#nothing makes me feel like life is impossible like seeing fucking rent prices

[hoshi-kawaii]

nothing makes me want to kms more than apartment hunting.

[gingersnaaps]

too much of a good thing

he's so sweet, so kind, so dumb - is bokuto really capable of anything besides the best intentions?

wc: ~2.7k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, dubcon sex to noncon creampie, manipulation, lovebombing and then neglect, overstimulation, cunnilingus, fingering, penetration, a lil angst, timeskip!bokuto, fem!reader with inner genitals

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

Being subtle was never really Bokuto’s thing, not even in the beginning.

In some ways, you suppose that you’re lucky - that you’re better off than your friends who you would always hear complaining, muttering about boys who didn't like to commit, didn’t like labels, who didn’t like texting first or buying gifts or putting in any effort at all.

Barely a week into your relationship, you come home from work with your head dizzy and feet aching from exhaustion, and discover a dozen bouquets of roses on your doorstep. Crimson petals are littered everywhere, strewn against the grey concrete of the steps, and although you feel your neck and face heating up with embarrassment at the grand gesture, you can’t suppress the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

He really was so sweet. Who cares if he wasn’t exactly shy about expressing it?

None of the other guys you’ve dated before had sent you good morning texts quite like his, filled with exclamation points and emojis, and none of them had tried nearly as hard as Bokuto does with his breathy, eager i love you’s, his frequent hugs whenever he gets the chance to see you, or even his phone calls that come twice, three times, even four times in the middle of the day.

But the more days that pass by, the more intense it gets.

He picks you up after work all the time, cupping your face in his hands, eyes gleaming almost unnaturally bright. “I love you,” he’ll whisper. “You’re so wonderful, baby. You’re perfect. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.”

You can’t help but think that these are the sort of words that come months into a relationship, if not years, but… there’s nothing really wrong with what he’s doing, is there? There’s no reason you should be uneasy, no indication of even the slightest hint of trouble on his part.

You’re probably just paranoid.

Bokuto doesn’t stop at words, though - he earns a good sum of money from his job playing professional volleyball, and he’s never hesitant to use it on you. A week after he leaves you the roses, he asks you out on a date to a restaurant you know is ridiculously expensive, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach grows as you scroll through pictures of the establishment on Google Images.

“I don’t think I can afford it, Bo,” you tell him, voice hesitant and crackly over the phone. “If we go, I won’t be able to pay my share.”

“So?”

It’s just a word, but the implication isn’t lost on you. And if he’s fine with paying for you, if he’s okay with the hundreds of dollars you’ll be owing him, well - there’s no good reason to turn him down, right?

During the date, you talk with him as you spoon bites of delicate food into your mouth. The restaurant is too lavish, the plush velvet carpeting and crystal chandeliers almost a parody of luxury. You’re pretty sure the utensils are half the price of your rent.

He leans over in the middle of the meal, expression suddenly serious. “You’re enjoying this, right?” he asks.

“I am. I’m kinda lucky, aren’t I? Being spoiled like this.”

“Yeah,” he replies, his grin so bright it could rival the sun. “You really are.”

And suddenly - just for a moment - you catch a glimpse of something slightly off about his whole expression, as if it was a mask waiting to be ripped off to reveal something much, much different underneath, but the fleeting moment is gone so quickly you convince yourself that it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you.

Bokuto has been nothing if not perfect, after all. If you’re uneasy, it’s probably just because you aren’t used to being treated like this, aren’t used to someone that lavishes you with constant gifts and praise and displays of affection like he does. On the way back in the taxi, he whispers everything he loves about you softly in your ear, his arm snaking around your waist as his thumb rubs tender circles into your skin. His body is pressed so close to yours, his breath gently tickling your ear, warmth radiating out from his firm, muscled body.

He’s so good to you.

-

It doesn’t last forever.

Bokuto’s affection dries up slowly, but his presence has been such a constant in your life that it’s impossible for you not to notice.

Some mornings, you find yourself waking up to a hollow feeling in your chest as you check your message notifications and find nothing - no late night rants, no funny pictures, no enthusiastic, joyful good morning texts. During the day, the silence now stretches on for hours too long, uncomfortably empty and devoid of the persistent calls that you used to get every single hour.

When he does see you, he’s remarkably reserved - eyes always downcast, fingers fidgeting incessantly, clearly disinterested in what you’re doing, what you’re saying - in fact, disinterested in all of you.

Maybe he’s just busy with volleyball, you rationalize, but your stomach churns with anxiety and deep down, you know that something’s changed.

You try and ignore the dull ache inside of you that seems to follow you around wherever you go, a little voice inside your head constantly reminding you of what Bokuto used to do. Two months ago, he would’ve picked you up. He would’ve sent you flowers today. He would’ve taken you out to eat.

It builds up slowly and steadily, a crescendo of pain that grows in volume the longer he’s gone, like a tidal wave of confusion and hurt that swirls around inside you - until one day, you’re sitting by yourself in the car, sobbing quietly in the cramped darkness.

At least he doesn’t turn you away when you show up on his doorstep.

Your eyes are rimmed with red, streaks of eye makeup running down your face as a frown twists at his features. “Please, Bo,” you whisper. “Let me make it up to you.”

And you’re not exactly sure what you did, but you want to fix it, want him back in your life, want to wake up to his smiles and his laughter and his incessant, boundless energy, and you know you’re willing to do anything to get that back.

“Really?” he asks, eyes glimmering faintly with hope.

You nod almost imperceptibly, about to reply yes, yes, want you back so bad, when he grabs your waist with his hands and pulls you in for a kiss so passionate it borders on harsh. It’s a whirlwind of teeth and tongue, a mix of sucking and licking and biting that leaves you gasping for breath, your red lips swollen and slick with spit.

He pulls you inside, his hands roaming all over your body, groping and squeezing at your supple flesh, goosebumps running down your spine as he brings a hand up to brush against your nipple. For the first time in weeks, you see excitement on his face, and his voice trembles as he leans close in. “Let me take care of you,” he says. “Wanna make you feel good.”

And even though there’s apprehension crawling under your skin at his sudden mood swing, you’re so, so glad this version of Bokuto is back that you brush off that hesitation, the mixture of happiness and anticipation overwhelming every single thought in your mind.

As his fingertips graze the soft skin of your torso, his hands - so much larger than yours - maneuver your body around with such ease and grace that you barely notice when you end up on his couch, legs spread wide open as he looks up from between your thighs hungrily. “I - fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he says, out of breath, eyes running over the swollen outline of your cunt.

You whimper softly as his nose brushes up against your clit, his piercing, golden eyes still gazing intently up at you.

He doesn’t waste any of his time teasing you, his flat of his tongue sliding up along your slit with the perfect amount of pressure to leave you squirming. It’s almost as if he knows exactly where to lick and suck, eagerly pressing his tongue up against your clit in insistent circles, lapping at your dripping pussy until your juices are running down his chin. He’s so eager in between your legs, and everytime he finds a spot that makes your legs tremble needily, he gives it so much attention that you already start to feel that wave of pleasure building in your core.

“Don’t stop,” you pant, your hands sliding into his hair as your hips thrust upwards. “Please.”

Bokuto doesn’t need you to tell him that. Shouldn’t have wasted your breath, he thinks idly, diving in and eating you out with renewed vigor.

When his tongue glides around your spasming cunt and dips in briefly, you can’t stop the moan that tumbles from your lips. His tongue is so stupidly long and flexible, sliding inside and licking at your sensitive walls, curling up and brushing against your g-spot until you start to shudder and tremble under him.

You cum embarrassingly quick, your hips jerking and stuttering wildly as he finishes you off. He fucks you through your orgasm, sucking gently at your clit until the border between pain and pleasure starts to blur and you’re moaning so loudly he thinks the neighbors will have complaints for him the next morning.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks, voice sending vibrations through your pussy.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“How about another?”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

“I think you can handle it, right?” a huge grin splits his face as he spreads your pussy apart with two fingers, looking at your swollen, spent cunt. He barely gives your chance to respond before he trails his fingers against your lips, fingers teasing in and out of your slick entrance.

This time, Bokuto uses his hands to stretch you out, inserting his digits one by one until three of his thick, long fingers are nestled inside of your pussy. He thrusts them languidly in and out, his fingertips caressing your nerves until you’re tense and wound up for him again.

“Come on,” he encourages. “You can take it.”

Your brain is hazy from the stimulation, barely registering anything but pleasure as his fingers search and probe like they have some sort of job to do. You feel damp with heat and moisture, the pulsing, burning need in between your legs insistent and demanding.

“Almost there,” he breathes, voice raspy with arousal. A fourth finger brushes up against your lips, and the thought of more stretch, more stimulation, more pleasure, has you clenching desperately against the ones that your cunt is already spread out on.

You sob, your body strung out and wrecked, suspended on the tipping point of another orgasm.

As you cum again, the feeling of relief - white-hot and blinding - rips along your core. You’re not sure you’ve experienced anything quite so intense before, and as you look down at him, hands still manipulating your cunt so expertly, you don’t know if he has the intention of stopping anytime soon.

He stands up and your eyes drift to his cock, flushed purple and almost painfully hard, dripping with precum. His hand strokes along his shaft, soft curses muttered under his breath, but he opens them wide again and looks down at you sadly. “I’m so sorry,” he says, voice pleading. “I don’t have any condoms.”

Bokuto sounds so genuine, his tone kind and filled with regret, and guilt begins to sting at your conscience. He’s made you feel so fucking good, given you the best orgasms of your life - is it really fair if you leave him wanting and unsatisfied?

You’re fucked halfway out of your mind when you answer, eyes still fixated on his cock, head swimming with thoughts of how much you want to please him.

“It’s fine,” you say, your words slurred and hesitant. “You can.. you can use me. Use my pussy to get you off. Jus’ pull out at the end.”

Ecstasy flashes across his face, and he looks down eagerly. “Fuck, babe. You’re so perfect. I love you.”

You hadn’t heard those words for weeks.

His strong arms pick you up easily, maneuvering you around until he’s the one sitting on the couch and your cunt is positioned right over his dick. His hands grip tightly at your waist, fingertips pressing so insistently that you’re sure you’ll wake up the next morning with bruises dotting your skin. He lowers you down slowly, carefully, groaning as he fills you up and the warmth of your cunt envelopes him whole.

He already looked big, just from the cursory glance you’d taken earlier, but as you feel the tip of his cock shove against your cervix, your breath almost catches at how you feel your walls expanding to accommodate all of him.

The drag of his curved cock up against your sensitive walls leaves your legs trembling and squirming, but he holds you firmly down as he thrusts up inside over and over. “Stay still,” he coos. “Let me take care of you.”

Bokuto starts off gently, fucking you with shallow little thrusts that have you panting with desperation. He can tell by the way your cunt is fluttering that you're craving more, that the two orgasms he gave you earlier just wasn’t enough for a greedy girl like you, and he relishes the way your small hands grip desperately at his shirt.

He raises you up off his cock, running the tip up and down your slit until your pussy throbs, and slams you back down again. The rhythm he maintains is steady and even, bouncing you up and down on his cock like a ragdoll, whispering stuttered curses and phrases of endearment against your ear, making you shiver from the overload of stimuli.

“Feels so amazing,” he moans. “Gonna.. Gonna cum soon.”

The heat in your core grows intense at the thought of his orgasm, involuntarily whining, and you start to rock your hips back and forth in an attempt to search out more friction.

Bokuto knows he promised to pull out. He knows that it wouldn’t be right if he stayed buried inside your cunt. But how is he supposed to stop himself when you feel this good, wrapped so obediently around him like a perfect little fuck doll? And the heat of your cunt is gripping incredibly tight all around his length, your little squirms and shivers so adorable as he uses you to get himself off.

He can’t help himself.

With one last, desperate thrust, he lets go, thick spurts of cum filling you up until he’s sure your insides are dripping white, and he caresses your stomach where your womb would be in satisfaction. It feels so good to cum inside of a tight cunt, much better than it would’ve if he’d forced himself to pull out, he thinks. And you look so pretty all full and leaking with his seed.

It takes you a moment to fully register the warm, wet feeling pooling inside you, your brain too fucked out, too stupid from the constant stimulation to truly understand what exactly dripping from your slit is.

When you do realize - oh god, he came inside me - panic starts to grip at the edges of your frayed nerves, your vision tunneling as the magnitude of what had just happened hits you. Tears start to blur the world around you, the dim lighting of his living room merging the furniture and warping the walls, and you faintly register the feeling of arms wrapped tight around you, a hand reaching up to caress soothingly at your cheek.

“You know,” Bokuto whispers, face lit up in wonder. “I think we’re soulmates.”

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Drown In My Desire

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: siren pls see ao3 for the full list of tags, this is... something edit: some formatting got fucked up and I had to make some adjustments, sorry if there are any wonky bits now 😅

Geralt is barely off the boat back from Skellige when he hears about the contract. There's a lone Siren causing trouble along one of the trading routes; drawing the ships closer until they wreck on the jagged rocks of the bay. The fishermen complain loudly about it as he disembarks and as soon as his feet hit dry land, Geralt makes straight for them. It's basic Siren behaviour, likely to be an easy job and then back on his way.

The men are offloading barrels and Geralt keeps out of the way as he approaches the one giving orders.

"Heard you've got a Siren problem," he says and the man straightens up to look him over.

"Aye, we do. You're a Witcher, right? You'll take care of it for us?"

"What are you offering?"

"Godsdamn anything at this point. Things wrecked six shops, we've lost 11 good men, countless hours of labour... Name your price, Witcher, we'll pay it."

"Five hundred," Geralt suggests.

"Fine by me. Bring back proof of the kill and you'll get your coin."

"Agreed." Normally, Geralt would request half in advance, but he's dealt with Novigradian merchants before and they're reputable and trustworthy most of the time. Plus, this is a simple contract, probably not even worth the 500 he asked for.

He stays to get the rest of the details from the merchant, then heads into town to rent a room at the Kingfisher. He won't be in town long, but he may as well have somewhere comfortable to sleep when he inevitably comes back cold and wet.

Geralt bribes a local fisherman to take him out to the bay or as close to it as possible - no one will go right in any longer. They moor on the far side and Geralt disembarks, thanking the man and paying him a generous fee for his service. He didn't have to bring him out here, and many other men wouldn't dare go this far.

He hears the song immediately and it makes him pause. Geralt has heard the Siren song before, has even fallen under its spell in the past, and this is not it. This is a Siren, for sure, and he is singing, but his song is... sad. Geralt frowns as he makes his way over the swell of the hill, the beach sprawling out before him in a wide arc.

It's sandy, devoid of rocks and debris but the tide is down and large, jagged rocks break the surface of the water. Waves roll up gently onto the shore and Geralt scans the shoreline, looking for any sign of the Siren. The song is coming from the far side of the small bay, but he sees nothing.

Readjusting the belts across his chest, he makes his way down to the beach and across the sand.

He spots him shortly, tucked under a shelf of rock out of the sun, curled around himself. Geralt thinks at first, that he may be injured, hence the despair in his song, but as he approaches he recognizes a sense of desperation in the tune. Approaching further, he catches the creature's interest and he looks up at him, his confusion a mixture of desperation and fear and resignation. Geralt looks him over as he approaches, not trusting the Siren not to jump out and attack. He knows well enough they're crafty and wouldn't stop short of setting a trap in dire situations.

But when Geralt is within a few feet, the Siren still makes no sign of wanting to hurt him. If anything, he looks miserable to have been discovered and Geralt does a quick once-over for injuries. There are none visible, but as the Siren unfurls himself, stretching out to his full length, Geralt pauses.

He doesn't know a lot about Siren anatomy past what a sorcerer will pay for what, but he's seen enough pricks in his life to know one when he sees it.

Jaskier whines internally and shuts up as soon as he sees the figure approaching. He was trying to attract... well, not him. Not a Witcher. He needs someone to solve his problem, not to be killed as the solution to someone else’s. But maybe that would be better than going through this every five years out here alone. Maybe the Witcher will be kind and put him out of his misery and then- well, at least he wouldn't be stuck here on his own like this.

But the man approaches and doesn't do anything. He just looks, walking closer until Jaskier could nearly reach out and touch him. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he can, he uncoils himself to prove he's not a threat. His cock aches and he's reminded of the fact that it's very blatantly on display, but that's the least of his problems now.

"You're the one who's been wrecking ships?" the Witcher asks and well, yes, Jaskier assumes that's his fault.

He's seen the wreckage washing up on shore, seen the men floating lifeless amongst the waves. He tries to help, but in this state, it's impossible to do much before the burning need overtakes him again and he's rendered useless.

"I didn't-" he starts, but he doesn't think a Witcher will care whether he meant to or not. He just wants a companion, wants someone to help ease this ache as his own attempts aren't helping any longer, he didn't mean for the humans to get in the way.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't mean for them to get hurt." Jaskier doesn't look at him, but the Witcher is quiet for some time and then,

"It’s... a mating song?" he guesses and something in Jaskier’s stomach twists uncomfortably that he could figure it out so quickly. Jaskier avoids his eyes looking instead at the way the sand coats the toes of his boots.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jaskier's head snaps up at that and he looks the Witcher dead in the eye. He's never heard of a monster being given a chance to tell their side of the story, to redeem themself. The Witcher drops to the sand, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"I-" Jaskier starts, unsure if this is some sort of twisted game. "I just- I was hoping someone might be nearby to hear-" he feels pathetic, his only consolation the fact that the Witcher doesn't know that he came here willingly, he left his family willingly to go out and explore the vast oceans and now he’s miserable.

"How long have you been here?" the Witcher asks, "you've never caused problems before now."

"Before now I wasn't-" he rolls his eyes in frustration at himself, slapping his tail against the sand. "Sirens," he starts again, "go through cycles. I'm in heat and I'm alone and every attempt I've made to reach out has only ended in ruin." Jaskier scowls at his own confession.

"I tried to help," he adds solemnly, "I just... I can't focus, I don't have the strength to pull them to the surface- I tried," he persists, "but I'm not much use like this." His cock aches and he groans at the timing. "I hardly think that deserves a death sentence." He wraps his tail protectively around himself, hiding the evidence of his situation.

"Not here to hurt you," the Witcher explains, "just here to keep people from dying. I could... help?"

Jaskier starts at the offer, his wings snapping tight against his back. "What do you mean, help?"

The Witcher huffs a light laugh and Jaskier tries not to be too hopeful. He's never strayed beyond his race, though he knows many who have and if he were to, well, the Witcher isn't awful to look at. In fact, Jaskier thinks, taking in his shining golden eyes and shock-white hair tied back in a loose bun, he’s quite lovely.

"Now, I know you're not stupid," the Witcher says, almost sounding amused. "The offer’s there. I'll help if you stop with the singing."

Maybe it's the need coursing through him, or maybe it's the fact that no one has ever been so kind to him before, or maybe there's just something about this man's smile that makes him weak. Jaskier agrees.

"Not here," he says. "Can you swim?" The Witcher cocks an eyebrow at him. "I'd prefer not to have to do this out in the open where anyone could just wander upon us. I do have some sense of decorum."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," Jaskier says simply. "It's not far." He shifts in the sand, sitting up and gesturing out toward the sea. "A human could make the swim, surely a Witcher can as well."

"Fair enough. I'm Geralt, by the way. And I can swim."

"Jaskier."

He squirms in the sand, trying to force his cock to withdraw, but it's no use. Geralt rises, kicking off his boots and removing his gear, tucking it away into a crevice in the rock. He bends down, scooping Jaskier into his arms. It's a shock and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but wind his arms around Geralt's neck and hold on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way his cock juts out obscenely, betraying him.

Geralt walks into the waves, releasing Jaskier as soon as the water is up to his waist. He holds his breath, lets Jaskier take his hand, and follows him down beneath the surf. Jaskier feels marginally better out of the sun and sand, in the cool water, but not much. He swims quickly, eager to return home and get on with... whatever Geralt has in mind to help.

He ducks into the narrow tunnel, dropping Geralt's hand and gesturing for him to follow behind. He does, and Jaskier leads the way back to an underwater cave. Glowing coral grows near the ledge of rock, where the water gives way to open air again. It gives off a little light, but Jaskier can see perfectly well and he knows Witchers have night vision.

He slips up onto the stony cave floor and offers a webbed hand to Geralt as he breaks the surface. To Geralt's credit, he only seems a little out of breath as he's hauled up out of the water.

Jaskier flops back on his side, watching the way Geralt rises to his feet, tugging his soaked shirt off and wringing the water from it. His trousers remain in place and Jaskier finds himself disappointed, curious to see what's hidden beneath. But this isn't a fun romp for the sake of it; this is an agreement, Geralt is simply doing him a favour.

When he seems pleased with the state of his shirt, Geralt lays it out and lies down next to him, lining his body up with Jaskier's. He's... stunning up close and it takes more of his effort than it should not to simply reach out and touch him just for the sake of it. He remembers fucking other Sirens, the touching, the press of bodies - he misses it, and he finds himself wishing this was something more than a simple favour. But that's selfish; Geralt is already offering him so much, for so little in return and nothing, even, for himself.

"You'll have to walk me through it," Geralt says with a smile, "I've never fucked a Siren before."

"Oh. You can just... touch me?" Jaskier says and Geralt reaches out tentatively, slipping a hand over the swell of his hip.

"Like this?"

Jaskier nods. It's not exactly what he wants, but it does feel nice and he's not about to try and direct. Geralt's hesitation is short-lived and he slides his hand up Jaskier's chest, brushing his thumb over a nipple and Jaskier's breath catches. He watches the movement of Geralt's hand as his fingers press into his skin, warm, despite the swim through cool water.

He shifts slightly, leaning up on one arm and pressing back down, over the swell of Jaskier's hip and he tugs him forward before abruptly before dragging his fingers up the length of Jaskier's swollen cock. He's slow, but delicate like he's learning his way around, but it feels incredible and it's hard for Jaskier not to just thrust up into the touch and take the pleasure from his hands.

Geralt's fingers slip over the ridge at the base of him, curling around him beneath it and squeezing as he pulls up over it.

"What is this?" he asks. He sounds intrigued, curious, and Jaskier can't help but indulge him.

"'S hard to fuck underwater," he hums, moaning as Geralt's fingers reach the tip of his cock. One dips into the slit, pressing against it, and Jaskier whimpers. "Keeps me from... slipping out." The noise Geralt makes in response is hard to determine, but it sounds interested. He moves his hand back down to squeeze around the ring.

His fingers slip over the swell of skin, pressing against it and running his thumb along the edge. He likes it, Jaskier realizes. It prods at something inside him and he presses his hips forward encouragingly.

"Does that feel good?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead against his arm to keep from moaning out loud. He wants to show his appreciation, wants Geralt to know he can do as he pleases with him, but he doesn't want to push too hard.

Geralt’s light touches grow bolder, pressing more firmly, jerking him quickly and firmly and as Jaskier whines and squirms beneath him, Geralt grows more confident. His fingers slip down, pressing between the folds of his sheath, pressing right down to the base of his cock and within. No one has touched him like this before, the sharp jab of a Siren's claws not conducive to pressing inside.

Something warm spreads through his chest and he finds himself pulling away, embarrassed by how vulnerable he suddenly feels letting a stranger touch him this way, a Witcher no less. Immediately, Geralt withdraws his hands and the look on his face implies worry.

"Sorry," he blurts, then softer, "tell me if it's too much."

"No, I just. No one's ever-"

"I'll stop."

"No," Jaskier says again, a little too abruptly. "No, it was good, it just... caught me off guard." Geralt doesn't wait to be told twice, but his fingers move more slowly as they slip back into place at the base of his cock. Jaskier gives a little thrust on encouragement and Geralt presses his palm against him, giving him something to rut against while he explores.

Jaskier rocks against him, burying his face in his arm as the need takes over. Given an inch, he's no longer able to control himself, so needy for it that he's invited a perfect stranger into his home to fuck him. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind his desperation, doesn't mention it. He picks up quickly on Jaskier's most sensitive spots, going back to rub over them, pressing his thumb beneath the swollen ring and Jaskier's mind goes blank with the pleasure of it.

He's never noticed how sensitive it is there; the use of hands in Siren coupling is rare and limited to squeezing and jerking, not prodding and rubbing like Geralt does so easily. It's hardly Jaskier's fault that he can't contain himself in the face of this new, wonderful sensation.

The swell of his climax creeps up on him slowly, his mind too preoccupied with where Geralt's fingers are and what they're doing. It's not until Geralt wraps around the base of him, pushing as far into his sheath as his fingers with reach, that Jaskier realizes how close he is. His hips jerk hard and Geralt's other hand shoots out to steady him, holding him close as Jaskier writhes against him.

There's not much else he can do like this, just squirm and try to press as much of his cock against Geralt's palm as he can. Otherwise, he's under Geralt's control, letting him do what he wants, take him apart as he will. Geralt's thumb presses along the underside of his cock, pressing up toward the tip and Jaskier jerks hard as his orgasm washes over him, spilling over Geralt's hand and up his arm.

His hips twitch, cocking slipping easily against Geralt's arm with his own spend to slick the way. He'd be embarrassed, coming so quickly with so little stimulation to anything but his cock, but Geralt hums, sounding very pleased.

He continues touching him, fingers slipping through his spend and using it as slick, rubbing down the full length of him and rubbing against the slit at the tip.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier can only nod and whimper, still struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck abruptly and Jaskier shifts onto his back to allow him better access. He likes the warmth of Geralt's breath on his neck, the soft press of his lips and the occasional flick of his tongue against his skin. Geralt says nothing as his kisses become firmer, pressing down the column of his throat and down his chest.

His hand remains on Jaskier's cock, stroking slowly as he kisses down the length of his body, not even pausing as pale skin gives way to shimmering scales. He seems unbothered by it and Jaskier likes the feeling of his lips on his tail. Geralt doesn't release his cock until he's moved fully down the length of Jaskier's body, straddling the end of his tail.

Geralt kisses around the base of his cock, not touching it but for the barest brush of his cheek as he passes. Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation, arching off the bed with each kiss that gets closer to where he wants it. When Geralt's lips finally press against him, he lets out a strangled groan and arches off the ground, hands immediately and automatically groping for Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt kisses up the length of him, teasing the tip with his tongue before moving back down again. Jaskier wants his mouth, wants to feel that wet heat around him, so different than the cool touch of one of his own kind. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a mouth around his cock, but he's used to sharp teeth, to slow and cautious strokes. When Geralt gets his mouth around him, he's anything but.

The moment Geralt's lips wrap around him, quick and eager, sliding his tongue over him and pressing his lips in close, holding him tight as he sinks right to the base. His tongue presses in where his fingers had been and Jaskier knows now that he likes exploring, likes discovering what makes Jaskier squirm and taking advantage of it. And he's incredibly good at it.

His fingers that had, up until now, been happily settled on his hips, push up to brush against his skin. One hand remains, seeking out the smallest part of his waist and settling in the dip as the other moves down again. Jaskier's foggy mind suggests that he intends to wrap around the base of his cock, but Geralt gets distracted somewhere between. His fingers pass over Jaskier’s slit and he pauses. Slowly, Gerlt lifts his head, licking up the length of Jaskier's cock and looking at the opening beneath his fingers.

"Can I?" he asks and Jaskier nods.

This is... new. He knows for women it can be pleasurable to be touched this way, but he's never had anyone do it to him. As a child, they told stories about men who fucked each other like this, the way they fuck women, but Jaskier had been young and naive and passed them off as nothing but stories. He'd never found anyone who wanted to touch him that way and had assumed, like most things children talk about, it was a rumour.

But Geralt's fingers tease the opening and sparks rush over his skin. Jaskier's cock throbs and he pushes himself up to watch. Geralt catches his eyes for a brief moment, before dropping back to his work and pushing inside.

"Oh," he breathes, "you're wet." Jaskier squirms, as his body gives way to Geralt's finger, quickly joined by a second.

As with everything, he moves slowly at first, pushing deep and rubbing into him. It feels good, much better than Jaskier could have expected and then Geralt bumps against something inside him and Jaskier cries out, digging his claws into Geralt's shoulder.

When he realizes what he's done, he releases him quickly, but Geralt seems unfazed and he's smiling when he meets Jaskier's eyes again.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathy, yes. Geralt grins at him and ducks down to wrap his lips around the tip of Jaskier's cock.

Geralt's fingers work in time with his mouth, picking up speed as Jaskier's groans become more frequent, less controlled. It doesn't take him long like this, with his cock slipping down Geralt's throat and Geralt's fingers constantly pressing against whatever that is inside him that feels so fucking good.

He comes with a gasp as Geralt thrusts up into him again and Geralt makes no attempt to keep him from pushing his cock deeper into his throat. If anything, he seems glad for it, and when Jaskier slumps back against the ground again, Geralt pulls off his cock with slow precision, careful to wrap his lips tightly around the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and his chest heaves, but he's aware of Geraly lying back down next to him.

"That felt... good."

"No one has ever touched you like this?" Geralt asks lightly. Jaskier waves a clawed hand at him in response. "Mmm, understandable. But you liked it?" Jaskier huffs a tired laugh and turns to face him.

"Very much."

"Can I?" Geralt asks, already sliding slick fingers along his waist.

"Please."

Geralt rises to his knees, straddling Jaskier's hips for a moment before dropping to the ground on the other side of him. He presses right up against him, slipping an arm under his neck and holding him close as his other hand presses flat against Jaskier's stomach, sliding downward. He crooks two fingers, pushing inside him and seeking out that same spot again.

He finds it with ease and when Jaskier jerks hard, Geralt pulls him in against his chest. He drops his forehead to Jaskier's, breathing hard against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, letting the pleasure wash over him. Geralt thrusts into him, quick and precise, then slows to tease at the opening, fingers slipping slowly in and out, and Jaskier can't decide which he likes more.

When he's quick, it punches the breath out of him, leaves him mindless and aching for more, but then he slows, gently caresses and rubs into him and it's like a slow fire burning within him, gradually burning brighter. His mind goes blank, foggy with lust, and he wraps himself around Geralt's shoulders, drawing him close. Even with Jaskier wrapped around him, he never falters and before long Jaskier is writhing again, his tail slapping hard against the floor as pleasure courses through him.

He's overwhelmed, so entirely encompassed by pleasure that he can't do more than cling to Geralt and whimper until, at last, he comes, his cock untouched where it spurts over his hip.

Slick drips from his slit, mixing with his come and Geralt pulls out slowly, swiping his fingers through it and sliding them around Jaskier's cock. He cries out at the first touch, oversensitive from multiple consecutive orgasms, but it still feels good underneath the sensitivity and he can't bring himself to tell Geralt to stop.

When Geralt finally lets him go, Jaskier flops onto his back and stares up at him. Geralt is watching him, his eyes dark but bright, and he smiles. Unthinking, Jaskier reaches up, wrapping one hand around Geralt's cheek and tugging him down toward him. At the last second, he realizes what he's doing and hesitates, but Geralt closes the distance, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

It doesn't last long and Jaskier has to keep himself from nipping at his lips when they part. Geralt presses up close and for the first time, he feels the hard line of Geralt's cock beneath his trousers and it makes his breath catch. For a moment, he just stares at him, enthralled by the idea that Geralt is turned on by this.

"You're... aroused?" he asks and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm, if you like."

Jaskier grins, shifting onto his side and pushes Geralt over. He laughs and goes easily, watching as Jaskier spreads a hand over his chest. He maps out the planes of his chest, pushing clawed fingers through soft chest hair before dragging them lightly down toward the hem of his trousers.

He rakes his eyes over the jut of Geralt's cock, but doesn't touch, afraid of pushing too far. A favour, he reminds himself, Geralt is doing him a favour here. So he slips his hand back up to his stomach, mimicking the way Geralt touched him at first, exploring the little dips and rises in his skin, careful not to catch his claws.

And when he looks up to him again, Geralt is watching him. Something in the way he looks at him makes Jaskier's chest tight and he dips down again, catching Geralt's lips in a kiss. Geralt kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Jaskier on top of him.

Both hands move down, cupping the swell of Jaskier's tail and rocking him slowly forward. Jaskier's cock, still sensitive, presses against Geralt's through the rough fabric of his trousers. He hisses at the drag, but Geralt moans at the friction and the sound goes straight through him. This time, Jaskier does it on purpose.

They find an easy rhythm between the two of them and even with Geralt's trousers in the way, the sensitivity soon gives way to pleasure and Jaskier ruts against him, kissing him hard despite the lingering fear that he'll bite too hard. Geralt however, seems unconcerned. He's got one hand buried in Jaskier's hair, the other pressing between them, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. It takes him a moment, but he gets them undone, finally pulling his cock free and Jaskier groans as he ruts against him.

Geralt is hot, his cock even more so, and Jaskier basks in the warmth, pressing himself closer, even with Geralt’s hand still between them. He's sure he could come just like this, happy to rut against him, but then Geralt's fingers are pressing against his slit again. His fingers come away slick and he winds his hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking him slowly.

"What do you need?" he asks and Jaskier whimpers.

"What you did before," he breathes, "could you... do that again?" In an instant, Geralt flips him onto his back again, dragging his fingers up to his slit, but Jaskier stops him. "Could you... with your cock?"

"Oh. Fuck, yeah."

Geralt shifts, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off before pressing up close again. He pulls Jaskier into a deep kiss, his hand sliding away to bring his hips closer. He ruts against him, pushing through the slick and come and when he catches on Jaskier's slit, Jaskier lets out a little gasp and grasps at Geralt's shoulders.

Geralt pushes forward pressing into him and Jaskier holds his breath as he stretches open on his cock. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he settles and then he rocks forward, slowly at first, just short little thrusts that leave Jaskier aching, pushing himself onto him, wanting more.

And Geralt gives it to him. He sinks deep, hooking a knee over Jaskier's hip to hold him close as he ruts, his cock pressed firmly against that spot that makes him wild. Jaskier bucks and whines, his own cock slipping against Geralt's with every thrust. He delights in the feeling of Gerslt inside him, of his warmth and the stretch of his cock, sliding into him and filling him wholly.

He's surprised to find Geralt as breathless as he is when he looks up at him and he can't help but tip forward and nip at his lower lip. Geralt groans and kisses him hard. He pushes him onto his back so he's straddling his hips and when he sits back, Jaskier's cock presses between his cheeks.

He rocks his hips, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat around his cock and Geralt shudders as he pushes back against him. His eyes flick up to Jaskier's and he licks his lips.

"Can I try something?" he asks and Jask nods enthusiastically.

Geralt withdraws immediately, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's slit. When he withdraws, he reaches behind himself, and Jaskier burns to know what he's doing, but the slick fingers wrap around his cock, and Geralt sits back on him. Jaskier groans low as Geralt's body engulfs him, heat seeping into every inch where they touch and he reaches out, fingers digging into his thighs, so careful not to leave scratches.

Geralt rocks back onto him, taking the full length of Jaskier's cock and grinding back against him. He rolls his hips and squeezes around him, pulling right up to the tip before dropping back down the length on him. Jaskier is breathless, helpless to do anything but squeeze Geralt's thighs and bite his own lip.

Tentatively, he wraps one hand around Geralt's cock, slipping webbed fingers over the head of his cock. Geralt moans softly, sliding one hand over Jaskier's and guiding it down. Jaskier nearly stops breathing as the head of Geralt's cock nudges against his slit and then he's sliding in again, filling him up even as he squeezes around Jaskier's cock.

It's so much. Jaskier's body sings with the twin pleasures of being filled so wholly and sinking into Geralt himself as he shifts his hips up.

"Fuck" he groans and Geralt drapes himself over his chest, kissing the moan from his lips.

He finds a rhythm, a careful balance that keeps them joined in both places and Jaskier has never felt such overwhelming pleasure in his life. He meets Geralt's thrusts, thrusting in deep as Geralt sinks into him and it's hardly surprising when he finds himself creeping close to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake around him and he wants to hold out, to make Geralt comes first, but Geralt reaches up, nipping at the sensitive skin over his throat and the pleasure that zips through him is too much.

His hips snap up hard and Geralt kisses him through it, deep and hard, his whole body arching against him. He follows shortly, burying himself deep in Jaskier's body and rutting into him urgently. The moans and pleas that drop from his lips do nothing to ease Jaskier's persistent erection, but as Geralt slumps against him, Jaskier feels the exhaustion creeping in.

Geralt, too, seems tired and Jaskier withdraws reluctantly, mourning the loss of Geralt's body around him. His cock remains stubbornly hard, still unsheathed, but the aching desperation wore off some time ago and he flings himself into the water, quickly rubbing himself down to prevent waking up sticky and uncomfortable. A moment later there's a splash as Geralt rolls off the ledge next to him.

He swims closer enough for Jaskier to reach him and he makes a point of wiping Geralt down first before wrapping a hand around his cock and sliding slowly. Geralt's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Jaskier's neck with a soft, shuddering moan.

"How long does this usually last?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Anywhere from a week to six."

Geralt gawks at him. "Six weeks?"

"On and off," Jaskier huffs, amused. "I don't swim around with an exposed prick for six weeks. And besides. It's usually two, though it is much more in much more... concentrated bursts."

"Meaning I should stick around?"

Jaskier's heart thuds heavily at the suggestion which is, realistically, ridiculous. He's known Geralt for all of a few hours and under normal circumstances, the man would have just killed him. But the idea of keeping him close spreads warmth through his chest.

"You don't have to," he says anyway. "You kept up your end of the deal. I'll be quiet."

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, nosing at his neck, "but it'll get bad again. What would you do with no one here to get you through it."

"Are you..." Jaskier starts, hesitant. "Are you saying you want to stay?"

"Maybe not exactly here," Geralt shrugs, "I'd appreciate being warm and dry part of the time. But I don't intend to go far. Maybe I'll camp out on the beach."

"Will you stay for now?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Yes."

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge the way his heart clenches a little. He shouldn’t want Geralt to stay, shouldn’t care what he does with himself now that he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, but as they finish cleaning up, he seems happy to be there.

Once they're both clean and Geralt has managed to pull another orgasm from him, they settle on the ground, Jaskier curled up around him. His cock rests perfectly against the cleft of Geralt's ass and he has to be careful not to move too much, lest he work himself up again. He spreads one wing out over Geralt, using it as well as he can to keep him warm.

“You should go back,” Geralt says quietly and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded almost disappointed, “leave here and find more of your kind so you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jaskier admits, “but I like it here.”

“Mm,” Geralt hums sleepily, “guess I’ll just have to come back then, hm?”

Five years later…

The need returns, just as it always does, creeping up slowly and then hitting him all at once, but this time it's worse. This time he has the memory of his Witcher, soft and sweet touching him and kissing him and working him through it. And the memory only serves to make the need stronger.

But he made a promise.

So Jaskier holes himself up in his cave and deals with it as well as he can on his own and when that quits working on the first day, Jaskier swims to the surface in the hopes of coming across some other passer-by who might be willing to risk their life to fuck a Siren.

But when he breaches the surface of the water, there's a figure on the beach, moving oddly. He keeps low in the water, just his head breaking the surface and when he gets closer he realizes it's a man taking off his boots. It takes a couple of seconds to register as the man strips completely naked, but as he gets closer, as Jaskier swims further, he recognizes him. There's a swell of something warm and pleasant that settles in his chest and his heart beats just a fraction too quickly.

Geralt came back for him.

[lvnatiq]

Modern!au Felix Escellun x tattoo artist!gn!reader | Headcanons

a/n: Hey!!! I’m back at it again with my beautifully fucked up request fill. I’m still working on three other things, while I make you wait I took it upon myself to not starve this fandom. So here you have it. Please reblog or comment so that I have a crumb of motivation to keep up.

Should I do a smutty pt. 2 ? Who knows lmao.

Your hand slipped through the pile of designs that your colleague (and your close friend) had sent you to choose and pick apart from.

Unfortunately you were spending the night at the beautiful library of your uni, trying to balance off your school work with your actual work.

You didn’t mind spending your time under the faint scent of books and the mere sound of wood beneath you feet, but what you ‘do’ mind is the fact that the library is way colder than you thought it would be after the midnight.

Good thing that the yearning for finishing your work and leaving as soon as possible made it easier to concentrate on the task at hand.

It also made it easier for you to not notice the presence of an unexpected company.

That was until you felt the warm floral yet musky scent invade your senses as you felt the weight of cotton drape around your shoulders.

You slowly turn your head towards the owner of the coat who’s already making their way out. Desperately trying to find a way to make them stop but failing to raise your voice because of the circumstances.

The last picture of the person buried in your head was their hair caressed by the wind and their quick steps.

Fast forward to a week later, going completely out of luck with finding a place to stay you decide to ask help from your friend whom interestingly has a lot to offer.

With things going a lot smoother than you expected you stopped by the tattoo shop to finish your appointments with couple of customers before you left to meet up with your possible candidate.

“Don’t bother I’ll just call him here so you could talk comfortably.”

Your work seemed to take a lot longer than usual. So you kindly accepted your friends offer as you wrapped up the leftover stuff, finishing up the last customer.

“Hey, oh-“

The sight of your guest tickled your memories as you kept glaring at the glorious figure in front of you.

Felix, completely avoiding eye contact, placed the fallen hair strand behind his ear as he kept his eyes on the table of the tattoo equipments.

You quickly got up as you grabbed his coat from the hanger and walked back where you left him.

“Thank you for the coat, you really saved me back there.”

“Oh- no problem.”

That day you two chatted and melted the ice in between. Deciding to rent the close by apartment and start your roommate era.

Your friend smiled to themselves knowing all too well that felix was completely crazy about you.

Your encounter at the library wasn’t a coincidence either, well don’t think of him as a stalker now, he just dumped a couple of coins in the fountain wishing that you would be there that night. That’s all.

As you two moved in together you realized that there were a lot of things to be ‘caught off guard’ about him but you were most baffled by the tremendous amount of books felix owned.

“Hey Lover boy ! Would you mind recommending me some of them ?”

Felix blushes terribly and you love it so much that you constantly bother him in order to catch a glimpse of his flustered state.

Unbeknownst to you, the pile that felix left on the doorstep of your room was consisted of the books that he thought of you as he read.

Felix, abandoning his night owl habit, decided to fix his sleeping schedule for the better. Definitely not because he wanted to see you at morning before you got off to the work.

Insisting on offering you a ride on your way back home with his nice car.

Nearly every single day.

He knows that it may annoy you but he knows how much you are devoted to your responsibilities so he at least wants for you to save a bit of energy before you dive into the work.

Speaking of his nice car, it tickled your curiosity so you decided to check the price tag on the web and... well...

“Felix... you don’t so some sketchy illegal shit for a living right ?”

“It’s nearly impossible for me to work at the moment because of my studies. Why did you ask ?”

“Your car costs more than the apartment we are living in right now.”

With that, you discover that Felix’s father owns one of the most prominent chains of pharmaceutical companies and that he basically flee from his fathers mansion because he was pressuring Felix to take over his position in the future.

Being his puppet was not a thing to be tolerated in Felix’s book.

That being said, your domestic life with felix was pretty soft to say the least.

Cleaning together, cooking while talking about how your day went or getting to enjoy his expressions while he spilled his frustration against authors that didn’t affect him well.

Occasionally noticing the new cooking books appearing out of nowhere

and the delicious smell of food welcoming you after work, quite often than you expect.

Finally, more skinship.

One day whilst you two got through the gates of your apartment block you noticed the open doors of the elevator so instinctively you held Felix by the hand and ran into the mirrored box.

What you didn’t notice was the fact that you didn’t let go of his hand as you two went up.

From that day on Felix used every single opportunity to sneak his hand into yours.

Don’t blame him, it’s just that your hands are warm and the feeling of security that radiates from your fingertips is his medicine.

You absolutely avoided to tease or point it out to him because you knew that he would never do it again so you went with the flow.

You really enjoyed it though.

Snaking your arms around his waist while he is organizing the bookshelf. Feeling him shutter into your arms.

Nights became more and more enjoyable once he started to accompany you.

Everytime you caught him slacking on the sofa, you used his lap as a pillow.

Felix is extremely easy to figure out, mainly because he can’t hide anything.

Also, well

He is ticklish and you use his weakness against him, a lot.

Diving your fingers down to the sides of his tummy you started to tickle every possible sensitive spot you could catch on.

“Spit it out.”

“I-I wan’t you to- give me my first tattoo.”

Telling his words apart from his adorable giggles, needless to say you were ecstatic.

“Alright. What do I get in return ?”

“Name your price.”

You thoughtfully stared at the ceiling, humming as you blurted out your very obviously well thought out response.

“I want you to show me what keeps you up all night.”

You can’t be serious.

If you asked for an organ, he would’ve been more compliant.

You didn’t know what you got yourself into.

You basically asked for him to show you his ‘masterpieces’ that he showcases on AO3. Something that you were already well aware of.

“Deal ?”

“No !”

“Good ! Let’s see what you got.”

Felix anonymously contributed to the community by writing some of the most famous slow-burn stories on the web.

Just so you know, his author persona blew up thanks to the mind blowing, earth shattering smuts he wrote.

Yeah you heard that right

Smuts

Well he is fucking panicking now.

Nonetheless days kept on going as felix prayed each night to every single deity that you forgot your ‘deal’.

The days go on even if his worries don’t.

Did I say that Felix is a whimpering, whiny mess ? he struggles to stay in one position as the needle drags upon his skin.

“If you plan to keep on moving, I might as well strap you down felix. 5 more minutes and then we are done. Please behave.”

When you put it like that how can he refuse I mean you made things worse he is internally screaming at what you just said but he is not going to refuse a command when it’s given by you.

In exchange for giving him a tattoo you decide to let him give you one even though he’s inexperienced.

He’s terrified because he thinks that something would go wrong, his hand would slip or something and he would scratch that pretty skin of yours with a horrendous tattoo.

But you assured him nevertheless and offered him to draw something very minimal and easy. He accepted eventually.

As it turns out Felix is a natural. His hand is extremely steady and the tattoo turns out great.

Throughout the process he’s constantly asking if you’re hurt because he thinks that he’s doing something wrong but in fact he’s very delicate and gentle with the strokes and his touch.

You decide to be evil and use it against him. After you touch up your tattoo you lean in very closely and turn your cheek towards him.

“What are you doing ?” He stutters.

“I can’t possibly ask you to kiss my freshly made tattoo, so won’t you give me a kiss so that it heals faster.”

If his hands were steady before they weren’t now.

As soon as his lips left your cheek you held him by his wrist and pull him back close again so that you can lean in onto his ear.

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten our deal. I am excited to see what you have in store for me tonight.” You winked.

Then the worst thing happened

The “tonight” came.

Felix was running in circles around the living room with one hand on his forehead wondering what could get worse after this.

Maybe you’ll be disgusted or scared hell if he knows.

He wanted to do nothing to harm your relationship in anyway because you and what you two have is all he ever wanted.

...and he believes that he has a tendency to ruin things.

But what happened was beyond his expectations.

Your eyes followed every single sentence throughout the screen, the white light traced your expressions as your eyebrows raised up and down and the corners of your lips inched closer to your ears. Your lower lip became a victim of your teeth’s assault.

He was so confused. Still waiting for you to lash out or make fun of him, at least.

“I used to think ‘what am I gonna do with you’ when it comes to you. Mostly out of frustration.”

Yet here you were with the laptop closed shut and your arms behind your head as you closed your eyes and groaned.

Slowly the smile plastered on your face grew.

”Now I know what to with you.”

[hotchley]

the slave of duty: aaron and dave

Surprise guys, I started the conversations series! I have no idea how many there are going to be, but there are several living rent-free in my head, so... we shall see!

Anyways. This is what happened between Aaron and Dave after the end scene of 5x10. It’s mainly dialogue (cos you know, conversations) and there is very little point to it, however, I had fun writing it!

I think that’s everything....

read on ao3!

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, minor character death

“You were right,” Aaron said. They were alone again. Aaron’s hands had been shaking when they were leaving the graveyard. Dave had spotted the tremble before Aaron could hide it.

He tried not to think about the blood that had stained his hands when they had entered the building. He’d never been afraid of Aaron, not even in that moment, but now more than ever he was afraid for him.

Who was supposed to take his hands and convince him that he was alive and human and good and kind now? Haley was dead. Aaron wouldn’t let anyone else touch him. Not now. 

Dave had offered to drive him back to the apartment. Hotch hadn’t even put up a fight. He had just shrugged and gotten into the passenger seat, jaw slightly clenched as he stared out the window.

Jessica and Jack were out. Hotch mumbled something about going to the shops and offered to make coffee. Dave had wanted to say no. He didn’t want to be there, noticing how the carpet didn’t quite fit in one space, or how, if you knew where to look, you could just about make out the bullet hole.

But he knew Aaron. Knew how he would bury his pain the moment his son came through the door. Knew that he would act like he was fine when he returned. If he returned. Rossi knew what Aaron had said just moments ago, but there was still time for him to change his mind.

Aaron did not trust easily. An invitation into his apartment- his apartment and not his home because this was not his home, had never been his home- was an invitation into his heart. His mind. 

Dave was not going to let that get away from him. He had lost the love and trust of so many people in his life, Aaron’s name was not going on that list. So he said sure.

Which was how he find himself clasping a mug of too-hot coffee he didn’t really want as Aaron took a sip of water. One of the few things that would not destroy his stomach.

“Was I? What about?”

“You said that I had a family. And that when we got Foyet, I would have to make a decision, to make sure I didn’t let the purest thing that had ever happened to me get away. But I got so caught up in everything that I never stopped to think, and now...”

Rossi set his mug down. He knew he had always been a little bit dramatic, and the way he went about things was not always the way Aaron wanted them to happen, but this felt different to those occasions.

“Now what?” he prompted.

Aaron looked up, tears forming in his eyes, thumb drawing circles over his knuckles. He look both so much younger and older than he really was. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that Dave hadn’t seen since he first joined, but a heavy sadness that hadn’t been there before.

“I lost my family months ago. But that was a temporary thing. Now she’s not coming back- which is all my fault- and I’m so afraid of hurting my son that I’m going back to the same job that killed her.”

Dave sighed. He should have known that his dramatics would go completely over Aaron’s head. In his opinion, he lost Haley the moment the divorce papers came to the office instead of his house. Because the Haley he knew would never be that cruel. But anger changed people, and she was gone now. He’d like to remember her goodness.

“Aaron,” he said.

The other man looked down. “Dave. Not now.”

“Yes now. Because you didn’t kill Haley. That was Foyet’s decision. You did what you could. And you’re not going to hurt your son. Not in the way you fear you will. But when I said that, all those months ago, I wasn’t talking about Haley. Or Jack.”

“Dave, you said my family,” Aaron said. Even despite the water he was sipping, he had a headache. Dave and his stupid flare for dramatics wasn’t helping either.

"And I meant us. The team. I meant Spencer Reid, who you have always treated as a son. I meant Penelope Garcia, who remembers what your favourite cookies are. I was talking about Jennifer Jareau who reminds you that monsters can be defeated and Derek Morgan who has and always will trust you with his life. I meant Emily Prentiss, who would die before betraying you. I meant me, who has seen you angry and hurting and not flinched. We are the people that loved you unconditionally through everything."

"I-"

"We're your family Aaron. Even if you want to keep your distance because you're scared of hurting us, we love you. We're not walking away or going anywhere. And I know that terrifies you, but it's the truth. When I told you to not tell the purest thing in your life get away, I meant don't lose us."

"But I've already done that," Hotch said. He did not shout. And that, perhaps more than anything that had happened over the past few weeks, hurt David Rossi. Because Aaron wasn't even trying to fight. He had already given up. Already decided that the team could not and would not love him anymore. 

"Have you?"

"Dave, I humiliated Reid for lying about his injuries when I had done the exact same thing. I put myself above the case, days after I made Morgan unit chief, which completely undermined him. I insulted Emily and our friendship, lashed out at Penelope and JJ. I've been a terrible person. Derek had to pull me off a dead man's body. Classic overkill." He laughed as he said the final two words, but there was no humour.

"You did do all of those things. That much is true, yes."

Aaron glared. "That's not exactly convincing me of anything good."

"Because you're not letting me finish. Yes, you fucked up and you did the wrong thing but that doesn't change anything. We still love you. I know what your childhood was like. I know that your parents loving you carried the price of perfection and silence. I know that towards the end, Haley's life carried the price of changing your nature. But we aren't them. One bad thing isn't going to make us run away."

"But it should. I killed a man with my bare hands. Nothing more. We've worked enough cases to know what happens after that. I'm a terrible person."

Dave did not know how to convince Aaron that he was not going to become a case file on their desk. Because the truth was, he was not sure himself. There was every chance that now Aaron had done it once, the urge to do it again would overpower him. He knew what Aaron needed to hear, but he would not lie to him. Not in this moment.

"You are not a terrible person Aaron," he settled on. Because every time he looked at him, he saw the wide-eyed rookie he met in Seattle who just wanted to save the world. But sometimes saving the world was impossible, and right now, the world was Aaron.

"Dave. I'm too much of a coward to be around my son so I'm going back to the same job that killed his mother. The only real parent he ever had."

It was too much. It was just far, far too much. Dave slammed his mug of coffee down on the table, feeling slightly guilty when Aaron flinched at the sound, but not guilty enough to apologise for it. He needed to speak before Hotch fell down the hole of despair.

"Have you been listening to me? Your job did not kill Haley. That was Foyet. And you are not going to hurt your son. Not in the way you think you will."

"How can you be sure?" Aaron asked. 

"Because you are a good man. Because you have fought, every day of your life, to break that cycle of abuse. And you have never stopped fighting for what is good and what is right. Because even when you had just lost the love of your life, you sent your son away out of fear that he would realise what the blood was."

Aaron turned away and Dave knew what had to be said. What had to be done. Because Derek Morgan was an excellent leader, and one day, he would take over that role. But he would do it because it was Aaron Hotchner's time to step away and be with his son. He would not do it because Aaron was scared.

"Haley asked you to teach your son what love was," he said, each word carefully calculated. He needed to say your. Because Aaron still did not view himself as Jack's father, even though everybody else did. Because what Aaron did not understand was that it was not about being perfect. It was about being enough.

Aaron looked at him, mouth parted. He hadn't realised. In all the hurt, panic, emptiness, anger and grief it had never once occurred to him that the team would have heard that last conversation and final confession. It was stupid, but he just hadn't. "She did."

"The best way for you to teach your son about love is to show him what it does to people. It makes them happy. It makes them smile. And sometimes it makes them cry. I know you, Aaron. I know you think that coming back means that you're failing Jack but you won't be. You will be teaching him that family is much more than blood. That when you find your passion you hold onto it. And that love, for better or for worse, can and will be unconditional."

And Aaron shattered.

He slid from the couch to the floor, covering his mouth as sobs wracked his body. It was like all the pain he had been keep inside him since the day George Foyet broke into the same apartment they were sat in and stabbed him finally overwhelmed him. His body shook and his breathing started to sound more choked, but Dave was frozen.

It was only when the coughing started that he managed to force himself to act. He dropped to his knees and sat beside Aaron. He just hoped that he would recognise who was touching him and remember that he was safe.

"Hotch. It's Dave. Breathe with me. Yes, that's it. Okay. You're okay. It's all going to be okay."

Before he was aware of what was happening, Aaron's arms were wrapped around him in a tight and desperate hug. It was almost painful. Dave let it happen. Aaron needed something that was real, and genuine and grounding. The last person he'd held had been Haley, her perfume stained with the scent of blood and her body cold. Dave smelt like expensive aftershave and he was warm and his heartbeat was a comforting drum.

"I just don't get how people as good and kind as the team could love me unconditionally. Haley did her best, but that wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. I'm never enough. And I am so fucking terrified that one day, the team are going to realise that, and I will just be alone and broken, like my father always said I would."

There was not time for Dave to explain that it wasn't that his love for Haley wasn't enough, it just wasn't what she needed and that was okay. Because to Aaron, unless he was perfect, he was failing. And he knew that Aaron would not believe him. The only people he would believe about that would have been Haley, but was now Jessica.

"You are enough. You were enough then and you are enough now. The team are never going to think you're not enough because you are. You have given them a family and hope and a purpose. You have done more for them than you will ever understand and they love you. I love you. And on the days where you can't lead, one of them will step in. You've already seen it happen."

"What if I come back and I can't do it? Then what?" Aaron was searching for a reason now. Any reason that would mean the team would not love him the way Dave believed they would.

"Then we will support you. And we will miss you, but we will let you go because sometimes that is what love is. But we won't hate you. Or resent you. We'll stll just be a phone call away because we are your family. And it's not always pretty. Sometimes it's ugly."

"Do you promise you won't hate me?"

Dave had always been slightly different to the team. He had always been the one Aaron went to. The one that could talk him down and convince him that he had done the right thing. He had watched Aaron grow and harden and break. He had taught him that the palm pressed to his cheek was an action of love and given him the title of lead profiler. He'd been a coward after the Boston Reaper as he left Aaron to pick up the pieces. But he'd returned when Jason Gideon left without saying goodbye to the men that had held the team together. One through their ability as a leader, the other through their ability as a friend.

When Dave thought of the months between Jason's departure and his return, he thought of the toll it must have taken on Derek. He was the one that had provided the emotional comfort Aaron had been too closed off to give, even though he was battling his own anger at being left.

"I promise Aaron, on everything that I hold sacred."

Aaron relaxed against him, leaning back against the couch. Dave took the glass from the table and tilted his chin, forcing Aaron to take small sips. When half the glass was emptied, he took the glass and placed it on the table once more.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice still a little hoarse.

"You're welcome," was Dave's response. It was easier than having to explain that Aaron did not need to be grateful.

"By the way, I expect your paperwork from the most recent case on my desk by Monday," Aaron added, a slight grin on his face.

"I'd expect nothing less," Dave said, ruffling Aaron's hair slightly.

They were going to be okay.

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 16

Title: Bruised, Not Broken

Warnings:  mental illness, memory and talk of near death experience, profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty​

“He’s struggling,” Esme says the following morning, as she leans stomach first against the kitchen island, cell phone pressed to her ear and an oversized mug of steaming tea staring invitingly up at her. “Badly.”

It’s eight thirty in the morning and she’s exhausted; a night full of broken sleep and attempting to fend off the monsters that accompany the reality of mental illness. It hadn’t been that bad in a long time; inconsolable, body wracking sobs that quickly transition into feelings of frustration and embarrassment, followed by a period of self loathing and disgust, finished off by intense rage directed at the mental illness itself and the people and experiences that directly caused it. It’s a hell of a thing to go through. Holding your six foot three, two hundred pound husband while he desperately clings to you and weeps like a terrified and wounded child. Able to do little more than offer verbal reassurance and attempt to comfort by running your fingers through his hair or rubbing his back. THAT isn’t the difficult part; the soothing comes easily and naturally and he normally responds quickly. Even the shame he feels afterwards is relatively easy to cope with. She can fend that off by staying calm and explaining why he doesn’t need to feel that way; somewhat convincing him that there’s no need for embarrassment just because he had a moment of vulnerability and weakness. Reminding him that he IS human; he’s allowed to feel hurt and pain and be frustrated and confused. But it’s the anger that takes over; all consuming and powerful and making it impossible to get through to him. She’d long ago learned that it’s best to just sit back and not say anything; let him rant and rave and vigorously pace the floor. Redirecting doesn’t work; he becomes defensive and accusatory and every little suggestion is taken as a personal attack or judgement. Silence IS golden when he goes off the deep end. Relegating herself to just listening and acknowledging what's happening to him and conveying understanding through body language and actions as opposed to words.

It always ends the same way. With pure physical and emotional exhaustion taking over. All the rage and tears expended and leaving him feeling empty and worn out; crawling back into bed and turning his back towards her in a silent request to just leave him alone. And she gives him that; a hand resting on the top of his head or upon his shoulder, yet no words ever exchanged. Staring up at the ceiling with tears of her own streaming down her face; a mixture of her own frustration and anger and pure and profound heartache. Not only hating to see the person she loves more than anything in the world hurting so badly, but detesting the fact she can’t do anything to take it all away.

“He always struggles at Christmas,” Ovi reminds her, and over the line she can hear the babbling of the littlest and the various voices belonging to characters on Sesame Street. It’s surreal at times; acknowledging just who he is now and how far he’s come. Easily remembering him as that scared and traumatized teenager and then having to remind herself that he’s a grown man; a wife and children of his own and well on his way to becoming a pediatrician.

“It’s different this year. It’s not just sadness. It’s frustration and it’s rage and it’s so much self loathing. I know we were told that this would happen; he’d go through these kinds of ups and downs. But he’s been doing so well and he’s been coping and hasn’t had a downward spiral like this in so long.”

“What is it he’s actually getting worked up over? What’s setting him off?”

“He’s been thinking a lot about Austin. He mentioned how it was bothering him how much Millie and TJ look like him. I mean, he’s always sad at Christmas. It’s always difficult for him. But it’s not like THIS.”

“Maybe he’s wondering what Austin would be like now. Or what he would have been like when he was Millie and TJ’s ages. And if he’s already down and out because of the holiday, adding that into the mix COULD make it worse.”

“It’s been years since he was THIS bad. You know how well he’s been doing. Everything’s been under control. He’s been managing it. Extremely well.”

“And he’s still going to therapy?”

“Religiously. By himself AND with me. And you know what a miracle THAT is. Him even agreeing to getting help in the first place.”

“Is he taking his meds? If he’s been off them or been skipping them…”

“I’ve checked. I went and counted them myself. There’s no extra. He’s been taking them. And I fucking hate that I even have to do that. Check up on him like that. He’s a grown man. He’s forty-seven years old and I’m treating him like he’s a child. I hate that I have to do that. I hate this whole fucking thing. This whole illness.”

“Unfortunately, he’s shown that he can’t be trusted. When it comes to meds. It’s a horrible thing to say, but…”

“This is just so unfair,” she laments, and lifts the mug of tea to her lips. “ That he’s suffering like this. He’s paid his dues, Ovi. And then some. Why does he have to KEEP paying? Wasn’t Dhaka enough? Wasn’t what happened twelve and half years ago a big enough price to pay? He doesn’t deserve this. This kind of pain. I’d rather see him physically struggling than this. Because at least I know that pain will subside. But this? I fucking hate this. And I can’t see Christmas being the only thing causing this. He’s never this bad.”

“How’d he seem when he got back? From Cambodia?”

“Tired. A little sore. But he seemed fine. He was glad to be home and in great spirits. He’s been...I don’t know...he’s been Tyler. Nothing out of the ordinary. I mean, it seemed like there was some underlying sadness, but I just chalked it up to it being Christmas and him always have a hard time.”

“Could something have happened while he was away? Could something have triggered it?”

“He didn’t tell me much. Just that the guys he took out were pretty much the biggest pieces of garbage he’s ever encountered. And that’s saying a lot; considering how many years he’s been doing the job and how many assholes he’s taken out. I guess they didn’t stop at just drug running and weapons trafficking. Apparently they abused women. And children. In the worst ways possible.”

“That could do it. Probably hit close to home. Hearing about someone taking advantage of kids like that.”

“He did seem rather vengeful about it. Satisfied, even. That he got the chance to take out people like that. And I don’t blame him; those people are scum and they deserve to put down in the most painful way possible. And he did say that it made him think about his kids. He kind of started dwelling on it; what would happen and how he’d react if anyone touched his kids like that.”

“That’s probably what did it,” Ovi concludes. “It’s probably been just eating away at him. It’s probably all he’s been thinking about; his own kids getting victimized like that. And you know Tyler. Once something is in his head, it lives there rent free. For a long time.”

“I try to get him to focus on other things; cut him off at the pass before he even gets down that rabbit hole. Usually it works; I can distract him and get him thinking about other things. And I thought it DID work. Guess I’m not as good at all of this as I think.”

“I think you need to cut yourself some slack. If anything, you do TOO much. You take too much on. You’ve got seven kids you’re taking care of. You’re dealing with Tyler’s issues. Are you taking care of yourself? Has anyone asked you how YOU’RE doing? Because that’s just as important.”

“I’m doing okay,” she lies, and swallows a mouthful of tea. “I’m fine.”

She feels anything but; weary to her bones and longing to be home. Six years ago, Australia had become her happy place; a beautiful home backing out onto the beach and the ocean in such short walking distance. There’s a bliss that comes with being there. The feel of the sand beneath your feet and between your toes, the sound of the waves as they roll up onto the shore, the smell of salt that hangs heavily in the air. It represents everything that is beautiful and good in her life; incredible little human beings she’d had a hand in making and a man that loves her more than anything in the world and practically worships the ground she walks on. Everyone seems happier there; content with the sunshine and the warm temperatures and the close relationship with nature. The pace of life seems slower; more laid back and relaxing and not possessing the amount of stress and tension that being in the States in the middle of winter seems to bring. And while she loves it in New York -the convenience that comes with a big city and the amount of activities to keep yourself busy that are available- she’d willingly give it all up if meant it would alleviate some of the suffering that Tyler’s mental illness brings upon him.

“You realize I know you’re lying, right?" Ovi says. "That I lived with you for years and I know exactly how you get; taking on the world’s problems and not paying attention to your own. You can’t keep doing that. You can’t keep ignoring yourself because you’re so busy trying to solve everyone else’s issues. You can’t pour from an empty cup. You burn yourself out and you’ll be no good to anyone. Especially the kids.”

“I don’t have time to worry about myself. Or the energy. There are far more important things going on than what I’m going through.”

“So you’re NOT fine.”

“It’s stressful. It’s Christmas. I always get like this at Christmas. It’s all those ridiculous standards my mother put on us when we were young. Everything had to look and be perfect on the surface so no one really knew just how messy it all was underneath. I can’t get out of that; that line of thinking. And yes, I DO know that’s unhealthy, Doctor Mahajan.”

Ovi chuckles. “Let’s not go tossing that title around just yet. I’ve got a few more years to go. Especially when I’m going into a speciality.”

“Listen, if I want to call my kid a doctor, I will. I’m proud of you. I know how far you’ve come. Everything you’ve gone up against and battled through. I still remember fourteen year old you. Keeping you occupied in that factory; talking about movies and girls and school.”

“I still remember when you showed up. Wondering who the hell you were and thinking ‘how the hell is someone THAT small going to help us?’. Talk about not being able to judge a book by it’s cover. Tyler was right; it is the tiny ones you have to watch out for.”

Smiling, she takes a sip of tea and then perches herself on the edge of the counter. “Do you remember when we used to go into town and get ice cream? In Telluride? When you had your last period off in high school and you’d come home early and it would just be the two of us?”

“I LOVED that place. That was like a childhood dream come true! Walls of candy and thirty flavours of ice cream and these enormous banana splits and massive sundaes. Remember that time we shared that really huge hot fudge one? With the whipped cream and the peanuts on it? I think it was called the Beast or something like that.”

“The Behemoth,” she laughs. “I DO remember that. We sat outside and shared it. We even flipped a coin to see who got to eat the cherry that was on the top.”

“I am still mad at you for winning that. I really wanted that cherry. Those are some of my best memories, you know. The things we’d do together. When Tyler was away and Millie and the twins were at school. We used to have some fun. I used to love when we went bowling. And we’d eat french fries soaked in vinegar.”

“And those really horrible hamburgers. With the flat patties. And no taste. That seems so long ago. You were what? Eighteen? If that?”

“Just turned seventeen. And that IS a long time ago. I AM twenty seven now.”

“And you have your own wife and your own kids. And you’re a doctor.”

“Not yet,” he laughs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Let’s not pretend it won’t happen. We both know it will. And I am; proud of you. So proud. You have come so far, Ovi. To do as well as you have after everything you went through. You would have had every right to have issues.”

“I had two people that loved me and believed in me. That made me realize I could do whatever I wanted. BE who I wanted. If I hadn’t had you guys? I wouldn’t be where I am now. I probably would have followed in his footsteps. I would have felt obligated to. Scared and pressured into it. And it would have just kept that whole vicious and toxic cycle going.”

“I know we weren’t perfect. I know Tyler and I went through some shit that you had to listen to and witness. But all we’ve ever wanted is the best for you. For you to realize how amazing you are. How much potential you have. And all we wanted to do was give you a good life. Even if at the time we didn’t have the money you once had and sometimes it seemed we didn’t have much to offer you. All we wanted was to give you a family.”

“You did. And it never mattered what you could and couldn’t give me. Materialistically speaking. All that mattered was that you loved me. And I felt that. I ALWAYS felt that.”

“It’s strange, huh? How something so crazy and scary brought us together? How complete strangers can become family? It’s surreal.”

“It wasn’t the most conventional of meetings, but it certainly turned out pretty amazing. You know what I remember the most? About back then? When we did meet? I remember being on that bridge with you. And how you refused to separate from me. You said you wouldn’t leave me. And you didn’t. Even I was slowing you down, you never abandoned me. And you didn't treat me like you were doing a job or I was some kind of package. There was no money, but you still stuck by me.”

“We were in it together. I wasn’t going to sacrifice you to save myself. That’s just not who I am. I wasn’t going to leave you. In the same way I wasn’t going to leave Tyler there. There was no way I was doing that; taking off and leaving him there to die. I couldn’t live with myself if I did. My conscience couldn’t handle it. And selfishly, I wanted him alive. I wanted to get to know him and be with him.”

“Hell of a way to profess your love for someone. Willingly sacrifice your life to try and save them. Stick your fingers in their neck to keep them alive. Nothing says ‘I love you’ quite like that.”

“It was quite the ordeal,” Esme agrees, and finishes off the remains of her tea. “You know, sometimes it feels like just yesterday. Other times it feels like forty years. But if I close my eyes and I try hard enough, I can actually remember what it felt like to be there. How scared I actually was. I can hear the gunshots and the explosions and my own heart pounding in my chest. I can even still smell things; blood and gasoline and gunpowder.”

“I believe that’s something referred to as PTSD.”

“Listen buddy, you’re trying to become a pediatrician, NOT a shrink. Don’t go psychoanalyzing me.”

“I’m just saying maybe it’s time you worked on what’s going on in YOUR head. Instead of worrying so much about what’s going on in Tyler’s. I know you love him. I know you’d do anything for him. You go hard core Mother Hen when he gets like this. And I know you can’t help it and I know he appreciates everything you do for him. But you know what else I know? I know he doesn’t expect you to forget about yourself while constantly taking care of him. He’s a grown man. And he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”

“It’s easier said than done. I can’t just let him fend for himself. I can’t just let him spiral out of control and do nothing more than hope for the best. He’s my husband. The father of my kids. And it kills me to see him like this. To know he’s in so much pain. To hear him talk about himself like he does.”

“When he gets like this, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Or saying. He just lashes out. He doesn’t mean it when he says he wishes he had died five years ago. Or twelve and a half years ago. That’s just his brain telling him this shit. Do you think he’s in crisis? Do you think he’d hurt himself? Try something stupid?”

“No. I don’t think he WANTS to die. I think he just wants this over. The pain he’s in. He just wants it to stop.”

“He’s going through a depressive stage. It’s to be expected. I mean, it sucks it’s happening right now. At Christmas. What’s he doing right now?”

“Sleeping.” She looks out towards the living room; Tyler fast asleep on the couch, on his stomach with the comforter from TJ’s bed tossed over him and an arm and a leg dangling over the side. The night hadn’t gotten any better after he’d fallen asleep. Tossing and turning and having nightmares; finally coming downstairs to take up residence on the sofa and give her the chance to get a peaceful, undisturbed rest. But she hadn’t been able to. Too worried about him and wanting nothing more than to go downstairs and join him on the couch, yet knowing his current mood, her actions wouldn’t be well received. “He’s on the couch right now. It was a rough night. Nightmares.”

“About?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. Which means they were about Dhaka. Most likely about the bridge. He’ll talk to me about Nathan, but not about the bridge. He avoids that like the plague. More for me than for him.”

“Have you called his therapist? Told him what’s going on? Maybe he has some suggestions; things that can alleviate some of the anxiety and the panic. Help him sleep better.”

“If it gets worse, I’ll call. This could have been a one off. It might have just been a delayed reaction to being away.”

“If it wasn’t and he DOES get any worse? Call. Don’t hesitate. Or take him to the emergency. Or call me and I’ll take him.”

“I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that. He’s resting now. Which is a good sign. Last time he went into a depressive state, he didn’t sleep for a week. I’ll give it a couple days. At least get past Christmas. Once it’s over, he might perk up.”

“Don’t hesitate to call me. If he gets worse or you sense he’s spiralling out of control. I’ll be there. As soon as I can.”

“You have your own life. Riya and the kids. I can’t…”

“That’s my dad. I want to help. LET me help. It’s the least I can do. I’ve to go for now though; promised Mykayla we’d go see Santa in Central Park. She has some last minute gift ideas to drop in his lap.”

“Give her and Tabbi a kiss from Grandma Me. Tell them I love them. Riya too. I love you, Ovi. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’ll give them tons and hugs and kisses from you,” he promises. “And I love you too, mom.”

****

She’s sitting in the sunroom when he wakes an hour later; listening to him shuffle through the living room and into the guest bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Minutes later he’s heading towards her; yawning noisily and his eyes heavy lidded. And she glances up from the laptop resting upon her thighs when he pads into the room; clad in a pair of tattered and faded plaid pyjama bottoms and no shirt. And she can’t help but think about how adorable he looks; a giant of man boasting his fair share of tattoos and scars, his hair mussed from sleep and a sporting pout of both sleepiness and annoyance.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” she cheerfully greets, and tilts her head back to smile at him. “How you feeling?”

“Alright I guess.” He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and then rakes his fingers through his hair. “Can you stand up for a second?”

She cocks her head to the side, a quizzical look on her face.

He manages a small smile, then runs a gentle palm over her hair and adds, “Please?”

Obliging, she places the laptop on the seat cushion next to her and then joins him at the side of the couch; immediately gathered into his embrace and pulled tightly into his chest. And she climbs onto the top of his feet and perches on her tiptoes in order for her arms to reach their final destination; wrapped tightly around his neck. For several minutes neither of them speak; eyes closed and their warm bodies pressed together, a forearm holding her in place and a palm cradling the back of her head. He feels so good; his body hard and strong and never failing to make her feel safe. It’s never been a worry of hers; whether or not he’d be able to defend her if someone hell bent on revenge was determined to hurt his family. And she rests easy at night knowing what he’s capable of and that he’d do whatever it takes -even giving up his own life if need be- to protect her.

Tangling his fingers in her hair, he gently tugs on the short, soft tresses, forcing her to pull back and look at him. She hates what she sees in his eyes; that darkness that betrays just how lost and confused and scared he actually is. A man that always has always been so strong and so fearless; fighting other peoples battles while refusing to address his own. And it breaks her heart. Knowing that the things he’s capable of -the fierceness and the tenacity and the sheer brutality he’s reined down on people- are some of the many reasons he’s now feeling so weak and vulnerable. So good at the job, yet suffering so badly because of it.

“I’m sorry,” his voice quivers with emotion. “I am so fucking sorry.”

She reaches up to push limp bangs away from his forehead. Trying desperately to keep her own fears and worries from betraying her. He doesn’t need that right now; her coming undone and weeping in HIS arms. It’s time for her to be the strong one; holding him up and supporting him and never making him feel like a burden. “For what? What do you have to be sorry for?”

“The way I acted. Going off the deep end like I did. I hate that you have to see that. Hear the shit I say. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

“Tyler, you’re sick. It's a legitimate illness. And you know what? You’ve had an amazing five years. Barely any depressive or manic episodes. Things have been pretty stable and pretty smooth sailing. But we were told this could happen. That you could crash like you did. It’s just part of it. And you can’t help it. You don’t know what you’re doing or what you’re saying and…”

“I DO know what I’m doing. And what I’m saying. I’m not blacking out when it happens. I know exactly what’s going on when it’s happening.”

“It doesn’t mean you have control over it. Because you DON’T. It’s your brain. And when things go haywire, you can’t stop the things you do and the things you say. And you’re not to blame for that. You can’t control what is going on. And I know that’s what scares you the most; the loss of control.”

“I just hate that you have to be there. When it happens. That you have to see that shit and hear the things that come out of my mouth. I hate that it hurts you. That I hurt you.”

“You don’t hurt me. I hurt for you. That’s two entirely different things. You have nothing to be sorry for. And I know things were great and it seemed like it was completely under control. But baby, this is going to happen. Whether we want it to or not. We can’t stop it. It’s just the nature of the beast, unfortunately.”

“If I’d died five years ago...twelve and a half years ago…”

“Listen to me,” she pleads and takes his face in her hands. “DON’T go there. That is a very dark place and if you go there, you may never get back out. You are here for a reason. You’re here because you deserve to be. Because there’s people that love you. That NEED you. You helped me make seven beautiful little humans. None of them would exist if you weren’t here. Isn’t that enough? Knowing they’re alive because you are?”

“Of course it’s enough. But they shouldn’t have to live with this. YOU shouldn’t have to.”

“You are not the burden you think you are. It’s an illness. You can’t help what’s going on and you didn't do anything to cause it. It’s not your fault. Your brain didn’t do this to you because of something you did. It’s so many things. And you know what? It sucks. Huge. And I hate that this is happening to you. I hate that you are at war with your own mind every second of every goddamn day. But I won’t let you talk like that. I won’t let you say that you should have died. I won’t let you completely discount the life that you have now. Because I didn’t stick around on that fucking bridge and put my ass on the line so you could turn around and totally disregard that you were given a second chance for a reason.”

“I never asked you to stay. On that bridge. I never…”

“I stayed because you deserved to live. Because you’d paid your dues and you got your absolution. And you know what? Maybe part of it was selfish. Because I knew we could have something amazing if you stopped hating yourself long enough to let me love you. Can you honestly look me in the eye and say you really wanted to die that day? That you would go back and change that if you could? Even knowing you wouldn’t have what you have now. Someone that loves you more than they love themselves. Seven kids that think the sun rises and sets on you. Would you really go back and change everything? Would you really choose to die?”

“No,” he blinks back the tears that threaten to escape. “I wouldn’t. I would choose you. And my kids. Every day.”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you. I’m sorry you’re hurting as much as you are. And I would give anything to take that all away and make you healthy. But you are not broken and I won’t let you destroy what you have. I won’t let your brain destroy YOU.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this. Take care of me like this. Do you know what this is like? How fucking embarrassing it is? That you have to take care of ME?”

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m your wife. I’m the mother of your kids. I have you seen at your absolute worst. I’ve seen you inches from death. This? This is nothing compared to some of the things I’ve seen and heard. You should never be embarrassed around me. I’m not going to judge you. And it's okay to be weak. To have vulnerable moments. You’re a goddamn human being.”

“I hate it. Being like that. Being weak.”

“Because you were told that it makes you less of a man. You had that drilled into your head from the time you were a little boy. And you know what? Nothing could be further from the truth. It takes a strong man to break down and admit they need help. You are the strongest person I have ever known. You do battle every second of every day with your own mind. And you always keep going. THAT’S brave.”

“I don’t feel it. I feel weak and pathetic and…”

“You are not any of those things. Look at everything you’ve been through. From the time you were a little boy until now. A weaker man would have given up a long time ago. But you? You fight back and you never give up and get back on your feet time and time again. That is strength, Tyler. The fact you suffer like you do but you get up every day and you smile when all you want to do is cry and you love your family with everything you have and bust your ass to make them happy even though you feel like you’re drowning. THAT? That is so far from being weak and pathetic.”

Sighing heavily, he glances away; swallowing noisily around the lump of emotion that sits squarely in his throat.

Pressing her fingers into his cheek, she turns his face back towards her. “I love you. More than you could ever possibly know. And I fell in love with you knowing how messed up things were and what kind of torment and pain you were carrying. None of that matters to me. Because I know who you are outside of all of that. I know that you’re loving and you’re caring and you have a heart that’s even bigger than your body. I know how deep and powerfully you love DESPITE everything you’ve been through. I didn’t back away then, and I’m sure as hell not backing away now. So you can try as hard as you want to push me away, but you’re stuck with me, buddy.”

“That’s not so bad,” he chides through threatening tears. “I mean, I can think of way worse fates.”

“I will love you and take care of you until your last breath. And you know what? I’ll love you even after that.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve YOU.”

“That’s your brain trying to convince you of that. And I know its voice is deafening and it seems impossible to ignore it, but you’ve got to try and shut it out. Concentrate on what I’m saying to you. Because what I’m telling you? It’s the truth. I’d never lie to you. So you need to pay attention to me, okay? And the things I say. I am way stronger and more tenacious than that voice inside of your head. Can you do that? Listen to me? Because I would never….ever...steer you wrong. You know that, right?”

“I do. I do know that. And I trust you. ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t trust my own brain anymore.”

“Then just rely on mine. Rely on ME. To give you the truth. Can you do that?”

“I can do that. Or try, at least.”

“That’s all I’m asking for. Now…” she lays her hands on his chest and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin. “...you hungry? What do you want for breakfast? I know I’m not actually the top chef YOU are, but I do make a mean veggie omelette. And you do like my french toast.”

“I thought maybe we could go out. To that little diner a few blocks over. The one that makes those Belgian waffles you like so much.”

“With the strawberries and the homemade whipped cream? I definitely could go for that. Are you sure though? That you’re up to it? It was a pretty rough night and…”

“I’m fine. Or I will be. It’s sunny out. The fresh air would do me some good I think. And we only have so much time without the kids left and I really do like our alone time. Outside of the bedroom.”

“So you don’t like the alone time in the bedroom?” she teases.

“I never said that. I LOVE that time.”

“A breakfast date with my favourite human sounds perfect.” Reaching up, she combs her fingers through his hair, pushing the longer strands off his forehead. “I’m proud of you, you know that? How hard you fight. A lesser man would have given up a long time ago.”

“I’ve got way too much to live for. Besides, I can’t go offing myself and then have to bear witness to you dating another guy. Or worse, marrying one.”

“Never going to happen. You’re it for me. There won’t be anyone after you. You’re stuck with me until the bitter end, Mister.”

A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he takes her face in his hands and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Hell of a way to go if you ask me.”

*****

“I talked to Ovi earlier,” Esme says, as they sit in the back corner of the diner. Sipping steaming mugs of tea; joined hands resting on the table top; fingers laced together and his thumb repeatedly brushing against hers.

The booth is a safe distance away from the main hub of activity; crowds of people and excessive noise caused by the rattle of dishes and numerous conversations and boisterous laughter taking place at the same time. It’s important to avoid any and all triggers, or to at least find ways to lessen the effects of something that could bring on ‘an episode’. On the short walk she’d noticed the tell tale signs that depression isn’t the only concern; the hyper-vigilance associated with his PTSD quickly creeping in. Exhibiting anxiety if he felt pedestrians were crowding around him on sidewalks or when waiting to cross the street. Glaring at anyone he felt was staring at him or in somehow posing even the slightest bit of a threat towards her; jaw clenching as he tightly brought her into his side or put a hand on the back of her neck while drawing him in front of her. And the glances cast over his shoulder; eyes constantly scanning for anything and everything that could be considered suspicious or threatening, visibly tensing at every slam of a car door.

It’s both disheartening and worrisome; to see him regressing back to old behaviours after years of coping so well. Being off the street has helped; his shoulders not as tense, jaw no longer clenched, eyes not surveying the crowd with so much apprehension and simmering anger. But he still insists on being the one to sit facing the door; able to physically handle a threat if one came in their direction. And while she knows those chances are rare and his brain is far from thinking rationally, she doesn’t argue or try to change his mind; squeezing his arm and giving him a reassuring smile before switching seats.

Tyler doesn’t look up from the menu open in front of him. “About me?”

“Yes,” she admits, and refuses to allow him to pull his hand away from hers. “I told him what happened last night. About how you’re struggling.”

“Why? Why would you tell him? He’s got his own shit to deal with. He doesn’t need to hear about what’s going on with me.”

“I told him because he loves you. Because you’re his dad. And he worries about you. We both do.”

“He’s got his own life. His own wife, his own kids. Don’t bother him with that bullshit.”

“You and your issues are NOT bullshit. And you’re part of his life. You have been since he was fourteen years old. We took him in and we raised him and we gave him a family. And he loves you. He has every right to know what’s going on with you. And you know what? I have the right to have someone I can turn to. When I’m struggling.”

“I don’t mean to be such a burden on you. Make you struggle so much.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. I need someone I trust to help me, help you. And honestly, I need someone I can talk to. About all of this. Because it kills me inside that you’re struggling and you’re in so much pain. And I don’t want to put that on you, Tyler. Can you just accept that you’re surrounded by people who love you? That we’re trying to help? Let us love you, okay?”

Sighing, he nods in agreement. “Okay.”

“We’re just worried about you. We just want to help you.”

“I’ll be fine in a couple days. Once Christmas is over. I’ll act like everything is okay around the kids. So it doesn’t ruin things for them. I just need the holiday over with. I’ll be okay once it is.”

“I’m sure you will.” She hopes she sounds more confident than she feels. “It’s always a hard time. The holidays. And you know, seeing the kids so happy Christmas morning will help too. You know how cute that is; how excited they are, their faces all lit up when they see all the presents. It’s kind of hard NOT to smile when you see all of that. So that gives you something to look forward to, right?”

“You know what I’m NOT looking forward to? How many times they wake us up between midnight and five am.”

“It felt like every half hour last year.”

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been up until two in the morning putting together that stupid dollhouse we got for Addie and Brooklyn. Having to decorate every damn room and put out all those little forks and knives and plates and shit.”

“You were a pro. I was quite impressed how those huge hands of yours dealt with teeny tiny cutlery. And I have to say, you have quite the eye when it comes to interior design. Maybe you should be in charge of picking out decor for the house from here on out.”

“That’s not the deal. You pick shit out and I live with it. Or you tell me what needs to be painted and what colour you want and I do it. Or I carry heavy shit. I’m happy with that; our arrangement. What else did he say? Ovi?”

“He said that Tabbi is up on her feet and starting to cruise the furniture. Finally sleeping through the night. Remember those days? The relief that comes with THAT?”

“We didn’t really get to experience that until Takota and Brookie started sleeping through the night. They’re last so we didn’t have any babies after them to worry about. The rest of them?”

“One started sleeping through the night, another baby was born. We were pretty busy those first seven years.”

“You know, you could have always said ‘no’ a few times. You didn’t always have to put out every time I asked you to.”

“Are you kidding? And miss out on the fun? You can’t say it wasn’t enjoyable.”

He grins. “You won’t hear any complaints from me.”

“And Mykayla starts preschool next week. Can you believe that? Our first grand baby is going to be in preschool! It seems like she was just born. Kind of hard to believe, don’t you think?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact I have two grandkids.”

“For what it’s worth, I think we’re pretty sexy grandparents. You’re a damn fine grandpa.”

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“I don’t care. You ARE a grandpa. You ARE grandpa Tyler.”

“Makes me feel so fucking old. Way older than I actually am.”

“Well for what it’s worth, you’re the hottest grandpa around. I’d still do ya.”

“Yeah? Well I definitely wouldn’t say no to you. You’re kinda hot yourself. For a grandma.”

“What about when I’m the grandma who can barely see or hear and my hair is snow white and my body a total dumpster fire?”

“You’ll still be the most beautiful girl in the world to me.”

Smiling, she squeezes his hand and then smiles at the waitress who returns to refill his coffee and take their orders. For several minutes they sit in silence; his thumb sliding down to the base of her wrist and continuing its slow and methodical caress, eyes flicking back and forth as they constantly survey the surroundings and their fellow diners. She’s seen that look before; cautious and wary, as if expecting a threat to announce its presence any second. And it’s a side that she hasn’t seen in years; since extensive therapy began to help control the hyper-vigilance and paranoia.

“Hey…” she taps the toe of a boot against his shin in order to grab his attention. “...you okay?”

“Yeah,” he manages a smile; that half assed turning up of one corner of his mouth. “I’m good.”

“Really? Because you’re acting like an armed robber is going to come barging and start shooting up the place. Do you want to get our order to go? Eat at home? Where you’re more comfortable?”

“I’m comfortable here. I’m fine, Me. Honest.”

“You are NOT fine. You are far from fine. I haven’t seen you like this in a long time. I’m safe, Tyler. Nothing is going to happen. I’m with you. Which means nothing or no one can hurt me. I trust you. I know you can protect me if you have to. I am one hundred percent safe because I am with YOU.”

“What if I can’t? Protect you?”

“You can. You’ve always been able to. Nothing’s changed. I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m here with you and everything is right in the world. Just try and relax, okay?”

“I’m not who I was back then. When we met.”

“I don’t expect you to be. And you know what? You’re better than you were. You’re stronger and you’re healthier and I trust you one hundred percent. There’s nothing you can’t handle. Nothing you can’t beat. Everything is fine. I’M fine. You need to just try and relax, alright? Nothing is going to happen to me. Not when I’m with you.”

The tension slightly lifts; the stiffness in his shoulders easing and the frantic bouncing of his leg finally stopping. But she notices the way his hand shakes when he lifts when he lifts the coffee mug to his lips.

“Do you want to go? Do you feel like you’re going to have a panic attack?”

“No. I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Here…” reaching into her purse, she briefly rummages through it and pulls out a small vial of pills she’s grabbed from the stash in the lock box in the pantry; snapping off the lid and dropping two in her palm. “...just a couple. It’ll take the edge of. Calm you down. Take them. Please.”

He obliges, plucking the tablets from her palm and placing them under his tongue and allowing them to resolve. The silence that follows is nerve wracking. Feeling her own heart pounding wildly in her chest as she watches him from across the booth; an elbow resting on the table , eyes closed and his palm pressed against his forehead. And she’s unsure how much time has actually passed when he takes a sharp intake of breath; eyes opening and his forearm coming to rest on the formica.

“Good?” she asks, and softly runs her fingers over his. “You alright?”

“Better.”

“You’ll be okay. In a few minutes, you’ll be right as rain. You’re doing good, baby. I’m proud of you.”

The corners of his mouth twitch as he attempts a smile. “I was thinking that maybe we should go home. Earlier than we were going to. Maybe a couple days into New Years instead of a couple weeks.”

“Is that what you want to do? Go home?”

“Yeah…” he struggles to hold back a flood of tears; uttering a string of profanities and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Don’t do that. Don’t be embarrassed. Just pretend that no one else exists but me. That no one else is here. Just listen to my voice. You’re fine. It’s just your brain, Tyler. Ignore what it is telling you and pay attention to what I’m saying. I’m okay. I’m safe. Because I’m with you. Nothing is going to happen. There’s no one following us, there’s no out to get you, there’s no one that’s going to hurt me. There’s no threat. Everything is okay. Alright?”

Nodding, he takes a deep intake of breath and then releases it slow. “I want to go home.”

“Home as in our place here or…?”

“Home, home. Australia. I want to go home. As soon as we can. I NEED to go home.”

“I’ll change our flight plans. When we get back to the townhouse. I’ll call and set everything up. We’ll leave on the second, okay?”

“But the kids might be pissed. They might…”

“I’ll think of something to tell them. They don’t need to know what’s going on. Don’t worry about that, alright? I’ll take care of everything. I mean, if you really wanted to, we could leave earlier. Ovi knows you’re struggling and…”

“I can’t miss his wedding. I’m the best man. That’s my kid.”

“And he’d understand. If you needed to get out, he would totally have your back. Believe me, he wouldn’t hold it against you if you couldn’t handle it here.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll suck it up and I’ll get through it. We’ll go to the wedding and we’ll have a good time and we’ll have our mommy and daddy only night. Then we can leave. On the second.”

“Okay,” Esme says, and reaches across the table to wipe away an errant tear that slips down his face. “You’re going to be okay.” she promises. “You always are. You’ve fought back against way worse.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

Smiling, she pushes her fingers through his. “Enough for both of us.”

[tenglows]

Xiaojun, enemies to lovers with 27 + 32 pleasee 💛 im the anon who request the college au with xiaojun and i just wanna say i loved it 🥺 thank you sm for writing it!!

[ 27: isn’t that dangerous? ] + [ 32: i guess i was wrong about you ] hi again!!! thank you so much i’m glad you liked it <3

the prompts

to think you were so excited to live on your own, and now, a few weeks later, you were actually reviewing new apartments. but you had no luck, being impossible to move again so short in time, plus you had already paid the rent, and had no enough money to spend on a whole new one.

the first day of moving was great. tiring, but great. you had arranged all your belongings in the empty space, and when you finally collapsed into your bed, you smiled and thought about how much you had dreamed about being independent. you fantasized about waking up, cooking, taking a long shower, and just go on about your day in the way that only you wished. no rules to follow, no one to please.

the bliss lasted for a couple more hours. but not for long, since the sound of loud music pounding against the walls decided to become a character in your romanticized story. but what harm can one night’s party do? you thought to yourself. the thing is, it wasn’t a one night’s party. you started to believe they weren’t even parties at all, just the most annoying neighbor who couldn’t listen to music at a normal volume.

you had bumped into him one day, when both of you left your respective places at the same time. you had already learnt his name was xiaojun, the older lady next door who was much nicer and specially, more silent, had told you he had always been that noisy. that was why no one wanted to live there and the price was accessible.

he greeted you and he seemed nice, but you really weren’t having it, him being the cause of your lack of sleep and peace these days. deceived by his apparent kind self, you asked him if there was any chance he would lower the music that night, using the excuse of you having an early morning tomorrow. and that’s when it happened. the start of your tremendous loathing.

he laughed. he literally, let out a cocky laugh and left, shaking his head. and of course, he even increased his music volume that night. you ended up punching the wall.

one morning, you groaned when you saw you had ran out of milk. and eggs, and fruit, and possibly anything you would need to make a proper meal. still half asleep, -even though that phrase wasn’t pertaining since there was barely any sleep in you- you put some clothes on and grabbed the shopping bags, figuring you would just go to the grocery store across the street now to get it done with.

inside the elevator, xiaojun muttered a “good morning” you couldn’t bring yourself to return. you stood in silence, as you bit the inside of your cheek.

all of the sudden you heard a bang, your body and the elevator queking. you couldn’t see, but your eyes were wide open. it took you a moment to register that you had stopped moving, and the darkness resulted from the lights going out.

you let out a cuss and started kicking the doors, screaming in desperation for someone to come to your rescue.

“isn’t that dangerous?” the boy spoke calmly, and almost mockily, referring to your smacks.

“oh shut the fuck up” left your mouth without you even having time of processing it.

“jeez, did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“no, actually. because i never fell asleep in the first place. you are to blame for that”

“me?”

“yeah you, and your stupid music”

“hey, my taste in music is good” you didn’t know what to reply, since you had never bothered to properly listen to what he heard. for your ears, it was just noise.

you sat down on the floor, accepting the fact that help would come at some point, but you couldn’t do anything to speed up the process.

you whined when your stomach growled. you still hadn’t eaten anything. xiaojun, standing at your side, shuffled through his jacket pockets until he put a chocolate bar in front of your face.

“here, it’s not the best breakfast but it is something”

you hesitated, not wanting to accept anything from him, but the rumbling in your stomach told you it was either hunger of your pride.

you took the bar and hummed at him, as if that was enough gratitude.

“do you really not like my music taste?”

“i haven’t paid attention to it”

“i’m going to show you a song” he sat down next to you and pulled out his phone, pressing the music icon. you would protest, but there was nothing better to do.

the song was slow and tender, and you liked how it automatically made your head move to the rhythm. xiaojun sang a bit of it under his breath too. you couldn’t fully hear him, but his voice complemented the melody.

“that is nice” you said, when it ended. “it would be nice if you could hear it at a sound level that doesn’t make your neighbor’s life a misery, though”

“that bad?”

“come on, you must notice how loud it is”

he shrugged.

“sometimes i feel alone, mostly at night, so the noise helps with that. and i guess i don’t realize”

his reply was sadder than you expected, and you weren’t sure what you could say to that. you knew the feeling, in fact, that was your main fear when moving. the lonesomeness.

“i never felt lonely ever since i moved, which i thought i would. your music doesn’t even let me feel the solitude. so thanks for that” he laughed, and you let yourself smile as well. “you could try to be with someone when you feel lonely, instead of permanently damaging your ears”

“can i show up at your door then?” he softly nudged your shoulder, and you wondered when he had gotten so comfortable. if this had been any other day, you would probably had yeeted him across the room. but today, you just repeated the same gesture.

“if that means i can sleep, then sure”

“i guess i was wrong about you” he spoke again, you perking in curiosity. “you can be nice when you don’t want to kill me” you rolled your eyes, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

“you’re not so bad yourself”.

[soundofseventeen]

13 Days of Christmas (Xu Minghao)

I’m almost done.

Word count: 2268

“Did he see me?” You asked ducking behind the curtains.

“If he did, he would’ve been knocking on your front door already,” Chan said nonchalantly. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re so fucking weird?”

“He has a dog, Chan! And he’s the cutest thing ever!” “Are you talking about Minghao hyung or his dog?” 

“Shouldn’t you be at home?” “Shouldn’t you stop taking pictures of my friends?” He brought the baseball cap he was wearing down to his eyes. “Seriously, I’m getting tired of you falling in love with them.”

“I’m not in love with any of your friends!”

“Let’s see...there was Cheol hyung at the coffee shop, Mingyu and Jihoon hyungdeul at the gym, Jun hyung at the park...and my personal favorite Soonyoung hyung at that restaurant.”

“That one wasn’t intentional!” you pointed your finger at him “You know I was meeting Wonwoo there!”

“So you say.” He shrugged, looking for his jacket to put it on. “Listen, as much I don’t enjoy spying on my friends with you, I have to go meet Vernon and talk to him about a show coming up...no you can’t come to either.”

“I wasn’t asking to go.”

“You can’t either way so ‘bye! I’ll text you later.”

You rolled your eyes. You loved Chan but he liked to blow things out of proportion from time to time. He had very attractive friends, yes, but you didn’t care for following them around town and hoping they’d notice you. Yes, Seoul was big but he wasn’t exactly the shy type….he had 12 other friends that he constantly like to spend time with….at the same time. You could barely handle four people at once for a couple of hours but hey you respected him. But that wasn’t the point.

You could name one attractive thing from the oldest to the one barely older than him but he wouldn’t really listen to that. But there was something about Minghao that kept you on your toes. You couldn’t exactly figure out why he stuck out like a sore thumb. He had the iconic resting bitch face made you afraid to approach him in the past, even when he had the cotton candy looking hair thing going on. You talked to him the least and admired him from afar the most. He also had this thing where he ruined your ego by rejecting someone else. As in, someone else confessed they had a crush on him and he said he wasn’t interested and to think about other things besides him. (As if he was some kpop idol.)

And then, he seemed a little friendlier when he got a dog. It wasn’t a big change but it was enough for you to say hi to him...and take pictures of the dog when Minghao wasn’t looking. But as always,  Chan caught you at the wrong time and made his own assumption. Well, he wasn’t wrong but you wanted to play it cool...or as cool as you could manage. 

You waited a few more minutes until you were sure that Chan was gone, so you could leave to do your grocery shopping for the week. The cold weather often made it impossible for you to get things done but with the holidays approaching faster and faster, you wanted to have your fridge and cabinets stocked with food in case someone in your family dropped by to surprise you or in the unlikely event that you’d be snowed in. You knew you had enough nonperishable food to last you to the New Year...even to Valentine’s Day, but you didn’t like being at home with nothing to do, so you threw your jacket on, transferred money out of your savings and headed straight for the supermarket, not quite sure what you were gonna buy.

*

You were quite proud of yourself for everything you bought...even though you felt tired.

Well, you didn’t actually get into the spirit of buying food, (and maybe presents if you found some that you liked enough to give) until you had caffeine in your system. You loved Chan, you really did, but he somehow usually managed to drain enough energy out of your system to power an army. You stopped at the local dog cafe, since it was the closest thing to you. You’d been there a handful of times and even though you had no complaints about the coffee...the price was another story. Somehow though, being surrouded by all the furry animals made up for it. 

You sat at one of the tables after getting your drink, becoming a bystander to the outside world. You opened your backpack and pulled out your sticky notes. Though you still had time for the Chfristmas gift shopping, you wnated to be sure you had enough to make it to your next paycheck...even with what you transferred. It was noisy inside but somehow you were still able to get lost in your thoughts and what you still had to do, only coming back to reality whenever a pup scurried past by and their tail thumped on your leg.They often made you wanna have a pet of your own, but you couldn’t afford one just yet.

”Do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up to see Minghao balancing a laptop, a book, his own cup of coffee and his newest trusty sidekick and you nodded, standing up quickly to see if there’d be any way to help him unload but he waved you off. 

“I got this. It’s just so crowded here and you were the only familiar face I saw so I thought it’d be good to ask you.”

You merely smiled at him, unsure of what to say. You’d be lying if you said you never pictured something like this would happen, but you also couldn’t deny it made the situation a little scarier. Minghao in your daydreams often stopped by quietly, and shyly put your favorite pastry on the table and he shared his earphones with you and he’d sneak peeks at you. This Minghao quickly opened his laptap and fed his dog a biscuit to keep him quiet. He didn’t bother to make conversation with you and instead flipped through the notebook and typed in whatever was written down. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. I just need to buy a few presents for people.”

“Oh, you can stay as long as you want. Im just making some payments and then I’m leaving.”

“Who could you possibly be stalking today?” He didn’t break his gaze from the laptop so you couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“I...no one. I have to do grocery shopping and maybe start buying people stuff.” You did some addition, wondering just how much you could pay this month and still have enough to spend and letting out an irritated sigh when the numbers didn’t agree with you. You completely ignored him then, focusin on the internal bargains you made with yourself until you reached a satisfactory conclusion. You tapped your fingers on your knee absently, making one more quick estimate when you felt somthing licking your hand, Alright, you momentarily forgot that it was a pet cafe so you gasped a little louder than inteded, but it was time to go anyways.

Minghao noticed this and quietly rebuked the poor pup in Chinese and turned his attention to you. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to go. I can leave.”

“I have to go anyways,” you stood up, feeling embarrassed. “I have to go make dinner and then call my mom to see how she’s doing. Plus, if I give my landlord the rent money money now, I’ll be able to spend mh next check however I please.”

He surprised you by standing up too. “No, I insist. You can stay and I’ll leave with Pandi. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Mingaho, it’s fine,” you assured him. “I have to go and-shit it’s cold!” The breeze that snuck in when the door opened reminded you that the holiday was here and you rushed to put your overcoat and gloves on, grateful that you left your beanie on.

“Pandi said she’s sorry...hey Y/N?”

“What?”

“I think you might need your phone for future things,” he chuckled. He picked it up and shoved it into his pocket. He took your only grocery back and walked outside with it until you were ready to join him. “I guess we can walk with Chan’s friend tonight, huh sweet girl?” He knelt to the dog’s level, and put on the small jacket he carried in his messenger bag on her and after some deliberation, a Santa hat too

You finally stepped outside as he was zipping her up and you had to contain your squeal at the adorableness. You had to admit though: seeing your intimidating crush caring for some thing as vulnerable as a pet made your heart do things. He just gave you a shy smile and offered you your bag. “Wait, are you coming with me?” The thought alone made your heart race in a way that scared you.

“Well, we live in the same area...and it’s almost dark outside...don’t you think it’d be more awkward to walk by ourselves?” He shot you a pointed look and you had  to admit that you felt silly. He was still kinda scary. “Besides, I need to talk to you.”

There it was...the chill in your bones that had nothing to do with the air. “Oh my god, please tell Chan I’m not in love with any of you and I don’t stalk any of you.”

“I was just gonna say that if you wanted to watch Pandi when I go back to China next month...Chan said you’re good at taking care of pets.” You couldn’t tell if the reddening of his cheeks came from the cold air or the acknowledgement of what you said, but you cursed Chan for making your life miserable. “The stalking thing was a joke.”

With a blush as red as his Pandi’s Santa hat, you could conclude with absolute certainty was that if you didn’t give Chan a well-deserved lump of coal...you’d defintiely be chucking one at him soon. “Oh...sorry.”

“I’m gonna regret asking this, but is that really all you and Chan talk about?”

Oh, the candidness only embarrassed you further, and you wished more than anything to have been run over by a reindeer. “Chan seems to think...I’m in love with either one of you guys or all of you. And I’m not...at all.” The attraction was another story. “He’s convinced that I know all of your schedules and have all these photos of you hidden somewhere in my room.” You shot Minghao a short glare as he opened his mouth. “And I can 100% tell you it’s bullshit.”

“So you’re really gonna deny taking pictures of me from your room?”

“They’re all of your dog, I swear!” You whined. “You just happened to come out in a few of them.”

“Y/N.”

Your gloved hand reached into your pocket to take out your phone and you threw it at him. “The code is 2605.”

“Why are you giving it to me?” He asked, sounding amused. He didn’t know what your lockscreen would be, but he had to admit that he found it endearing. (unless it’s Hao, then picture something completely different.) And the same for your wallpaper. 

“Because if I showed you, you’d think I was deleting them.”

“How do I know they’re not backed up in your laptop somewhere?” He didn’t know that you could be so funny either. No wonder Chan liked hanging out with you.

“Wait until I get home and I bring the fucking thing to you,” you muttered but he still heard you.

“Are you gonna give me gingerbread cookies and hot chocolate too?” He finally stopped stalling and went to your gallery, unsure why his heart was pounding.

“If it’s gonna shut you up, then yes.” You took his leash to take Pandi, but were surprised when he didn’t say anything. The screen was still bright enough for you to catch the glare reflecting off his glasses as he casually swiped through them. He finally nodded approvingly and he handed it back to you, but let you keep the leash. “Proof enough?”

“I mean, I’m still not convinced. I might have to see your laptop too. Plus you promised me cookies.” He was a little bummed that he found a whopping total of three pictures he was included in when it came to his pet, and that was including the one where it was only his shoe. 

Minghao had always found you cute, but when Lee Chan started the crazy rumors of you being a stalker, he was skeptical, especially how you managed to show up a lot of the time after he pointed it out. Coincidence? Or something else? 

“You...are...infuriating.” You shook your head. Maybe this would make your crush go away.

“Are they homemade?” He remembered that Chan said you baked for fun from time to time.

“You’re not getting any.”

“I guess I’ma have to tell my friends you’re a stalker.”

Yep, walking home as the stars came out and with the wind blowing the pine scent in every direction, your crush on him was slowly fading. 

He gave you a small smile followed by a giggle and gently ruffled the beanie on your head. “You’re funny.”

Or not.

[paradisobound]

Where We Want to Be

I Want It, I Got It Timestamp: Dan and Phil’s Wedding 

Summary: It’s been a year since Phil proposed in Paris and now, he’s stood on his wedding day marrying Dan after knowing for so long he is his person. The wedding day and beyond. 

Word Count: 2.2k 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Slightly explicit content 

**Read on Ao3**

Written for the @phanworkschallenge advent calendar!

If you want to see the venue I chose for their wedding, here is the link I used!

Phil shouldn’t be nervous. In theory, he should be really excited that this day is finally here. But as he sits in his hotel room with his mum, dad, and brother as he gets into his suit and tie, he can’t help but feel nervous.

They’d been planning this day for over a year now. It was mostly a lot of Dan’s ideas. He wanted lavish, but simple. He wanted white roses and baby’s breath and lace table cloths. He wanted everything to be pretty and perfect and for most of the planning in itself, Phil let Dan take the reign.

But it’s here now, and they’re getting ready to be married at Hever Castle.

It was Dan who wanted to get married at a castle, and when they visited Hever Castle, they knew it was instantly the place for them. It was stunning with beautiful rooms and nice staff. Everything was included in the price from the hotel rooms for the guests, the catering, and the florist. So they handed the money over and booked their wedding date.

And now, here they are.

Dan wanted to keep up with the traditions, so Phil wasn’t allowed to see him the night before. They had separate rooms where Dan stayed just down the hall from him but it was so hard to go to sleep that night without Dan.

There was some nights--well, not some, a lot of nights--where Phil would be home alone because Dan was busy traveling for movies or premieres. Phil always tried to go with him, but sometimes that didn’t work. So he’d stay at their cozy flat in Victoria and wait until Dan came home.

But last night was different, because Dan wasn’t gone. He was just sleeping down the hall and the last time Phil had seen him was at rehearsal the night before. So now, Phil’s feeling eager and anxious, wanting nothing more than to be able to wrap his arms around his lover and hold him close.

They have their honeymoon booked to Bora Bora where they rented a private villa on the water, secluded from everyone else with their own room service and wait staff. But Phil cheekily knows that they won’t be leaving the bed the entire time. He wants nothing more than to spend the next two weeks with his new husband in the beautiful bower of the bed.

But they have to get through today first and then they leave tomorrow morning.

“Are you nervous, honey?” His mum asks him, running her hand up his black suit jacket sleeve.

Phil nodded, “A bit, yeah.”

“That’s normal,” His father chimed in. “I was nervous the day I married your mother too.”

“I don’t know why, I’m nervous,” Phil says. “It’s not like Dan’s not gonna be there. Dan is definitely going to be there and we’re getting married but…”

“It’s wedding jitters, hun,” Cornelia interrupted, “I saw Dan this morning and he is the same way.”

Phil bites nervously at his lip and then raises his thumb to his mouth and nibbles on his nail, only to get his mum swatting it away, “Child, you didn’t just spend 100 quid on a manicure two days ago just to bite it off in nervous jitters on your wedding day.”

Phil put his hand down and fought back a smile.

His dad looked at his watch and then looked back to Phil, “It’s time to head down.”

Phil nodded and stood up, letting his mum and dad and Cornelia smooth out his pants all over again. Martyn stood back, watching and laughing at the pruning they were all doing over him.

They were getting married outside on the lawn in the garden. They had a perfect white arch set up with white chairs covered in delicate white fabric. Phil had seen it all last night during the rehearsal and it made him nearly weep. Everything was perfect, but he wouldn’t have expected any less anyway.

His mum and brother escorted him down to the arch and he walked with Martyn up to the front to stand by the officiator and PJ, who was his groomsman. He opted for making Martyn his best man.

Dan made his friend Mimei his bridesmaid, and then his younger brother his groomsman. They were both stood on the other side of the arch and Phil flashed them both a nervous smile.

He was having his niece, Martyn and Cornelia’s daughter, be the flower girl, and his nephew be the ring bearer and as he heard the music of the piano behind the seats starting, his hands began to shake a bit more.

Emme and Casper slowly walked up the pristine white aisle between the seats as everyone stood up and watched as Emme threw little white rose petals out in front of them. It was adorable, and Phil couldn’t help but tear up seeing it. As they came up and Casper handed Martyn the rings, Phil bent down and gave them both a hug and thanked them as they ran off to Cornelia and his mum and dad in the crowd.

Phil knew now this meant Dan would be coming. Dan insisted on walking down the aisle, saying to Phil jokingly that he wanted all eyes on him. Phil didn’t argue because he was the opposite. But now, the music has changed and he looks up to see Dan, walking down the aisle with his father.

He’s wearing the whitest suit Phil’s ever seen with a black tie. He’s gorgeous, his curls perfectly done, his nails freshly painted, and his face done up a bit with make up. When he makes his way to the front, Phil breaks down and tries to hold back the tears. He knew he was going to be emotional, but he never could have prepared for how hard it actually hit him that this was happening.

They exchanged their vows and said their “I do’s” and then they turned to each other and exchanged their rings. Phil has never felt so in love in his life as he looked into Dan’s eyes and saw the love pouring back at him. When the officiator told them they could kiss, Phil lunged forward and attached their lips as the cold metal of Dan’s ring sat against his cheek.

***

“How long do you think before we can ditch the reception?”

Phil looks at Dan and laughs, “Probably could get away with now but I reckon my mum or Cornelia wouldn’t be too pleased.”

Dan is currently eating his second piece of cake as they sit at their own table, everyone else on the floor dancing and drinking the evening away.

The moonlight is shining just so perfectly through the arched windows onto the dance floor, and despite the fact that it was raining outside, Phil was extremely happy with how today had turned out. Mostly because the rain held off until the reception started.

They had a toast and Martyn and Mimei prepared speeches for both Dan and Phil and they were funny and lighthearted but also a bit sappy as Martyn told Dan that he’ll always be part of the Lester family.

Before they finalized everything for the wedding, they had a serious talk about everything. Paparazzi was surely going to try and ruin their big day so they hired so much security that it was nearly impossible for anyone to even attempt to get near the venue. But they also spoke about what this meant for them. Were they going to change last names? Was Dan going to take Phil’s or vice versa?

In the end, they decided that Dan wanted to hyphenate his name and so from this point forward—or, well when the paperwork got done—Dan was going to be Daniel Howell-Lester. Phil was okay with that, and made sure that Dan wasn’t doing this for societal norms, but Dan reassured him that he wanted to be able to have Phil’s last name and see it at the end of movies and on his awards. Phil had joked around at how conceited he sounded but Dan has just laughed it off.

Everything was perfect now. As Phil turns his head and looks at Dan who is licking some frosting from his knuckle, he’s convinced more than ever that he’s found his person. He’s found his soulmate that he wants to spend forever with, and he’s glad that’s solidified.

They leave the reception early. They tried making it out the door and into the hall but Cornelia and Emme stop them in their tracks and ask what they thought they were doing. They just shrugged and laughed and told her that they wanted to get the night started early. She swatted at their arms and then shooed them away, telling them she would cover for them if anyone asked.

They held hands walking down the hallway, and Dan walked close enough to Phil that their arms never stopped touching the entire way to the stairs. They were going to be staying in Phil’s room from the night before, so they walked to the room and Phil pulled the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

Walking inside, the room was adorned with candles and red roses. There were two bottles of champagne on the nightstand and a plate of pristine chocolate covered strawberries all wrapped nicely. Phil’s mouth snaps open and Dan just laughs, “Guess we got some snacks for tonight?”

“Didn’t you just eat your weight in cake?” Dan asks, teasing Dan for having two pieces. Dan just laughs and shakes his hand.

“Well,” Dan says, sitting on the bed and undoing his shirt, “is this the time where you ravish me and we consummate the marriage?”

“We’ve already broken that rule,” Phil laughs.

Dan rolls his eyes and opens his arms to Phil and Phil’s cheeks heat as he sees the glittering diamond band on Dan’s left hand sparkle so perfectly in the light.

Phil goes easy, because this is the man he loves and he gets to spend the rest of his night with. His chest is blossoming with pent up feelings of affection and endless words of love as he presses his hands on Dan’s cheeks and kisses him with all that he has.

They go slow, letting the night drag on as they explore each other as husbands. Before tonight, sex felt like something in their routine. They enjoyed it so they did it often and it was also really fucking good for them both. But tonight was different. It was like senses were heightened to 100 and beyond and everything around was softened to a dim and dull light.

Phil could tell Dan felt the same with the way his back arched and his hips stuttered to remain against the sheets as Phil thrusted. Dan was being loud, louder than he has been in a long time and some deep satisfaction was flaring inside of Phil at how good he was making his husband feel. He was almost glad now that they left the reception early because he knows Dan can be heard outside of the room. Unless the walls are soundproof, there is no way he can’t be.

They finish and Phil collapses besides Dan and Dan turns onto his side, resting his head on Phil’s chest as his own chest heaves a few more times to catch his breath.

They lay like that for a while before Phil’s bladder starts to ache so he pushes out from under Dan and gets up to use the bathroom and clean up a bit.

He relieves his bladder and then stands at the sink, wetting down a washcloth as he scrubs away the now uncomfortable stickiness. He rinses the washcloth down again and places it on the edge of the sink so Dan can use it too. When he picks his head back up, he sees himself in the mirror and he can’t help but let a smile form on his lips.

He’d given up on dying his hair black a year ago so his hair is nice soft brown now. His quiff is a little sweaty, a little greasy, but it’s otherwise still styled perfectly. And his eyes look brighter. The blue in his irises is brighter than normal.

“When you’re done checking yourself out, can I use the bathroom? I really need to pee.”

Phil’s lets out a loud laugh as Dan’s voice rings through the door. He opens the door up to call back when he sees Dan is already standing right there, “You could have just come in?”

“Oh, so we’re that married couple already,” Dan teases.

Phil finds it endearing and he smiles as he leans over and kisses Dan’s cheek gently. Dan blushes and then shoves past him to use the toilet. He tosses Dan the washcloth when he’s done and Dan takes one swipe of the cloth on his skin and winces, “I need a shower. Let’s shower together.”

And suddenly Phil is being pulled to the shower with Dan leading the way.

If this is what being married to Dan is going to be like, he’s more than happy to be the one married to him.

Dan adjusts the water and then steps inside the curtain and holds his hand out, “Coming in?”

“I love you.”

The words come out of Phil’s mouth before he can really stop them. Dan lets out a giggle, “I love you too, you dork. Now get in here.”

Yeah. Phil smiles as he gets inside the warm mist with Dan hugging him close. He can’t for the rest of his life of this is how it’s going to be.

[lostinwritingmayhem]

Raise Hell

anyone here interested in more of Ansel’s backstory? (you can check ‘ansel’ tag to see the previous things written for her~) 1625 words, tw for mentions of drug abuse, violence, murder 

It took Ansel 9 months to trace down the bastard responsible for Casey’s death. It took her two more months to be in a position where she could kill him. It was finally time, and she was ready - she just had to be patient one last time.

xxx

After the night in the cafe that took Ansel’s brother away from here, there were a lot of things that needed to be done. The funeral, for example, one that she had to organize all on her own cause their parents were too busy shooting up heroine in that shithole of an apartment they called a home to be of any help. She spent hours filling out paperwork, making preparations, determined to at least give her brother a decent burial if she wasn’t able to give him a decent life. The funeral came, and went, she said her goodbyes, and so did their parents, miraculously clean for once in their pathetic lives. Ansel didn’t doubt they’d go right back to using as soon as they got home, but she was way past the point of caring about what happens to them. She had a lot of other things on her mind.

Casey and Ansel moved out together a year earlier, the moment they had enough money to rent the place on their own, and now she was alone with it. Which led to another entry on her to-do list - the flat had to be emptied out, Casey’s things sorted through and sold, and she had to move out and find a different place to live. She didn’t feel safe in there, not anymore, and so she spent some time roaming from room to room, not staying anywhere for an extended period of time. She had hoped that, if anyone was still out to get her, it would at least make it harder and more annoying to find her. She had enough money saved that she could lay low for a bit as she dealt with everything, raged, cried and begged the unfair gods to give her the brother back - every bit a perfect portrait of a mourning sister that the world expected of her.

There was also the investigation. She almost laughed when a very nice policewoman told her that, after two months had passed and they found nothing, they had decided to close Casey’s case due to lack of the evidence leading them anywhere. She didn’t expect anything else to happen, really - the police rarely gave a fuck about what happened to people like Ansel. Besides, she was already planning an investigation of her own.

When three months passed with no one coming after her trying to take another shot at her murder, Ansel decided that it was finally time to take the matters ito her own hands. She found a place she planned on staying in for a longer time, with an owner that didn’t care much about what was happening there as long as they were getting money on time, and reached out to her old contacts. She called in favors, promised to provide more, all in return for one thing - intel on the person who tried to kill her. Why they stopped doing that she would learn herself after she got her hands on the fucker.

No one had anything to tell her. She knew that’s bullshit, it was impossible that not even a single person had caught wind of a situation like this - for a bunch of criminals who treasured their secrets they sure loved to gossip about others’. Still, not a single useful word came her way when she had asked nicely. She stopped asking nicely after a while.

Then, it was a matter of sorting through the bullshit people were feeding her. She had heard as many different answers as there were people she interrogated, which meant that whoever she was looking for must’ve been powerful enough to either buy the silence of people, or make the community too scared to risk ratting them out.

Those that she caught should’ve really worried more about what a pissed off Ansel was willing to do to them, but well ,they didn’t get a chance to learn from that mistake.

The first time she had killed a person was by accident. The cut that was meant to be a tool of intimidation, just painful enough to get them to talk went a little too deep and she hit an artery. The poor girl bled out in a matter of minutes and all Ansel felt was annoyance at not being able to get the answers she needed. The second time was in self-defence. She wasn’t careful enough and the demon guy she tied to a chair waited till she turned around and burned through the ropes, setting the chair on fire in the process, without much effort. She turned around and shot him fast enough to avoid getting burn to a crisp, and she was smarted after that.

Ansel didn’t remember the third time she had killed. They all blended together after that.

9 months after she made her promise to Casey, she had finally found the name she was looking for.

Stanley Neddy.

He was a head of a powerful gang operating in their city - the most powerful one, of course, if you asked one of his men. Ansel did, repeatedly, and so somewhere between ‘no, stop, leave me alone you bitch’ and various other, less coherent screams, the guy let the ‘Stanley will get you just like he did to your idiot brother’ slip out. Incidentally, it was the last thing the guy ever said - of course, once she was done few hours later, there wasn’t much of a person left anyway, so one ripped out tongue probably didn’t make too big of a difference, but it still felt good.

Stanley.

Once she heard the name, few pieces suddenly clicked into place in her head. A weeks before Casey died, Ansel had accepted a job. Pretty straightforward, a really well paid one. She was to break into a house and steal a gun safe. She didn’t think much about it, just did what she was tasked to do - it wasn’t even that hard, there were no guards, no alarms, no nothing. It made no sense that the person giving her the instructions seemed surprised she agreed to it in the first place and twice as surprised when she dropped off the safe and asked for her money, but she didn’t question it.

Getting rid of the body’s remains, it hit here. The only situation in which not putting any sort of security in your house makes sense is if the owner of said house knows that no one would be dumb enough to break into it. No one but Ansel, apparently - she was dumb enough to go and steal from a crime lord, and her brother paid the price for it.

It was her time to make sure that said crime lord would pay too.

xxx

She was situated in a car outside of Stanley’s favourite coffee shop. She spent last two months learning everything there was to learn about the man, all the while avoiding the watchful eyes of his bodyguards. He had more of those, now, she couldn’t help but notice - seems like losing that safe did teach him something. Ansel was there to teach him yet another lesson, and so she waited patiently for Stanley to finish the last latte of his life. Once done, he would get up, pay for his things and leave the building. After that he’d go on a walk home enjoying the evening - one of the rare moments he sent the guards away and had some time alone, Ansel noticed. That was exactly what she needed.

There was an alleyway not so far away from the shop where she’d drag and kill him. She didn’t plan anything special for the occasion - just one-two-three shots, the last one through his heart. The only thing she wanted was to make sure he knew who takes his life. After that, the bastard could go to hell for all she cared.

Ansel was watching the door to the building like a hawk. Anytime soon he’d be walking out…

She didn’t notice the undercover cars up until the policemen surrounded the small cafe, few of them walking in. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, outright refused to do so. As police led Stanley out and to the car, she realized she’s not only stopped breathing, but also clenching the wheel of the car so hard it was ready to crack any second. After almost a year of preparations, her chance at revenge that she worked so hard for was being stolen from in front of her eyes.

She drove home and, once there, turned the radio on.

“After a long and hard investigation into his criminal activity the police finally caught the boss of the…”

Ansel almost couldn’t hear the words over the roaring sound of the blood in her ears.

“Due to the serious nature of his many crimes he is expected to be sentenced to spend the rest of his life at the Iron Island--”

Ansel threw the radio at the wall, shattering it into pieces. As they fell to the ground, so did she, finding herself on her knees, a wrathful scream escaping her mouth. She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like this, letting the reality of her entire life’s mission being taken away from her sink in. At some point, though, she did stand up, shaking her head. She wasn’t going to give up this easily. Stanley was still very much alive, and if she had to be sent to the spooky scary Iron Island to get to him?

So be it. @mionbirblady @here-be-beckany @bunchofdoodlesinspace

[atrabiliousse]

lilac for the boyz new plz💕💕

hey angel cake!! i hope you enjoy it!! 💓💓💓

Lilac with New

You were always thankful for the wealthy lifestyle your parents had provided you with, always trying your very best to never take it for granted.

You only ever asked for what you needed and when you truly wanted something, you’d do your best to earn it yourself.

Which was why you usually found yourself working multiple part time jobs with your best friend, Chanhee.

“Just ask your parents,” He’d whine, not understanding why you were so set on doing it yourself.

You’d roll your eyes, brushing him off and changing the subject to talk more about him, which worked well because the boy always seemed to have something to ramble on about.

But whenever the boy found himself in a predicament, it usually being with rent, you’d try your best to help out of your own pocket, something he didn’t particularly enjoy.

However, Chanhee liked to joke about the things he wanted and couldn’t have, always being clothing related. A new shirt or the pair of jeans he saw on the mannequin, but recently, your best friend had gotten attached to something new all together.

It was a Gucci fanny pack he had seen in a magazine on one of the tables he was waitering, eyes wide when he approached you at the register.

“I just lost my soul and heart,” he said dramatically.

You barely paid attention to him, sighing, “What is it this time, Chanhee?”

He sighed, leaning against the counter as a dreamy look overtook his face, “It’s Gucci, it’s pretty and I deserve it.”

Laughing obnoxiously, you finally looked at your best friend, “It probably costs more than your rent and you can barely afford that.”

He deflated then, reality sinking in with your words, shaking his head as he grabbed a couple of menus before he walked away, muttering something about you being harsh and unmerciful before he served the new customers.

You chuckled at his antics, sure it would pass over enough days, but much to your surprise, it never did.

Chanhee had gone as far as tearing the page out of the magazine and shoving it in his pocket that day, trying to locate a store that sold the item near him and pricing the item to try his best to obtain it.

It had been the most committed you had seen the boy to any of his obsessions.

Chanhee whined about the stupid fanny pack for weeks, to the point that you were sure he was actually in love with the inanimate object. It was driving you insane but your best friend never seemed to notice that.

“I need it.” He said, shaking your arm with his puppy eyes.

You groaned, trying to get him off of you as the two of you approached the coffee house, “You really need to forget about this damning bag.”

“It’s not a bag!”

“That’s its function, isn’t it?”

“Okay whatever, but I still want it!”

The barista took your order as the boy nagged your ear off, watching in amusement as you ignored him, scanning the menu.

“Make it a double espresso,” You sighed, handing her the amount as the girl chuckled and handed you your number, you dragging Chanhee to an empty table not far from the doors. You both had a shift in an hour so you wanted to get your coffee and muffin and sit in the gardens while the weather still allowed it.

“Aren’t you saving for this thing?” You finally asked him, leaning your cheek on the palm of your hand, eyes tired and lips pouted.

Chanhee nodded then, hands playing with the paper napkin he had taken from the front counter, “I am, I am, but it just doesn’t feel like I’ll ever get it.”

The boy looked defeated and to a degree, you found it adorable.

You always knew your best friend was attractive, impossibly so because he caught the attention from a lot of the female customers, if the giggles and numbers on napkins were anything to go by. But what you found most attractive about your best friend was how much he resembled a puppy. From his soft eyes to his excitement and mostly, his loyalty and huge heart.

He was undeniable and he nestled in your heart much like a thief in the night, but you were thankful for it.

“You’ve been crying over this thing for over a month, I’m sure you’ll get it.” You said, poking at his hand just before your number had been called and the two of you walked over to the counter, getting your coffee and snacks.

You thanked the barista again and handed the boy behind you his order before grabbing your own, turning around to exit but stopping dead in your tracks when you spotted the very person you had tried avoiding for months.

Your ex boyfriend was a narcissistic asshole that you had regretted ever letting into your life, even more so, wasting almost a full year of your life with him and his consistent cheating. He hadn’t hurt you more than he had angered you.

He had caught you in a vulnerable stage in your life and in the beginning you thought you were happy and madly in love, but you were only blinded by the attention he had given you when you felt the loneliest.

But after the first month, things went down hill very fast and you were left nothing like your usual self, something Chanhee reminded you daily, angry and concerned for you, demanding for you to end things with the jerk.

Of course, like the fool you were, it took you too long to actually listen, but when you did, you had never felt better. You were so happy, maybe a bit too happy because you had found yourself knocking on your best friend’s door in the early morning hours with a drunken mind, giggling to yourself as he walked you to his couch where you finally passed out.

And ever since then, you had done an immaculate job at avoiding the idiot, well until now.

So you panicked, turning back to Chanhee and muttering oh my god’s over and over again as you used him as a human shield.

“What are you doing?” The boy asked you, hands on your shoulders, trying to look for what had caused your frenzy, but you were quick to grab his face between your hands, keeping him from looking back.

“Don’t look!” You tried your best not to yell, checking to see if your ex had seen you both and unfortunately making eye contact with him.

He was as surprised as you were, but soon enough a disgusting smirk settled on his face and he pushed forward towards you.

“Hello! What is going on?!”

You turned to Chanhee again, pure panic and adrenaline kicking in as the stupidest idea you had ever had, left your lips before you could think any better,

“Quick, if you kiss me right now, I’ll buy you that fucking Gucci bag you’ve been crying about.”

He was bewildered and even before he could reply, you pulled him into you, lips pressed against his softer ones, causing him to still completely, until finally he responded to the kiss, hands placed gingerly on your waist.

It wasn’t supposed to make you feel so at home. It wasn’t supposed to ground you and cause you to crave more and more and more, but it did. That much was obvious by your body’s response as you stepped closer to Chanhee, your hands sliding down from his cheeks to his neck and then interlocking together. The boy had let his hands squeeze your waist, tilting his head and brushing his nose against yours.

You couldn’t really recall how long the kiss had lasted but by the time you both had pulled away, you had almost forgotten what had incited it until you saw your ex turn away from the two of you, this time, your best friend noticing him now too.

It was awkward then, the two of you silent and unsure of what to do from there, so you grabbed your things and rushed out a quick we’ll be late before you walked out ahead of him.

It was on the walk to work that Chanhee finally said something,

“About that kiss-“

“That kiss is getting you your Gucci fanny pack so let’s talk about this later.”

And so you basically ran away from the boy, completely flustered and confused as to why your chest was in full havoc and all you could think about was the taste of strawberries and mint that certainly wasn’t your lip balm.

[robininthelabyrinth]

A Winter’s Tale - 4 - Ao3 link

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: Mick Rory is on a mission to save his family, and if it means kidnapping Mayor Leonard Snart, so be it.

Though he’s not expecting it to go like this.

(Dragons and Faeries and Metas - oh my!)

A/N: For the coldwave winter week, run by @coldwaveevents

Chapter 4: Gods / Myths & Legends + Fake Marriage / Pretend Relationship (+ winter traditions (bells))

———————————————————————————————–

"I can't believe that worked," Mick says, laughing as they take off in Garima, soaring away from the dragons even as the hall behind him begins to release smoke in a way that suggests that a pair of dragons (or more) have started arguing very loudly and in a way that suggests fire. "I literally can't believe that actually worked, you psycho."

"Man with a plan," Snart reminds him, but he's also grinning. "Though I must admit that one was particularly fun -"

"Oh, come on," Mick scoffs. "There's no way you planned that."

"It's all in how you define 'plan', Mick." Snart's voice is warm. "I've got, let's say, a unique definition."

"Yeah? Well, I'm listening."

"Step one: make the plan," Snart says, raising a finger. "Step two: put the plan into action. Step three: watch the plan go off the rails. Step four: throw away the plan."

Mick blinks. "That's..."

"Terrible advice?"

"Horrible advice! Why not make a plan that works the first time?"

Snart laughs. "Famous saying in my world," he says. "'No plan survives contact with the enemy.' Way I see it, there's two type of people making plans: spies and generals. A spy's got no choice but to be right the first time, 'cause they're fighting the truth. If they ain't right, they have to abandon their objective in order to save their cover - mission failure. But a general? You're fighting people, and people are weird and unpredictable, which means you know your plan's gonna go to shit when it hits reality. And if you know that, you're already prepping all sorts of other plans - including plans that are mostly improv."

"Like what you just did," Mick says thoughtfully. "When'd you start thinking of yourself as a general? As a mayor, sure, but as a thief...wouldn't you be more of a spy type?"

Snart makes a face. "You'd think so. But from a pretty young age, I was stuck working on crews that weren't that good. So I had to make lots of plans that assumed failure."

Given what Mick figures he knows about Snart's family life, that makes sense.

"So what you're saying," he says with a smirk, "is that you're as good as you are 'cause of practice?"

Oddly enough, that just makes Snart go serious. "No, not just practice," he says. "There's something I oughta tell you -"

There's a terrible clanging noise in the air.

Shit.

"Not now," Mick says, suddenly grim, feeling fear pool in his belly. "We need to get to ground. Now, before the sound stops."

"What is that racket?" Snart hisses, his hands on his ears.

"Bells," Mick tells him. "The People's arrival is heralded by bells."

When they're being sneaky, that can be a tinkle of small bells, barely distinguishable from the wind. But if they're not hiding themselves...

People who aren't familiar with the Fae, and even in Mick's world there are far too many of those, tend to hear that and think of the harmonious bells they know: church bells, or carolers, or even lone charity-workers standing on the street with pots for people to throw in coins.

The Fae, though?

The Fae aren't like humans.

Why should their idea of bells be any more human than they?

A thousand bells all at once, small and large and even gigantic - sound suggesting that you were inside the bell - with no order at all, one starting one stopping one ringing one tinkling one roaring -

Cacophony.

And the Fae like it that way.

"Why are the People here?" Snart asks. "I thought you said this was dragon territory -"

"It is, and I said the People generally don't like it. Generally. C'mon, Garima, hurry! I can smell the ozone!"

You don't want to be off of solid ground when the People are in the area. You especially don't want to be in the air.

The Fae are a little too fond of lightning.

"I thought you said you didn't have speedsters in this world!" Snart hisses.

"We don't -"

The world rips apart, and one of the People steps through, shaking out the sparks left over from the Underhill, their other world where no human could understand -

It's not just one of the People.

It's him.

The one who took Mick's family and set an impossible quest as the price to get them back, and all because Mick unwisely used his Sight to see the grotesque scar that rent the otherwise immaculate Fae's face in half.

"What are you doing here?" Mick growls. "I ain't done collecting your stupid shit yet."

The Fae smiles.

"No need to be rude," he says, his voice a pleasant trill of a tenor. He always sounds so gentle, and it's all a lie. "You should remember your manners. Just so: it is a pleasure to see you again."

He bows.

Mick scowls at him. "The feeling's not mutual."

"And a pleasure to meet you, as well," the Fae continues, inclining his head at Snart. "And your name is..?"

"Already known to you, if you're the one who gave my friend here his quest," Snart drawls, as craftily as any native. "But since we're being polite, what's yours?"

The Fae looks taken aback by that - or at least manipulates his face to mimic that expression - but Snart doesn't retract the question.

"That is a dangerous question to ask of one of my kind," the Fae says after a long moment, eyes slanting towards Mick as if offering him the opportunity to warn Snart of the risk he's taking.

The Fae can't be bound by giving their names to mortals, but that doesn't mean they like doing it. It pisses them off.

Mick crosses his arms instead. He should've warned Snart about it, yes, but he didn't, and showing weakness before the Fae is worse than any other consequences that might result.

"You asked for my name, and know it," Snart says. "I asked for yours, and I ain't got nothing yet."

"Unbalanced," Mick comments, clicking his tongue in disapproval even as his heart races. If this works, they'll have an advantage over the Fae, the ability to summon him, but he'll also target them -

Not that it matters, given that he already has Mick's family.

"You may call me Savitar," the Fae finally admits, caught in the politeness trap of his own making. His eyes glitter with anger. "And I come with a gift."

Mick tenses.

"I hereby cancel the rest of your debt, Seventh Son," Savitar declares. "What parts of the quest you have accomplished are enough; you may rest satisfied."

Mick freezes. If the quest is done - and Snart was part of that quest - they're not going to have time to think of a plan; the Fae will feed him straight to the spell and he'll be dead, dead at Mick's hands -

"You're so kind," Snart says, batting his eyelashes. "And us just at the start of the honeymoon, too."

Savitar blinks.

This time he really does appear to be taken aback, rather than merely mocking them with it.

Mick desperately wants to react the same way, but tries not to make any gesture or expression.

What honeymoon?!

There isn’t any, of course. They’re not married.

But –

There’s no way for Savitar to know that.

This might actually work.

"You - married?" Savitar asks.

"We're soulmates," Snart points out. That's true, but neither confirms nor denies the point.

Savitar looks thoughtful.

"You like politeness, don't you?" Mick says gruffly. He has no choice but to back Snart's play, and it's a lot better than the unthinking panic that had been his first reaction. "Well, interrupting's rude. You wouldn't want to get a reputation for being rude and interrupting a honeymoon, would you? "

"I would not," Savitar murmurs. His eyes crackle with white electricity, a sign of temper for the Fae. They've gotten to him - first his name, then this...Mick feels like he shouldn't be surprised by this, given that he's been rambling on about them all day and giving Snart time to plan, but seriously, Snart is really good at fucking over Fae.

Even when they pull one of their nasty surprises, like this one.

Mick grits his teeth. A surprise, yes, but only to him. He has no doubt that this was planned all along - and that a soulmate, willingly sacrificed, was the only ingredient they really needed from him.

Which means he's been running around for the rest of the items for no fucking reason.

Snart's shoulder brushes Mick's, helping him keep his temper.

They're both watching the thinking Fae, who nods, as if deciding something.

"Well played," he says, looking as if he's swallowing glass to have to say it - but the Fae are fair, in their own strange way, and Mick knows he has to acknowledge it when he's lost. "I have no means to check what you did in that foreign land, and to question your answer is to breach the rules of etiquette...very well played."

He bares his teeth into a smile, then, each one sharpened to needlepoint.

Shit.

"In that case, then," Savitar says, his eyes still crackling, "I will not interrupt your month, which is yours to treasure. And I cannot and will not retract my gift, which stands: your quest is over. And, to be polite, I invite you to my realm, to spend the rest of your honey-moon. And when the month is over, we may - proceed."

Mick wants to swear, but doesn't dare.

The Underhill. Savitar's going to take them to the Underhill, that strange and unnatural land of the Fae, and he's going to wait out the month Snart won for them, and then he's going to hurt them both.

Any plan they make will have to be made right under his nose.

Still - one month's repreive is better than nothing.

Snart glances at Mick, question in his eyes.

Mick nods, reluctantly. Snart did good, getting them the extra time, but there's no way to get around the Fae's little "invitation".

They have the spear.

They have a month.

Now to hope that that's enough...

[vanilla107]

Golden Hour

HELLO EVERYONE!

GUESS WHAT? I FELL INTO ANOTHER FANDOM. YAY. It was the Life is Strange game that made me freaking weep my eyes out and I played it while my exams are three weeks away (it was such a horrible idea but I have no regrets).  This fanfic is in honour of the Life is Strange week! Day 2: Favourite ship: Pricefield. A huge thank you to @max-cauliflower for hosting this week! I wasn’t sure if there would still be any fans because I played the game recently but I was wrong! Thank you!

Like a dumbass, I got the days mixed up thinking that the week only started on Monday and not on Sunday, so I still need to do my favourite character but here's my contribution for now! I hope you all like it! (Remember comments and kudos keep my fire going so if you want to see more leave a comment!)

Stay healthy! vanilla107 xoxo

Read on AO3

Summary: Max Caulfield is exhausted after a long day and arriving back home is always the best medicine.

Especially if that medicine is her gorgeous blue-haired girlfriend.

Max Caulfield sighed heavily as she unlocked her apartment door and walked in. She put down her camera on the hall stand and stretched, her aching muscles finally finding relief. She immediately took off her black kitten heels and walked to the bedroom to change into more comfier clothes. She changed out of her formal wear and put on a pair of grey shorts and a pink graphic tee before walking to the kitchen.

It had been a long day of taking photos for her latest gallery showing, meeting up with a client who wanted a commission and finally meeting up for tea with Kate Marsh, a close friend from high school, and her latest project as she was in charge of taking photos for her bestselling children's’ books. The twenty-seven year old smiled as she remembered the good memories she had with Kate when they were together as she got a packet of biscuits from the cupboard. She arranged the biscuits on a plate and made a cup of tea.

While the kettle boiled she hummed one of the indie songs she had stuck in her head and once the water had boiled she prepared the tea and walked out of the kitchen. She walked into the tastefully decorated lounge area, a palette of cream and dark reds, and spotted the person she had been looking forward to seeing ever since she left their apartment that morning. Chloe Price, her partner in crime and her girlfriend, was sitting at their dining table, her face screwed up in concentration, as she typed on her laptop.

After graduating from Blackwell at the age of twenty, she stuck around for a while, waitressing with Joyce around the Two Whales and occasionally visiting her parents back in Seattle. Max stayed because of Chloe. Chloe was never really the same after the storm. She seemed deep in thought at times, thought before she spoke (at least to Joyce, David and a few friends. Assholes still got a Chloe beat-down) and somehow cherished life a little more.

She still smoked, had the blue hair and piercings but she seemed a little happier. She visited Rachel’s grave every weekend and Max would accompany her to lay down flowers. Then Chloe would catch up Rachel on all the things she did that week. Max dd find it odd at first but she realised that Chloe was trying to find closure. Max found it strange that Chloe, who wanted to leave Arcadia Bay the second she got the opportunity, stayed longer than she had thought. Eventually the day came.

“Max, let’s go.”

Max didn’t need any more clarification because those words held depth and she just knew that they needed a new change of scenery.

Leaving Arcadia Bay at the age of twenty one, Max never thought Chloe would go back to her old science loving self. Max remembered how much Chloe loved science when they were younger and how she had been a straight A student but after William dying, her expulsion from Blackwell and Rachel going missing, it looked impossible. But after spending some time working at bars in Portland, Chloe had decided she wanted to study again and go into science.

Part of it was so that she didn’t have to rely on Max constantly to pay rent but the other part was for herself. She liked working at the bars because watching people get drunk was fun but she wanted to do something she loved, and her love was science. It had been a hectic few months with Chloe studying to get her school-leaving certificate.

Mr Wells, surprisingly enough, allowed her to write her final exams and Max couldn’t help but feel a burst of happiness when she saw her girlfriend with the certificate. Joyce was already balling her eyes out with David looking prouder than ever. Chloe then moved onto studying full time with the help of a scholarship (Max actually cried when they received the news) and after a few years, she was now part of a team of research scientists, working on different projects on environmental sustainability.

Her girlfriend donned a black blazer, which was now hanging behind her chair, a white shirt, matching black formal pants and high heeled boots. Max smiled a small smile because of the sharp contrast of Chloe’s light blue hair, her tattoos, piercings and her brash attitude with her work attire. Max remembered being a little worried about Chloe’s first day at work since she was working in such a huge corporation and looking professional was valued highly.

“Max, I will be fine. If they can’t see my intelligence through my tattoos and hair then this company is not worth it,” Chloe said as she buttoned up her shirt.

“But this job could change everything-”

“-Max. I know that you want the best but if I want to be happy, I want to do it my way.”

Max swallowed her worries and sighed, “I just...I don’t know…”

“Max, do you love me? For everything I am?”

The photographer’s eyes widened.

“Yes, you know that.”

“Do you want me to change?”

“No.”

“Do you think I should change for some company?”

Max hesitated and smiled.

“Hell no.”

Chloe had pressed a long kiss to her lips and Max felt her insides light up.

“Looks like we have our answer.”

She had gotten a few odd looks when she walked into the company building and she had been underestimated at her first meeting when a colleague of hers tried to humiliate her with his knowledge of sustainable energy. Chloe, controlling her temper, used her wit and debunked his whole presentation in front of the CEO. She had been assigned a new project immediately, which was a bit daunting being thrown into the deep end so quickly, but Chloe came back home that day with a smile on her face and a week later she had been promoted. Chloe had been working for them for a few months now.

Max knew that Chloe had had a meeting that morning and judging from Chloe’s facial expression, she was getting frustrated. Chloe sighed heavily and closed the laptop. That was when Max walked over and offered her tea and biscuits.

“Max, can you believe that there are people out in the world who think climate change doesn’t exist?” Chloe murmured as she blew her tea and took an eager sip.

“Let me guess, Mr. Conners and Miss Gillin?” Max asked as she gently touched Chloe’s cheek.

“The same fuckers,” Chloe groaned and took a long sip of her tea. “I don’t know why they want to invest in a project that freaking prevents climate change when they don’t even believe in it! It’s bullshit! I mean hello? I swear I don’t see why the company doesn’t fire them!”

“Hey, you’re gonna burn yourself if you drink too fast!” Max warned and Chloe gave her an infamous ‘Chloe’ grin.

“Live life on the edge, Super Max. Now, please drag me away from my laptop before I send a very strongly worded email to Conners and Gillin explaining that they’re fucking idiots and probably got their degrees through cheating.”

Max laughed and lead Chloe away from the desk and they collapsed onto the leather couch. Even though Chloe was the taller one in their relationship, Max liked wrapping her body around Chloe. It made her feel solid and almost acted like an anchor because as long as Chloe was in her arms, nothing could take Chloe away from her.

Max cradled her girlfriend's body and gently ran her fingers through her hair. Chloe’s body instantly relaxed and shifted her body so that not all of her weight was pressing onto Max. Chloe closed her eyes and savoured the moment, the smell of softness and warmth enveloping her. She heard Max’s breathing relax and she could tell that she had fallen asleep. Chloe smiled as she listened to the slow heartbeat.

***************************************************

Max had woken up a few minutes later to find her girlfriend facing her and stroking her cheek with the goofiest smile on her face. Their apartment was had floor to ceiling windows, making the rays of the setting sun cast a golden glow on them. Chloe looked like an angel in the light, her blue eyes radiating and her skin glowing.

“Max?”

“Yeah?”

“This is called Golden Hour right?”

Chloe smiled and nodded before giving Chloe the softest kiss on the nose.

“It’s...wow…I mean it feels like something magical is supposed to happen.”

Max sighed in content and brushed a stray hair from her face.

“Chloe?” Max whispered.

“Hmmm?” Chloe hummed as she looked at the sunset.

“I love you.”

Chloe chuckled but the blush was undeniable as she turned to face her. “I’d be worried if you didn’t, Max....I love you too which is why....”

Chloe sat up straight and retrieved an object from her pocket. Max raised an eyebrow curiously and propped herself up to make herself comfortable. Chloe opened up the velvet box to reveal a glittering silver ring.

“Max Caulfield, will you do me the honour of being my partner in crime and in time for the rest of my life?”

Max felt her hands fly up to her face and she covered her mouth in shock. She stared at the ring and felt tears in her eyes.

Was Chloe being real?

“Babe, please don’t cry,” Chloe smiled and wiped away the tears.

“It’s not you-” Max tried to explain but burst into tears and Chloe was a little taken aback.

Dammit! I know the love of your life can cry when proposed to but full on sobbing? Is that normal?

“Max...if you’re not ready…”

“No! It’s not that!” Max yelled but she grasped Chloe’s hands tightly and tried to calm down.

“I just...Chloe when I...when I first got my rewind powers...you kept dying...and...and there were times when I thought, ‘Damn am I just supposed to loose my best friend in every reality? That can’t be? It’s too fucking unfair.’”

Chloe embraced the trembling photographer and rubbed her back soothingly.

“I tried so hard to save you and...and...when I had to choose between you and Arcadia Bay I...I felt so selfish at first because people did die. But I needed you and I didn’t want to lose you ever again.”

 Max took in a deep breath.

 “Which is why I wanted to get out of Arcadia Bay so badly after the storm. I couldn’t handle anymore close calls and damn I was pissed at you for wanting to stay longer but....but I understood your reasons. You needed closure with Rachel and Nathan and I just...I just couldn’t lose you again. I...I didn’t think this day would ever happen,” Max swallowed and watched Chloe take the ring out of the box and slip it on her left hand.

“Well, it’s happening now Super Max….but you haven’t answered my question. Be my partner in crime and in time for the rest of our lives, forever and always?” Chloe sniffed as she looked at the ring and smiled through the tears.

“Yes. Yes, it would make me the happiest girl alive to be your partner in time and in crime for the rest of my life. I love you Chloe Price.”

[bigskydreaming]

hope this isnt too personal, but does your motel give a discount if you book a longer stay? i know you are gonna be looking for an apartment, but since you are there now, is there a certain amount of time that they start giving a discount? that way if someone is unsure of what to donate at least they have some type of number in mind, if that makes sense

Hey, no worries on the question front, I don’t mind answering. This is probably gonna get longer/more involved than you needed, but a few people have asked me similar questions and so its worth it probably to make a post that covers all of them in depth, all in one go to save time. So, your answer’s in here lol, take what you need and ignore what you don’t! Haha.

So yes, the motel I’m staying at, they give me about as much of a discount as they give anyone, and have for awhile, since I’ve been here pretty consistently since like…August, lol. So, they charge me $85 per day instead of their usual $95 for weekdays and $115 for weekends, and yup, its still a very rundown roach motel, so if you think that seems way expensive, like…you’re not wrong, but also…its LA. *Shrugs* 

This isn’t to say that there’s not cheaper motels anywhere in LA, there’s just a couple other pretty critical factors involved there. First, it’s the cheapest I’ve found in my area, which is the area where I’ve been looking for an apartment, a part of town I’m familiar with, can get around to most places I need to go on foot, as well as having a pretty easy straightforward route to all the places I eventually need to go for my ongoing treatment/procedures. And yeah, this area is far from the cheapest in LA to live, but its not impossible either. There are one bedrooms in this area for around $1,400 a month, which again is expensive, but since my various issues have made finding a roommate/renting a room from total strangers pretty hard to find and living by myself is still my likeliest option, it is what it is. And when you consider that even in this motel I’ve been basically paying $2,600 a month, like…when I get I finally get into a place, that’ll still ease things for me tremendously because even a one bedroom at a price like that is a thousand bucks a month I won’t have to make.

And one of the other big factors is that mobility is a huge issue for me. I don’t actually think that public transpo is as bad of an issue in LA as a lot of people make it out to be - I mean, most cities do it better and the buses and metros can be pretty unreliable sometimes, but I’ve never had a huge problem using it to get to most places in the city when I’ve been without a car in the past. But the biggest drawback to my physical condition these days isn’t actually the pain or headaches, like, they suck but I can deal with them. It’s the vertigo that trips me up, because my equilibrium is all fucked and can shift randomly like with zero warning. So walking pretty much anywhere I can be moving along fine and then bam, I’m staggering like I’m drunk or even more fun, just fall flat on my ass. So walking nowadays is a very slow affair for me, not because of my pace, but because I have to keep stopping and starting and leaning up against walls any time I feel a new bout of vertigo start coming and need some extra balance until it passes. 

(Random Sidebar, but Pokemon Go is such an unexpected lifesaver, lmao, I can’t even tell you. I fucking love that thing and have it out anywhere I go, because its soooooo much better having to stop randomly in the middle of the sidewalk and hug a wall when people going by can see it and go oh he’s just trying to catch a Pokemon or battle that Gym instead of like, assuming you’re on a ten am bender or tripping out or something). 

Anyway, all of that makes it pretty much impossible to predict how long it’ll take me to walk places, and which makes it definitely impossible to catch an already unreliable bus or metro on time unless I leave way in advance to catch a bus that’s even a mile away. And most places in LA can be reached by bus or metro, but you usually have to take a lot of transfers, there’s not a lot of straight shots from A to B, and that’s what really gets me. Because the odds of me making it to the bus stop I gotta walk to after getting off at one spot and actually catch the next bus when my apps tell me to based on the routes I mapped out…they’re not good. LOL. And Uber gets expensive fast when trying to make it around LA, its not really an alternative when your budget is stretched as thin as you can make it already.

So traveling anywhere these days is typically a day long affair for me, no matter where I’m going. So I’ve definitely explored trying to stay in other cheaper locations or renting airbnbs which have better discounts for longer stays, but when you factor in my mobility issues and usual travel times…its not really as feasible as it seems at first glance. The apartment hunt is a big part of that….I pretty much HAVE to stay in the same area as I apartment hunt, since I have to do that on foot or else waste whole hours missing buses and waiting for the next ones, and with as long as it takes me to walk places….when I’ve tried staying in cheaper motels further away, by the time I even get to where I’m actually searching for apartments, I’m lucky if I can make it to two or three different locations to even get an application, before I have to start trekking back to where I’m staying.

And every day I spend apartment hunting or even traveling is a day that’s pretty much a complete wash as far as work goes. Like, with my savings looooong since wiped out completely, I live day to day, spending money about as quickly as I make it. Which means at the prices I’m talking, $85 a day for motel plus $10-$15 for food that day, (since the only way to get an actual meal without a kitchen or easy access to a nearby food bank or shelter is any take out places in the area, which add up fast) - essentially, I’ve been working nonstop every single day I can for at least the past seven months, busting my ass to make a minimum of $100 bucks a day, because that’s pretty much what it costs for me to keep just treading water at the current status quo. So anything short of a hundred dollars I make in a day tends to go immediately towards the cost of surviving, and anything more than that gets saved up to allow me even like a single day of apartment hunting or other necessary travel. Because a day I have to spend entirely walking and busing around is a day there’s no chance of me making $100, so I can only do that in the first place when I’ve managed to save up enough to take a day ‘off’ from work. 

Which, lol, means what is a day off, even? I can’t remember, haha, there’s nothing restful or relaxing about the days I have to spend traveling or walking around, let alone the days where I just can’t find enough work to make my $100. Same reason homeless shelters aren’t really viable for me at the moment. I’ve stayed in a couple at a few points in the past, years ago, and sure they’re not fun but its like, whatever, you know. But in my current state like….not spending money on a motel for the day(s) I’m staying in a shelter doesn’t actually mean I’m saving money if I’m not making even that much per day while in a shelter. Because if I can’t even get online to work while there and I end up having to travel even just to a Starbucks (with all my stuff) to work for the day, like, that already substantially cuts into how much time I actually have to work and how stressed I am which affects productivity, etc….which means it would end up taking two or three days to make as much as I need for even one day in a motel.  And so it doesn’t really save me money, it just makes it easier to fall into the trap of not being able to ever get back OUT of the shelter and into somewhere else again without any real benefit in the first place.

So, all of that also means that even days spent traveling to cheaper motels or airbnbs end up costing me just as much in lost work as I save in cheaper rent. Also, my material possessions at the moment are just few enough that I can take them all with me when I move from place to place, but that’s still enough that when even walking around and taking buses empty handed is….An Adventure, like….doing so while lugging all your shit in a couple bags that are pretty heavy when its been over a year since your last workout and you’re scrawnier than you’ve ever been in your life, lmao, like….that’s A Super Fun Adventure that tbh I try and avoid as much as humanly possible. The nearest laundromat from where I am is only a half mile away, and Laundry Day alone is so much fun I just can’t even, lolol.

And all of that’s what led to me posting my first donation post last month and this one, because when you’re only surviving on the money you make each day, a single day of not making your quota can wipe you out. I was sick for like, three days at the start of last month and that was all it took to set me impossibly behind and with peoples’ donations being the only way I managed to get on top of shit again. But then on top of that, December was always gonna be a hard month to keep meeting my daily work quota cuz of people busy with and budgeting for the holidays, and so I still only scraped by the later weeks in the month thanks to the donations I had saved from that first post and still wound up right back here in the same kinda position anyway. I’m actually a couple days behind on rent again, hence why I posted that new post yesterday, but I’ve been able to stay just under Too Far Behind, like at a point where I’m still paying something day by day so they’re giving me a chance to catch up this time. (And much thanks to the people who already donated yesterday and this morning, you’ve helped me eat and close that gap and between that and work I’m getting closer to back on top of that again, so I can start saving up to resume my apartment search and actually have money to give one when I find it).

Anyway, that should cover most of the questions I’ve gotten, lol, in my usual TMI sort of way. But idk, not anything to do with any of the anons I’ve had about this, but I think its useful for people to have more detailed breakdowns of stuff like that in general, because until someone’s been at the point of homelessness themselves, I think most people really don’t have any real sense of what that entails or how it happens. And that’s purely on the perception we’re given by society of homelessness and who ends up homeless and why. The poorer you get or the less able-bodied or ‘high-functioning’ (ugh hate that phrase but for lack of a better known one) you become, the more expensive it ends up being to survive, because of how fewer options society provides for you to choose from like….across the board, in every thing you do or need. And then society likes to point out the hail mary’s they grudgingly put in place to ‘catch’ the people who inevitably fall through the cracks as a result, like homeless shelters, etc, without really factoring in how little infrastructure is in place to ever actually get people back OUT of that and onto their feet again. 

And just as a general aside, but man do I haaaaaaaaate the language about homeless people winding up that way because they’re lazy, like lolololol. There is NOTHING comfortable about sleeping on the sidewalk in forty degree weather, and that’s the thing about ‘laziness’. It only actually exists when someone has a certain level of comfort, where enough of their needs are met that they can afford to put off doing something because they simply don’t want to do it right now. Nobody can afford to put off eating or having a bed to sleep in because they simply don’t want to make sure they eat or sleep that day. If a person’s not ‘productive’ enough to eat or have somewhere to sleep for a night, there’s a million reasons why that might be or what’s holding them back, but I can guarantee its not laziness.  For every homeless person you’ve ever seen sleeping on the sidewalk, I promise you there’s a person who has a story not all that innately different from mine, and one where the days, weeks or even months prior to them ending up sleeping on the street, they first were doing everything they were physically, mentally and emotionally capable of doing to KEEP from being that destitute.

But its the law of diminishing returns. If you’re already doing every single thing you possibly can without improving your situation, the only things that will ever actually improve it or help you reach a more sustainable environment/productivity level are things that come from OUTSIDE you and your own efforts, where and how other people help you out. You simply can not give anymore than you already give towards the task of surviving, when that is already literally ALL you are doing day in and day out. Some people get that outside help or support or borrowed energy from their family and never have to turn to friends or from there to strangers. Some people just don’t have that option.

And without that outside help, like, your own efforts to improve your situation and then simply to just survive…..that’s the diminishing returns part. Inevitably, they’re only going to get less and less effective, because none of us are perpetual motion machines. We can’t keep going forever and ever without ever having a chance to recharge, refuel, replenish ourselves. It’s the entropy of existence. Everything costs energy. And the harder you have to struggle to stay alive, the more energy it costs. The more you use up. The faster you fade. *Shrugs*

It’s why I firmly and 100% believe that the single most defiant act a person can make in an unfair world is to look at someone else who’s stuck in a cycle of entropic decay, who you see having their energy eaten faster and faster by an uncaring universe, and you find a way to share some of yours with them and in doing so tell the universe “not today, fucker, not on my watch. Screw your laws and your science, I’m gonna make sure they last even just a little bit longer, no matter what your fucked up physics has to say about it.”

And yeah, I freely admit that’s 100% self-serving at the moment and thus easy to say as someone who like, obviously needs and wants peoples’ help, lmao, but whatever. Still true whether its applied to me or someone else, and I’ve said it before things got this bad for me and I’ll say it again once things are better. 

Every time you help keep alive someone who by their own words is not ready to be done fighting yet, that’s a time you defied the universe and told it that it doesn’t always get what it wants either, and it can go fuck itself.

[whimsical-ness]

Wraith | Minseok

◇ Link to Masterlist

◇ Genre: Supernatural! AU, Ghosts/Spirits AU, Angst

◇ Summary: You get more than you bargained for when you move into an old apartment that turns out to be haunted by the ghost of a jilted young man. 

◇ Word Count: 4.5k

◇ A/N: Aaand Minseok finally gets his own fic!! Happy Halloween everyone 👻

After years of shuffling from one shitty apartment to another, arguing with landlords, not having enough money to even buy some nice clothes because of the ridiculous amount you were spending on rent, you’d finally had enough. 

And so using all your savings so far, you’d done it. You’d bought yourself your very own apartment. You were now the proud first-time owner of your own house.

It was in the quiet part of the city, and the building itself was quite old-fashioned and a far cry from the sleek modern structures you’d dreamed of living in, but you didn’t care. You were just happy to finally have a place you could stay in for as long as you wanted, no questions asked.

The apartment was a bit musty and outdated, but what else could you have bought with the limited funds you had? In your opinion, it was a steal for the price you had paid.

Of course, you hadn’t anticipated all of the strange happenings that began to occur the first week you moved in.

Now, you weren’t exactly a believer in the paranormal, but you weren’t a stringent skeptic either. You were perhaps somewhere in between. You just assumed that yeah, maybe ghosts and spirits did exist, but you didn’t believe people when they said they’d actually seen them.

But the past week in your new apartment was making you question everything. Odd things were happening, and even though you didn’t want to outright say it, you were pretty certain that something was very wrong.

You were being haunted.

By what, you still had no idea.

It was little things, but things that unnerved you all the same. 

A window being open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze, when you were certain you’d closed it the night before. The TV channel changing abruptly, a cushion meant for the couch lying on the floor instead. The sound of the kitchen cabinet slamming shut, or the clattering of a spoon on the floor.

By now, you were pretty freaked out. But you didn’t really know what to do about it, because well, there was nothing you could do. You were now likely cohabitating with a ghost, and you were just going to have to live with it, because there was no way you were moving out. 

This was your apartment now, whether the ‘ghost’ liked it or not.

But one night, it was raining heavily outside, thunder rumbling in the distance. You were curled up on the couch, nursing a cup of hot chocolate and watching a movie, when suddenly, the lamp beside you went off. 

As if on cue, the TV switched to a sudden static, the jarring sound filling the air. You swallowed, shakily setting down your mug in fear of spilling the contents everywhere. 

“Alright. I hear you, okay? I know you’re trying to mess with me by doing this stuff, but let me tell you, whatever you do, I’m not moving out,” you announced, hoping your voice sounded much more confident than you felt.

What were you even doing, speaking to thin air? You were going mad. 

And then you quite literally, heard someone, or something snort in laughter. You gulped. “What do you want?” you said, cautiously this time, now acutely aware that there was definitely a presence in the room with you.

And then you gasped and sprung to your feet, because impossibly, you could now see it. One moment, you were staring at nothing, and the next, there was an apparition in front of your eyes.

A ghost. An actual ghost.

You should have screamed. Or fainted. But all you could do was stare.

It was a young man. He looked to be around your age, meaning he must have died when he was around your age. The thought sent a chill down your spine. He’d probably had his whole life ahead of him.

He didn’t look scary, or menacing, like you’d assumed a ghost would look like. He was instead strikingly handsome, with narrow, slanted eyes, full eyebrows, and jet black hair that fell over his eyes slightly. He was wearing a loose fitting white shirt and black slacks. He looked like an ordinary man, save for his somewhat extraordinary looks.

Perhaps the only tell-tale of his reality was the dark red patch on his shirt, right where his heart was. A ruthless blood-stain, from a ruthless wound. 

You forced yourself to look away from it, instead looking up at his face. He was staring back at you, his features impassive, his lips turned into a small frown.

You struggled to speak. “Wh-yo-how...” you stammered.

“I was debating showing myself,” said the ghost, his voice surprisingly powerful. “But your lack of reaction towards my...antics was frustrating.”

You gaped at him. 

“Are you going to...are you going to kill me?” you asked, stupidly. The ghost rolled his eyes. “Do I look like I can do that? I’m dead. I can’t do anything but frighten you,” he replied, tilting his head. “But I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of that.”

You sat back down on the couch with a thud, your mind reeling from what you were seeing and hearing. 

“What do you want from me, then?” you asked, almost scared to hear his answer. “To be honest, I don’t want you here. This was my apartment. No one has lasted here for more than 2 months, because I scare them off. I intend to do the same with you,” he spoke, gazing at you intently.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Look, I’m not going anywhere. I own this place now. You’re just going to have to bear with me, and I’ll bear with you.”

The ghost floated closer to you and you shivered. The air around you felt colder than it had before. “You’re a stubborn one,” he mused. “But let’s just see how much of me you can really bear,” he said, smiling. 

And then suddenly, he was gone, leaving you once again staring into thin air, albeit a little shaken.

He had been right. Bearing with him was harder than you had anticipated.

He started his ‘antics’ with a new vengeance, and this time, he wasn’t playing around.

You’d be taking a nice hot shower, when suddenly, the water would become freezing cold, forcing you to step out of there, gasping and shivering. Or you’d be in the kitchen, when a plate would shatter onto the ground in front of your eyes, and you’d have to steel yourself and clean up the mess. 

But the worst of all was that he’d started to mess with your sleep. All night long, your apartment would be filled with the sounds of windows and doors slamming open or shut, the kitchen sink being turned on, or even more cutlery being smashed to the ground.

You were about to go insane. 

It pretty much crossed the limit when you had a couple of friends over for dinner, and your friend Sehun ran out of the bathroom screaming because something had nearly strangled him with toilet paper.

You slammed the front door shut furiously, as your friends all left, completely terrified.

“That’s it,” you muttered. “I’ve had enough, ghost. It was fine until you started messing with my friends,” you seethed, knowing that he could very much hear you, though he had yet to appear.

You yelped as suddenly, a glass on the table shattered near your feet, the pieces of glass flying everywhere. You clenched your fist. “You’re not scaring me.”

And then all the lights went off, leaving you in complete darkness. All was silent, save for your breathing. You cautiously took a step forward, meaning to inch towards the light switch, when a sudden piercing pain shot through your foot.

You dropped down to your knees with a gasp, blindly reaching for your foot, wincing as your fingers came into contact with a warm, wet substance, one you could only identify as blood.

You cursed, and the lights flickered back on. 

“Are you alright?’

You glared up at the source of the voice. The ghost had finally decided to make his appearance.

“Do I look alright to you?” you snapped. “I just fucking cut my foot on the glass that you shattered. Why, I still have no idea.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, and to your astonishment, he looked flustered. 

“Right, you meant to scare me. Into leaving. Which, I’ll remind you again, is not going to happen. So I’m going to ask you again; please just let me live here in peace. I’m not going to bother your afterlife or whatever, okay? I don’t have the time for that,” you said roughly.

“You really aren’t going to leave, are you?” said the ghost warily. You shook your head, standing back to face him, your fingers still covered in blood. He glanced down at your bleeding foot. “You might want to get a band aid on that,” he said. 

You ignored him and made your way to the bathroom, limping, and threw open the the cabinets to look for something to clean your wound with. You could feel the ghost’s presence behind you. 

“The rubbing alcohol might be in the kitchen,” he said, and you turned to glare at him. “Why would it be in the kitchen?”

“Because that’s where I saw it a couple of days ago,” he replied, his eyes guilty under his bangs. You huffed and proceeded to carefully disinfect your cut and wrap it up with a band aid. The ghost watched you the entire time.

For a few moments, you just eyed each other gingerly, neither speaking. And he spoke suddenly, startling you.

“I’m sorry.”

You raised your eyebrows. “I’m not sure I completely accept your apology until you tell me exactly why you have this vengeance against anyone who wants to live here,” you said, and gazed at him expectantly.

The ghost sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Oh, I love stories. Go ahead,” you prompted.

The ghost narrowed his eyes. “Alright then. My name is Kim Minseok. And this is the story of how I died.”

I had been living here for around 2 years. I’d moved in as a way to finally get away from my hell of a family. My abusive father had left us when I was 10, so it was just my mother, my older brother, and me.

For a while, we were okay. But then my brother started to unravel. He sought alcohol as a way to drown all of his unhappiness, and after that, things were never the same.

He’d come home late, shouting and making a ruckus, scaring my mother. I tried to stand up to him, to make up for all the times I couldn’t stand up to my father, but it never worked. He didn’t care about what he was doing to our already broken family.

Finally, one day, I decided I’d had enough. I thought I deserved a better, happier life, away from my alcoholic brother, and my mother, who’d by then lost her soul. She’d given up on everything. If I had stayed there any longer, I would’ve become like her. Soulless, lifeless, with no hope for the future.

And so I left. Packed up the few things I had, and stumbled upon this place. I had a job that didn’t pay very well, but I could afford the rent. And for the bulk of those 2 years that I was here, I was happy. For the first time, I wasn’t weighed down by anything, responsibilities or my shattered family. I was living life for myself, one day at a time. 

And then one day, he found me. My brother. He was drunk, miserable, and furious at me, for abandoning him and my mother. 

We fought, and things got ugly. I still don’t know who reached for the knife first. I think it was me. But I wasn’t going to use it; it was more as a threat than anything. But then he was charging at me and suddenly, all I felt was this horrible pain in my chest. I looked down to see crimson blooming through my shirt.

I remember I just gasped and stared at my brother, terror washing over me. That I might die. My brother was equally terrified, and he dropped the knife onto the ground with a clatter, blood on his hands.

I thought he would help me, take me to the hospital, that they would stitch me up, that everything would be okay, it had to be.

But it was as if my brother couldn’t think straight anymore. He just kept staring at me in shock while I dropped to the ground, clutching at my chest while I bled out.

Then he fled. He left me lying there, the life slowly draining out of me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream for help. 

The next thing I knew, I was floating above my lifeless body. 

They never even identified my killer. They took my body away and dismissed it as an unsolved murder case. There was nothing I could do, of course. 

And that’s when I vowed to stay here, and to torment anyone who came to live here after me. Because why should anyone who lives here be happy, when my own happiness had been so cruelly snatched away from me? And so here I am, rendering people as miserable as I am, forcing them out of here.

So now you know.

He finished with a sigh, while you sat there shell-shocked. You realized with a start that your cheeks were wet, with tears you had unconsciously shed.

You shakily brought your palm up to wipe them away. “I’m so sorry,” you said, your voice low. “That should never have happened to you. It was absolutely awful.”

Minseok looked away. The crimson stain on his shirt was more evident than ever to you, now that you knew the origin. You felt cold all over.

“But I have no where to go, Minseok,” you said quietly. “I know you want me gone, but there’s no where I can go. This is the first place I’ve been able to call home.”

“Then stay,” said Minseok, and you looked at him surprise. “I can’t physically make you leave. Just stay.” 

And then he disappeared, leaving you sitting there with your heart heavy and your mind bewildered. 

That night you didn’t get any sleep yet again, but this time it wasn’t because Minseok’s ghostly antics. it was because you couldn’t stop thinking about his story. You wanted to talk to him.

And so the next day you waited for him to show himself again. When he didn’t the entire day, you found yourself being slightly disappointed. It was as if he had just vanished after giving you his grudging permission to continue living in the apartment. 

So you decided to summon him by using his own trick. You switched off all the lights and sat in the living room in silence. 

And surprisingly, it worked. 

“Why is my apartment in complete darkness?” came his annoyed voice, as he willed the lamps to flicker back on. 

“I thought that was how you liked it,” you replied, smiling a little. “Isn’t it your favourite trick?”

“Yes, but only when I do it myself,” he said. 

“I-I wanted to say thank you,” you said, suddenly nervous. “For letting me stay here and not...making me leave.”

Minseok snorted. “You’re welcome.” 

You awkwardly held out a hand. “I know you can’t shake my hand, but we can pretend. Let’s start over. We can co-exist in peace.”

Minseok stared at you, before extending his own arm out, looking extremely amused. “Alright.”

A new start it was. Your ghostly house-mate turned out to be quite an entertaining entity once you got to know him. 

You’d started a new thing where you would watch TV together, with you educating him on all of the latest pop-culture trends in the world of the living. Minseok, as it turned out, ended up becoming obsessed with the same TV show you were obsessed with, thanks to watching it when you did. 

You’d come back from work some days to see the TV on, Minseok sitting (floating) on the couch, completely enraptured by the scenes unfolding on the screen. And then you’d grab the remote and turn it off, annoyed that he’d watched it without you.

Cue a furious war of Minseok turning the TV back on with his ghostly powers, and you turning it off with the remote, until finally, you just flopped down next to him to watch it, him grinning in triumph.

Minseok was also a fairly decent listener, and gave surprisingly good advice. When you complained about being over-worked and not having enough time to finish all your work assignments, he actually helped you organize your responsibilities in the form a big chart. Well, he directed you while you did the actual drawing and writing.

Having friends over now also meant a series of hilarious happenings that of course, you couldn’t exactly explain. Minseok really was ruthless when he wanted to be. 

As if nearly strangling your friend Sehun hadn’t been enough, the next time he was over, Minseok made it a point to throw open all of the windows in the living room, and make all of the lights flicker on and off like it was a damn disco. All this, while you were in the bathroom, leaving poor Sehun alone outside, sitting on the couch with his face pale in fear.

“Your place is haunted, man,” he said. You bit your lip. “I think you’re just imagining things?”

He stared at you. “Holy shit. You’ve been possessed haven’t you? It all makes sense! Because why the fuck else would you still be living here??”

You rolled your eyes and tried very hard not to start laughing, because Minseok was now hovering right behind Sehun, holding a glass of water over his head, a glint in his eyes.

You shook your head slightly at him, praying he would get the hint and not do what you were sure he was about to. But of course, he didn’t care.

Within the next few minutes, Sehun was drenched, screaming for his life, and running out of your apartment, vowing to return with a priest and some holy water to ‘save’ you.

You were bent over on the ground in peels of laughter, Minseok joining you, looking smug. “You should laugh more often,” he said. “It suits you. Your smile is very pretty.”

For some reason, this made you go red. You must be going insane, you thought, later that night. Getting shy over a silly comment a ghost had made. Albeit a very handsome ghost, with a great personality, who was more similar to you than you’d ever thought.

Oh dear.

The day you realized you were a goner came only a few weeks later. Minseok had seemingly vanished, nowhere to be seen for the entire day. You assumed that maybe he was off haunting another apartment in the building, though you knew he never did that.

And so you didn’t try to call out for him until that evening, when you returned from work and he still wasn’t around. There was an increasingly uncomfortable feeling inside you, a chaotic sort of panic that was building up, that you didn’t know how to stop.

You switched off all of the lights and sat there in silence, praying he would turn up, like he usually did. But there was nothing. No cold breeze that signified his presence, no annoyed murmur, no flickering of light.

You forced yourself to calm down, reminding yourself that he was a ghost, that he wasn’t even a living being, for you to be freaking out like this. 

But the horrible truth was that over the past few months, you’d grown far too attached to him, to the happiness to felt when you were with him. You’d suspected it for a while, but now it was evident.

Somewhere along the way, you’d developed feelings for him. It was crazy, you were crazy, but it had happened. You were the girl who’d somehow managed to fall in love with a ghost.

Because why else would you be sitting on your bed in the dead of the night, hugging your knees to your chest, forcing yourself to stay awake because he might come back? Because just the thought of not seeing him again was too hurtful for you to bear?

But at some point, you must have fallen asleep, because when you opened your eyes a while later, he was there. Minseok was at the edge of your bed, gazing at you.

You sat up with a start. “Wh-where were you all day?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. Minseok looked slightly shaken, you noticed, and a new wave of panic rushed through you.

“Why, did you miss me?” he asked, his lips curving into a smirk nevertheless.

“Yes,” you answered, swallowing. “I missed you. You can’t just be here all the time and get me so used to you and then disappear without saying anything.”

It was all coming out now, the pent up feelings. And you weren’t about to stop them.

Minseok raised his eyebrows. “I’m a ghost. I disappear for a living.”

“This isn’t a joke,” you snapped. “Y-you can’t just vanish anymore. I-I need you.”

Minseok said nothing, but you saw whatever resolve he was upholding come crashing down in his eyes. 

“You silly girl,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Please don’t tell me that you feel the same way about me like I do about you. Because you have to know there’s nothing we can do about it. I’m dead.”

The breath caught in your throat. “I don’t care. If you like me, and I like you, then I don’t care.”

You couldn’t believe the words you were saying. And apparently, neither could Minseok, because he was growing increasingly agitated.

“Stop being delusional. I’m not going to last here any longer,” he said roughly, his voice breaking. 

“What do you mean?” you asked shakily. 

“I couldn’t materialize all of yesterday because I didn’t have the power to. I was there, I was present, but I couldn’t show myself to you. I just-I felt so weak. It’s never happened before. I think...I think my time is approaching. I think I’m finally going to be able to crossover to the other side,” he breathed.

You let out a breath. “No,” you said in a small voice. “Why now, why not over the past 5 years you’ve been here? Why did you have to meet me, Minseok? Everything would have hurt less.”

“It’s because of you,” said Minseok, his smile sad. “It’s because of you that I’m going to be able to pass on. I’m sure of it. Because ever since you moved here, I’ve been happy. I-I’ve finally attained the happiness that I sought after but never found when I was alive. I died before I could ever find it. Which is why I was stuck here. But with you...with you I feel happy. And that’s why I have to go,” he said, urging you to look at him, because you were now crying, refusing to believe the things he was saying, the things you knew were true.

It was your fault, then. it was your own fault that Minseok was going to be cruelly taken from you.

And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

When earlier you’d look forward to coming home to see him, now you began to dread it. Because every time, you prayed that it wouldn’t be the last time.

Minseok’s apparition was growing less opaque day by day, and both of you knew that time was running out. 

Still, Minseok insisted you do the same things you always did, watching the same stupid TV show, helping you with your work. You hated how much you were going to miss him. It was breaking you inside, little by little.

And then one night, with the raining pouring outside and thunder rumbling in the distance, reminiscent of the very first time you ever saw him, you knew it was going to be the last.

Minseok was barely visible by now, but he was beside you, his eyes desperate, his face sad. “I never could kiss you,” he murmured. “I always imagined how it would feel. I guess I still have some unfinished business here.”

Despite everything, you laughed through your tears. Why was he so good at making you laugh?

Minseok smiled. “There it is. That laugh. I’m glad it the last thing I’m going to hear.”

“Stop saying stuff like that,” you croaked, rubbing the tears from your face.

“Don’t worry about me,” said Minseok, seemingly sensing your extreme unease about what was going to happen to him. “The other side is supposed to be where eternal peace lies. I’m going to be okay.”

“But I’m not,” you whispered. “I’m not going to be okay. I going to miss you, you idiot. I’m going to miss you so much.”

Minseok’s smile turned sad. “I’m going to miss you too. Thank you. Thank you for making me happy, for making me feel the way I’ve always wanted to feel. You made this place feel like the home I always wanted it to feel like. Thank you,” he said quietly.

You didn’t have the words to reply, your heart completely broken, the tears rolling in steady streams down your cheeks. 

You sat there together, Minseok growing fainter and fainter, until at last, you couldn’t see him at all. 

All you heard was a soft “I love you,” in the space beside you, before you knew he was gone. Forever.

It felt like a part of you was gone forever with him.

The apartment was so silent, now. You came home to a bleak space, no flickering lights, no cold breezes from the open windows, no TV on.

You almost wished you would see a sign of him again, that he was still there, but deep inside you knew he wasn’t. The only thing that comforted you was the fact that he had finally found his own peace, and that you had helped him get there.

Even if it had meant your heart had broken to what you felt like it would never recover from.

Even Sehun noticed the change, when he was finally brave enough to come over again. “What, no slamming kitchen cabinets this time?” he asked, looking around warily. 

You shook your head. 

Sehun let out a breath. “So the ghost’s gone. And you aren’t possessed anymore. This is good.”

You smiled sadly. 

“Not gonna lie, would’ve loved to confront him about all the crazy shit he was doing,” he said, flinging himself onto the couch.

You sighed, glancing down at the scar that was still on your foot from the cut you’d got all those months ago. Oh, what you would do to turn back time to that day, even, just so that you could have more moments with Minseok. Just to be with him again. 

“Did you ever see him?” asked Sehun curiously. “What was he like? Seems like he was quite the character.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

A/N: Hope you liked it!

[allen-d-rivers]

Ice Cream and Debauchery

Chapters 1 and 2 of an experimental new project, similar to John Dies at The End. 

                                                           1

It’s not every day you learn you’re a link between worlds and a crucial peg in the ongoing struggle of good against evil, the fate of the entire universe hinging upon your actions.

In fact, I’d say it’s pretty rare.

At least I think. I can only speak for myself. The types of things I learn in a usual day are that the Doritos have gone stale, or one of our eight cats has pissed in my bed. On occasion I learn the Netflix subscription has expired, and sometimes my brother’s back hair and toenail clippings amass so much that they clog the shower drain.

Gross, right?

Anyway, that’s what you deal with. Typical everyday bullshit. The ancillary details that somehow become the staple of your life. And yeah, it sucks. My home smells like weed and my car is constantly on the urge of breaking down but at least it’s normal.

Acid spitting demons. Tentacle...things. Interdimensional beings with the power to phase out facets of existence.

Like what the fuck?

And I’m a boring dude. Forgettable. Stinky, even. I’m not a protagonist. A hero. I’m just a unkempt slacker with a mountain of student loan debt constantly paralyzed by crippling anxiety and self-doubt.

Okay, so that’s like half of my generation, but whatever, you get the point.

I can’t even remember to return my DVDs to Redbox, yet I’m charged with saving all of existence?

And who the hell rents DVDs anymore?

Okay, fine, fine I’ll stop wasting time. I’ll get to the point. It’s one that took me 3,500 years to understand (time’s not linear - it’s a long story) but here’s my best summary:

There are infinite universes. Infinite timelines. Infinite outcomes. You are just a thread in the entire cosmic rope of you. Also, there are demi-god assholes wagering on the fate of all of our lives. Most of them are dicks.

Get it?

Good. So we’ll start from the beginning, because this guide might be helpful to whoever comes next. Even if it’s another iteration of me. Or something.

Stick with me, I barely get it myself.

So all of this...the murders, the massacre, the interdimensional travel, it all started in one place. A place many of us think of as common, but that was destined to be the hallowed ground, the launching point for the ultimate conflict, the one that encompasses all of our lives and which very well could end them all.

We begin at K-Mart.

                                                  2

“Ice cream and debauchery?”

“What?” I ask.

“Cigar and a soiree?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Refreshments and a rave?” Will asks with a grin, flashing his pearly yellows in the process. He’s leaning on the counter across from me. We’re both wearing our K-Mart shirts, blue and embroidered with a red K. Will’s has an accompanying mustard stain that’s gone crusty. I’m on register and he’s on stock, but with how barren and desolate the store is, we both can afford to kill some time.

“C’mon you schmuck, I’m asking what you want to do tonight,” Will says.

“The same thing we do every night, Pinky,” I reply.

Will blinks. “Why are you calling me Pinky?”

“Never mind.”

“Do I have marker on my face or something?” Will wipes at his face.

“Stop it,” I urge. “I don’t care what we do tonight. Drinks, video games, whatever. I have nothing on the agenda.”

“Dude,” Will whispers, leaning forward on the counter. “I heard there’s a sweet new laser tag place in Johnson City. You can see the lasers shooting through the air. Pew pew and all that shit.”

I look Will in his (dilated) pupils and consider the prospect. A couple of twenty-five year old guys in sweat-stained t shirts going all out on a group of middle schoolers, diving behind cover and screaming while firing a barrage of light beams in a retaliatory strike. It would be like Saving Private Ryan, but somehow more sad and desperate.

“Sounds great,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to shoot thirteen year olds.”

“Yeah, fuck kids!” Will declares.

“A-hem,” a voice rasps.

Will and I look and see Shelly, our manager, standing with her arms crossed a few feet away. She’s a rigid stick of a woman, tiny but imposing, and she’s wearing her “you fucked up” expression on her face.

You’d know it if you saw it.

“Oh shit!” Will says. “Liam didn’t mean he actually wants to shoot thirteen year olds.” He pauses. “And I didn’t mean I like to…”

“Enough!” Shelly belts. “I don’t care what you two morons blather on about. Most of the time it doesn’t make a damn difference in this place but I’d appreciate if you didn’t do it while there were customers waiting in line.” Shelly extends a bony finger past Will, where two customers stand.

“Oh, got it, got it,” Will says. “I’ll go and…”

“Get the boxes from storage,” Shelly says. “I’m sorry folks,” she says to the customers. “Won’t happen again.” She shoots me a glare before stomping off. Will looks to the customers tepidly, offering a shy smile and wave.

“The children are our future,” he declares before trotting off.

“Sorry about that,” I say as the man approaches.

Most people would be worried about being fired for such a transgression. Admittedly, when I first joined the K-Mart team, I was concerned about my performance. About being on time. About doing things the right way. About greeting every customer with a smile.

Now I’m tempted to tell half of them to fuck themselves.

The rude mean half. I’m not some type of monster.

Not yet, anyway.

There’s no threat of being fired. The place can barely keep enough employees to function. And how can they? Minimum wage pay, no pay increases per year, extremely limited mobility, the unsavory assholes taking out their daily ilk and strife on you as they berate you over the price of shorts, the limited variety of snack cakes, and the behavior of their own mutant children.

Okay, so they're not really mutants.

Most of them.

The point is, who cares? Slap that on a bumper stick. Sell it to all the millennials. Nothing matters we’re all going to die, have some fun in the meantime.

“Excurse me!”

That’s not a typo.

“Excurse me!” The man in front of me repeats. He has a strange accent, or some type of slur. Regardless he sounds Scandinavian, or eastern European or something.

“Hello sir,” I say. The man before me is tall, and Frankenstein-like in his demeanor. His body moves in lurches, appearing lumpy and improperly set. He’s like an action figure a kid’s twisted one times too many, and it looks like his shoulders are permanently pushed upwards out of place.

This isn’t the only odd thing about him. I swear to God (well, at least some iteration of the higher power that does exist) that this guy is the spitting image of Gary Busey. Well, Gary Busey if he’d gotten in a bar fight. His face is swollen and lumpy, though there are no sign of cuts or bruising.

I feel a strange vibration. A chilling tickle up my spine. And that’s not some revisionist history. I didn’t know what was up with this guy or what was bound to happen, but when you see a Frankenstein-like Gary Busey with a strange accent and those horrible horse teeth staring at you with corpse-gray eyes, you know something’s up.

Busey slams three objects down upon the counter. His hand shakes over them, as if he is straining to pull his arm back. To make his arm work. He used his other hand to grab his wrist and assist. I stare down at the three items.

A cucumber. An opened (and bitten) stick of butter. A pack of Trojan Brand Condoms.

Again, the R’s aren’t typos.

“Therse are the things that are being bought togrether, am I being of the correrect?

“Excuse me?”

“Excurse?” Busey coughs. His breath smells like dogfarts.

“What did you ask, sir?”

His eyes roll in his head. His tongue falls out of the side of his mouth. Now, for the first time, I understand the true nature and severity of what I’m dealing with.

A meth head.

In a town as forlorn and economically distraught as Rosedale Pennsylvania, plenty of people hide from their problems with drugs and alcohol. There are no jobs, no opportunity, just failing businesses and disappointing people. I can’t blame people for hiding from themselves, for hiding from the reality of their lives. I’ve done it plenty, but the meth heads...they are a different variety. Often times they are…

“Dangerous,” Busey says, except he pronounces it “Dan Grr Us.”

“What?”

“I am dangerous,” Busey repeats, slobbering down his oafish face. “I am are buying what the humans are liking to be buying.”

I look down at the cucumber, the half-eaten stick of butter, and the condoms, and agree that the combination could indeed be dangerous.

“Yes, very dangerous. Um...do you have...a rewards card?”

Busey recoils like he’s been struck. His eyes go wide and he bears those impossible piano key teeth.

“Cardddddd?” he slurs.

I flick on my checkout station light to indicate I need a manager. Busey looks up, confused, and running his hands through his stringy hair.

“The realms are of the threatening of to merging,” he rasps.

“Sure,” I agree. It’s at this point, the customer behind him, who so happens to be his cohort, approaches, and I shit you not, he looks almost exactly like Danny DeVito, except paler and covered in grease.

“It has been foretold,” DeVito says solemnly in a voice vaguely reminiscent of Sean Connery. “That the Keybearer would react in such a way. So said Lekreshi, Snake Lord of the Black Sun. The moment of triumph is upon us.” He babbles this as snot leaks down his nose onto the collar of his shirt, which I notice, is a women’s designer brand.

“Are we...larping or something?” I ask taking a step back from the counter.

“What are you name?” Busey shouts, drawing the attention of others in the store.

“Liam,” I say. “Liam Conners.”

They freeze. They go rigid. Their eyes shoot wide.

“Uh, what...did I say?”

DeVito tilts his head back. He cranks it back until it’s pointing straight at the ceiling. Green gunk oozes from the side of his mouth as he lets out a guttural cry, sounding like some unholy union between a cockroach and an automotive engine.

“Sccrrrrunnnnnnnkcccchhtch!” Devito wails.

Busey opens his mouth as well, though that’s a bit of an understatement. His jaw unhinges and out from his gullet spring forth scaly, black as night tentacles.

It’s at this point the story gets weird.

The tentacles force their way from his mouth like a creature trying to escape his throat. They’re two fingers thick, and six of them whip out of his mouth, flailing around violently. Busey seems in limited control of the tentacles, stumbling around drunkenly and trying to keep his head raised.

“The transfer is still young. The process is incomplete,” DeVito rasps, green gunk spilling out of his mouth.

I stand back, mouth agape, and convince myself this is a dream. Yep, I’m asleep in my bed, the one spring near the bottom of my mattress pressing up and poking me in the spine. I’ll curse at it when I wake up but boy will I be happy to get out of this nightmare.

I pinch my cheek. I shake my head. Anytime, now. C’mon Liam, wake up and get back to your mediocre existence. Anything is better than this.

Busey slams his hand on the counter and squeezes the edge of it. There’s a crunching sound as the counter gives under the force. The eel-like tentacles are pointed my way now, molesting the air and reaching out for me.

DeVito begins singing in a voice that comes across as static. His tone is deep and rhythmic, like this is some hymn or cultic chant.

“Sommmmmmmeboddddddddddy onccce tollld meeee the worrrrrrrrrld issss gonnnna rolll meeee,” DeVito belts.

“What the fuck?” I whisper. I’m paralyzed, unable to move as the tentacles grow closer. This isn’t real. It can’t be.

“Blooorrck,” Busey grunts as the tentacles extend further from his throat. He’s leaning over the counter as I back up against the wall. The hungry tentacles whip and lash, seeming to grow excited as they approach my face.

“I ainnnnnn’t the sharrrrpest toooooooool in the shedddddddd,” DeVito continues.

“What the hell is going on?” A voice cries. I’m broken from my paralysis and see Shelly rushing towards Busey. She’s coming from behind and can’t see the appendages bursting forth from his mouth.

No, get out of here Shelly! Run! I want to shout the words but they collide in my throat, tumbling out as a stunted croak.

Shelly puts her hand on Busey’s shoulder, meaning to spin him around. When touched, he shoots up straight and rigid.

“Intruder!” he croaks through the tentacles. They vibrate with each word. He spins around to face Shelly.

Shelly’s eyes go wide and all color flees her face. The reality of the nightmare is made apparent to her fragile mind just before Busey strikes. It all happens in a blur, but I’ll never forget the expression engraved on Shelly’s face for that split second. It was absolute horror dashed with bafflement, all coated in a sick layer of acceptance.

She knew what was to come.

“Heyyyyyyy nowwwww you’rreeeeeee an alllll starrrrrrr.”

The tentacles lash at Shelly, stretching to impossible lengths and wrapping themselves around her. Effortlessly, they lift Shelly into the air, Busey craning his neck back as he holds her over himself. The tentacles slither over Shelly’s skin, wrapping themselves around her limbs as she cries out hysterically. Then, they find their targets, burrowing into her flesh like worms into wet soil.

Wiggle, wiggle, slicch, slicch.

Her cries are bloodcurdling.

Chaos ensues. People scream. Some pull out their phones and call the cops. Most run out of the store. Amidst this I’m frozen, heart barely beating, as I watch my manager be drained of blood. The tentacles act like pumps and I hear the suction as they slurp the blood from Shelly’s body, pulsating as they take in her essence. Busey’s eyes are rolled up in the back of his head as he absorbs her lifeforce, a look of ecstasy on his monstrous face.

Shelly is fading. The color is gone from her body, and it looks like she is shriveling up, like the tentacles are a straw as she’s a Capri Sun pouch. The pain in her eyes is rich, and all life is fading from her eyes as her skin goes loose and…

“COWABUNGA MOTHERFUCKERS!” Will yells. I look over and see him flying in on a Razor scooter, kicking the floor with all he has to gain speed. He’s wearing a Chewbacca mask and holding a shovel. He hops off the scooter and it clatters to the floor next to DeVito.

“Hey now, you’re a rock star,” DeVito observes.

“That’s right I am shit-weasel!,” Will shouts. He presses the side of his mask, which lets out an electronic Chewbacca roar, before he lays into DeVito with the shovel, striking him in the crotch.

DeVito doubles over, gasping for air. “A...all...t-that...gl-glitters...is….g-gold,” he sputters.

“ONLY SHOOTING STARS BREAK THE MOLD!” Will screams before bashing DeVito on the back of the head. He falls to the ground, writhing and sputtering.

Will presses the side of his mask, letting out another Chewbacca roar as he shouts, “Can you DIG it, sucka?!”

Shelly is nothing more than a ragged corpse now, skin hanging off her bones, eyes sunken in and nearly falling out of their sockets. The tentacles discard her, tossing her aside like garbage. Busey turns his attention to Will, tentacles whipping and lashing his way.

He’s going to kill him. I have to do something. I have to save my best friend.

Will is approaching, shovel wound up behind him like a baseball bat, when I strike. I fumble behind the counter for anything I can find. Anything to help my friend, and I throw the first thing I get my hands on.

It soars through the air and my aim is true.

The pack of menthol cigarettes connects with the side of Busey’s face. He winces, and one of the tentacles catches the pack before it hits the ground. The tentacles rip the pack apart and bury themselves into the cigarettes, sucking them dry just like they did Shelly.

Busey stumbles, going pale. He lets out a series of coughs and for a moment the tentacles go limp. He holds his head and tries to regain his composure.

The cigarettes. He must not have liked them.

“Ha,” Will shouts. “Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to smoke? Well, too bad for you because the only thing worse for you than cigarettes is a shovel….to….your...nads.” Will presses the button but the Chewbacca cry doesn’t come. He runs forward and swings the shovel, throwing his whole body into it. The head of the shovel connects with Busey’s crotch, letting out a loud thunk in the process.

Busey doesn’t crumple. He doesn’t even react to the shot. He still seems to be recovering from the menthols.

Fuck this. I can’t let Will go at it alone.

I grab a plastic bag and hop on top of the counter. Busey is hunched over slightly so I have my angle. I jump onto his back and pull the plastic bag over his face. The tentacles are forced downward and hang limply from his mouth as I yank the bag and suffocate him.

“Fuck yeah!” Will shouts as he brings the shovel back and busts Busey’s balls again.

Busey is getting a little more life in him. He’s wheezing as he stumbles about, each motion with more force. I feel the tremor of the tentacles as they shake and come back to life. I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold him.

Thunk! Will slams Busey in the dick again.

“Sterrrp….sterrrp crunching my balls,” Busey coughs. Just then he’s back, snapping up like a rodeo bull. I’m nearly thrown from his body. The tentacles spring to life and cut through the plastic bag, leaving it as shreds in my hands. They launch forward and seize the shovel, yanking it from Will. They waive it above Busey’s head like a spoil of war, and I wonder if they’re about to bash me with it.

“Playground tactics!” I cry, letting go of Busey and falling to the ground. I crouch behind him, pressed right to his legs.

Will gets it.

He picks up the scooter with both hands and raises it above his head. Will whips it around in a circle, like it’s a flail, and the stand of the scooter picks up speed. The tentacles pull the shovel back like they’re going to swing it but Will is too fast. He charges forward and blasts Busey in the chest with the scooter, wheel hitting him dead center. Busey is hulking and powerful, the shot barely sends him back, but I’m right under his feet.

“Werrrt therrr ferrrrk?” Busey cries as he falls backwards over me. There’s a deafening crack and wet thud as he bashes his head off a nearby display shelf. I scramble to my feet and witness the result of our attack.

Busey is out of commission, at least for the time being. He’s laying in a heap, head tilted against the display shelf. There’s a puddle of black liquid congregating around his head, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head. The fall caused him to bite down on the tentacles. Some of them hang from his mouth like half slurped spaghetti, while others are severed in two. The bitten ones wiggle on the floor like fish out of water. After thrashing for a few moments, they straighten themselves out, and as if coordinated, slither towards me, a thick trail of black ooze left behind with each motion.

“I….like….girls that wear Abercrombie and Fitch…” DeVito rasps. Will and I turn back to him and see him rising to his feet. Boils have overtaken every visible inch of his flesh, and through their thin membrane is something contained in them.

Something wiggling.

They look like worms, or a smaller version of the Busey tentacles. Either way, Will and I don’t want to find out.

“I’d take her if I had one wish,” DeVito grunts as he gets back to his feet. “But she’s been gone since that summer.” There’s a pause, and then his eyes shoot to us, resolute with as much purpose as they are malevolent hatred.

“Since that summer,” DeVito snarls.

“Fuck this, let’s go,” I shout and start running towards the exit.

“That song blows, bro!” Will says before pressing his Chewbacca mask, letting out another valiant electronic cry before he hops on the scooter and pedals his way behind me.

We scramble out of the store into the cool night, the chaos of songs and shouts left behind us and the calamity of sirens ahead a mere taste of the insanity yet to come.