s friend, aren’t you?”

It took him a moment to realize she was speaking of Stretch. “Yes?” he agreed cautiously. If this were about some sort of debt or prank—

The child only beamed happily and thrust the bag towards him. “My mama found some more baby stuff for you! Said for you to take whatever you need and give back anything you don’t!”

“I…” Edge reached out automatically before he caught himself, hesitating. “I’m afraid I don’t have any G.”

His confusion transferred to the child, “G? Oh, no, mama doesn’t want G! Our baby is walking and talking now, he don’t need it anymore!”

She thrust the bag into his arms and Edge took it, briefly too overwhelmed to speak. The people of this Snowdin had already been so generous, for them to offer even more was bewildering him past the point of gratitude. It reminded him of Blue who’d so often pressed them to take leftovers after dinner, bullying and cajoling until Edge found himself in his own universe with a bag in hand, so similar to the bag he held now. He didn’t understand it then and didn’t now, didn’t even know how to explain to them that it wasn’t supposed to be this way, not in his experience, not in his world.

But this wasn’t his world, was it.

The child was still standing in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back as she bounced on her toes. “Can I come see the baby sometime?” she asked hopefully. “Papyrus said she’s really cute!”

“She is.” Edge managed, trying to recover enough from his confusion to at least keep from acting like an ungrateful fool. He pulled out his phone and held it out for the child to see the background picture of Snow and her attempts to eat noodles. Even with the cracked screen, she was obviously as adorable as advertised and from the way the child cooed happily, she very much agreed.

“Aww, she’s so cute! I can’t wait to meet her!” A faint voice cut through the stillness, a name being called from one of the nearby homes, and the child looked in that direction briefly before turning back to Edge. “You should ask Papyrus to fix your phone, he’s real good at that stuff. I gotta go. Bye!”

He kept a close watch on the child to make sure she made it back to her home all right before turning back to his own path, bag in one hand and books in the other. Their house was soon in sight and Edge was half-afraid he’d still hear wails coming through the door.

But there was only the silently twinkling Gyftmas lights and Edge stifled his near-disappointment and headed inside.

Blue and Snow were on the sofa where she was currently squealing happily as she bounced on Blue’s knee and truly, Edge should be above his brief surge of triumph when he noted that Blue seemed more than a trifle weary. There was an empty bowl and a mostly empty bottle on the side table, proof that Snow’s appetite hadn’t diminished in the slightest. Blue’s scarf had a damp spot on it as if an infant chose to use it as their next gnawing target, and there was a smeary handprint right on his cheekbone that looked suspiciously like smashed peas, the green trail of it leading downward and freckled across the front of his shirt.

The baby looked over as he walked inside, and the moment she caught sight of Edge, her chortling glee faded. In an instant, her sparkling eye lights switched to a waterfall of tears and she began to squall, holding out both little arms to him.

Edge hastily deposited the bag and books on the coffee table and took her, cuddling her close until those tears faded again into happy giggles.

Blue only sagged back on the sofa, slinging an arm over his eye sockets as he groaned out, “How can someone so small be so tiring? You were only gone an hour and I’ve gone from magnificent to mediocre!”

“I’ve been wondering that myself,” Edge admitted. He snagged his scarf with his free hand, readying Snow to return to her beloved binding. He noted Blue watching intently with approval. Not that he ever thought Blue wouldn’t take his duties seriously, but it was good to have it confirmed.

“Well! I need to get off to Alphys’s,” Blues struggled to his feet, chuckling as he shook his head. “I never expected to see the day I’d consider training to be the less exhausting option. Papy should be home soon.”

“I have her, go,” Edge said, “but…you may want to wash your face first.”

One gloved hand flew up to Blue’s cheekbone. Pity it was the wrong one, “What? Why?”

“Better that you just go wash.”

Blue dashed for the stairs and Edge sat down in his place on the sofa, adjusting the sling so that Snow was comfortable against him. He reached for the first book, hesitating over the one on caring for an infant. His hand detoured instead to ‘Pattycake with Pokey Puppy’, flipping to the first page as Snow, already sucking on her fingers, looked up at him with large eye lights.

“I’m going to read you a story, little one,” Edge told her, “I think you’ll like it. I hope you will.” He began to read, “One little puppy, sitting by a fence—”

He was quite sure Snow couldn’t really understand him, but she still seemed to listen contentedly as he read. She snuggled deeper into his scarf and his arms, and didn’t react at all when Blue’s voice carried downstairs in a wail, “How did she even get it all the way in there…?”

Edge didn’t ask. He only kept reading to Snow about the adventures in patty cake for a poky puppy and his friends. He hoped she didn’t fall asleep too quickly. He wanted to see how it ended.

tbc

[justmaybee]

To Stop a Fight (Before It Starts)

Summary: Jiro and Saburo have been acting strange recently. Ichiro is about to find out why.

A/N: Y’know when you get an idea that just won’t leave you alone till you do something about it? Yeah, that’s this. Buster Bros too, who would’ve thought?

———

Ichiro is confused — very, very confused.

Like, he can’t pretend he understands his brothers all the time, twenty four-seven. Sometimes Saburo gets all technical, talking jargon Ichiro’s never heard of. Sometimes Jiro gets overexcited, speaking so fast that his stories get jumbled up and hard to follow. It doesn’t matter, Ichiro will always lend an ear and hear them out.

But he can’t do that if they’re...hiding something from him.

The thought inches its way into Ichiro’s head, and it makes his stomach turn. He presses his lips together against the small wave of nausea.

It just doesn’t sound right. Jiro? Saburo? Hiding something from him?

He may not understand his brothers all the time, but they’re everything to him. He knows them better than anyone, and vice versa. It’s them against the world.

So the idea that they’re keeping something from him is...off-putting.

He links his fingers, pushing them up over his head. The crack in his spine alleviates a load of pressure on his back and the relief is audible in his groan. He’s not cut out for all this computer work. Saburo really is a talented kid.

He stands up, wobbling for a second, before stepping out from behind the desk. Research can wait, he needs a snack.

He steps over to a cabinet, stuffed full of junk foods. Not the healthiest thing, but you grab what you can when you’re working on a job. He stares blankly at the bags and boxes, slipping back into thought.

He’s definitely being a little dramatic. They still get together and throw around some lines for practice every night. His brothers still come to him whenever something’s happened at school or during a mission. They live together, of course, and if it were a really big deal they’d have a hard time hiding something even if they wanted to.

Sometimes Ichiro can get a little tired of their bickering and back and forth, but he likes to think he’s become someone reliable, especially to his little brothers.

So no, he’s not that worried.

But then what has been up with them recently?

He only started noticing this last week, but a part of him thinks it could be stretching back further than that. A bunch of separate events, but he knows they have to be connected. Call it a hunch. It just all revolves around those two fighting and then going silent.

Like a week ago, Ichiro remembers them kicking around a soccer ball on the street. The way Jiro’s eyes lit up when they saw it, a little deflated and worse for wear off to the side, made Ichiro laugh. And neither him nor Saburo could even dream about outplaying Jiro, but that wouldn’t stop them from trying.

It was a lot of fun, more fun than Ichiro could’ve thought really. And by the time the sun was getting low, and Ichiro was calling out that they’d have to head home, both him and Saburo were feeling a little worn out. Jiro was still dribbling the ball like he could do it all night.

And of course, Jiro decided to shoot a cocky comment to Saburo, who lashed back immediately, always ready for a fight. Ichiro’s lived through a million of these squabbles and he’s sure to see a million more, so he didn’t give it much attention, heading down the street back to their place.

He had no doubt that they’d follow behind, but he did turn to peek when he heard a shout from Jiro. He was afraid Saburo had started pinching him again, but that wasn’t the case. At least, he didn’t think so.

Because what he saw was Jiro doing a fast jog to catch up to him, while Saburo stepped at a leisurely place behind. Not weird, but the wide-eyed expression on Jiro’s face and the satisfied smirk on Saburo’s made Ichiro a little suspicious.

Fast forward to the weekend. Two? Maybe three days ago? Jiro and Saburo were giving Ichiro the run down of a job they had finished up. Nothing too crazy, but enough that Ichiro felt more comfortable sending them out as a pair.

The job itself went off without a hitch, as expected, but the debrief was chaotic in its own right. Jiro gave most of the points, but Saburo was very generous with his corrections and notes. Sometimes they were helpful, more often than not they were nitpicks that had Ichiro wanting to laugh and sigh at the same time.

Jiro was starting to get a little flustered, eyes narrowing in annoyance by the end. When Saburo gave another quip, it looked like Jiro was really ready to grab a pillow off the couch and slug him with it.

Instead...

“Nii-chan, I think my phone’s about to die. Could you hand me the charger?”

Ah, yeah. Jiro’s phone did have a battery issue. They should really think about upgrading it.

Ichiro spun around in his chair, looking over the back desk for a charger and jumping in his seat at a pitchy yell from Saburo. He rolled his eyes and grabbed the cord, ready to lecture Jiro on why smothering Saburo with a pillow is not a good comeback but—

Jiro...wasn’t smothering Saburo with a pillow. Surprisingly. No, he was sitting back against the couch, arms crossed with a smile on his face that made Ichiro immediately check up on their youngest brother.

He was...fine.

A little pouty, hair maybe a little mussed up. Also leaning back against the couch, but his posture—

He was almost—how to put it—curled up?

Ichiro can’t remember if he had his feet up on the couch before, but between his knees being pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around them...

Jiro chose that moment to keep explaining, so Ichiro gave him his full attention. But he started picking up on their pattern.

The three of them are together. Either Jiro or Saburo starts picking on the other (nothing new there). Then one of them shouts, like they’re about to start yelling at each other, but—

Nothing. Silence.

They break up the fight before it’s even happened. And Ichiro doesn’t have to say a word.

This should be a good thing. It is a good thing.

Right?

It means they’re maturing. Growing up. Taking Ichiro’s words to heart and moving past their constant bickering and fights...

Ichiro shuts the cupboard. With a little more...force than necessary, if the avalanche of snacks he can hear means anything.

Okay, so he’s not exactly sure what any of it means, but he is sure of one thing.

He spins around to shut the computer off. Everything is saved, and Saburo can get back anything that isn’t anyways. He kicks the chair in place and grabs his keys, spinning them around one finger as he steps towards the door.

He needs to see his brothers.

———

Ichiro loves their city, loves Ikebukuro with all he’s got, but there’s nothing quite like their own home. It took a lot of time and money. It took doing things he hopes his brothers will never have to stoop to. But it’s theirs, and Ichiro can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief whenever he steps through the door.

Tonight though he’s cut off by a scream that has his blood running cold.

He doesn’t kick off his shoes. Doesn’t shrug off his jacket. He sprints towards the noise, grabbing at his pockets until his fingers stop fumbling enough to hold his mic.

The rubber of his shoes catch him from sliding on the floor when he stops dead in front of their living room.

“Ji-Jirohohoho! Would you—ack—quihihiHIHIHIHIT!”

It’s, um—

They’re—um—

Ichiro’s sigh of relief is a lot louder this time, slipping his mic back into his pocket.

It’s loud enough that it’s somehow heard over Saburo’s squealing, and Jiro turns to see his older brother leaning against the entrance.

It’s kind of funny, now that Ichiro’s adrenaline has calmed down.

Jiro looks like he’s been caught red-handed, even though Saburo is the one with a tomato for a face right now. He pulls his hands out from under Saburo’s sweater, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

Saburo takes the chance to roll onto his side, hands clutching at his stomach. The shrieking Ichiro heard when he came in dulls to tired giggles.

“Oh, uh, hi.” Jiro waves. He tries to act nonchalant, but he looks more embarrassed than Saburo whose hoodie is still bunched up at the waist.

Ichiro smiles back, “Hey.”

Jiro is yanked from the one-sided, awkward conversation, but Ichiro can’t say it’s the better choice for Jiro.

Jiro yelps as he’s full-body tackled, falling backward over the other side of the couch. Saburo’s panting for breath, and he probably can’t see much past the mess of his bangs, but he doesn’t seem to have any trouble latching a hand onto Jiro’s knees and squeezing.

“Ah, wha-! Sabu—no! Saburohohohoho!”

Suburo’s response is the same treatment on the other leg, and Jiro makes a squeaking sound before he’s cackling. He twists against the cushion but he can’t seem to get himself up enough to push Saburo away from where he’s straddling his shins.

Like Ichiro isn’t even there, they treat it like a war zone, going back and forth with a familiarity that has their oldest brother shocked.

“No—no! Jiro, dohon’t! You’re gonna stretch out my—my shihihihihihirt!”

“Ouch! Not fair, Saburo! No pinch—ah! No PINCHIHIHIHIHING!”

“JIRO! No, I-I swear, I’m gonnahaha — I’m gonna kihihiHIHIHIHICK YOHOHOHOU!”

“Nah! No! I’m—I’m sorry! You win! Just—No! Not thehehehehere!”

At some point Saburo’s head is hanging off the arm of the couch while Jiro drills his thumbs into his ribs. Through watery eyes, he finally sees Ichiro, watching them like they’re the entertainment for tonight. He’s can’t possibly be in the right state of mind, and that’s probably why he makes the biggest mistake possible.

“I-Ichi-niihihihihihihi! H-help!”

Ichiro coughs to cover his own laugh, though Saburo’s scream when Jiro’s hands find their way under his arms does the job pretty well.

Guess it’s his turn to join.

Jiro’s confused noise gets cut off when his back hits the couch, bouncing once off the cushions. Saburo is still giggling weakly beside him, so that means—

He gasps so suddenly he almost chokes on it, and only a garbled version of Ichiro’s name comes out before he’s squealing louder than even Saburo could.

His hands push, pull, grab weakly at Ichiro’s hand latched onto his hip. He didn’t even know he was ticklish there, but the bright laughter that bursts from his mouth and has his eyes watering makes that so clear so quickly.

Ichiro chuckles, watching Jiro shake his head back and forth, red cheeks hidden by his wild mane of hair. Ichiro’s only using one hand, but Jiro might be the loudest he’s been all night. Even as he sinks against the couch—slipping down because of weakness, gravity, maybe both—Ichiro is able to keep him in stitches.

Speaking of one hand.

With Saburo laying back over the arm of the couch, it’s pretty easy for Ichiro to slip a hand under the gap in his shirt and start vibrating his fingertips into the taut skin of his stomach.

Saburo again proves how good he is at everything he does when he shrieks, loudly. His lung capacity is really something. His head flies up for a moment, but the weight of gravity and his own exhaustion keep him from getting all the way. He has to settle for wrapping both hands around Ichiro’s wrist and kicking his heels against the couch, as if that’ll help calm the ticklish buzzing of Ichiro’s fingers against his skin.

It’s something like fate when they both call for mercy at the same time, cries of “Nii-chan!” and “Ichi-nii!” just legible through the hysterical laughter.

Ichiro pulls his hands back with a little pat against the prickling skin. The pair droop so quickly, Ichiro has to be quick to catch them before either slip to the floor. He drags Jiro upright, and moves Saburo to sit against the couch properly.

He ends up leaning against Jiro while they catch their breath. Ichiro tries not to smile, like they’d even notice if he did.

“Okay. Two questions,” Ichiro starts once his brothers look a little less ragged. He knows they’re good when Jiro nudges Saburo off him, Saburo shooting a stink face his direction.

“How did this happen, and why wasn’t I invited?” The way his brothers avoid eye contact at his second question is too funny.

“...Well,” Saburo starts, fixing his bangs to look at Ichiro properly. “You were upset the last time we got ‘too violent’ with each other, so next time Jiro said something stupid I just—“

“—decided to be a smartass and do something that ‘wouldn’t hurt,’” Jiro scoffs, finishing for them.

Ichiro laughs aloud at that one, and—even after everything—it isn’t long before the other two join in.

“And we—um—didn’t ‘invite you’ because we didn’t think you’d want to,” Saburo mumbles.

“—or that you’d be so good at it,” Jiro mutters, hand rubbing subconsciously at his hip.

Ichiro claps a hand on both of their legs, only smirking a little when it makes them jump in their seats.

“It’s been a while, but I do have some experience in tickling you both to tears,” Ichiro smiles.

“That makes sense,” Saburo mumbles. Jiro nods, looking at the carpet.

“But Ichi-nii,” Saburo asks, always thinking one step ahead. “Are...you ticklish?”

Hm, all the times Ichiro had tickled his brothers when they were younger, he never had to worry about taking what he dished out.

But now, it looks like Jiro and Saburo have found something they’re willing to work out together.

Um, g-good for them.

[backtothestart02]

Just Best Friends - 7/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Enjoy. :)

...

Chapter 7 -

Iris rolled over the next morning, stretching her arm across the empty bed. She blew out a puff of air and opened her eyes when she realized it was just her in the bed. She groaned and rolled across it, getting tangled in the blanket and bed sheet before she realized she was nearing the edge of the bed and would fall off if she wasn’t careful.

Scooting back to the middle, she moved one pillow with her while pushing the other off the bed, then stretched out her arms and legs so they reached the bottom corners and sides of the bed.

“So,” she spoke aloud to herself. “He’s really gone.”

She curled herself up so she was sitting upright and pulled the blanket and sheet free of her legs. She scooted to the edge of the bed and got up, walking into the kitchen to make herself some coffee.

She really wished he hadn’t left. With the way she’d been feeling – and still felt – towards Barry and her dad, Eddie would’ve been the perfect distraction from all that. Maybe she could’ve even forgot about it entirely. Then Barry wouldn’t have to worry about her spilling his secret at all.

Not that she owed him anything. Not for keeping that secret from her for almost a year.

And what about you?

She decided to ignore the little voice in her head that continuously tried to point out the facts she didn’t want to acknowledge. That she was attracted to Barry, that she might have feelings for him, that she’d broken his heart not for the first time because she refused to acknowledge those two facts.

“And because I’m in a relationship!” she said aloud, wondering why she felt the need to defend herself to herself. It didn’t make sense. She’d already decided who she wanted. She wanted Eddie. He was her boyfriend, and she refused to break the loyalty she had to him.

Except when you cheated…

“Shut up!”

She sighed and braced her hands on the counter, watching the coffee machine work its magic for several minutes until the coffee was ready. Pulling a mug down from the cupboards, she poured some of the hot steamy liquid into the container. She set the pitcher back on its platform before digging in the fridge for the milk. She poured some into her dark beverage and put the gallon back. Then, after mixing the contents with a spoon and depositing the utensil in the sink, she walked over to the couch in the living room and took a seat.

Blowing on her drink, she then set it on the coffee table on a coaster she’d handpicked, and waited for it to cool some. She sank back into the couch and thought about the last time she’d been there.

The night she’d cheated…

No, no. The night Eddie had come home drunk and kicked her out.

And then nicely apologized the next morning.

That’s no excuse!

Neither is yours…

Ugh.

She hated her inner voice. She hated how right it was, so instead she opted for how annoying it was. What did it know anyway? It was a conscience. Maybe. Probably. But it didn’t take into account how she felt through all of this.

She’d been incredibly hurt by Eddie’s dismissal of her. The fact that he came home drunk at all was so shocking she hardly knew how to handle it. She’d tried so hard to make it a good night for him, for them. And it was all thrown out the window when he couldn’t get past the fact that she and Barry were affectionate with each other and that somehow meant that deep down they had more than platonic feelings for each other.

Well, he was right…

Argh. He was not right.

Oh, really? Then how come-

Pushing herself forward to cut off the voice, Iris reached for her mug and downed some coffee, even though it wasn’t quite cool enough to not burn her tongue and throat on the way down.

Right now, she decided, her cheating on Eddie was a non-issue.

Her inner voice snorted.

What mattered now was that Eddie was out of town and Barry and her dad had betrayed her. What was she supposed to do as a distraction? Work? She supposed she could work on mending things with Linda. Though, what was the point? They had never really been friends, and Iris had always been a little intimidated and felt threatened by her because Barry had chosen her to move on with.

She still remembered that first day he had come by CCPN, not to see her at her workplace, but to meet up with Lin-daa to go on a date. She scrunched up her nose in disgust. He’d never come to see her at her job even once, but he came to meet one of her co-workers that she didn’t even know about to go on a date.

She remembered shaking Linda’s hand and smiling brightly, happy to meet her, ecstatic even. Linda was happy, Barry was happy. They were all happy. And the next time she heard about them going out again, this time at Jitters, she’d been happy for him too.

She was so, so happy. She could hardly stand how happy she was. He was finally meeting a wonderful girl who would give him what she couldn’t. A romantic relationship.

And then that night had happened, and it had changed everything. For her, for Barry, for Eddie, for Linda. Barry had been so quick to break up with Linda after it, she realized there’d been no point in her being jealous at all of their relationship.

Ohh, jealous? That inner voice teased.

“Not jealous,” she said aloud, shaking her head.

She blew over her coffee another time, then hesitantly went in for a tiny sip. It was cooler now. Hot but not scalding. The perfect temperature.

There was nothing for it. Mad at Barry for his Flash reveal or not, she couldn’t face Linda at work. Even if she didn’t recognize her existence like before. Between Barry and her dad betraying her, Eddie being gone – mostly because he was mad at her – or hurt? Probably mostly hurt. And because he believed the answer to their couple problems was her making up with Barry. She rolled her eyes at that.

And then there was Linda and their nonexistent relationship. She still hadn’t been able to get a solid conversation out of her, or even a greeting. Linda hadn’t told Eddie of Iris’ little dalliance with Barry yet. That much was obvious. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t though.

Iris nibbled on her bottom lip and stared down into her coffee, setting it back on the coaster before going into her shared bedroom with Eddie and unplugging her now fully charged phone. She practiced her sick voice aloud a few times, the same one she’d used as an example for Barry when he needed to convince her dad he was sick back in elementary and high school.

“Hello?” she croaked as soon as HR came on the line. “My name is Iris West. I’m an employee at CCPN,” she rasped. “And I…” She coughed into the phone and heaved dramatically. “I won’t be able to come in today. I’m sick.”

Yeah, she didn’t want to deal – or not deal – with Linda at work today either.

…

Barry zoomed just to outside CCPN on his work break. Then he straightened his jacket and flattened some of his hair that had blown wild during his running. Glancing at his reflection in the glass door, he decided he looked okay enough. At least he didn’t look like he’d been running at super speed or been blasted by a massive wave of wind.

Joe didn’t know that he was here. He’d left a little earlier than his usual lunch break when he knew Joe was probably still busy with own work at the station or maybe even out at a crime scene that he – Barry – was hopefully not needed for. He knew that they’d decided to not interact with Iris for a few days, give her some space to breathe before making some peace with her, but Barry had decided what was the harm in trying it at least once the very next morning?

After all, her being mad at him was almost worse than her breaking his heart. It kind of was worse because it broke his heart in the process, and he knew she was right to be mad. About this at least. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d tried to convince Joe to just let him tell her. Joe would have none of it though. At least he was seeing the error of his ways now.

Swinging the door open, Barry walked in and immediately saw that Iris wasn’t at her desk. Mason, the Nobel-prize winner that had finally warmed up to her wasn’t at his desk either, which Barry found very suspicious until he spotted the man across the room.

He approached him and cleared his throat loudly.

“Excuse me, sir? Sir?”

Mason finally looked up at him and squinted his eyes where he stood at the copier.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Barry felt fire in his cheeks but forced himself to get past it so he wouldn’t blush too hard in front of this stranger.

“I’m a friend of Iris. Iris West. Do you know if she’s in today?”

Mason made some sort of a grunting sound, then shook his head and pushed past Barry roughly, heading back to his desk with his papers.

“I-” Barry frowned, unsure of how to proceed.

Luckily, Linda had witnessed the entire thing and felt sorry for the poor guy enough to try and get his attention when Mason was gone.

“Hey, Barry. Barry!”

Barry looked in the direction of where his name was being called and sighed in relief.

“Linda!”

He walked over to her quickly.

“What’s with that guy?” He pointed in the direction of Mason with his thumb.

Linda crossed her arms and looked over Barry’s shoulder to where Mason was getting settled at his desk. Then she looked back at Barry.

“Oh, uh…he’s not super friendly to newcomers.” She winced. “Sorry about that. What did you need?”

Barry blew out a puff of air.

“I was looking for Iris. She and I had a little…”

“Oh, another…?” She winked dramatically.

“No, I mean, yes, but…” He sighed. “She found out I’m…” He mouthed the words ‘The Flash’.

Linda’s mouth fell open, and she shut it quickly while nodding slowly.

“Ah,” she said. “I thought she was supposed to…never know about that.”

“She wasn’t,” he ground out.

Her brows furrowed.

“What happened?”

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it some.

“Apparently,” he lowered his voice, “I didn’t think to change my make-out style from Barry to a certain…scarlet speedster. She put two and two together real fast, and…yeah.”

“Wait a second, let me get this straight.” She held up a hand. “You made out with Iris, as…” she mouthed ‘The Flash’. “After you and I…as in, the same night?”

Barry’s head fell to his chest.

“Not my finest hour, I know. I just can’t…”

“Resist her,” she finished, shaking her head and smiling. “I can see that. Damn, it’s really good we broke up when we did or I’d be going mad with jealousy at this point. Not even sex can keep you from straying.”

He winced. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” she said, giving a short, quick laugh. “If anything, I’m amused.”

“Yeah?”

“Consider us friends, Barry Allen. That’s much better than just exes, isn’t it?”

He nodded reluctantly. “Yeah.”

“Besides you should have someone who knows…” She lowered her voice. “Your secret.” She returned to normal volume. “That isn’t pissed at you about it. After all, we were only dating a few weeks. You had every right to your secrets at that point.”

“And you’ll keep it, right? You’ll keep my secret?”

“Of course,” she said automatically. “I said I would, and I will. You have my word on that.”

He smiled tremulously.

“Thanks, Linda.” He looked back over his shoulder before looking back at her. “So, about Iris?”

“Oh.” She frowned. “I think she called in sick today actually. I thought I overheard that when I passed HR’s office this morning.”

“Oh.” Barry frowned too.

“But if she’s as mad at you as you make it sound like she is, then I probably wouldn’t be bringing soup by her apartment any time soon. A) she’s probably not actually sick, and B) she’s probably still rattled from the recent revelation she discovered.”

Barry sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, she came over to the house last night and gave Joe and I a piece of her mind,” he muttered, still feeling scarred from just how angry Iris had been.

Linda rubbed her hand on Barry’s arm to soothe him and pull him out of his dark thoughts.

“Just give her a few days, Barry. She needs time to process everything before she can even think of forgiving you or even being nice about any type of apology on your end. That’s how it would be for me if I was in her position, at least.”

“Right,” Barry said, mostly to himself, as Joe’s voice loomed in the back of his head. “A few days.”

Linda tilted her head to the side.

“Want to have lunch with me? Might serve as a good distraction from your problems.”

He shook his head.

“No, thanks. I should get back to the station before Joe realizes I’m missing.” He paused before meeting her eyes. “He also suggested waiting a few days before trying to talk to Iris.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “See you later then.”

“See you,” he said quickly, then power-walked to the exit and flashed back to CCPD.

Linda watched and shook her head in wonder.

“That is…something else,” she murmured, then sat back at her desk and pulled out her paper bag lunch.

…

The next day Iris came into work. She came in the day after too. Barry didn’t interact with her that second day at all. He just flashed past CCPN to see if she was at her desk, to make sure she was okay and not genuinely sick. On day 3, he decided three days was the absolute bare minimum of ‘few’ and that he would wait till the end of the workday to surprise her and hope she didn’t blow him off. If she did, he’d probably have to wait a couple more days to see if she’d be more open to talking then. But if she gave him an opening, he wasn’t going to just sit by and not take it. She wasn’t just his best friend. She was the love of his life, and deep down he saw a future for them romantically.

Iris, exhausted after a long day, and having realized there was no danger in Linda surprise-interacting with her, got her things together and headed for the exit. The last thing she expected was Barry standing there in a suit with a huge arrangement of roses in a heart shape on a stand. She couldn’t even get a word in before he interrupted her thought process.

“It’s too much? It’s too much. It’s the heart, right? It’s too cheesy. Alright, hold on.”

And before she could blink, the flowers had been rearranged. Now they formed her name in all caps: IRIS.

“Is that better?”

Still trying to process, all she could do was stare, looking at the masterpiece before her and wondering how to respond to it, especially since she’d decided at the beginning of the day she was still mad at him.

“It’s worse?” His face fell. “We’ll go back to the heart. It’s-”

“No, Barry! Wait, wait. It is so beautiful, and you are so sweet…in theory.”

His frown deepened.

“In theory?”

She sighed and approached him tentatively.

“Did you forget what happened just a few days ago? Already?”

His shoulders slumped.

“I thought that would’ve been enough time.”

Her brows furrowed. “For what?”

“For you to forgive me.”

She took a step back and scoffed.

“You kept a life-altering event from me for months, almost a year, and you thought a few days would be enough for me to just…let that go?”

His mouth fell open but nothing came out.

Iris rolled her eyes and started to walk away. Luckily, Barry snapped out of it and immediately pursued her.

“Wait, wait, Iris, hold on!”

“And what’s with the suit?” she demanded. “It’s not like we’re going on a date.”

“No, I know that. I just…I wanted to look my best.”

“For what?”

“For you, obviously.”

She stopped and turned to look at him.

“And I think flowers look best with a suit accompanying them. I mean…right?”

She sighed, ignoring the tug on her heartstrings from how hopeful he looked.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking,” she began. “How can I possibly be mad at you for keeping a big secret when I’m keeping an equally huge one from Eddie?”

His voice squeaked a little. “Well.”

He hadn’t wanted to say it, but…yeah.

“We’ve been friends for over 15 years, Barry. We tell each other everything. Or we’re supposed to. I may have had a few days to let things sink in, but that doesn’t mean I can forgive you for it. It’s too huge.”

He took a step towards her.

“Okay, if you don’t want to talk about that, can we at least address the elephant in the room? You’ve been avoiding it since it happened, and I don’t think it’s fair. With Eddie gone, I mean…”

“Eddie did not break up with me,” she said. “He’s just out of town. That doesn’t give me permission to just…pick up where I left off with you.”

“No, I know that,” he was quick to say. “But do you ever…want to?”

He knew it was a risky question to ask, but if she wouldn’t even consider talking about the Flash reveal from the other night, he figured the other ginormous elephant was worth talking about. It had been long enough.

Iris took a breath, fighting with herself to not break out in a screaming match in the middle of the street.

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest? I’ll be honest.”

Barry held his breath.

“Am I attracted to you? Yes. Did I just figure it out that night? More or less. Has the memory of that night been stuck in my brain ever since? Pretty much.”

His eyes widened. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“But here’s the thing.”

Uh-oh.

“It’s just sexual attraction.”

He frowned.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means…we’ve been friends for so long, we were bound to develop a physical attraction to each other at some point. And for some reason neither one of us was smart enough to give in to a one-night stand to get those completely natural attraction feelings out of our system. It was going to come out and some point sporadically.”

“So, what you’re saying is…”

“I don’t have feelings for you, Barry. I love Eddie. He’s the only person I love. Romantically, at least.”

“I…see.”

“Ideally, a one-night stand would fix all of this, but I obviously can’t do that without cheating on Eddie again. And this time with actual sex.”

Barry gulped.

“It’s not gonna happen.”

“Right.”

“I will just have to…figure out some other way to get you out of my head. Or your body, rather.”

He wrapped an arm around the back of his head and did not succeed in stopping the blush that spread across his cheeks.

“I see.”

“And even if I did have feelings for you, which I don’t…”

“Yeah?” He licked his lips.

“All of that is moot, because I can’t trust you.”

His face fell.

“I feel like I don’t even know you anymore. Like you’ve been a completely different person since the moment you woke up from that coma.”

“Iris…” He reached for her, but she took a step back and held up a hand to fend him off.

“I’m sorry, Barry, but a few days and some flowers, gorgeous though they may be, is just not going to cut it.”

He found he had no words to that.

So this time when she turned away, he didn’t chase after her. He watched her walk away and out of his life. Again.

…

The plan was to go back to the apartment. That was the plan. But for some reason after Iris got into her car, she kept driving past a street she was supposed to turn onto and went to a familiar place instead. A place she knew better than the apartment she shared with Eddie and felt more like home to her, though she’d never admit it.

Jitters.

When she got inside the coffee shop, she headed straight for the back staircase without even stopping to get a drink. She opened the heavy, gray door and looked up at the long winding staircase above her. Taking a breath, she started the ascent, memories playing over and over in her mind with each new step she took.

She saw that first moment she really met the Flash again. That wink he’d sent her way. It had immediately caused chills to race down her spine. She’d been breathless, absolutely and completely. Was that what a crush felt like? It’d been so long since she felt that. She skipped that step with Eddie. He’d just come into her life when she was absolutely falling apart, and they’d naturally gone through all the relationship steps, but she never really had a crush on him. They’d missed that part somehow.

But she had a crush on the Flash. There was no denying it now. No denying how superficial it was either. She was a dedicated fan, and he was a superhero. There were probably loads of people had a crush on the scarlet speedster. She couldn’t be the only one.

But he’d met with her.

To stop her from running her blog, sure, but she knew the reason behind that now. She wondered how different things could’ve been if he hadn’t been trying to stop her during every clandestine meeting they had together. He’d probably have revealed he was her best friend sooner. But then she probably wouldn’t have had a crush on him or would’ve stopped having crush on him.

Right?

She kept walking up the stairs as another time flashed before her mind. Their second time on the rooftop. She’d been so happy, so full of life, so eager for even a snippet for her to include in her blog. And she’d been flirty too.

“My hearing is fine. It’s just selective.”

She smirked at that.

Another time… the time she cut off all contact with him, at least for a while. Because a meta had taken over his mind and nearly killed Eddie.

That made sense now too. Of course in a warped mind state Barry would go after Eddie. Eddie had wanted to take down the Flash since the second he believed in him, and then there was the other thing.

Barry was jealous.

“Don’t contact me again. Okay?”

If she had only known it was Barry.

She would’ve responded so differently. She would have understood. She would’ve wanted to know if he was okay, what he had gone through, how he’d broken through. She would’ve been entirely focused on him instead of her boyfriend. Eddie might not have liked that, but he would just have had to deal. Barry was her first and foremost, always.

She burst through to the rooftop, heaving, and went to the far side, leaning on the half-wall, which practically came up to her shoulders.

Her hands were trembling, so she gripped them to the stone as tightly as she could. And then she felt a gust of wind behind her and knew who was there. Who else could it be?

“Did you search the whole city for me?” She swallowed, as she turned around.

Barry approached slowly from the doorway.

“Didn’t have to. This is…your spot.”

Her irritation boiled up inside her again. Of course he knew that. He knew things about her that she hadn’t known that he knew. All because he’d kept this ginormous secret from her for months. He hadn’t let on at all, and she’d never figured it out. Maybe that bothered her the most.

“Yeah, it’s a special spot,” she said aloud. “It’s where I first met the Flash.” She shook her head. “All those times, you were standing right in front of me, and I had no idea. I don’t even know you anymore.”

Words she’d said before, but somehow they bared repeating. He needed to get it through his thick skull that she wasn’t going to just…forgive him because he was persistent.

“What are you even doing here?” she demanded.

He took a breath, ignoring her question.

“Every time I falter make a mistake, the thought of you is what picks me up and keeps me going. And not just as Barry, as the Flash too. With every meta, every crook, every time I have to step in and be a hero, it’s you, Iris. It’s you.”

Iris licked her lips, the words hitting home for her despite how much she didn’t want them to. It was a boost to know she was the support for a superhero. Even if he was just saying it to get her to consider forgiving him.

He closed the remaining distance between them.

“Look, what I’m trying to say is…even though you didn’t know everything about my life this past year, that does not mean that you weren’t a part of it. You were. Every. Single. Day. Without you…there wouldn’t be the Flash.”

And she knew in that moment, she was going to forgive him.

Her dad might be a different story, but this was Barry. How could she not?

Barry reached down and grazed his fingertips across one of her hands. She swore she felt a spark. She’d bet her life on it. She gasped even, albeit quietly.

“So, what do you say?” he asked, his voice gravelly and rough, almost like the Flash. Almost. “Are we good?”

And in that moment that she looked up into his eyes, she saw their whole life together flash before her eyes. Past, present, and future. She felt hope and longing and love. And she didn’t see Eddie in the future just then. She wasn’t thinking about him at all.

She felt butterflies too, exploding inside of her, and a dawning revelation hit her stronger than the one before she’d kissed him weeks before.

Oh, my God. I’m in love with him.

She could hardly breathe, and it was dangerous to be this close to him, to be touching him, knowing what she now knew.

“I think…” She licked her lips. “I think we might be okay.” She tried to push past the feelings cascading around her, but it was impossible. “Fresh start?” she made herself say, and he nodded.

“I’d like that,” he said. “No more secrets?”

She could almost laugh. She was sitting on a big one right now.

Tremulously, she smiled.

“No more secrets.” She tilted her head to the side, not wanting to part with him but knowing she needed a distraction that wasn’t confessing her undying love for her best friend while her boyfriend was out of town.

“You want to go see a movie?”

He grinned, and she wanted to melt. She’d forgotten how sexy that grin was. She hadn’t let herself think it, but now she was having trouble thinking of anything else.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

He dropped her hand, but she looped her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked toward the door on the far end of the rooftop. She felt like a girl with a crush, and she knew then with absolute certainty that if Barry had told her who he was from the beginning, her crush wouldn’t have gone away. It would’ve intensified.

And that should’ve worried her more than anything else.

But for some reason, it didn’t.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Terrible Timing ~ KNJ [Request]

↬↬↬Word Count: 1.8K

↬↬↬Genre: Fluffy

↬↬↬Pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

↬↬↬A/n: Hope this is okay for you my sweet anon

This had to have been one of the longest weeks of your entire life and it still wasn't over yet, you wanted to go home and cry into your sofa cushions about how everything was falling apart but you were stuck at work for the next three hours. You stared down at the clock on your desk and debated leaving the building earlier than planned for the weekend but your boss would have you in the neck for it and he already had it out for you. 

"You doing okay?" Your desk partner asked when she noticed how stressed you seemed. You'd been agitated all week but this was starting to bug her since you were normally the one to have everything finished early, your eyes travelled over to her and you nodded slowly wanting nothing more than to leave the job and never come back but it wasn't going to happen. You heard the familiar chuckling of your boss and you stared down at the computer trying to seem as though you were busy but he stood in front of your desk tapping his foot, 

"I see you're still here, why not head home early?" You ignored him and continued logging some details from the latest sale you'd gotten and he chuckled deeply before walking away again, his laugh made you want to reach down his throat and pull his voice box out and his face, his face made you want to hit him with the desk phone.

"This week couldn't be worse!" You said to Namjoon as you walked down the stairs of your office building to go and get your car from the company car parking lot. Namjoon was one of your best friends and you'd known him since you were kids, he was like an older brother to you. 

"I'm sure things will turn around soon-" He cut himself short when he heard a long whine come out of your mouth and then the sound of thunder crashing together, 

"I'll call you back," You hung up and sprinted in the direction of your car to escape from the rain and thunder that felt as though it was attacking you directly. You slammed the door and threw your head down on the steering wheel, while work would normally have been a break from your shitty personal life but since your personal life was the one affecting your work-life you were fucked. Your ex-boyfriend had been cheating on you for the last three months with every woman in the building working his way up so he could be your boss and he just got the job. Deciding to tell you after a business meeting that he'd been sleeping around while you stayed faithful to him, ripping out your heart and ripping it to shreds.

"FUCK!" You screamed out into your hands when you tried to turn the key over and it wouldn't startup, you looked around the car park to see your ex laughing as he spotted you in your car, once he began walking over you got out. Grabbing your bag and making a quick getaway down the road, there was no way you were going to stand there and be ridiculed by him before your car wouldn't start besides if you had to stand next to him and pretend to be fine for a moment longer you were going to murder him. 

The front door was locked and you'd forgotten the key to your apartment so you spent the last ten minutes climbing through the kitchen window. You landed on the floor beside the kitchen cupboards and finally broke down into a bundle of tears, bringing your knees into your chest and sobbing to yourself.

"Y/n?!" You screamed hearing a voice come from your kitchen doorway and looked up to see Namjoon standing there, 

"W-What are you doing here? I thought you were on tour?!" You wiped your eyes getting up to hug him but he held you at a distance, 

"Y/n! You're soaking wet and freezing," He pulled you through your own apartment taking you up to the main bathroom and starting you a bubble bath, 

"Joonie what about-"

"I came home early because you were having a rough time." He came home early for you? He left London early? For you? You watched him in silence as he rushed around to find you some warmer clothes and you couldn't help but stare at him, something seemed different. 

"Change into these, I'll order all the take out food we love and then we can binge that awful movie set you love." He was cupping your face in his hand and running his thumb over your cheekbone, you stared up into his eyes mouth hanging open like a fish out of water and nodded. 

"Get warm, you can't go getting sick on me. What would I do without you?" He strolled out of the room and you stared off after him wondering why you were getting butterflies in your stomach, Namjoon had never been able to make you feel like that before.

As soon as your body came into contact with the hot water you let out a low moan letting the heat relax all the muscles in your body. You closed your eyes trying to shake off the butterflies in your stomach but they were still there and every time you thought about Namjoon, they fluttered around.

"Dinner will be an hour, you okay?" You hummed in response staring at the door, part of you wanted him to walk right in and kiss you while the other half of you was screaming at the first half for thinking of him like that. He'd been your best friend since you were kids, he didn't see you that way...did he? Laying back against the edge of the bathtub you began to think of any time that Namjoon would have shown that he liked you, then a memory from when you were 19 crept into your mind. 

"I'm telling you now! You're going to love it and I bet that I can-" Namjoon slowly trailed off when he noticed you'd stopped still and stared forward. In front of you both was your boyfriend making out with your best friend, hands tangled around one another while he moaned out her name the same way he moaned out yours. 

"Let's just skip the movie, it's boring-" Namjoon tried to say but you were already walking again with your head down pretending not to have seen them. 

"Namjoon! Hey! How long have you been standing there?" You kept your head down as your boyfriend and best friend greeted Namjoon, they clearly hadn't seen you yet until Namjoon wrapped his arm around your waist and dragged you closer to him, 

"I was just taking Y/n on a date, what are you two doing here?" They froze as soon as they saw you, like deer in headlights. 

"A date? But she's my girlfriend..." Namjoon frowned shaking his head and pointing between them,

"Seems like you're dating Destiny though doesn't it? Making out in public, groping one another and moaning each other's names..." Namjoon trailed off which made you giggle a little, 

"She wouldn't date you! She's too much of a prude and besides, she sees yo like a little brother!" Namjoon cocked his head at the comment and scoffed bringing you closer to him, winking right before he crashed his lips against yours. For you, it was a boring a dull kiss, something you wouldn't do again unless you had to but for Namjoon it was everything he'd ever wanted. He was finally kissing the girl he had been in love with since he was a kid. 

"She's mine, so if you wouldn't mind going away now."

"Oh hey, I was just about to call up and ask where you put your popcorn..." He trailed off when he turned his head to see you standing in the doorway to the living room in nothing but a towel. Your hands were gripping it so tightly that your knuckles were turning white, your hair was dripping wet and he stared at you. 

"What's wrong?! You okay?" When he went to get up you told him to sit back down, he watched you walk through the living room before standing in front of him and he was doing everything to get his mind off the fact that you were in nothing but a towel in front of him.

"Sit still...I want to try something." He nodded and watched as you moved closer to him before straddling his lap and he bit back the moan that he had forming in his throat. He was doing his best to keep his mind on anything else that wouldn't give him a boner but the love of his life was sitting practically naked on his lap, 

"Namjoon...I'm going to kiss you, don't freak out." One of your hands left the towel to cup his face and he moved closer to you staring at your eyes until you leaned in and met his lips. Sparks shot out at an instant and you smiled into the kiss when you felt him kiss you back, it was like someone had set off a cage of butterflies in your stomach and Namjoon groaned as you moved a little on his lap. The kiss began to get passionate as he wrapped his hands around your waist bringing your body closer to his and both your hands moved to cup his face ignoring the fact that you'd dropped a towel. 

"Shit you're so fucking hot," Namjoon grunted laying you back down on the sofa and kissing you once more, you never wanted him to stop kissing you ever. 

"Namjoon, I-I think-" The doorbell rang and he handed you the towel telling you to go and get changed, you sprinted up the staircase right as he opened the door to get the food and you smiled to yourself at the thought of kissing him entered your mind.

"The kiss was a mistake, I know I've heard it all before. You didn't mean for it to go that far and we'll never talk about it again-" Namjoon stopped short when he saw you standing in some shorts and his old university hoodie that he'd brought back from New Zealand. 

"You kept that?" You nodded and he stared at you in it, 

"You don't want to kiss me again?" You asked faking being upset but he practically threw himself at you ignoring the food on the coffee table and bringing you to make out with him once again. 

"I love you." You whispered as he began kissing down your jaw then up to your ear, 

"I love you too." He whispered pulling back and sitting across from you, 

"It's terrible timing really but would you like to go on a date sometime?" You nodded reaching for a slice of pizza before practically folding the whole thing into his mouth. Dating Namjoon was going to be easy, he already knew all of your good and bad qualities and he accepted and loved you for who you were.

 Tagline: 

@writingdreamsnottragedies @yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @jooniesdarlingdimples @chimchims-stories-and-tales @fan-ati--c @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @callingmyangel @btsiguess-kpop @rjsmochii

[hopelikethemoon]

Goldilocks (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Goldilocks Rating: PG-13 Length: 2000 Warnings: It’s very soft.  Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in November 1992, before Used to be Lonely.  Summary: Reader spends the night alone at Javier’s. 

@grapemama​​​ @seawhisperer​​​ @huliabitch​​​ @beccaplaying​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​ @gooddaykate​​ @livasaurasrex​​​ @ham4arrow​​​ @plexflexico​​​ @readsalot73​​​ @hdlynn​​​ @lokiaddicted​​​ @randomness501​​​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​​  @roxypeanut​​​ @snivellusim​​​ @lukesrighthand​​​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​​​ @awesomefandomsunited​​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​​​ @ah-callie​​​ @swhiskeys​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​ @u-wakatoshii​​ @space-floozy​​​ @cable-kenobi​​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​​​ @himbopoes​​​ @findhimfives​​​ @pedrosdoll​​​ @frietiemeloen​​​ @arrowswithwifi​​​  @cinewhore​​​ @random066​​​ @uncomicalhumour​​​ @heather-lynn​​​ @domino-oh-damn​​​ @cyarikaaa​​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​​​ @yabby-girl​​​ @xqueenofthecraziesx​​ @punkass-potato​​​ @coredrive​​​ @pascalesque​​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​​​ @queenquazar​​​ @sabinemorans​​​ @buckstaposition​​ @holkaskrosnou​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​​@seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie​​​ @jaime1110​​​ @katlikeme​

You could count on one hand the number of times you had spent the night at Javier’s apartment since you started being together. At first, there was some lingering weirdness about that first night — a holdover of emotions, worries, and second guessing that made being there again uncomfortable, even when it wasn’t. 

It got easier the second and third time, but he always ended up at your apartment. Neither of you had put in much of an effort into make your apartments feel homey — but yours always felt like home when he was there. 

And it felt barren when he wasn’t there. 

He had been gone on an assignment several hours south of the city and you missed him. You hated that you missed him. You hated how easily he’d become someone you didn’t want to go to bed without. 

You tried to keep that emotional wall up. To keep yourself focused on the reality of relying on someone who could up and decide to leave you tomorrow. But your heart wasn’t as easily convinced. 

It had only been one night (and a day in the office) without him and it was starting to get under your skin. You chalked it up to hormones — which seemed to be getting to you more and more. But that didn’t change the fact that you missed him. 

Javier was a creature of habit. Four years ago he’d told you where he kept his spare apartment key in his desk. Luckily he hadn’t moved it. 

Second drawer on the left, inside the empty stapler at the back. 

You knew where it was in case there was ever an emergency. 

And you figured being lonely, pregnant, and hormonal was a good enough reason to commit a little casual B&E. You knew he wouldn’t care. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a key to your place. 

It felt weird to be in his apartment without him, but you made yourself at home. 

Unsurprisingly, his fridge was bare — save for beer and a jug of milk to go with the box of cereal in his cupboard. 

“I’ll stop at the store tomorrow and get us something better,” You remarked as you ran your hand over your stomach. “Cereal will have to do tonight.” 

You grabbed a bowl and filled it with cereal and milk before making yourself comfortable on the sofa. 

Yours was far more comfortable than his lumpy leather monstrosity. You tried not to think about the things that happened on it — before you happened on it. 

“One day,” You started, talking to your stomach as you scooped up a mouthful of cereal. “I’ll have to decide if you were made in a bar bathroom or on your father’s horrendous sex sofa.” You shook your head. “I could also go with the story that you just sprouted up one day.”

You glanced at your wristwatch and frowned. You wondered what he was doing. Was he safe? Was he exhausted? Was he as lonely as you were?

Did he miss you? He always acted like he missed you every time he came back from being on assignment. But who could really know? 

You could only hope. 

“I never wanted this,” You said as you ghosted your hand over your swollen belly. “Motherhood never felt like the right path for me. I still don’t know if it is.” You tilted the cereal bowl and drank some of the milk, before leaning forward to sit the bowl on the coffee table. “After everything I went through I couldn’t… I didn’t want to repeat my own childhood. But I knew I had to do right by you.”

You sank back against the sofa, playing with the hem of Javier’s shirt that you’d changed into. 

“Your father means the world to me and I hope… I really hope he’s going to stick around. I know what a broken home feels like and… I don’t want that for you, kid.”

It was stupid — how badly you wanted what your brother had. Minus the white collar vibe. But how the hell were you supposed to end up there? 

What was the real longevity for you and Javier? Not the one you wanted to believe in. The real one. The one that recognized that he wasn’t a settle down type — no matter how much he seemed like he could be. 

Then novelty would wear off sooner, rather than later. And then you’d be left to do this thing on your own. You could do it. 

You just didn’t want to. 

Which was fairly apparent considering you’d gone to his place, stolen a shirt, and were sitting on his sofa eating his cereal. 

But at the same time, you didn’t want to be one of those people. You didn’t want to try to keep yourself in a situation if you weren’t wanted. If he showed any signs of being over it — you weren’t sticking around. 

If worse came to worst — you could go back to Atlanta. You’d be stuck at a desk again, but at least you’d be employed. There was no way in hell you could stay in Colombia. 

You’d have to work out the particulars of letting Javier see his daughter. You didn’t want her to grow up without him completely. Even if it was easier on you. 

“I’m so tired of hormones,” You complained as you rubbed at your eyes, trying to keep tears from falling. 

You scooted to the edge of the sofa, before standing back up and walking back into the kitchen to rinse out your cereal bowl. 

With any luck, Javier would be back in the morning. Though, with the turn in the weather there was also a chance that he’d be gone until Monday. Which sucked. 

It wasn’t fair to miss someone as much as you did. Especially when he was only halfway yours. The DEA had their claws in him and they knew how to exploit his skills. 

And it had always been that way. It was just different now that you’d been relegated to desk duty for the foreseeable future. 

Javier’s bed smelt like him and the faint scent of cigarette smoke. Which was also him. You never thought you’d become someone who buried their face in someone’s pillow, but you caught yourself doing it nevertheless. 

It wasn’t quite the same as sleeping beside him. There was no arm around you, no fingers fanned out over your belly, no leg to warm your cold feet on. 

Things would’ve been different if you’d stayed. If you’d given into all the emotion Javier had poured out that night. But you still didn’t trust that his touches meant more. That he wasn’t just scratching a long suffering itch. 

With your luck, he’d find some reason to dip out. You couldn’t even blame him if he did. Life was a shit show and you weren’t going to force him to part of it. 

You hugged your arms around his pillow and pulled it into your chest, inhaling deeply as you tried to convince yourself to sleep. Two more sleeps and then Javier would be home. 

Home. 

 ——

 “I don’t know many nursery rhymes,” Javier murmured as he snaked his arm around your waist and roused you from your sleep. “But I do recall one about a girl who was keen on breaking into houses to try out their beds.” 

You were disoriented at first. The darkness of the bedroom didn’t help you get your bearings — but you knew it wasn’t your apartment. 

“Shit.” You swore, squirming a little in his hold. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my bed.”

“Yes, but—“

“Storm blew in early.” Javier pressed his face into the crook of your neck, “You’ve stolen my pillow and my bed.”

“Your shirt too.” You admitted, grinning to yourself. “I feel like I should be embarrassed.” 

Javier chuckled, “Don’t be, baby.” He ran his hand over your stomach. “It was a nice surprise.”

You covered your face with your hands and groaned dramatically. “If I’d known you were coming back tonight—“

He pulled you back against his chest. “It was a nice surprise.” He repeated, kissing your neck. “I was in a bad fucking mood and…” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I saw your bag sitting on the floor by the sofa.” 

You squeezed the back of his hand on your stomach, “I was lonely and my pregnancy brain told me your bed would cure it.”

“Did it?”

You hummed, “I ended up wishing that you were here too. Looks like it worked.” 

He chuckled against your neck as he kissed you again, “I debated swinging by your place, but I’m too fucking tired.”

“I guess we lucked out.”

Javier tapped his thumb against your stomach, “I know I did.” 

You rolled onto your back, before turning to face him. “I thought you’d be mad about me breaking in.” 

“And you did it anyways?” Javier snorted, giving your hip a squeeze as he pulled you towards him again. 

“Never come between a pregnant woman and what she wants.” You whispered, winding your fingers through his hair as you leaned in to kiss him. You misjudged the angle and got a mouth full of mustache. 

Javier laughed, a warm sort of laugh that made all of you tingle. “Did you miss my mustache too?”

“Always.” You grinned as he closed the distance and kissed you. 

“You’re always welcome here, baby.” Javier told you, brushing his lips against yours as he spoke. “Even if I’m not here.”

“Good.” You played with the hair at his temple. 

“Gives me something to think about when I’m stuck in a car for ten hours.”

You laughed, “Hopefully you keep those thoughts tame.” You teased, trailing your fingers down his neck. 

“They vary.” He retorted, brushing his nose against yours, before he tilted his head to kiss you again. 

“Aside from the storm,” You started as Javier pressed kisses along your jaw. “How’d it go?”

He sighed against your neck, “We got eyes on the target. Total wash in the end. No confirmation of illegal activity. If the storm hadn’t blown in — we would’ve had him.”

“Shit.” You bit down on your bottom lip and shook your head. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” He mumbled, trailing open mouthed kisses down your throat. “How are you?” He questioned, running his hand up and down your side. “How’s our little one?”

You slid your fingers into his hair and tugged lightly. “Still a little asleep. Earlier was rough — hormones, emotions, all of that bullshit. But we’re both good.” 

“Good.” He squeezed your hip. “Fuck, I’m tired baby.”

“I bet you are.” You whispered, toying with his hair. “Luckily you’re in bed, which is where sleep happens.” 

Javier snorted, “Smartass.”

“I’ve been told that a few times.” You laughed softly, laying on your back and reaching for the pillow you’d stolen. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He mumbled as he stifled a yawn. Javier shook his pillow out before tucking it under his head and readjusting beside you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too.” You told him as he ran his hand down your arm and took ahold of your hand and interlaced your fingers. “But you should sleep.”

He missed you too. There was no way around that. No way to convince yourself that it was all for show. It wasn’t just in your head. 

[greatshell-rider]

Jerry leaned against the open doorway to Lani’s room. “Hey, I killed a guy in the back alley.”

His sister sat hunched over her desk, a lamp pooling light around her head as she scribbled rapidly on a notepad with one hand and flipped quickly through a thick book with the other. Jerry was hardly surprised to find her still awake; it was only an hour or two past midnight. “Cool,” she said without looking up. “Put it over there.”

She didn’t gesture towards a “there”, so Jerry lugged the guy’s corpse into the room and dropped it against the far wall with the window. After a second’s hesitation, he cracked the window open. He didn’t know how soon Lani would get to the body, and while she might not care about a stench, he had to live with her.

“Didn’t think Dalpho would act so soon,” Lani commented as Jerry made to leave. He slowed and she continued, “Might throw a wrench in our current plan.” He saw a smile curve up her cheek at that.

Oh no. No. “Wasn’t Dalpho,” he said hurriedly. “Just some crook jumped me wanting my purse.” He scowled, flexing his hands and feeling the blood drying on them. “Tried to warn him off with my sword, but he was determined.”

“Or desperate. Don’t you ever spare a thought for all those poor souls out there? The whole city’s starving, Jerr-Bear, and you only think of yourself. Tsk.”

Clenching his jaw, Jerry reminded himself of the resolution he’d made this morning: No responding to Lani’s taunts. If he succeeded, he’d promised himself a spoonful of peanut butter (or the closest approximation to it this ’scape could produce) as a reward.

It is not worth it, he told himself. He took a deep breath and walked toward the door.

“It’s funny,” she mused idly, “how this keeps happening. Whenever I get jumped, we’re all friends by the end. But for some reason, showing off your pretty blade always makes things worse. What’s up with that?”

He threw a dirty look over his shoulder, opening his mouth to remind her how her “friends” always ended up. But he saw her smirk, recognized that glint of honed mirth in her eyes, and forcibly swallowed the retort.

“Shut up,” he growled, and slammed the door shut behind him.

She snickered behind the wood, and Jerry nearly turned right back around to tear the door off the hinges and smash it over her stupid head. He stood before it, hands clenching and unclenching, anger radiating through his body so painfully he had to bite down on his tongue so as to not scream. He’d just killed a man and, as always, his sister. Didn’t. Care. So why did he?

Spoonful of peanut butter, Jerr-Bear.

Jerry forced one lungful of air in, then out, then in, then out. He drew back his foot and slammed it against the door, found the shudder that went up the wood to be satisfying if not relieving, and limped into the kitchen to get that peanut butter.

“I’m going to eat the entire fucking jar,” he muttered.

But his sword, still dirtied, was lying on the table. He couldn’t put it away until he saw it cleaned and inspected it for damage. And he couldn’t eat with it dripping on the floor like that.

He sighed, dragging his hand down his face before remembering that it, like the sword, was also covered in blood. Swearing by the names of every deity he knew in both English and Wide and the other alien curses he’d picked up over the years, he went to the sink and scrubbed himself clean as well as he could, though the blood on his tunic was likely going to stain—the fabric was off-world, and so far had reacted poorly to most materials on this ’scape—and he got too frustrated to finish picking his fingernails clean, then stomped over into his room to get his stupid maintenance kit to get the stupid blade all nice and sparkly for its next stupid victim.

“Who’s the real victim, me or them, huh,” he muttered as he sat down with a towel over his knees, the kit set out on the table, and the sword in his hands. “Who’s the one who has to clean everything up in the end?”

Speaking of, there were smears and drips of blood all over the apartment from dragging the corpse in. That needed to be cleaned as well.

“Everything needs to be cleaned around here,” he snarled, scrubbing harder than what was polite with a rag at the blade. “Should just burn it all down and don’t bother building anything on top. Or else the ghosts will get at it.”

He was rambling nonsense. It was too late. He should be in bed. He should’ve been in bed hours ago. No, he wouldn’t have slept, but at least there were no random strangers to murder in bed. Not so far on this ’scape at least. Yeah there had been that one time, but that had been one time—

Rambling.

Jerry determinedly finished cleaning his sword in silence, not letting himself think a thing but focus solely on the monotonous, repetitive motions that had become familiar habit so long ago they should’ve been comforting now. Should have.

When it was done, he held the sword up, tilting it back and forth to watch the steel be highlighted at different angles. It wasn’t reflective enough to mirror his own face in it—which would have been far too thematically symbolic for Jerry to hold his lunch—but as he held it he couldn’t stop picturing the moment again and again, sliding the blade into the man’s gut before he could plunge his knife in Jerry’s throat or arm or whatever his wild swing had been aimed at. One moment, as shiny as it was now, the next, slick with gore. How quickly a thing became spoiled, and how easy to wipe it all away as if it had never happened.

Rambling.

Scowling, Jerry slid the sword into its sheath—good leather and metal, not flesh and bone—and put it on the table again. He tossed the towel onto the nearest puddle of blood (He was not scrubbing floors tonight. Not tomorrow either. He would make Lani do it. New resolution.) and, feeling exhausted, went to the cupboards. He didn’t even really want to eat anymore, but he did deserve at least one spoonful. Miserably, he pulled a cabinet open and dug through the mishmash of their rations gathered across the ’scapes and dumped in here in case of emergency to the fake back he’d installed early on. He pried the cruddy door open and wrapped his hand around the one remaining jar of air quotes peanut butter he had left.

The moment his fingers touched the plastic, he knew something was wrong. The weight was off.

Slowly, he pulled the jar out, dragging it through the rations without trying to maneuver it safely out. Old dusty packs of dried oatmeal and crumbled crackers fell to the floor, piling around his feet, as he held it up to his face.

He stared at the jar.

It was empty. Licked clean. Drawn on the lid in black marker, a smirking face winked at him.

Oh. Oh! Two murders tonight, then. It was a pity he’d already cleaned his sword.

The plastic squeaked. Jerry blinked and realized he had squeezed the empty jar so hard it was now crumbled in his fist, twisted in painfully distorted warpings.

“I’m going to do that to her bones!” he announced, cheerlessly, to no one.

“Wuh?” came a muffled yell from Lani’s room.

“You ate my peanut butter!” he called back, since apparently she’d been listening at the door. Waiting. Knowing. Giddy with excitement, no doubt.

“It wasn’t even good!”

“I am going to kill you!”

“Can’t! Locked the door!”

“There’s a window!”

“Ha! Wait, let me get a camera, I want to remember this!”

“Lani, I’m going to kill you! Straight up!”

“Thought you were bi.”

“You should see what I did to the jar.” He brandished it, though she wasn’t even in the room. “I didn’t even mean to.”

“Funny, the similarities between that statement and what I said about thugs in alleyways . . .”

“Going to kill you!”

“The day you say that sentence in past tense or at the very least present, I might start believing you!”

“Haha!” His voice dropped. “I’m going to bed.”

He closed his ears to whatever Lani said next and did that, crashing face-first onto the cot, which nearly buckled underneath his weight, and lay there with his eyes open, staring at the pilled fuzz of the mattress. He’d forgotten his sword in the kitchen. He always meant to have it on him, or close enough to be within arms-reach. He’d always had it, ever since Lani found out it in the sewers . . . he should go get it. Just in case. It was all he had to keep himself and his sister safe.

From the ghosts?

Rambling.

It could stay in the kitchen. For one night. Please, give him one night.

Jerry covered his eyes with his hand. Maybe that would help him sleep. But he could feel it, the dried blood still under his fingernails. He should’ve just cleaned that out, so it wouldn’t distract him. But it seemed, no matter what he did, he could never get every little bit out . . .

[youllallriseintheink]

Angel of the Ink Machine, chapter 2: Compromise

The premise of this AU is simple: Sammy leaves the studio instead of Henry, and as a result, Joey needs a new partner in crime. He finds one in Allison. Power struggles, sacrifices, passion, ecstasy and tragedy ensues.

---

Allison’s first few weeks at Joey Drew Studios had been interesting, to say the least. Joey had introduced her to the music room on her first day, and all had seemed to go well. The next day, however, just as she was setting things up in her recording booth, a small, blonde woman who hadn’t been around the day before had come in to interrupt her. Apparently, the last voice actress for the part of Alice Angel- Susie Campbell- had been away the previous day and hadn’t been told that she’d been replaced. The poor woman was heartbroken, and Allison had felt bad for taking a role that was essentially meaningless to her from someone who clearly cared much more about it.

That pity only lasted until Allison realized that half of the music department had taken a disliking to her, seemingly overnight. It was hard to tell how much of that was their loyalty to Susie and how much of that was just their regular standoffish-ness. Either way, Allison didn’t much care for the whole high school-level cattiness of it. Any friends she’d make in this studio would be outside the music department.

Voice acting was fine. Dating Joey was wonderful. She hadn’t gotten to play with the ink machine yet, but they’d done other magic together. She didn’t care for his secretiveness about his plans for the machine worked, though, and after a while she decided to seek out answers on her own.

Her first thought was to ask the man who was building the machine, Thomas Connor. He said that he didn’t know how this thing was supposed to work and didn’t want to, and sure as hell wouldn’t tell some random music department kid if he did. She asked his assistant, Wally Franks, who told her a round-a-bout tale about how he’d drawn up the first blueprint. This was not information Allison could use.

There was one other person she could ask, but it was a long shot. Despite her best efforts, Allison hadn’t fully avoided the high school nonsense of the music room, and she knew the reputation that their projectionist, Norman Polk had as a keeper of unknowable secrets. Allison thought that they were being ridiculous, but it was worth a shot, and he was open enough about meeting with her over lunch one day.

“So, you’re working with Joey Drew on the magical stuff,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Uh, yes. Does everyone know?”

Norman laughed a little. “Most people here don’t even know that magic is real. Anyhow, I assume that you came to me because you’re interested in knowing some kind of secret?” If he was annoyed about the new girl knowing his reputation, he didn’t show it. If anything, he seemed amused.

“Yes. Honestly, I just want to know as much about Joey as I can. Especially anything that has to do with magic, and the ink machine.”

“Well, I guess telling you can’t be any more dangerous than him keeping it from you. Follow me.”

“You want to know a secret about Joey?” Norman asked as they walked, “he hires people he thinks are vulnerable and down on their luck. So Joey Drew Studios has some teenagers working here, some people with disabilities from the war, and a lot more non-whites and queer people than you’d expect. Not a secret, just a pattern I’ve noticed. But I know that what you want is real secrets.”

Norman took her to a room labelled, “The Archives.” Within it was hundreds of audio logs in locked glass containers. “Joey audio-records us,” Norman explained. “I don’t know his purposes for it, but he clearly does it a whole lot. The glass bins are locked, obviously, but I stole one off his desk a couple days ago. Wanna hear it?” The man’s face had gone from proud and amused to dead-serious.

“Sure...”

Norman pressed the button, and the audio log played. It was Joey Drew speaking to Thomas Connor. They were talking about how to change Bendy from a soulless abomination into a lovable cartoon, and it ended with Joey promising that if these things are soulless, he would get them a soul. After all, I own thousands of them.

“You wanna know what I think? I think that Joey is great at preying upon the desperate. And quite recently, he made a person desperate to be a cartoon character again. So, Allison. I don’t know what your role in this magical business is, but if you can help it, don’t let Joey hurt Susie Campbell- she’s my fiancé. I’ve already told her to be careful around Mr. Joey Drew, but...”

Allison was struggling to take this in. Joey wanted to kill people for this project? That was insane! And yet, some of those pentagrams in the basement had looked awfully large. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean that he wants to murder people. But I’ll talk to him, Norman. I promise. And I do have power over him, so you can count on me!”

---

Allison kept her promise, and brought it up the next time she was at Joey’s house.

“Joey. I need you to tell me right now if this ink machine project involves killing people.”

Joey immediately tensed. He’d been thinking for weeks of a way to break that to Allison that wouldn’t make her run for the hills. “Not... killing. I mean, they’ll still be alive. It’s more like putting them in another body. Yes, the process does involve causing their old body to bleed out, but their consciousness will still be there- probably.”

“Probably?” her face was remarkably calm, given the circumstances.

“I’ve tested the machine on rodents. None of them came out physically resembling a cartoon- only your potion lets me do that. But some of them came out acting like rodents, some of them came out acting like cartoon characters, and some of them went berserk. I’m trying to figure out how to make more of them come out as either rodents or cartoons. If the person retains their personality, they could basically be actors. And if they come out with the cartoon personality, well...”

The more Joey spoke, the more withering Allison’s glare became. “Okay. None of that. I’m not going to destroy people for this. Going forwards, only retaining the consciousness is considered a good outcome. Capisce?”

“Okay,” Joey said, starting to regret letting Allison into the project.

“And I assume that you were going to tell the sacrifices exactly what’s going to happen to them beforehand?”

“Well... Allison, how many people do you think would do this if we were to tell them everything? I was going to tell them that they’d go to sleep and then wake up as the cartoon character they want to be.”

Allison shook her head and appeared to think things over a moment. “You know what, Joey? I’ll do this. But we can’t do it without my potion, so we’re going to do it on my terms. You understand? So, here are my terms: one, we test that machine. We test it on rodents until we have at least 70% of them coming out acting like rodents. Alright? Two, don’t sacrifice anyone without my permission. Ever. And three: I want to be the one who talks people into becoming sacrifices. I have a silver tongue, too, and I don’t trust you to be honest with people. Those are the terms. Take them or leave them.”

“I’ll... I’ll take them. But Allison, if you’re going to have this much power over the project, I need you to show that you’re loyal to it.”

Allison smiled. “Of course. I’m sure that we could work something out!”

---

“What do you think- can you break the lock, Wally? I can’t believe I locked myself out like this.”

“Hmm... Well, Shawn has been tryin' to teach me how to pick a lock. I could try.” Wally got to work on the door and had busted it open within two minutes.

“Alright! Thanks, Wally.” Joey handed Wally the 20$ he’d promised him. They parted ways, and then Joey got to work scouring Allison’s house for that potion recipe.

It was nine weeks and four days after Joey had agreed to Allison’s terms. Six weeks, and only now were they making their first human sacrifice. Worse, they’d wasted hundreds of dollars worth of pet store rodents and a few dozen hours spent altering their ritual. They’d gotten those rodents to turn into toons- mostly perfect toons- that acted like animals at a high enough rate to satisfy Allison, and now Allison was headed to Susie’s apartment to talk her into becoming their sacrifice. Joey wished he could be there, making sure that Allison was doing it right and not scaring Susie away from the idea in the name of honesty. But the one benefit to this situation was knowing that Allison wouldn’t be here, and that after this she would be headed straight to the studio- he wasn’t leaving this place without that potion recipe, and thus full power over the project.

Joey checked all the obvious places like cupboards and drawers, paged through binders full of recipes for various potions and food items, and then checked the obvious “hiding place” places, such as under her bed, under rugs, and so on. It didn’t help that Allison’s house was rather cluttered. For all Joey knew, he could have missed the recipe while sorting through the various papers on the kitchen table. He checked his watch and learned that he’d spent too long here and had supposed to be at the studio an hour ago. Well, he had to give up and leave sometime. Before he left though, he went back to one of Allison’s recipe binders, where Joey had bookmarked a page labelled, “Memory spell? Failed.” He tore out the page. Allison clearly wasn’t the best at creating spells, but seeing it had given Joey an idea of something he could add to the ink machine rituals. It would take at best a few weeks to perfect, but what if he could control what the sacrifices remembered and forgot? There were so many potential uses...

---

Norman had been right about Susie being desperate to be Alice again. Susie had been furious when Allison had showed up at her apartment, but once Allison had said the words, “Joey and I want to make you Alice again. We agreed that you’re the best person for the job,” she’d broken down in tears.

“D-do you mean that?”

“Of course I do! It was the plan from the very beginning. Susie, no one is as well-suited to being Alice Angel than you are. Now, I’ll still be her voice actress, but you’re going to make history- trust me, people will remember you as Alice for decades after this. Joey found an improvised means to bring you closer to Alice than any actress ever has been to a character. The process will seem scary, but Joey will help you, I’ll be there every step of the way. I’m pretty excited myself, honestly! No one’s ever done this before. So, are you with us?”

“Well, that sounds... too good to be true. I mean, even just getting my role back would be nice wonderful, but here you are promising me fame and all of that... But you’re being awfully vague about it. What exactly do you have planned?”

“Come with me to the studio. It has to be seen to be believed.”