#so far just copying snippets from phone …

[boleynqueenes]

seeing if i can hand-write my way out of this writers’ block 😣

[band--psycho]

Poly!141 x Reader - Stop The Wedding (Part 8)

I hope you all enjoy this part 💛 just to warn you all in advance, this chapter is quite long!

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for all the continued support 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Catch up on the previous part here: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 9

Warnings: Feelings of anger, confusion, jealousy, brief mentions of death/being killed/being shot, angst

COD Modern Warfare Masterlist /Taskforce 141 Masterlist /Join My Taglist

You didn’t know what to do. 

You couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard you tried to, your mind just wouldn’t shut off. 

You didn’t know who to believe…you didn’t know who you wanted to believe. 

You should’ve wanted to believe Phillip, you were going to be his wife after all; but if you believed Phillip it meant that he was right about your exes. 

Jealous exes. 

Bitter exes. 

It was a narrative made sense, that they were just twisting the facts to favor themselves, to put themselves in a better light. 

Meaning that they were happy to hurt you all over again. 

But there was something about how Phillip had reacted that caused you to doubt him…

You’d never seen him so defensive, so angry; so avoidant of answering a question. 

He went from not knowing who Johnny and Simon were; to knowing that they were your exes, but he would’ve known them before that. 

He lied to you. 

Did that mean that his version of the situation was a complete lie?

Did they try to kill him in retaliation for what he’d done to them? 

Did they just go round killing his men to get revenge?

Or was the only reason his men were killed was because your exes felt threatened. 

Or did the truth, as it so often did, lie somewhere in the middle of both parties' story. 

But if so why would he leave you here alone if they were so dangerous?

It didn’t make any sense. 

An aggravated groan fell from your lips as you grabbed your phone and typed a number you’d memorised by heart; a number that you thought you were never going to text again. 

"We need to talk; come to the house. No one else, just you" was all you typed out; blunt and concise; somewhat like the very man that the message was going to. 

You weren’t entirely sure why you texted Simon: maybe it’s because you’d already messaged and called Y/f/n and had no reply…and you just needed to talk to someone.

Someone who you knew wouldn’t lie to you. 

You didn’t even know if he was still going to be awake at this hour, though you doubted his sleeping patterns had changed that drastically. 

But you did know that he was there that night. 

That he’d be able to give you a detailed explanation of what had happened that night; a factual one. 

Void of much, if any emotion, unlike Johnny who you could tell was just a bundle of rage and hurt,Simon knew how to shut off his emotions in a way none of the others did. 

You were worried if they were all present again that you’d just get angry as they tried to persuade you out of marrying Phillip. 

That’s not what you needed.

You need to know what happened. 

Once you had Simon's version of events; the full version, not just a snippet like he gave you earlier, then you’d try to talk to Phillip again and get his version. 

And hone that your gut would guide you into knowing who was lying and who was telling the truth. 

~~~~~

Simon wasn’t surprised often, but your text, that had caught him off guard a little.

He was certain that you weren’t going to want to talk to any of them ever again; so when your name flashed on his phone with a text message, e had to blink a few times, to make sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, but it was real. 

He considered waking the others, but it was their first night home and they were all fast asleep. 

Johnny was snoring loudly next to him; he was pretty sure only a bucket of cold water would wake him up from the deep sleep he was in. 

John was lying on his back; one arm wrapped around Kyle who was lying on his chest, light snores leaving both of them. 

So much had been happening over the last few days; he wanted to let them rest. 

Especially seeing as you had specified in your message that you only wanted to talk to him. 

They’d have questions, wonder why they hadn’t been messaged and he had…of course he had suspicions as to why that was, but it wouldn’t be fair on them to tell them something he wasn’t sure was true. 

He could tell them everything when he came back. 

He wondered if Graves was there; if this was all a setup but that thought soon fell from his thoughts, this was his personal number. 

Not just anyone had it.

Only the people he cared about. 

And Graves certainly wasn’t one of those people; so unless he’d got it out of you somehow, Simon was certain the person that had messaged him, was you. 

He quickly got dressed, throwing on the black t-shirt and black jeans that he’d bunched up and thrown on the chair near the bed; and made his way out of the house. 

~~~~~

You saw the headlights of a car shining through the curtains in your living room; an unwelcome wave of anxiety washing over you as you rose to your feet. 

You were going to be alone with Simon in your house….it was only now that the thought dawned on you of how bad this would look if Phillip came home. 

‘What are you doing?’ You questioned yourself; like there was another person inside your head who was going to give you an answer. 

You could just not answer the door. 

Send Simon a message saying that you’ve changed your mind.

You could just believe your fiance. 

A knock at the door pulled you from the thoughts racing through your head and before your mind had even fully caught up with your actions, you were opening the door, letting Simon in. 

“Do you..uh want a tea?” You offered; trying to act like this situation was normal, in an attempt to try and ease your own anxiety. 

Simon raised an eyebrow, from where he stood in the hallway, “Depends? You gonna give me that berry infused shit again?”

You couldn’t help but snort at his words, “No,”

“Then yes,”

A few quiet moments passed as you both made your way into the kitchen and you made a tea for him, exactly how you remembered him liking it and a coffee for you

“Here you go,” you said, handing over the cup to Simon, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you did so. 

You remembered the quiet mornings or extremely late evenings you two would share when he came back from a mission. 

“Thanks,” he replied, the two of you falling back into a familiar and comfortable silence. 

Both of you trying to work out what to say.

“What did he say? Simon asked, breaking the silence.

“That you’re twisting the story,” you began, looking down at your tea, avoiding his gaze, “Said that things only started going bad after you and Johnny got hostile, that you killed his men….that you tried to kill him.”

Too many images of people you loved lying dead on the ground filled your mind. 

Phillip. 

Johnny…

Simon…..

“Is it true?”

“We did kill his men and we did try to kill him, yeah, and we’d do it again,” Simon confirmed, honestly, taking a sip of his tea before placing it down on the counter next to him, “But we only started getting hostile after he betrayed us and detained people we were working with from another team.”

“He had his orders,” you repeated John's words from earlier, your eyes meeting his. 

Phillip was a soldier, he followed orders, that’s his job.

A scoff fell from Simon’s lips, “From another man who betrayed us,”

You wanted to ask him what he meant; find out what other man had betrayed them. 

But you knew that there were some things that Simon couldn’t talk about, that none of them could talk about and you knew that based on the look in his eyes, that he could say no more than that. 

“Do you believe him?”

His question making the ring on your finger feel heavier than it did earlier, you set your tea down on the counter next to you.

“I should,” you whispered, fiddling with the ring on your finger, “I shouldn’t even be having this conversation with you.”

“Why are you?” Simon questioned, genuinely curious about why you were here; unable to stop his heart from feeling a flicker of hope. 

Hope that you weren’t going to go through with the wedding. 

Hope that somehow, someway, you could come back to them….

He could see how conflicted you were, could see it in your eyes and the dark circles that were under them. 

But he could also see it in your demeanour, nervous, worried, confused, like your mind was trying to process a million and one things at once.

“There are just certain things that are making me doubt him…” your started, with a sigh, leaning back against the kitchen counter “he knew you were my exes, but I’d never told him about our relationship, he said Y/f/n told him…which I can’t really imagine.” 

You took a deep breath before continuing, “He also couldn’t give me a straight answer about what happened,”

“Does that not answer your question?”

“No,” you answered quickly, because as much as you had your doubts, his whole story wasn’t a lie, Simon and Johnny did kill Phillips' men, and they did try to kill him too.

That was a truth that Simon had already confirmed. 

A truth that you couldn’t help but feel was purposefully left out of their original explanation of what happened in Mexico.

You love Phillip; you had to at least give him some benefit of the doubt. 

“I love him, Si, I can’t just turn that off.”

Part of you wished that you could. 

That you could just close your eyes, snap your fingers and shut off your feelings. 

Your feelings for Phillip and the feelings that were still lingering in your heart for not only the man in front of you, but for all of the others too. 

“We wouldn’t lie to you, love, not after everything we put you through,” Simon answered softly; and you were unable to call him out on the nickname he used for you, just like you had been earlier in the evening when he said it. 

You don’t know why you didn’t tell him to not call you that, when you were so quick to correct John when he called you sweetheart. 

Maybe it was simply because John was the one who broke up with you; his words, his voice, that replayed in your mind the days, weeks, months after the breakup. 

Whereas Simon; Simon just stood there, like Johnny, like Kyle not saying a single word, just watching. 

“So I should just blindly believe you guys over him?” Your reply to his words was harsher than you wanted; but your mind and heart were just at a loss of who to believe. 

And as much as you doubted Phillip; the man in front of you, as well as your other exes, had more of a reason to lie to you.

“Why should I believe the people that broke up with me without a single tangible reason over the man that loves me?”

The sting of your breakup was raw in your voice as you looked at Simon; he pushed away from the counter he'd been leaning against and walked directly to you. 

“We love you,”

His words cut through your heart like a knife, winding you in a way you didn’t expect. 

In a way you remembered dreaming about hearing days after John ended things with you; in a way that made your heart ache now.

“You don’t get to do that, Si,”your words weren’t angry now, just sad, hurt.

“You wanted the truth didn’t you, that’s why I’m here, to give you the truth you want,”  

So you dared to ask a question that had plagued your mind for so long, hoping that Simon would continue to tell the truth. 

“Why did John end things?”

Simon was silent for a few moments, a few moments that felt like an eternity before finally saying, “He was worried people were gonna try to use you to hurt us.”

He was closer to you now, closer than he was upon his previous visit.

“What?” The disbelief was clear in your voice; his words not giving you the closure you sought, but simply adding to an already overwhelming confusion growing in your mind, “What people?”

“I can’t tell you anything else…” his voice was low as he raised his hand to your face, his hand hovering just inches away from your cheek as he waited for you to move. 

But you didn’t. 

Couldn’t. 

Your mind was too busy processing his confession. 

“But we never stopped lovin’ you, Y/n, not for a single second,” he continued, allowing his hand to touch your cheek delicately, as though you were of glass and he was scared you might break, “Leaving you was one of the hardest things we’ve been through, which, considering what we do for a livin’ is pretty a fucked up thing to say, but it’s the truth,”

You were in complete shock. 

His words. 

His confessions. 

His touch; a feeling that until now, you had no idea you’d even missed.

“Si-” 

You realised how close he was to you now; closer than you should’ve let him be. 

Simon knew he was close to crossing a line he shouldn’t; a line that he couldn’t come back from. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss you, he did, badly. 

But he couldn’t do that to Johnny, John or Kyle, and he couldn’t do that to you. 

He knew you were already confused on what to believe, but now you had the truth. 

Well, as much truth as he could give you. 

You knew the most important truth, that they still loved you. 

You needed time. 

Time to process everything. 

“I should go,” he said softly, but he didn’t move an inch. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, your eyes gazing up his his, unable to not notice how quick your heart was racing inside your chest, “you should,”

He nodded at your words, turning around and grabbing his cup from the counter.

He quickly drank his tea and walked back over to you, placing his empty cup in the sink behind you.

“Thanks for the tea, love,” he breathed, placing a featherlight kiss on your cheek as he leaned past you, “We’ll be home for a few days, if you need us,”

That was all he said before he walked out of the kitchen and left your house.

You raised your hand, your fingers ghosting over your cheek where Simon’s lips had been moments before. 

He’d kissed your cheek. 

And you’d let him. 

You’d just let your ex kiss you on the cheek…

Simon’s confession shouldn’t have changed anything. 

Shouldn’t have changed how you felt. 

You love Phillip.  

But now, knowing that all this time that they’d done what they did to protect you….how could it not change things in some capacity. 

How could it not make you question things? 

They’d never stopped loving you. 

Simon’s admission made you question things about yourself.

Like if you really had ever stopped loving those men; or if you’d simply closed your heart and persuaded yourself out of loving them because you believed they no longer loved you. 

~~~~~~

Phillip hadn’t gone far; he was parked just down the road from the house; and it was a good thing too, otherwise he would’ve been noticed by the late night visitor you had. 

Simon Riley. 

Simon's visit confirmed what he was afraid of; that he was losing you. 

Maybe if the 141 knew the danger they were putting you in they would leave you alone; just like they were meant to. 

That’s what he’d been told when he took this mission...

All he had to do was marry you to hurt the 141 in a way that didn’t involve anyone getting physically hurt. 

But now they were poisoning you against; making you confront him about things you didn’t need to know the truth about. 

He saw the doubt growing in your eyes when he spoke to you.

Lying about Y/f/n telling him about your exes bought him some time; he thought you might believe that they could do that, knowing how much they hated your exes.

But given Simons visit, that plan clearly hadn’t worked. 

Meaning that he had to start thinking about what happened if you called off this wedding. 

What he had to do to you if you called off this wedding. 

That was a thought he hadn’t thought of in a while; there’d been no need to, up until a few days ago you were blissfully unaware of his connection to your exes, you were simply excited about planning the wedding. 

Phillip noticed his phone flash with a call from an unknown number; unknown to his phone, but he knew who was calling him.

It was the same person he’d messaged the moment he’d left the house after the argument you and he had had. 

“What’s happening, Graves?” An all too familiar voice questioned through the phone. 

“They found out, they’re trying to turn her against me,” he summarised simply; watching as Simon’s car pulled away from the house he shared with you. 

“Is it working?”

“Yes,” Phillip answered; knowing what his answer meant; but he couldn’t lie; it would only make things worse if he lied. 

“If this wedding doesn’t happen, you know what happens to her,” it wasn’t a question, it was a statement. 

“Yes,” Phillip repeated; though his voice was much quieter this time. 

He knew what he’d agreed to when he took this mission on. 

He thought that he’d be able to keep his feelings under control, but he couldn’t. 

He fell for you. 

He'd come to terms with that; knowing that the 141 would probably be too worried about your safety to come anywhere near you again. 

But that hope was now gone. 

You’d seen them; multiple times.

He knew that they were intent on stopping this wedding; whether they crashed it and stopped it themselves or persuaded you to call it off. 

The problem was, when he agreed to this mission, to marry you to hurt the 141; there was an additional clause. 

A clause that if you called off the wedding for whatever reason, he had to find another way to use you to hurt the 141. 

He had to kill you. 

But not before making you suffer; until the point that you were begging for the pain to end. 

“Are you still prepared to do what needs to be done, if that situation arises?”

He wanted to say no. 

But that wasn’t an answer he could give. 

He agreed to this. 

Regardless of his own feelings towards you; you were his mission first. 

“Yes,” Phillip answered again, before the call ended. 

He didn’t want that scenario to happen. 

Taglist:

@mermaniaa @sunrise-willarive @imdeadontheinside786 @asterionex @pinkyyoshi @yaradigital @euriiverse @eternallyvenus @littlejoyfulthings @s-void @rivwritesiguess @lilyalone @salemlovespies @amongthe141 @z-wantstowrite @sleepybarnesbby @maryrhodalouandted @uraeus56 @skipping-throughlife @backalleytimetravel @fruitymoonbeams-blog @alejandro-vargass-wife @moon-on-the-crest @dasphinxone @iaozuyiling @magicwriterinspo @lilylovesliterature @tabbslouuformer @disasterofastory @famouspoetrydinosaur @yearninglustfully @therapyneeds @beautifuleaglealpaca @mischievousprincess01 @rite-te-suli-kireysi-ite @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @ontopofthefridge @rosecastiello @bookworm1767 @harrys-ravioli @hypertail @hahaifolded

[the-ace-with-spades]

WIP Wednesday for multiple hangster fics because I wrote a bit during my train rides this weekend but won't be able to write more for a while...

snippets for the hangster a/b/o mpreg fic, with arms wide open (idea overview here)

Bradley is—he’s tired. Constantly tired. His feet feel like they are filled with water, his calves look like they’re filled with water, he’s had a nosebleed and bleeding gums this morning, and whenever he closes his eyes, he keeps seeing spots for a couple seconds after opening them again.

He’s been trying not to complain too much, Mav and Ice would panic if he did, but it hasn't been the easiest few weeks for him. 

Something on his face must have shown as he grabs the two copies left on his desk because Nat just takes them off his hands as they enter the corridor outside the office, and gives him a pitying look. “They’re really giving you a hard time, huh?”

“It’s genetic,” he says dryly and Nat snorts.

She’s still smiling softly as she asks, “Do you want to talk to him?”

“Not really, no,” he admits. Even the idea of seeing Jake makes him nauseous. “I’ll have to, at some point, even just so we can get some things clear. I just, I’d prefer to do that after the fact.”

“You think he’ll just—wait, until then?”

“I—I don’t know,” he replies. He knows Jake — or he had thought he knows him — and he’s not one to be predictable. He likes to think that the Jake he knew, that Jake would try to make it right, even if it is too late for it now that Bradley knows how he truly feels.“He said he doesn’t want any of it so, not talking, it’d be easier for him. He’s just not—”

“—the type to do things the easy way?”

****

It's a different office and a different secretary, not like the ones Bradley remembers. The secretary is far younger than the one Ice had when he was a teenager, who had been older than Ice, and the office is far bigger and far more formal. He’s come here wearing his uniform, thinking it’d make it easier to move around base in it, and he’s so glad — he’d have looked so out of place if he just arrived in jeans and a shirt.

“Can you call him and tell him it’s his son?”

This is stretching it, he knows. Bradley’s been Ice’s nothing, on paper, Ice as the head alpha of Bradley’s pack, an archaic thing not considered for much in today’s world, being the only connecting part for them. He might have been his kid, years and years before, but now, Ice probably wouldn’t have much but nostalgic empathy and leftover possessiveness for Bradley.

“Son?” the secretary asks. “He doesn’t have a son.”

He feels like a fraud as he says, “Name’s Bradley,” but he doesn’t have much choice.

She looks at him for a minute and he relents from fidgeting from foot to foot. Finally, she picks up the phone handle and with one button, connects to the office behind her. The rooms are soundproofed so he can only hear her parts, not even a whisper coming from the office door.

“Sir, there’s an unscheduled visitor asking to meet you. Yes. I know, yes. He’s a lieutenant. I know, sir. Didn’t say.” She pauses, glancing at Bradley again, and he waits in silence. “He claims he’s your son, sir, your son Bradley. Yes, Lieutenant Bradshaw, sir.”

Bradley clears his throat and she suddenly straightens up, blinking idly at the phone, not a word leaving her mouth for a couple of minutes..

“Sir?” she speaks up, eyes glancing toward him, confused. “I understand.” She puts down the phone and tilts her head at Bradley, frowning. Then, slowly, she tells him, “Admiral Kazansky will see you now.”

He takes a minute to process, staring at the door to Ice's office long enough for the secretary to clear her throat.

He wants to throw up all over again.

snippet for slow down (you're doing fine) chapter 7

Jake had never wondered why Bradley liked to come to an empty bar to relax but he supposed nostalgia had something to do with it — either because of his dad or because of his godfather — military bars tended to look similar.

It was the center of the problem, Jake supposed, him either never wondering why Bradley did certain things or being too insistent for his, their own good that he needed to know why.

Jake sat down in front of him, on the other side of the booth, crossing his arms and leaning on the table. Bradley glanced up at him, raised an eyebrow, and went back to filling out paperwork. Like he hadn't given Jake back the ring Jake thought he had lost forever years ago a few nights ago. Like he hadn’t admitted he knew Jake wanted to marry him barely a few nights ago.

Like he didn’t break and mend Jake’s heart when he gave him that envelope.

“Did you really play Danny from Grease in high school?”

Bradley put the pen down and frowned.

“How do you—It was Mav, wasn’t it?” he realized, shaking his head and sighing. He was smiling softly, head slightly tilted like he wanted to avoid Jake’s gaze but couldn’t — he looked lovely, rosy cheeks, loose curls on his forehead and all. “Before you say anything, I’ll remind you that I know you like Dolly Parton.”

“I stand by that, she's a star,” he answered without shame, smiling back. “You never sing any of the songs from it. You know, You’re the One I Want or Summer Lovin’ and all that.”

“It’s Nights, Summer Nights," Bradley said and Jake grinned because he really did sound like a theater kid. "And most of them are duets, don't exactly translate well while done solo, even with a crowd.”

He turned his gaze down back to the table but he didn’t pick up the pen and Jake observed him when he said, “I sold the ring.”

A barely-there flinch of his eyebrows and licking his lips was all Jake could notice before Bradley said, “Good.”

the (sometimes I feel) like a monkey pilot chapter 8 snippet

"Have you done something like this before?"

"No," he admitted.

“You said—”

"I told you I flew in an F-14, not that I piloted it."

In fact, the closest to piloting an F-14 he came was playing the flight simulator — it was their main source of entertainment after his top surgery and when Ice was on house arrest when he had cancer. He read the nine hundred pages of NATOPS for the Tomcat only because they wanted to keep the game realistic as much as possible and for hours, Bradley had listened as Ice, and sometimes Uncle Slider, explained to him how it looked in reality. They had shown him the differences between the NATOPS and the sims because he missed flying, but he had never thought he would have to fly an F-14 and was doing his hardest now to remember those days.

The idea that Bradley could fly this museum piece solely on the knowledge he gathered from a former Tomcat pair, few short flights as the backseater when he was fourteen, and the days spent in a civilian-grade flight simulator was already far-fetched — but this wasn't going to reassure anyone, so his mouth stayed shut.

"And you want to—"

"You see any other choices here? If so, be my guest," he offered. “Last chance to swap the seats.”

"You're going to kill us," Jake remarked and honestly, Bradley preferred to die trying than just give up. He was raised better.

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, honey."

He resisted the urge to bang his head on the board in front of him and tried to remember what was next.

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Thank you Steven! Thanks so much!

Description:

Jeff Buckley | HMV Superstore | Toronto, ON, Canada | 10/27/1994

Jeff Buckley and his band made a special appearance at the HMV Superstore in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, on October 27, 1994. They were in town for a concert that took place the following evening at Trinity Church (aka Trinity Centre/Trinity-St. Paul's); I will post some snippets of the aforementioned concert in the pinned comment. Coincidentally, as a native Torontonian, I purchased my vinyl copy of Grace at the same store, completely oblivious to the fact that Jeff had played there about a decade earlier.

I would like to give thanks to my friends Alex Haitz and Cory, who both helped enhance the audio-visual quality of this footage, which was originally even more diluted. I would especially like to extend my sincerest gratitude to Karen Pace, who not only organized this event, but gave me a copy of her VHS transfer, which she made directly from the master tape. Here is a description of the video, in her own words:

"The footage is very poorly shot, very amateur. Our regular videographer was not working that shift, so it fell to one of the floor employees to hold the camera, which she did not do very well. It's very shaky. But it exists.

As far as I know, no one owns the original copy that would have been in the DJ booth at 333 Yonge St. after I left there in 1997. When the store closed, I bet you can investigate for decades and never find out what happened to the stuff that was in the DJ booth! I made a copy for myself right after the in-store, as I was the host for it that afternoon. The in-store happened because I asked for it from the label rep, and Jeff did it as a favour to me, because I had met him in New York City at CB's Gallery in December 1993, and again at his first 2 Toronto shows at Ultrasound and C'est What. He was a mutual friend of my New York singer friend Peter Stuart, who would go on to form the band Dog's Eye View. Jeff told me that he never did in-store performances, that he hated to do them, but he acquiesced and did it as a favour to me when I asked for it through the label rep. I will be forever grateful that we got that small performance at HMV.

The set was just over 30 minutes long, maybe 40 minutes, if I remember correctly. However, the store employee who videotaped it only put in a 30-minute tape into the video recorder, so the performance cuts off after 30 minutes and no one on the planet has the rest of the show on any footage anywhere. I know that for a fact. Cell phones with cameras didn't exist then for audience members to shoot it!

As for the original tape of his HMV set: the usual camera person was indeed Derek Conant, but he wasn’t working the day of Jeff’s in-store. So a floor person, who usually helped customers or handled cash, held the camera. The camera is not steady, the shots are blurry then come into focus. She had no experience and did us a favour by holding the camera while I did the interview. Derek was my cameraman for the next 3 years, as well as the marketing manager, Sara Kupusa, once in a while at the beginning, then Christopher Mills was hired to do all video editing and interview and live shooting as he was a film student at Ryerson. But on Jeff’s in-store day, we were still in the very beginning stages of having in-stores and video-taping them with an interview, to be able to edit them together to play in the store as a reel. She (the videographer) only put in a 30-minute tape into the video camera. So silly! None of us even double-checked to make sure it was a longer tape! It was a VHS camera. It taped right onto a VHS tape.

After the in-store, I copied the original VHS tape onto a used VHS tape from home that was 45 minutes long, so in the middle of that song, it cuts out to whatever else was on my personal VHS tape (a news reel for something), then goes blank. So we only have 30 minutes of that set. The set lasted about 40 minutes, if I recall. I don’t have a set list for it to know what songs came after that. Maybe some fans who were there wrote that down?

I have no idea what would have happened to all the stock at HMV, nor all the in-store video tapes that would have been in the DJ booth when it closed down. I assume they were all carted off to the dump. There is no head office that they would have been shipped to, and I assume everyone was given their walking papers without being able to take anything from the store. That’s how it usually works. The doors are locked and everything in the store is thrown out."

With that said, if anyone watching this video, and reading this description, has the master tape, or knows who might have it ― assuming that it even still exists (as Karen implied, it likely doesn't) ― please get in touch with me, as I would like to have it digitized for posterity. I should also note that the poor sound is due to this video being in mono. My friend, Cory, surmised that the master tape might have stereo sound, though.

[agirlandherquill]

Written In Smoke - The Travelling Letter

it's been a very busy couple weeks, so to make up for my forgetfulness of making a letter last week i'll be combining the two together this week!

A Glimpse Through Time - little bits about me and what I’ve been up to this week

as the letter's name this week tells you, it's a travelling one, and also the biggest thing to happen in these past couple weeks, so here goes!

i went to bath! it was GORGEOUS and everything i hoped it would be

so, dear reader, i'm assuming you're wondering what i did on my trip, and what did i do? well:

I visited the Jane Austen Centre (it was the hottest day of the year so far, so of course i bought a fan, among a few other bits)

I also visited Mary Shelley's House of Frankenstein (timed it so i finished reading frankenstein on the train there which was pretty awesome)

I obviously popped into Waterstones (snagged a copy of the maze runner, since i haven't read it in forever and my kindle copy has since been gifted to a relative)

and if you're interested, here's some of my pics from the trip! (a fair few are on my kodak, so until i fill the film roll and get those developed those ones are under wraps i'm afraid!)

I don't want to spoil the experience for anybody so I'll just show a couple from the jane austen centre:

me, ink, and a quill (very ironically) don't mix, i ended up covered which wasn't a surprise at all, but it was very fun to do (and difficult, and i thought fountain pens could be challenging)

and mary shelley's house of frankenstein:

being the only one in the room at the time was a strange sensation to say the least but when this giant starts BREATHING it's a fright

super cool movie posters

and if anyone else attempts the 'touch if you dare' electrocution bit this is me giving you a heads up - my phone ended up flying out my hand onto the bare wooden floorboards of the house (that shock HURT)

and then some of the things i was lucky enough to see - it really is a beautiful place

needless to say i'm so, so glad that I went on this trip (even if it was terrifyingly exciting to do on my own, when my trains got cancelled and delayed and i nearly got stuck in london for a night (just had to go when the computers crashed globally didn't i? and a heatwave to boot)

now for the rest of this section!

books: of course I had to prep for my trip by reading frankenstein, sense and sensibility, and northanger abbey, and while i've been recovering from 11km of walking (so worth it) i've been reading it happened one summer which is so, so good!

shows/movies: i started rewatching the boys, finished watching the original star wars trilogy and i finished s5 of Dexter, so a bit of a busy couple weeks too

music: this one's a bit tougher since i've been so busy reading/watching things, but here's a few of the tracks i've been listening to this time round: bleachers by haiden henderson, animals by maroon V, and lilith by halsey

Spills From The Ink-Pot - writing, writing, and more writing

where do i start?

the calendar project is going well - this is day 9, and i've made a good start on chapter two

ruin's reprisal, i'm ashamed to say, hasn't been touched this week since i've been so busy, but i'm determined to finish the draft by the end of july (utterly terrifying)

also started dabbling in fanfic again (if such a thing is possible, it's been such a long time that i don't really know) which is a really daunting prospect but i'm looking forward to exploring it and how i write it some more

now, i usually include some snippets here but since all of my writing time has gone into the calendar project this week that's all I've got, so feel free to check out the most recent pages from my master post!

bit of a double whammy to make up for my lateness but here you go! this week's letter is all typed up, compiled and heading your way!

~ A Girl and Her Quill

Tag List! (if you want to be notified when a WIS post comes out, interact with this post :) )

@lead-to-code @catwingsathena @nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings @thestorywitch @lunaeuphternal

@theaistired @frostedlemonwriter

[pigeonwithabriefcase]

i was listening to yes to err is human and im just thinking about these lyrics

so "walkie-talkie static" could refer to the static at the start of each episode/file, which i at first assumed was, like, radio static? because of the snippets of channels and people talking and stuff.. but i wonder if it could be, literally, on the nose, walkie-talkies. whoever's listening to the files (probably agent7? because agent7 writes the file descriptions? and 23 likely?) is communicating via walkie-talkie i guess?

which kind of leads into "white noise telepath".

so white noise, by definition, is a random signal that includes all audible frequencies playing at an equal and constant level, meaning that spectrograms of it often look like this:

the spectrogram (which i got off wikipedia lol) is a comparison between pink noise (left) and white noise (right). notice how the white noise is completely flat.

so going off of this, a "white noise telepath" would be someone who is able to transfer this noise or frequency into the mind of another, or vice-versa possibly.

funnily enough, because white noise is something that many people fall asleep to, it might also refer directly to the way that adam (so far) only appears in sydney's dreams—something one only does when sleeping. so listening to this white noise, or telepathically placing it in his mind, lulls him to sleep to then allow adam to speak with syd? through the mindscape?

i also was gonna say something about like telepathically communicating somethint "flat", like a flatline if that makes sense. braindead (a la "dead from the neck up // but living just enough"...)

for what reason, i definitely hear you asking? fuck if i know thats a whole other rant

my theory is that he wants to see the extent of sydneys, er, aptitudes. in short.

i like to think the limn (which we're presuming was sydney's resurrection) ignited a new spark of interest in whatever the hell this is, leading to adam coming out of, like, dormancy or something. i say dormancy because of this line:

...which to me, reads as bro up and left for a bit. but obviously he's back now.

anyway back to the lyrics

"can you read between the Morse code lines?" is a bit of an odd one. it follows with the analog theme kinda, like using frequencies and radio waves to communicate (though of course morse can be interpreted in a vast array of mediums, the most famous is probably via radio).

we also know wire radios are one of the only things that work at camp.

so im wondering, based on the physical lack of communications, the restriction of digital comms (lucille's phone), and the mental and emotional, more symbolic restriction of communication (jeddie doing that to syd)... if this line is almost saying "do you hear me? do you copy?" y'know? hashtag manipulation. from both jedidiah and adam. and sydney.

the way this could be read, and the way i'm reading it, is that the speaker (adam, possibly, though i think some lines might be from a different perspective) in the song addressing another person (sydney, likely, maybe jedidiah?) and referring to them in that way, asking "if you can communicate like this, can you then do this?"

yeah im not sure where i was going with this one. just needed to write some of my incomprehensible, far-fetched thoughts down lmao

[thedemonscrawler]

gonna procrastinate on writing by talking about writing woo

So, fun fact! Permission Slip is usually being written on two different documents at once, which should be but are not actually identical? And neither of them match the actual AO3 version you guys read?

1st Draft

The first draft is written with a combination of OpenOffice and Google Docs.

(I'll get to why that says Mobile Copy in a sec)

The OpenOffice document is meant to be the Master Draft of the fic. It's the entire story so far-- outline, notes, all the chapters written and the bits of chapters we haven't gotten to yet.

Yeah, it's lengthy. The reason it says 'Active Version' is starting around Chapter 5, I began saving a copy of the document up to the most recent chapter finished.

This is because of how I write scenes out of order, and having an older draft lets me go back for things that got rewritten. It's also really neat to see how various ideas evolved over the story, or how old some of the scenes are.

OpenOffice has the Master Draft, not just because it can handle it, but so I can put my laptop into airplane mode and write offline if I really need to focus. But the story doesn't stay there!

If you've seen the snippets I've shared, you know that sometimes they're highlighted in grey, like this:

(yeah you enjoy that snippet from Chapter 15)

The grey highlights are a system to tell myself 'this is a section that needs to be copied over to the other document', almost always a section I have just written that session. Feels good to have a whole page in grey.

So from OpenOffice, the grey sections are copied over to GoogleDocs, and become the 2nd Draft.

2nd Draft

..okay, so there are actually TWO GoogleDoc copies of Permission Slip. One of them is a 'master' version, just like the Open Office file. The other is the Mobile version. The master version has all of the chapters and outline and stuff, while the Mobile copy only goes back one or two chapters prior to the current one. Why?

Cos it turns out that when a document gets to be around 110 pages long, Docs starts being a little bitch and lags real bad on mobile, or starts crashing. So the mobile version was made so I could type on my phone. Same deal, new sections are highlighted in grey and copied back to the OpenOffice version when I'm on the laptop again.

Since the GoogleDocs version can be worked on from multiple locations, it's the one that gets the most edits. If there are substantial changes made they'll be copied back to the OpenOffice document, but minor edits aren't as crucial, and there are some sections that are pretty different between the two now.

From the GoogleDocs version on to the final(ish) version:

3rd Draft

The AO3 version should match the GoogleDocs version, and for the most part it does-- but not always. That last minute readthrough to catch all the spaces added after italics is also a time for minor edits. Missing words, dialogue rewrites, etc. There's one chapter that had a chunk written in the editor, but unfortunately I can't remember which one it is now 8'D only that it's between chapters 9 and 12. Naturally the AO3 version is the one you guys get to see.

Uuuuh yeah so. Overcomplicated system, go!

Also if you want a word processor for free, I recommend LibreOffice! Its based on the same open source software as OpenOffice, only it's actually still being updated and stuff (I still use OO just cos it's what I have 8'D).

Unfortunately I have yet to find a word processing app with cloud-based storage that can be edited from multiple devices, so I can't replace GoogleDocs with something better.

[eggman-is-fat-mkay]

This is one of many reasons I love the modern web browser. It isn't a perfect piece of software by any means, and people using it for things it wasn't designed for (glowers at Electron) is why we're stuck with a generation of sluggish, resource intensive apps that eat 3/4 of a gigabyte of disk space each, but I do love it for things like this.

Websites aren't allowed to tell you how you're allowed to look at them. Every aspect of your web experience is customizable if you're willing to put enough effort in. For a smaller example, news sites often show you the article contents in a single, very tall column of text that's no wider than it would be on a phone; for most people, eyes traveling a shorter distance makes it easier to read, but personally I prefer it wider. Fortunately, this article is being displayed to me in a web browser! I can simply pull up my browser's developer tools, disable a couple CSS properties, and have the article take the entire width of my screen.

For another cool hack, just about any video content on the entire Web that isn't actually copy-protected (i.e. Firefox pops up a dialog asking "Allow netflix.com to play DRM-protected content?") can be downloaded for free directly off the site itself. On some very small sites, the video is just a direct link to a .mp4 or .webm file, and you can simply right click the video and Save Video As.

Most use either HTTP Live Streaming (HLS) or MPEG-DASH, two extremely similar (almost identical) protocols for streaming video in chunks, to allow the video quality to change automatically during playback without reloading the whole file. It does this by sending the browser a .m3u8 file, which is a text file containing list of URLs to two-second video snippets that the browser plays one after the other. Audio and video are typically separate streams and are often in different m3u8 files. Downloading these is also easy but a bit more involved. Firstly, you'll need a browser extension that can download HLS streams. Searching your browser's addon store for "hls downloader" should turn up several dozen. For a while I've been using The Stream Detector for this, but it doesn't support downloading the videos at all -- it just gives you a URL to the m3u8 file, and you're supposed to supply your own program to paste the URL into that does the actual downloading. (Again, downloading it with your browser will just give you a text file. The dedicated downloader program will download each of the contained URLs separately and stitch them together into a .ts file which your media player can then play.) Looking again I've discovered a different extension simply called HLS Downloader which can, in fact, download the video data directly from within the browser. It only supports HLS, however, whereas The Stream Detector supports both HLS and MPEG-DASH; the former is by far the more common of these two protocols so you might not care. Because of how extensions work it cannot save the files directly to disk, meaning it will consume an amount of RAM equal to the size of the file until it finishes downloading. For larger files I'd strongly recommend getting an external downloader app. Even with the integrated downloader, though, you'll still probably need some external tool like ffmpeg to merge the audio and video streams into a single file.

HLS downloaders work on most sites that play web video and don't have enough money for actual DRM protection. I can confirm it works on roosterteeth.com as well as most "watch TV free" sites (although seriously, if you're gonna pirate, torrent. Do it right. Few if any ads, zero popups, much higher video quality, multiple audio languages and subtitles are included in most cases, and you can watch without an internet connection in your local media player of choice.)

Mainstream video sites, like YouTube, Vimeo, and Crunchyroll use techniques more complicated than HLS for delivering video content. For these, you'll need a dedicated program specifically for downloading media from those sites. Fortunately, there is one! It's called youtube-dl, it's free and open source, and it supports hundreds of different video sites, not just YouTube. (There's another project called yt-dlp which is a fork of youtube-dl (industry term meaning it's based on a modified version of the same code) but has more features; they're otherwise pretty much identical.) Obviously, YouTube is not exactly thrilled about people downloading videos from their site without paying for YouTube Red, so every few months they change up the protocol that the YouTube site uses to communicate with the servers, and it takes the youtube-dl team a few weeks to release an update to make it work again. Now, youtube-dl is a command line app. If you don't want to have to learn how to use the command line (you should, by the way -- it has plenty of practical applications, and you'll get to feel like a hacker while you do it!) I'd recommend downloading yt-dlg. It's a GUI front-end for yt-dlp, which is a fancy way of saying that it's a pretty-looking not-command-line standard desktop app that uses yt-dlp under the hood to do the actual downloading. Like the command line version of youtube-dl/yt-dlp, it accepts HLS and MPEG-DASH URLs from The Stream Detector, as well as direct links to videos on YouTube, Vimeo, Dailymotion, Crunchyroll, Niconico, and many, many others. I highly recommend giving it a shot if you're a fan of local media collections and not giving Google money.

HOW TO SWITCH BACK TO OLD TUMBLR LAYOUT.

YES, theres a fix, and sadly no, it isnt xkit. its a google extension called 'stylus' with this specific code

tutorial: step 1 - install the stylus extension

step 2 - go to "Old Tumblr Dashboard (July 2023) by Pixiel" (already linked) and hit install on that. you will be met with a page that looks like this

copy and paste ALL OF IT, even the part that says "/*Dont touch this its needed*/ }}" (seems obvious but some people miss it! no judgement here!)

step 3 - in your extensions bar, click on stylus. you'll be met with these options

step 4 - select "manage"

then, you will meet a page like this.

from here, you're going to want to click on "write new styles". you'll be met with a box that looks like this.

go ahead an copy and paste the code into that box. when doing so, you'll be met with these options. go ahead and click "overwrite style"

in the top left hand corner where the red box is, go ahead and type "Tumblr" and hit "save"

and with these simple steps, you can turn this

into this!

happy blogging!

[bokettochild]

Hey, I love the opera house au snippets with Time. It just shows that he's very dedicated. Also, what was his expression when Lullaby came in

I will be quite honest, Time kinda just bluescreened when he looked up from coaching Warriors to see Lullaby leaning against the doorframe and watching them with a smirk and her phone out. For a minute, all one could see was just shock, and then, deep in his eyes, PANIK.

Lullaby brings it up a lot, and yes, she threatens to blackmail him with the video (and show it to Malon) if he doesn't help with some task she hates. He's threatened to call the Union on her, but never goes through with it.

Time has, repeatedly, tried to steal her phone and computer, since he knows she'd back it up there, and yes, he has suceeded in stealing both and deleting the video, but somehow she always has another copy hidden on something else. He is working to find the USB or thumb-drive she's got it on, but so far no luck.

He has since collected similar blackmail on her, but nothing near as humiliating as his dancing around in actual tights.

(Malon has seen the video long ago, but she actually wasn't laughing. Lullaby has photo evidence that Malon finds Time VERY attractive, no matter what he is or isn't wearing)

[juniormint1125]

A Beautiful Landscape - Lee Jihoon

THIS POST CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT!

Please read with that in mind.

A Beautiful Landscape

Lee Jihoon x Reader

The end of the semester was always hectic, but three things had made this last term chaotic. First, I had begun working on a research project that was proving to be the death of me. I had never imagined there would be so much controversy surrounding Neolithic pottery. Then, I had moved into my own apartment after living with the same circle of friends since undergrad. The peace and quiet I had dreamed of felt unexpectedly lonely. Lastly, I had met someone who had changed my life, quite literally running into him when I least expected it. A few weeks into the project, I had been at my wit’s end, searching for a physical copy of the book I was certain was the answer to the question my research team had been stumbling over for days. Even with everything I had access to as a professor, I had only been able to find snippets of the information I needed. Well over seven hours into a final effort to find my elusive source, the sun was creeping over the horizon, beginning to glare on my laptop screen. Just one more site, I told myself. If I can’t find it, then I’ll give up.

I clicked on a link for the online catalog of an obscure bookstore. Crossing my fingers, I reminded myself not to get excited. Nothing so far had managed to pan out. And I am not that lucky. Scrolling through page after page of books I had never heard of made my fingers were numb. I wiggled them to try and bring back some circulation. While stretching, I knocked my mouse off the desk. I reached down to pick it up, accidentally clicking the button. “Damn it!” I yelled, looking at the screen. How the hell had I managed to lose the results I had been sifting through? I decided to give searching a rest. Moving to close the window, something familiar caught my eye. Under the heading of “Special Collections” was the book I was looking for! I had to be dreaming. I frantically looked for to find how to find the book. At the bottom of the page was the store’s address. It sounded familiar. That street was only about a ten-minute walk from my apartment! I looked at the clock. If I hurried, I would have enough time to shower and grab something to eat before the store opened. I wanted to be there when the doors were unlocked. I wasn’t taking any chances. After a quick shower, I felt refreshed. I might be able to make it a few more hours before collapsing. I was now running on adrenaline from the excitement of finding the book. I was about to head out the door when my phone rang. It was the research team leader. I thought about rejecting the call, but I knew he would just call again until I picked up. I was short as he drug me through the same questions that I had answered a million times in the last few days. He asked if I had found the manuscript. “Actually,” I chirped, “I may have. I’m on my way now to check out a lead. So, I really need to go.” I looked at the time. I had already missed the opening, so I needed to hurry. I flew out the door and sped down the hall. I was certain my luck would run out and somehow, I would lose the priceless manuscript. I was distracted looking for an employee and didn’t see the stack of books by the entrance until I was falling. My embarrassing descent was slowed when I crashed into another of the bookstore’s customers.

I threw out my hands to catch myself, but it was too late. I landed on top of him, hovering inches from the bill of his navy-blue baseball cap. I scrambled to my feet, my entire body burning crimson. Standing upright, I apologized.

“It’s okay,” he said, dusting off his jeans. “Accidents happen.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” I babbled as I bent to pick up the sheet music scattered on the floor.

He chuckled as he knelt beside me. “It was definitely a little awkward.”

“God, I am so sorry,” I repeated, putting the music back in the bin. “Sometimes I’m a little…oblivious…to my surroundings.”

“It’s really okay,” he smiled.

An employee appeared from behind a nearby bookshelf. I apologized once more and excused myself. I needed to find the book. Once I had it in my hands, I was elated. I would finally be able to get a full night’s sleep!

In my state of delighted relief, I had forgotten about my earlier embarrassment. Then I found myself standing at the counter beside the same man I had pummeled. He was speaking with another employee, holding a sizeable stack of music. I studied his face as I shoved my change into my purse. He had been shockingly kind despite my clumsiness, and I hadn’t even bothered to look him in the eyes. I had been too embarrassed. I flinched as he turned in my direction. His deep brown eyes disappeared as he smiled, and tiny dimples appeared above his mouth.

“Uh…hello again,” I stuttered. “I really am so sorry about earlier.”

He laughed and told me again not to worry. As he turned to go, I blurted out, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee to make up for it?”

I scolded myself. What the hell was I doing? He had just been courteous. Now, he probably wanted to get as far away from me as possible.

To my surprise he agreed. I felt elated. Something about him was comfortable and calming.

As we saw more of each other, we easily fell into a routine. His good morning texts awaited me when I woke up and every evening, as I wished him good night, I reminded him not to stay up too late working. Friday nights were movie nights and Saturdays were for breakfast in bed.

Our routine was disturbed when he started preparing for the first comeback since we started dating. Face to face meetings were replaced by Facetime and movie nights turned into “I’m sorry, I can’t make it” texts. I had fallen in love with Jihoon’s passion for music, so I disguised my disappointment with homemade cookie deliveries to the practice room. Each time Jihoon would pull me aside and wrap me in his arms. He’d whisper his thanks, and each time, he’d be pulled from my arms by a member’s call back to practice.

It was lonely, but the quiet moments we spent in each other’s arms when he finally crawled into bed at dawn made everything worth it. To the outside world, he was blunt, unemotional, and unapproachable. But when he lay in my arms, with the rising sun streaming through the windows, he laid his heart out.

My sunrise Jihoon was soft and gentle. His words were caring and full of gratitude for my presence in his life. He never held back his feelings, telling me I was his safe space. He shared his worries, his frustrations, and his glee, always asking for and thoughtfully considering my opinions.

When he had cleared his mind and healed his heart, he would wrap his strong, steady arms around me and let his passion free. He was a gentle lover who took his time making sure I was always satisfied first. But, sometimes, when he returned from a particularly stressful day, undercurrents of a rougher, more dominant Jihoon would swirl to the surface. I was dying to test the waters and be utterly ruined.

Despite his openness during our sunrise cuddles, Jihoon was still shy when it came to our sex life. He was unrestricted in his interests, but hesitant to make the first move. When he did work up the courage to say something, he would blush and stutter. His flustered disposition was adorable to me, but he hated his embarrassment and inability to speak freely. So, I had learned, through close observation and slowly pushing limits, how to make him comfortable while giving him the utmost pleasure.

So, for a while, I had been testing him, doing little things that would be unobvious, to gauge his reaction. A webpage “accidentally” left open on our home computer. A magazine article I just happened to come across while he had been leaning over my shoulder. A new skirt, just shy of appropriate, hanging in the closet next to his favorite hoodie. A matching lingerie set in his favorite color that I somehow left lying on the bed after I put the laundry away. I dropped a thousand hints and waited for him to take the bait. He might be quiet and shy, but inside his mind, I knew the wheels always turned a thousand miles a minute.

The winter term was ending, and the culmination of my research project was close. I was absorbed with work, not always reachable. The “Did you eat?” and “How did you sleep?” texts started to come more frequently and the time he waited for my reply became increasingly smaller. It wasn’t like him to be clingy, but it seemed the less time I was available, the more passive aggressively he sulked.

Things started to slow down for both of us, and we finally managed to secure a few consecutive free hours that we could spend together. So, I laid all my cards on the table. I put on the matching lingerie in his favorite color that I hadn’t yet worn. I zipped up the less than appropriate skirt that had been hanging beside his hoodie. I refreshed the spicy amber perfume that drove him crazy and swiped on a glossy shade of crimson lipstick. If he doesn’t let go now, I thought, he never will.

I could feel his gaze burning through me as soon as he spotted me in the coffee shop. He was running late, so we decided to meet there. I had already ordered his favorite and it was delivered as he sat down beside me. His hand came to rest on my thigh, and he kissed my cheek to say hello. I noticed how firm his grip was as he asked me about my day.

“Will you go to the studio with me?” he asked as I finished my second cup of coffee.

“Ji!” I whined. “This is supposed to be a date night. No work.”

“Please?” he pouted. “There’s something I want you to hear. It’s not really work, I promise.” He ran his thumb across my knuckles, making me shudder.

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

He helped me with my coat and as we exited into the cool night air, I shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked. I nodded. He took off his scarf and wrapped it around my neck. “Maybe you should have worn something that covered a little more skin,” he grumbled as he took my hand.

I smirked. So, he had noticed. HIs studio was warm and inviting. He led me over to the desk, handing me the headphones. He sat down at the keyboard, and I stood beside him, my heart exploding to see him living his passion.

A slow beat began playing quietly in the headphones. It was beautiful. Every song Jihoon wrote was amazing, but this one was ethereal. The notes flowed from the headphones, washing over me like the voices of angels. I couldn’t believe how talented he was.

From behind, I felt the warmth of fingertips trailing the inside of my thighs. Powerful hands gripped my waist. A firm, easily recognizable pressure bore down on my back. I took off the earphones.

“What do you think?” His gruff voice echoed in my ear.

“It’s hard to say,” I teased. Nails dug into my skin. “Did you just start working on this?”

Roughly, he spun me to face him. He planted his hands on either side of me, and leaning in, forced me backwards with each inch of space he annexed. Devilry glinted in his umber-colored eyes.

“No, I didn’t,” he growled.

“Oh,” I replied, feigning ignorance. “It just sounds a little…raw.”

Jihoon inclined his body closer until I could feel the solidity of each muscle igniting the entire length of my torso. His voice was dark and laced with passion as he whispered in my ear.

“I’ll show you what raw sounds like.”

Internally, I was having a full-fledged victory celebration. My clever boo had taken every one of the puzzle pieces I had left him and fit them together to create a beautiful landscape neither one of us had visited, except in our dreams. I raised an eyebrow, challenging him to prove his declaration.

His lips crashed into mine as he forcefully lifted me onto his desk. Prying my legs apart, he pushed my barely there skirt over my thighs.

“Don’t ever let me catch you wearing this again,” he warned. His hands slid roughly inside my skirt, kneading the skin of my thighs. “This is mine and no one else gets to see any part of it.”

I gasped at the feral tone his voice had found. I was certain that he could feel the wetness soaking through my panties as he held his grip on me. I still had one more test for him.

“Okay,” I replied nonchalantly, shrugging my shoulders. I looked away from him and waited to see how he’d respond.

He gripped my chin, pulling me back to face him. He slid my panties to the side and my dripping core allowed him to easily thrust two fingers inside. My back arched and I moaned loudly as he commanded.

“You answer with ‘sir’ only.”

A huge smile spread across my lips as I responded. “Yes, sir.”

He smiled shyly back at me and tucked my hair behind my ear, stepping out of character for a split second. I understood what his smile was telling me.

“I love you too,” I whispered.

His soft smile faded, replaced by a menacing grin. I was reminded that his fingers were still inside as they began to barrel in and out of me. His other hand firmly cradled my neck. Then he was back, whispering in my ear. His voice was raspy and sent chills down my spine.

“Every part of you belongs to me. And right now, I want to see what’s mine.” He tugged on the collar of my shirt. “Take these off. Slowly.”

Withdrawing his fingers, he took his place back in the chair. His eyes were dark with lust as he waited for his directions to be followed. Jumping down from the desk, I turned away from him. Reaching behind me, I unzipped my skirt, sliding it past my hips, so that it would fall to the floor. Bending over, I heard a hum of approval. Before I could stand back up, his hands grabbed my ass roughly.

“Next time you buy lingerie,” he growled, “I choose.”

“Yes, sir,” I cooed sweetly, standing upright, turning to face him. His satisfaction was clear, so I continued my show. Slowly, I began unbuttoning my blouse.

“My angel is so beautiful,” he praised me.

“Thank you, sir.” I smiled, coming to the last button. I reached to slide the shirt from my shoulders, but he stopped me.

“Let me,” he ordered. As his hands slid the fabric from my arms, his lips trailed kisses in its wake. His teeth nipped the inside of my arm. “Mine,” he declared.

Sitting back down in his chair, he motioned for me to continue. I reached behind to unfasten my bra, dragging out the process of sliding the straps form my shoulders. Looking him in the eye, I hooked my thumbs under the band of my panties. Inch by inch, I slid them down. Taking them in my hand, I tossed them in Jihoon’s direction. He snatched them from the air, putting them to his nose and inhaling the scent of my arousal. Eyes never leaving mine, he groaned, then rose from the chair to join me.

With one hand wrapped firmly around my waist, he used the other to spread my legs. I heard his hum of satisfaction as he slid one finger up the length of my folds. I could see my wetness, slick on his finger, as he put it to his mouth, sucking slowly.

“Delicious,” he moaned. He stood back, eying my nakedness, but making no further moves.

“Please Ji,” I whispered a minute later.

“Please, sir,” he corrected me.

“Please, sir,” I repeated.

“Please, sir, what?” He drew out his words, each one making my core throb.

“Please touch me, sir,” I begged.

“Where do you want me to touch you, angel?” He teased, running his fingertips down my naked side.

“I want you to touch my clit,” I whined. His fingers traced circles around my nipples, and I could barely concentrate to form my words. I was becoming an incoherent mess under his touch.

“Here?” he asked. His thumb landed on my clit, drawing small circles around the already hardening bud. My eyes closed and I nodded my head furiously.

“I can’t hear you, angel.” His tone was a warning as his thumb stilled.

“Yes, sir, there,” I mewled. I was falling apart under his authority. I had never come that fast in my life, but I was so close already to reaching my high. He could tell I was by the way my body tensed.

He leaned in and whispered. “I want to hear you when you come, angel. Don’t hold back.” I was dangling on the precipice of ecstasy and his next words pushed me over the edge. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“Jihoon,” I cried as my orgasm washed over me. He gradually slowed his movements as I rode out my high. I felt as if I would collapse in his arms, but his grip on my waist held me firmly upright.

“So beautiful,” he cooed as he kissed my forehead. His tenderness was over in a second as he spun me around. I heard rustling as he unfastened his jeans, letting them fall to the floor. He rubbed the tip of his cock against my wetness without hesitating.

“Now,” he roared, “I’m going to take what’s mine.” With his last word, he rammed his length into me, slamming my pelvis against the desk with each thrust. His nails were again digging into the flesh of my waist, the pain registering as pure pleasure.

As my moans grew louder, his pace increased. He grunted with each drive. He only did that when he was agonizingly turned on, needing to come for relief. So, I was surprised when he stopped abruptly, whipping me around again. His actions were savage, but his look was tender. He was still my Jihoonie, no matter what had been unlocked inside him.

“Look at me while I come inside you,” he ordered. He thrust back inside, continuing the pace he had set moments ago. I held his stare, never looking away as he reached his climax. It was the most intimate moment we had shared. He rode out his final throes of passion and sighed.

“I love you,” he whispered, his eyes still locked on mine. I smirked and pulled him close, burying my face in his neck.

“I love you too, Jihoonie.” I could feel his smile against my hair as I whispered.

“Sir.”

[yeetlegay]

Hi, so you finally got me to read your Pretty Woman AU, which means you pulled me back into reading fanfiction for the first time ever since a very unfortunate dabbling in Wattpad territory at the age of 15. And I didn’t think I would like it that much, to be honest, because I’ve only ever seen snippets of Pretty Woman and because I’m not usually into stuff that horny. But excuse me, how is this so beautiful and perfect and addictive??? I can now get in line with all the other people begging for the new chapter on a daily basis.

I mean, even though you keep saying you forget about the plot all the time, it’s still there and it’s wonderful and already the idea is brilliant. Like I said, I have never seen the entirety of Pretty Woman, but I love how you weave KinnPorsche and that movie together so seamlessly while somehow staying true to both?

And I know this is a minor detail to most people, but I personally can’t stand spelling, punctuation and grammar mistakes etc. in stories, so I love that somehow you manage to make less of them (= partically zero, even the questionable ones I wasn’t sure about) than a huge amount of professionally published books I’ve read. Thank you for that. Also, I just generally love your style of writing and your tone, it’s a pure delight to read.

That said, I will now go hide in a corner, anxiously await the new chapter and hope you’re having a great day (and that it’s no longer ruined because of the coffee spill).

P.S.: One question, though. Could you maybe explain to me how exactly Kinn’s penthouse is laid out and where everything is inside it? I keep getting confused because my brain is weird and then rooms and furniture end up on the opposite sides of where I expected them to be.

Oh god not Wattpad! 😂 That place is abysmal, I’m so sorry for whatever horrors you stumbled across. But WOW wtf this is????? Incredible???? Not to sound cheesy but I really am honored that you gave fanfic another shot with FL&H, that absolutely blows my mind. I hope you check out some more KP fics too—there’s tons of goodies in there if you’re interested! (I’m very far behind on my TBR but I’d rec anything in my bookmarks for a start!)

Pretty Woman has always been such a comfort watch for me honestly. I first saw it when I was like 8, which in hindsight was too young lol, but it’s just one of those movies that’ll always be a timeless classic imo. It’s one of the greats to come out of the 90s romance boom and I’m just really gassed that Kinnporsche happens to translate so well to that setup. It was shockingly easy to outline and find all the ways to sync up the story/character beats, and I love including little Easter eggs from both stories (like Porsche’s “then stop calling me” moment in ep 5, and Chan teaching Porsche self-defense instead of table manners, and obv the piano scene lol).

I’m kind of the same about grammar/punctuation hang-ups just because of the field I work in, but I try really hard to get over it with fanfic because it’s free and made with love, you know? And besides, I’ve read manuscripts from some brilliant authors who cannot spell or use commas right to save their lives lol, so I’m pretty used to looking past the little things for the sake of the story. Thank god for copy editors tbh. But I’m glad you haven’t spotted a lot of typos! I don’t really copy edit other than skimming it after I post so there’s always a good chance I’ve missed something really egregious lol.

As for Kinn’s penthouse suite, I just sketched this out on my phone so it’s not super accurate dimension-wise lol but below is what I picture in my head. (If you see anything in early chapters that contradicts this…no you didn’t 😉)

The north- and east-facing walls are complete glass, and probably have some kind of shades/curtains that come down when you hit the button, but as we all know Kinn and Porsche are exhibitionists and want to make sure the entire city sees them fucking, especially the banks. 😌

Hope that helps! So glad you’re liking the fic, and an update is coming soon, I promise! Chapter 9 is officially the longest one yet fml 😩

[f1-disaster-bi]

life got in the way a bit, but here's what I've got so far for summer job au :) (also sorry it's formatted weird, tumblr clearly didn't like me copy and pasting)

> Pierre knows his reputation. He's not blind to the looks he has thrown his way, or deaf to the rumours that are regularly refreshed and circulated. He's a fuckboy, a player, a flirt. He's self-absorbed and only in it for himself, be that his love life or his love for competition.

Pierre knows his reputation, knows it isn't changing any time soon, and he can live with that. With summer coming up, he won't have to deal with the comments from his classmates, or the looks when he bumps into people he knows when he's out in town with his friends. He's decided he's just going to play 'hot lifeguard' at his summer job working at the pool, and enjoy the time away from school.

Or so he'd assumed.

Charles is standing on his doorstep four days into the summer break with an expression Pierre can only describe as adorably pathetic. His best friend is sheepishly dragging the toes of his white trainers across the porch, scuffing them in a way that makes Pierre's eye twitch.

"I'm so sorry, Pierre."

"What?"

Charles fidgets, shifting his weight and it's now that he can see the little book sticking out of his younger friend's hoodie pocket.

"You got into the art camp?" He asks, excitement starting to bubble up.

"I uh- yes?"

"That's great! I'm so happy for you." Charles splutters as he pulls him into a hug and Pierre can only laugh at the confusion on the other's face.

"You're not mad I won't be here for summer?"

"Oh Charlie of course not! I'm working most of it anyway, and you got in! I even heard Lando isn't going to be there either."

Pierre snorts at the flash of irritation that the younger boy's name brings across Charles' face. Even just the word 'Lando' is enough to have his friend pouting. It's even funnier that Lando has no idea that he's Charles' 'arch nemesis'.

"Good. Probably didn't even get offered, the condescending twat." Charles grumps, folding his arms across his chest with a slight smirk.

Pierre just laughs softly, tugging his friend in for a quick hug and a squeeze before letting him go. "So when do you leave?"

"Uh, tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?!"

"I'm sorry?" Charles tries to grin endearingly and Pierre flicks his nose. "I know, that's why I came to tell you today. I needed to say it to your face and get you to forgive me."

He rolls his eyes, sighing with fond exasperation, then reaches out to pinch Charles' cheek. He laughs again when Charles swats at his hand. "I'll forgive you then, but only if you make me something cool to stick on the wall in my gaming room."

"Done!" Charles chirps, bouncing on his toes before pulling his phone from his back pocket. "I've got to go, need to pack for camp, but I'll text you!"

"You better!" He calls with a wave as Charles heads home.

Pierre closes the door once his best friend is out of sight, leaning back against it with a sigh. He truly is happy for Charles, his friend is so talented of course he'd gotten into the prestigious art camp he'd been stressing over, but it will mean his summer will be a little lonelier than he'd hoped for. He can only pray that his own 'arch nemesis' will be away for the summer.

He had wanted to go the football camp, but he wants to buy his own car so he doesn't have to share with his mother, and the only way he's doing that is if he saves up. Working at the local pool didn't sound like a bad idea, and he's got a good set of hours so it should keep him busy. His evening gets better when Charles texts him a string of celebratory emojis, followed by a screenshot of a group chat he hasn't checked yet. There's one message in particular that Charles has obviously drawn over, highlighting and circling it and adding a smiley face. 'Max V-N on footie camp for pretty much all of summer, no dealing with him'. So his prayers have been answered.

OOOOOOOOOO ANON

I'm loving this little snippet that you've come up with!!! Charles would definetly feel guilty about leaving his bestie alone for the summer and poor Pierre would hate the rumours about himself 🥺

[lady-grace-pens]

Foad Excerpt [7]

It’s been a whole ass month since I shared a raw snippet lmao oops

I got my writing mojo back and I’m making good progress though! I just hit 31k today ☺️ Here’s a snippet in honor of it. It’s probably longer than what I should be sharing, but fuck it! In honor of the milestone, we ball.

All fluff between Emily, Arthur, and Ilya as they relax at a garden party being held at the uni. This is actually one of my favorite scenes so far. I almost shared the more angsty, climactic half of it but I just shared some angst in the word search tag I did a few days ago. Plus I don’t want to spoil too much ;)

Taglist: @wordwizards @flowerprose

•••

I run my fingers along the sides of a heaping glass of sweet tea bought from the refreshments table. Arthur, at my request, fans me with Ilya’s book—a copy of an old Russian novel none of us are familiar with. It isn’t long before he fumbles with his pockets, taking out a silver coin. Be flips it in the air before sliding it across the table. “A penny for your rose, Ilya, what do you say?”

Ilya pushes all his spare flowers towards us. “Take ‘em all. I’m done anyway.”

Arthur plucks a rose from his pile. Using a pocket knife, he cuts the stem little over halfway, and whittles away all the remaining thorns. Meanwhile, Ilya weaves the last stem into his crown.

“Lovely work.”

Arthur glances up from his work. “Quite. How’d you learn something like that anyway? Pardon if I’m wrong, but you don’t strike me as the artistic type of fellow.”

“I’m not. I picked it up to surprise Cal.”

“Aw, isn’t that lovely? You know, that reminds me of a bloke I once knew back in secondary. This was after I went back. Big sort of school, so new kids weren’t at all uncommon. But this fellow—he was the beefy sort of type, you know. Rugby player. Thing is, he had the most demanding witch of a girlfriend…”

The rest of their talk melts into a slush pooling at the sides of my sweating tea glass. The rich brown liquid is a prism catching the few strands of sunlight that peek beneath our umbrella. On the table, it projects glimmering visions of Matthieu’s eyes.

His absence hasn’t been lost on me. I must’ve given him a dozen reminders of this event within the past three days alone. My hair has gone white stressing the significance to him, not that he isn’t already aware. The Agricultural Society is the backbone of Ravnna’s funding. Our pride. This is their chance to display the fruits of their monumental care for their craft. If not for the sake of nature, I would’ve at least expected him to at least come for that. The fact that it means something to the people he cares about. But low and behold, what does the man text me this morning?

“Sorry babe I’m gonna be late. Y’all go without me.”

A simple line without a rhyme nor reason. While a late entrance would be superior to his complete absence, I’m still expecting a strong excuse.

I check my phone. Nothing new. Only the time shifting.

“Haven’t heard from Matt, have you?” Ilya asks.

I cross my arms. “He told me he’d be late, but he never said how late. God only knows if he’s planning to show up at all.”

“Depends on how bad his uncle needs him.”

“That’s what he blew this off for?” I slam my wedges against the ground. “Fuck. I’m happy it’s not anything else, but… Dear Lord. They act like those trees are going to sprout legs and walk away.”

Arthur and Ilya share a laugh.

“You act like he didn’t tell you or somethin’.”

“He didn’t.”

“Logger, isn’t he?” Arthur takes a sip of my tea.

“Yes. Also that’s my drink.”

“But I bought it with my money, love. Technically it’s mine.”

I twirl my hair and give him my richest fake laugh. He rests his elbow on the back of my chair, all pride and playfulness. Speaking again. I fall deadpan.

“Careful with the roses, love, some of them have thorns.”

Arthur, unchanging, returns to his pruning. “And some like to think their thorns are much sharper than they realize.”

Ilya breaks out in a fit of laughter. I’m shocked he isn’t falling with how harshly he’s leaning back.

“Oh quit your laughter over there!” I snatch one of the thorn-laden stems Arthur broke off and throw it at him. “It wasn’t that funny.”

“Yes it was.”

Your smile says it all, dearest,” purrs Arthur.

“You—“ I slap his shoulder. “Shut up! This isn’t a smile. Even if it was, it’s surely from the heat and nothing else. God knows that joke was so dry, I can hear my Grandpappy coughing.”

Ilya keels over the chair next to him. “Oh my God, Em.”

Arthur, groaning, buries his head in his hands. At this point, I can’t resist my lips springing up like the flowers surrounding us.

“Lord almighty, this entire conversation has to be cleansed.”

“Hand me my book, Em,” asks Ilya as his hand pops up from the table.

My lungs birth a half-formed laugh that more so resembles a breath of air. I throw his book across the table.

“Too lazy to fetch it yourself, huh?”

“Damn right.”

Arthur clears his throat. Between his fingers, he twirls the freshly cut, dethroned English rose. He says nothing but wears a smile—go figure. Is there some sort of question he’s expecting me to answer? Perhaps a continuity error between the strands of silk petals? Before I can ask him such, he raises the rose to my ear, intertwining it with my curls.

“Love,” he says while his breath, like the late summer sun, tantalizes my skin. “Won’t you take a walk with me? For the better part of an hour, all you’ve done is sit here waiting for the likes of some guy to show up. Take a look at where you are, darling, we’re in paradise! I don’t want to see you wasting any more time not savoring it.”

My heart is exiled to my guts, where it becomes a feast for the wriggling maggots churning my intestines. I reach for my phone. If Matthieu catches me alone with him… The thought of that possibility is enough to bring me chills. It’s best if I wait here for him, really, but… without any news of his arrival… I could very well be damned to this chair for another hour before I get so much as a text claiming he’s on his way. In the grand scheme of things, what is a brief little distraction?

[kuromantic]

Tales of Zombish: Haikyuu Light Novel Translation

*This is my translation of the Zombie Knight Zombish snippets from the light novel. It’s split into 5 parts, and inserted between each chapter of the light novel. Don’t copy this to another site. The translation is under the cut!

Zombie Knight Zombish

 1: Zombish is Born!!

Nightfall. A lone swordsman wakes up. A swordsman that does not know of true death, because of experiencing a false death. 

“...Wait, it’s still evening, you stupid crow!” 

The man yells at the small crow beside him, having just woken up by a thin bush. The man’s body was wrapped up in an old, tattered cloth—which must have been a cloak some time ago—which covered his entire body. 

“I could have gotten burned by the setting sun…” The man blocks out the sunlight with the tattered cloth, and the crow caws apologetically. 

“Well, it’s okay. I don’t even have a body that can be burned.” 

The man laughs, and the crow flaps its black wings, flying ahead up into the sky. The man follows it with his gaze, squinting at the brightness. He stands up. 

“Oh, well. Guess I’ll go.” 

The man starts to walk. His frame was thin and delicate, which could be seen even when it was covered with the tattered cloth. And on his back, was a sword. 

The sword, which is large enough to not be recognized as one at first glance, does not suit the lean man. 

“Man, I wonder if a car will pass by… Eh, I guess no sane person would have gasoline now.” 

There’s no road where the man looks ahead. 

In the dead world where smokey, dried up wastelands stretch out for seemingly forever, the man continues to walk alone today.

“Yeah, isn’t this good? Isn’t this good? It sounds like the story’s just begun, right?” 

The rookie mangaka, Udai Tenma, stands up with an excited face and gets another drink from the self-service fountains. He returns to his table with a glass of cola in his hand. He continues working on his storyboard. 

The only equipment on the table is a notebook, a pencil and an eraser. On the open page, there are scribbles that nobody else could decipher. It’s the storyboard Udai made with all his effort. 

I wanna try and make a manga. I like it. With that, Udai had drawn a manga during his college years. And it had won an honourable mention in the rookie awards. He had gotten an editor and debuted as a mangaka. But the reality was, he wasn’t quite reaching serialization. 

But now, “Zombie Knight Zombish”, is being created in the restaurant. And there’s a confidence that hasn’t been there before. 

“‘Everything but death is nothing but a scratch’? He needs to get over himself… No, maybe ‘Mortal bodies, they make me jealous.’...” 

Udai mumbles dialogues to himself, changing his expressions to suit the main character’s. The other customers at the restaurant glance at him. 

But he can’t afford to care about those gazes.

Zombish needs to help the heroine attacked by the enemy, in an extremely cool and overdramatic manner. 

And the enemy has to be a fated opponent that Zombish has known before turning into a zombie. The heroine needs to be a key person, for Zombish to return from zombie to human. And of course, she needs to be cute, a little strong-willed, who tries to join in on the fighting sometimes. But also a girl who you just want to protect…

A flash. 

The girl’s eyes can only capture the white hand, emerging from the tattered cloth and gripping the sword on his back. 

She feels wind brush past her cheeks, and closes her eyes. She opens them again, and the bandits have already collapsed onto the dry ground. 

“Huh? What…?” 

As the girl struggles to comprehend what had happened, Zombish is already starting to walk away. 

“Hey, don’t leave me behind!” 

She grabs the knight. At that moment, the tattered cloth on him rips and falls to the ground. 

What appears is not the handsome knight she expected. Nor a fighter that’s big and well-muscled. It’s a skeleton. 

“...Wait, bone?! Why bone! Bone? Wait, do bones even talk?!” 

“Yeah, I’m bone! So sorry I’m bone, sue me!” 

The knight picks up the truly tattered piece of rag, and hides his body. It truly looks like a skeletal model. He turns his back to the girl. 

“Anyway, I’m bone. So I can’t go with you. Protect yourself, you’re on your own.” 

The “bone”, that had slain a crowd of bandits instantly, tries to walk away from one single girl, as if to escape from her. 

Staring at Zombish’s lanky, weak-looking back and the huge sword on it, the girl shouts over at him. 

“Hey, bone! Can you eat?” 

Zombish turns around, lifts the tattered cloth, and points around his stomach with a laugh. 

“You wanna see me eat? It’s hilarious.” 

“If you don’t eat… That means I don’t have to share my food or water with you, right?”

“Huh?” 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re bone or not, if you can defeat these guys. You’re pretty strong.” The girl points to the iron-clad, muscular bandit with a mohawk. “And I should sew that cloth I ripped back together…” 

Zombish laughs, his hard skull distorting a little. “I’m not strong. Those guys are just small fries. But I guess I’ll have you fix this cloth for me.” 

At those words, the girl runs up to him. 

In the dried-up world of death, two footsteps mark their paths. Up above in the sky, a crow flies around in circles. As if to watch over them. 

Zombish’s journey has just started!! 

“I wonder what my editor will say…” 

 The man, once the “Little Giant”, leaves the restaurant and returns home. And without changing his clothes, collapses into his futon for the first time in a while.

2. VS Editor A!! 

“Zombies aren’t usually skeletons, right?” Akaashi Keiji opens his heavy mouth, holding his coffee in one hand. It makes Akaashi heavy-hearted to meddle with a work an author brought to him. 

Kanda, Chiyoda City, Tokyo. 

In the editorial department of Weekly Shonen Vie, there’s an extreme lack of people in the afternoon. 

The rookie mangaka, Udai Tenma, freezes momentarily in the meeting space. And he attempts to brush it off with a laugh. 

“Yeah, I thought, ‘Is a skeleton okay?’ for a bit. But maybe a Japanese-style zombie would be new, and I thought I could pull it off. We all get cremated in Japan, too. Hahaha.” 

“I see.” 

Akaashi looks at the copy of “Zombie Knight Zombish” on the table, and Udai laughing in front of him. And he says one more time, with force behind his words. That this is the last time he’ll say this, and he won’t say the same thing again. 

“Zombies aren’t usually skeletons, right.” 

The question mark had disappeared. 

It’s not a question, but a confirmation of fact. 

“...Yeah.” Udai replies weakly. He drops his shoulders, and bites the straw of his cola. 

 It’s tough. 

It had been his best work. He had a confidence in it, that he hadn’t before with his other works. But his concept had been fundamentally criticized. 

The editor continues talking to the crestfallen Udai. 

“And one more thing.” 

“...What is it?” 

Udai hunches his shoulders, looking up at Akaashi like a scolded child. Akaashi sips his coffee, adjusts his glasses and lets out a breath. He opens his mouth slowly. 

“We’ve established that a skeleton is not a zombie. But I think this skeleton’s design is a little lacking, in the first place. It’s no different to any old skeleton. For the main character, I want a quirk that will tell you it’s Zombish with just one look.” 

“Any old skeleton?” Udai says, and draws a normal-looking skeleton into his notebook. 

“Yes. For example, he could be wearing glasses, or he could have a large scar. I want a unique design. Even if you draw him simply, you would know it’s him. If I were to ask for more, I’d even say make his silhouette recognizable. That’s how strong his design should be.” 

Udai adds a scar to his skeleton, and mumbles, “I guess it can’t be a scar, if his silhouette has to be recognizable.” 

“The scar is just one example.” 

“I’m sorry…” 

Udai slurps the cola at the bottom of the glass, which is pretty much melted ice. He laughs disappointedly. 

“I thought the skeleton was fine, since he was cremated. Like a Japanese-style zombie. Well, there’s no zombie-ness, I guess…” 

At those words, Akaashi’s glasses shine. 

“Then… How about you make Zombish look more Japanese? It could link with his sword, too.” 

“What?” 

“Well, this is just one what-if scenario.” 

“...No, I think it could work. I’ll think about it! Then maybe he can look different from any old zombie!” Udai grabs his pen, and draws a Japanese-style zombie in his notebook. “If it’s Japanese clothes and a sword, he’d just be a samurai… How do I give him the zombie knight feeling…”

Watching the pen move busily and create many versions of Zombish, Akaashi feels a weight lift from his heart. 

It makes him heavy-hearted to meddle with other people’s works. But sometimes, his words make the author take a step in a good direction. That must be why he can continue with this job. 

“So now, please brush up on the work. And, depending on the edited manuscript, I may bring it up during the serialization meeting.” 

Udai’s pen stops moving. “Wait, why?! You’ve been talking about my work so harshly and tearing into it this whole time!” 

“...I haven’t been tearing into it. It’s entertaining, so I just want to make the story even more entertaining.” 

Udai’s face crumples, as he looks up at Akaashi. “Akaashi-san, you weren’t just an unpleasant person, after all!” 

“I’m an unpleasant person…?” 

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean it that way! I meant it in an um, good way!” 

Akaashi doesn’t ask what exactly he means by that, and organizes the manuscript. “Zombish is very entertaining, compared to the works you have brought me so far. I think you have a chance.” 

“Thank you!” 

“Oh, and lastly…” 

“There’s… still more?” Udai tenses. 

 Akaashi chuckles, before talking. “I’ve been thinking for a while, but this bit on the edge of the page, saying ‘Zombish’s journey has only just begun!’. You don’t need to write that. It’s the editor’s job.” 

“...!!”

4. Get Serialized!! 

It’s just past noon. Noticing that the phone is ringing, Udai reaches out from under the futon. He checks, and realizes it’s Akaashi. He gets out of the futon in a hurry, and answers. 

“You were asleep.” Akaashi says, in the same straightforward tone. 

“...I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m sorry too. I’m going to get into it. Your one-shot is well-received.” 

At those words, Udai’s hand begins to sweat. He had been told to make a one-shot for the extra issue, and had made “Zombie Knight Zombish” with everything he’d got. 

He had changed Zombish’s design into a young man with patchwork skin, after Akaashi’s critique. He likes the way the bandages show around his collar. It can’t have been a skeleton, he thinks. It’s hard to relate to a skeleton. 

The “recognizable by silhouette” task had been cleared with the axe on his head. The zombie knight element was incorporated, by making him detach his left arm to wield his sword. Maybe they’ll make a movable figure out of the character. 

Above all, it was a work he’d been confident in. If it had still been absolutely hopeless, Udai wouldn’t have been able to recover from it. 

“Thank god…” Udai feels the tension drain out of him, and Akaashi continues. 

“And now, I would like to brush up Zombish to prepare for serialization.” 

“Of course! With pleasure!” Udai answers with gusto, almost like an izakaya employee. 

“Firstly, your heroine.” 

“Yes!” 

I should probably fix up the heroine a bit more, Udai thinks. Make her cuter, better… But Akaashi doesn’t steer the conversation in that direction. 

“In the one-shot, Zombish saves her, and they decide to go on a journey together, and it ends there.” 

“Huh? Oh, yes.” 

“If the one-shot will be chapter one, are they going to be travelling together in chapter two and beyond?” 

It’s not anything fun, like about making the heroine have a good figure or about how revealing her clothes should be. 

And really, Udai hadn’t been thinking what would happen once it got serialized. Well, he supposes it would be like what Akaashi just said. 

“Wouldn’t the readers grow bored of that?” As if to read Udai’s mind, Akaashi says. 

“What?” 

“The main character and the heroine go on a journey together the whole time, an enemy appears, he saves her, he defeats the enemy, and then moves on. And they continue like that until the final boss.” 

“Yeah…” 

“Wouldn’t that bore people?” 

Wait, am I getting given out to? 

No, he’d only been thinking of the one-shot as a base, so he hadn’t set anything beyond that in stone. He had only thought that leaving the readers hoping for more would be enough. 

“...Um, if it’s possible, I’d like to talk about this in person.” Udai says, wiping the sweat off his palms with his t-shirt. 

“All right. When are you free?” 

And so, in the editorial department the day after, the brainstorming session in the meeting space had continued for more than two hours. 

“So then, instead of a heroine that just keeps getting saved…” 

“She’d be like a buddy that also gives witty comebacks.” 

Udai draws a bunch of expressions for the female character. Flustered, angry, glaring… He stops his pen, and looks at Akaashi. 

“Then maybe Zombish will have a goofy side, instead of just being cool?” 

“But please don’t make it into a gag manga. Looking at the survey results, there are a lot of people saying that the manga is interesting because Zombish is cool.” Akaashi answers, looking at the survey chart. 

“I see… Balancing it out is hard.” Udai draws out a bunch of Zombish’s expressions in his notebook, and laughs. “But it’s fun. It feels like I’m making a manga.” 

“It’s good to hear that.” Akaashi smiles for a moment, and continues. “And also, about the enemy. Instead of them being a group of bandits in the harsh world, making them an organization would add depth to the story.” 

“Oh, maybe they’re the reason Zombish turned into a zombie?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Udai’s mood lifts from Akaashi’s acknowledgement, and opens up a page earlier on in his notebook. 

“Look here! The final boss is a fated opponent from before Zombish turned into a zombie. And the heroine is a key person for Zombish to turn back into a human. So I thought right now, maybe the heroine is the daughter of the final boss.” 

In contrast to the excited Udai, Akaashi lets out a low groan of uncertainty. 

“...So what, exactly, is Zombish fighting for?” 

“You always ask questions that can make the whole thing fall apart, Akaashi-san.” 

“Well, isn’t that the most important part?” 

Expanding ideas simple-mindedly is fun. The more he expands, picking up the pieces and making the story coherent will be hell, though. But knowing that, talking about final bosses and rivals is genuinely fun. 

“Secret hideouts are great, aren’t they?” 

“If they’ve taken over this world, isn’t there no need to keep it a secret? Something that would display their power…” 

“A castle!”

7. Secret Technique: Bolster Up! 

Just after serialization, the response had been very good. It had been. Udai had been in a good mood, asking “This will definitely be turned into an anime, right?” 

But now, it had gotten to a point where they couldn’t let it get any lower on the survey rankings. 

“........” 

“Are you okay?” Akaashi’s senior sees him with his head in his hands, and speaks to him. 

“...Oh, yes.” 

“It’s about Zombish, right? You should bolster it up with something. Like, with a pretty girl or a handsome guy,” the senior says. “Well, I don’t know.” He returns to his seat, after saying his part. 

“Bolster it up…” 

Akaashi’s brows knit together. 

Would that be enough? Could such a hasty, superficial solution entertain the readers? Well, the current results point to the fact that they’re not entertained. But even so, shouldn’t they be charming the audience with the protagonist’s appeal, or how interesting the story is? 

“The protagonist’s appeal, huh…” 

But what are the features of a protagonist that will be loved? 

What kind of story makes the readers want to come back for more? 

“.....” 

It would be the anticipation the readers have for the main character. What will happen next week? What will he show us next? Expectations as such. There must have been a lack of absolute protagonist strength, if he thinks about it. 

But that was the result of trying to create a dark fantasy, painting a delicate picture of emotions. Precisely because it was an absurd world with a zombie knight appearing in it. Was that what they had done wrong? Was it impossible for his literature department-aspiring self to make an entertaining manga, after all…?

After pondering for a long time, Akaashi lifts his head with a start. 

“....!” 

Wait a minute. 

Am I making the same mistake again? 

Am I thinking I could control the author and the readers? 

“...No. Pour your spirit into each ball, pour your spirit into each ball…” 

Yes. Focus on the next point, the next ball. Focus on this week’s story, the obstacle the protagonist must overcome. 

His desk becomes messier each day, as if to reflect inside his heart. Akaashi closes his eyes, and focuses his mental state. 

“Don’t think about what’s easy, think about what’s fun. What’s fun…” 

The survey rankings going down, getting discontinued isn’t fun. Then what is he meant to do…?

“Give feedback… Connect it to the next step… The next…” 

The seniors look at Akaashi worriedly, in front of the printer. 

“Akaashi is muttering to himself again, is he okay? He won’t quit, will he?” 

“He always comes back to life afterwards, you can leave him alone.” 

“Yep.”

“I want an absolute, strong main character.” Akaashi says to Udai, during their meeting. 

“Absolute?” 

“Yes. Like a star that hits any ball with his utmost ability.” 

“Am I going to get discontinued?!” 

Udai stands up with a clatter, face growing pale. Akaashi shakes his head quietly. 

“...Please calm down. It’s not getting discontinued, yet.” 

“...Yet…” Udai shrinks, and sits back down. 

“It’s a tough situation, but let’s turn things around.” 

They’re burning their bridges behind them. 

On the walls around the meeting space, there are many posters of works that had been turned into anime and movies. And the cardboard boxes blocking the corridor are packed with samples of goods. 

They have to join the ranks of those popular works, at all cost…!

Akaashi brings his gaze back to Udai, and starts to summarize the things he had thought about for the past week. 

“The main character… Zombish is a ‘star’. The readers have expectations for the star. What will he do next? What awesome moves will he show us? What kind of crazy risks will he take?

“We want the main character to amaze us with unexpected, yet charming actions. Whether Zombish sinks or swims will depend on how he overcomes next week’s desperate situation.” 

Akaashi lifts the paper bag on the floor. “And there’s a favour I want to ask from you.” 

“What’s this? I was wondering about it for a while.” The paper bag handed to him is unexpectedly heavy. Udai glances inside. “A blu-ray?” 

“Yes. I picked out swashbuckler films of all types, that have useful scenes for composition and pose references. At this point, we should take in anything cool and flashy.” 

“Thank you!”

“Also, it will be hard for you to watch it all, so I wrote the times for scenes I want you to watch.” Akaashi gives him a note. 

“I’ll definitely watch it! I’ll use them as references!” 

“I’ll do anything I can as well. Let’s both try our best.” 

There’s no way Akaashi can control what story the author will bring to him, what the other works will be like, how the readers will react. 

So, he should think about what he can do, what he should do. 

Avoiding discontinuation— it’s hard, but it shouldn’t be impossible.

10. Our fight has only just begun! 

“Zombish is getting discontinued… You have seven chapters left…” 

After getting the phone call informing him of the discontinuation, Udai had gone outside. Staying in his room felt too painful. But why, and how he’d come to the editing department, he doesn’t remember. 

Akaashi had been taken aback, after Udai had come without contacting him. But one look at his face, and he knew he couldn’t leave him by himself. And so he had taken him to a nearby coffee shop to talk to him. It was just his luck that he hadn’t gone outside the company. 

“Please order anything you like.” 

Akaashi gives the menu to Udai sitting opposite to him, but Udai drops it onto the table, not having enough energy to hold it. 

Akaashi pulls the menu closer to himself, trying not to show his shock. “Is coffee all right, then?” 

“........” 

There’s no answer, but Akaashi asks for two cups of coffee from the waiter. He chooses his words carefully, and begins to speak. 

“We had unfortunate results this time, but…” Akaashi continues, to the dejected Udai. “And as a suggestion from me…”

“........”

“I would like to get a fresh start with a new work. We should solidify the concept more for your next work, and compete with a work only you can make.” 

“Next…?” Udai raises his head at last, only to slam it back into the table. “There’s nothing! There’s no such thing that only I can make!” He lifts his crumpled face, and yells. 

“That’s not true. There must be something…”

“It is too! There’s nothing!”

Akaashi can only bite his lip, while his assigned author descends into total panic. 

What should he do…

He can’t just say “Bye, then,” and leave him feeling downcast. He had wanted to part ways with him in a positive manner, connecting him to the next step. That might just be his own ego talking, though.

“...I’m sure there’s a good theme for you. Is there anything you liked as a child, or something you put your heart into?” 

“I’m just a jack-of-all-trades, average guy. I’ve just gotten by in regards to study, sports, art and music…” 

When Udai had been in good form, he had preened about it, saying “I can do pretty much anything!”, but now he’s totally dejected. Well, that can’t be helped. He’s getting discontinued, after all. 

The only thing Akaashi can do, is to tell him his completely honest thoughts. 

“I don’t think a serialized author is just a jack-of-all-trades, average person.” 

“I’m not a serialized author anymore, I’m a discontinued author…”

At that moment, the waiter arrives. He shows a slightly intrigued face at Udai’s words, but immediately puts on his professional face and turns on his heels. 

Akaashi takes the cup, and inhales the aroma of coffee to calm himself down. He thinks. Maybe he should make some small talk, and change the mood. 

What should he talk about? Not about his work, or about what lays ahead. Then, about Udai himself? He wonders what he had talked about with him recently. What club had he joined in college? Where was he from? 

And he remembers. 

“Udai-san, you told me before that you’re from Tohoku. Were there any unusual traditions there? That you can write a manga about.” 

“...Yeah, I’m from Miyagi. But I lived in a normal estate, it was all pretty normal.” 

Udai says with a hoarse voice, and absentmindedly puts sugar cubes into his coffee. Many, many sugar cubes. Akaashi thinks he’s adding a bit too much, but there’s an atmosphere around them that makes him unable to say that. 

“Well, maybe where I live is in the middle of nowhere in the countryside, to you. You’re from Tokyo, after all.” 

“That’s not…”

Akaashi thinks that Udai is getting a little too dejected with him, but he can’t be blamed. “Zombie Knight Zombish” is Udai’s first serialization, and his first discontinuation. 

Food, sleep… Udai had sacrificed such human necessities, and yet his work had not been well-received. Of course he would be dejected. 

And as a new employee, “Zombie Knight Zombish” was Akaashi’s first work that he had launched from nothing. Due to being emotionally invested in it, Akaashi had felt deeply disappointed about the decision made for Zombish. 

Which is exactly why he had wanted to end it on a positive note. Surely there’s something in common with them, that they can talk about…

Akaashi, feeling cornered, opens his mouth. And starts to talk about something unexpected, even to himself.

“...Actually, I have someone I know in Miyagi. It was in relation to the club I was in during high school.” 

“I see.” 

Udai stirs his coffee with lifeless eyes, not picking up the conversation at all. He doesn’t even drink the coffee that is surely too sweet. 

“........” 

Of course. Someone else’s high school years is the most irrelevant subject to Udai right now. But really, what should he do? Telling someone they’re being discontinued, and thinking of what happens afterwards, is a first for Akaashi. And it’s a big job. He isn’t sure what the correct thing to do is. 

Akaashi falls silent, and Udai opens his mouth. “...What club were you in, during high school?”  He asks, not sounding that interested. It feels more like he asked out of obligation, because there was a break in the conversation. 

Akaashi feels regret, after realizing he’s made Udai read the room for him. But at the same time, he feels relieved that some of Udai’s energy has come back. 

“Volleyball.” 

“I see. I did volleyball, too.” Udai says. “During my years, we went to the Spring High nationals, too.” 

At those words, Akaashi places the coffee he had lifted back onto the table. 

“Oh, me… too.” 

“Really?! That’s amazing, Akaashi-san!” 

“No, you too.” 

And with a light premonition, Akaashi asks. “...Which school did you attend in Miyagi?” 

“It’s not a powerhouse, so I don’t know if you’d know…” Udai laughs, before answering. “It’s called Karasuno.”

Please look forward to Udai-sensei’s next work, “Meteo Attack”! 

[hitozy]

have you ever ‹ masterlist › denouement

tw! manipulation, mentioned underage sex, dubious consent, cheating. i also want to point out that reader is around 2-3 years younger than Iwaizumi, while Jae and Iwa are the same age. ps. this is a long chp :)

𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞

Iwaizumi has no idea of what has possessed him tonight. He doesn't know why he's walking around the city in the middle of the night a day before he should be on his way home.

He doesn't know why after the celebration he didn't follow his teammates. He doesn't know why he has barely answered your texts since after the game.

He also doesn't know why he agreed to go and see Jae, to hear her out.

He's been doing fine so far, seven months Jae clean and while the first three were bumpy; your company had made it easier to deal with. Your cheerfulness, your happiness, the adventures you've both have been planning have taken his mind off the broken heart he was nursing.

She continued to contact him, even when he begged her not to and blocking her phone was no use, she just got a new one and tried again and again. His resolve was diluted and he knew it would be a matter of time before he fell into his old habits.

lil jae: congrats on the win haji! let me invite you to a drink, im in town.

-

Iwaizumi recalls an old memory from back in high school, a few weeks before moving to California, you were sitting on his bed helping him organize his suitcase with 'essentials'. His clothes all over the place but as always, you showed enthusiasm at helping him out.

He remembers you giggling and calling him a dork while folding his Godzilla themed underwear and placing it inside his suitcase. He remembers the way you hummed some songs that you had just placed on your shared playlist because 'it's kinda your style' and it kinda is. He even remembers what you were wearing, a pair of black running shorts and a blue tank top. When you reached over the edge of his bed for his fallen socks, your cleavage was visible to his eyes, 'If a man ever peers down his shirt', he thought, 'I'll kill him without hesitating.'

But what he remembers the most is you pulling out an old shoe box from under said bed, a shoe box that held his most treasured things. Pictures from his childhood that matched the ones on your bedroom wall, doddles from your hand, your favorite flowers pressed inside a copy of your favorite book, short stories and poems, snippets of stories never finished from you. He'll never forget your teary eyes and happy smile when he took the box from you, emptying the contents carefully inside his backpack. The hug you gave him afterward still sets his heart on fire, nothing has ever been more lovely than you and your happy smile.

He also remembers Jae coming into his room right during your hug, wearing an empty smile on her face, her eyes red and raging. He's only ever seen her this mad whenever he's with you and he still doesn't get it.

She stay's to "help" when in reality all she does is glare at yn the whole time. It helps that you don't even mind the glares or the bad mood, joking that 'Jae's grumpy because we couldn't go to the movies today'.

It was late afternoon when you left, Iwaizumi had given you a bag filled with some of his stuff - things he knew you loved and adored, things he couldn't take. He watched you get inside your parents car and wave him goodbye, even though you both knew he'd be coming through your window in a few hours for movie night.

He remembers when he came back inside to find Jae naked on his bed. How angry she was and how she took it out on sex, the tension so palpable he could taste it. Once it was over, she walked towards his backpack and pulled out all of YN's things and that's when it clicked. She was mad because he was taking stuff about YN and not her, she made it clear when Jae told him, 'What the fuck is this.'

-

He remembers that hours later, he finds himself in your room squeaky clean and wearing nothing but his sweatpants and socks, his back against your front with his head against your breasts. He hadn't told you that Jae broke up with him, but he knew you had figured out he was sad because your arms cradled him since he got situated there and had not moved since.

How Jae said she wouldn't move with him in the end. How she had decided to stay in Japan and have him go to California all alone in the end, just because she wanted him to. How he begged her to come, to stay with him, to not leave him and how he watched her get dressed to go home. How she winked at him as she left with a, "Call me once you're in Cali."

How she only wants to go out when she knows he has plans with you. How she only cares about him when you're around or how messed up and used he feels ever since she took his virginity during your 14th birthday party.

He feels disgusting sometimes after sex with Jae, disgusted with himself on how wrong it is but how much he loves her still.

He didn't have to say any of that to you, the kiss on the forehead you just gave him eased it all away anyway.

-

He remembers all of this while he's kissing Jae in her hotel room, her dress and underwear discarded somewhere in the room, his cock buried deep inside of her like a starved man, Her nails racking down his chest from his unbuttoned shirt as she moaned at the feeling.

When Jae separates herself from him with half lidded eyes, she smirks, "I bet my little cousin can't even kiss right, the little virgin." She kisses the column of his neck, grazing her teeth against the skin, getting ready to mark him as hers and even though he doesn't agree with her, he stays quiet.

A memory burst through his mind as he pounds into Jae. The way your sighed his name when he settled himself inside of you, the way your nails scratched his back when he hit your G-spot, the way you moaned when his thumb circled your clit; your gummy, tight walls griped him as you came, with his name on your lips. Your soft, pillow lips that have only been his, only kissed him.

"Be safe out there, Hajime! I'll be waiting for you!" She smiled as she kissed him goodbye by the front door.

He turned to deepen the kiss, pulling her closer to him like a starved man, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna runaway, mochi."

As he walked down the steps of his house, he heard her say "I miss you already."

It's then that Iwaizumi snaps out of it.

He pushes her off of him and steps back until his back is against the wall, feeling disgusted with himself in a way he hasn't since they broke up.

"I can't do this, I won't do this, I-" he pushes himself off the wall, tucking himself in and picking up his stuff, "Never again, Jae."

Jae watches him leave, a sinister smile spreading across her face. Her gaze steady as his figure disappears into the night, "If you think you can just up and go, Haji, you are very mistaken."

She walks to where she hid her phone and chuckles as she presses send, "Lets see what my little cousin has to say, hmm?"

-

Iwaizumi was worried, it wasn't normal for you to not answer his calls or texts. He was on the road back home with the team, their ruckus would usually give him a headache, but right now? Right now he can't focus on anything except the little 'unread' mark at the bottom of his last text to you.

my one: mochi? r u ok? im on my way back home

-

He didn't expect to come back home and find you in the living room in silence. Your eyes rimmed red and puffy from crying, you didn't have to say anything for him to know what had happened.

Jae told you.

He wish he could be surprised, but Jae had been nothing but a devil all this time and he can't believe he never saw it until now. Until he married you, an angel.

"Mochi, I'm sorry. I'm very very sorry, please talk to me." He knelt at your feet, his hands on your knees trying to get you to look at him. His guilt crashing down brick by brick, he should have never gone out to see her.

"I know this means nothing to you, mochi. But I'll never see her again, only when its a family reunion or you're with me."

Silence.

"There is no excuse, but yn, please, look at me, let me explain."

She pushes him off a bit, without much force as if her sadness took away all her strength and his heart clenched. How could he do this to his best friend? Lie and lie, again and again and again.

YN-”

“No, STOP! You- you got your say, now it’s my turn.” She's shaking and her breaths are short. She's starting to have a panic attack.

I get up and advance towards her slowly, “YN you need to calm down. Here,” I place my hand on her back, “let me-”

She pushes me off, her back towards me, “Please, don’t touch me. Please, please, please.” She's sobbing and its hurts so so much.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

“Remember your breathing exercises, mochi. In and out. In…”

Eventually her breathing normalizes but she still won't look at me and it takes all of my strength to not touch her.

“All I ever wanted was for you to love me, Hajime.”

Whoever said words can never hurt someone, has never been in my place. She just stabbed me without a knife and its more painful than I ever imagined.

“I wanted you to love me, to see me as your wife, as a woman but you didn’t. You don’t and I- it hurts so much.”

“But, mochi, you said you would marry me so we didn’t end up with strangers.”

“I know.”

“Then why-”

“I lied. I’ve loved you since the moment you came into my life. I’ve loved you for years, even before Jae came into the picture. I’ve loved you so so so much, I love you so much.”

“… you know about Jae? Since when?!” I made the mistake of reaching out for her, she pushed me back and said nothing. The dread of her knowing, of her finding out before today makes me sick.

“If you knew then why did you marry me!? Did you think I would change? That my feelings would change? You know I’m not like that.”

“I do know. I- thought that maybe-, but then it was clear that nothing would change but, I made a promise to you and I said it in our vows.”

“YN-”

“I know the mistake is mine. I know what all the blame is mine to take, I know it and I accept it. I’m sorry, Hajime, that’s me that you have to stay with.”

She finally turns to look at me, but I wish she hadn't. The tears are flowing steadily down her cheeks to her neck. I did this to her, I hurt her again and again, without thinking. No, without watching. Because if I had paid attention to her like Jae did, I might have seen it sooner.

“We could get a divorce, you know. That way you can stop getting hurt. Stop your heart from breaking. You don’t deserve this.”

“It’s okay. I- I give you permission to do it, to break my heart forever.”

“…What?”

She takes my hand, and in-between the tears she smiles at me as if her heart wasn't breaking in two. As if I didn't shatter her dreams for a few sloppy seconds, “It’s okay, I know what I signed up for, I knew it from the beginning. I guess I just didn’t want to accept it. So go ahead, break my heart, break it into a million pieces! I give you permission, Iwaizumi Hajime, please just - don’t leave me.”

I can't say anything, what am I supposed to say? My sweet, sweet girl is hurt and damaged and all she wants is for me to stay. I feel disgusted in a way I never did with Jae, because instead of being used, I am using her.

I bring her into my arms, and say the only words that have actual meaning between us, "I love you, mochi."

"I- I'll do better, I promise. Please YN," He gripped her shoulders tightly, "Please forgive me, I'll do whatever just, I'm so sorry, baby."

He can feel the tears spilling onto his shirt, a scorching pain expanding through his chest at the consequences of his actions. He hurt the one person who didn't deserve it, who he promised to keep safe and happy.

"Hajime, please take a bath, I wanna sleep without the smell of Jae."

His heart dropped at her words, he forgot that he had just upped and left from Jae's, only changing his clothes for comfort. His skin still smelled like her. As he separated from her, he kissed her forehead, "Join me?"

-

He laid on the bed with her hours later, her head on his chest where he could see her puffy eyes. She had washed him thoroughly to the point were he thought she had scrubbed him raw, and he couldn't blame her - he wanted to do the same since the beginning.

He pulled her closer, practically on top of him and felt her heartbeat against his own. He had done something terrible and he needed to fix it, fix this. So he needed to take the first step.

to lil jae: for someone who says they love me, u sure like to make me miserable. i don't know why u hate yn so much and tbh i don't care anymore. i don't want to see u or talk to u ever again. if u contact me, i'm gonna get a restraining order, jae. i can't do this anymore.

to lil jae: goodbye jae.

do you wish to block this number?

yes.

Remorse is memory awake, Her companies astir,— A presence of departed acts At window and at door.

Its past set down before the soul,         And lighted with a match, Perusal to facilitate Of its condensed despatch.

Remorse is cureless,—the disease Not even God can heal;         For ’t is His institution,— The complement of hell.

Remorse is memory awake - Emily Dickinson

taglist ! @daphnxy @zukoslosthishonor​ @i-am-a-hoe-for-shinya @mrsdoradominguez-barnes @anejuuuuoy

a/n! *hands you all this and runs* i'll see you soon for chp11~

but in all seriousness, i wrote this chapter with my heart on my sleeve. love is truly the strongest curse and for it to be unrequired? imagine it.

now, i'm off to write the next part! and i am sorry :) ♥

[13atoms]

Grit (Javier Peña x F!Agent!Reader)

This is my first time writing for Narcos, but I really liked Peña as a character, so here we are. I might do a second part of this, let me know what you think!

Friends-to-lovers, set during s2, no smut but canon-typical nsfw. [4.9k]

*

You sighed, then coughed out a delirious laugh, as the news crackled through Murphy’s radio.

It had been yet another trap, yet another informant you couldn’t trust, yet another victory for Escobar. You, Murphy and Peña were sat in a tense little circle, huddled around Javi’s messy desk. The evening had lasted forever, a whole carton of smokes crumbled into the ash tray, each of you nursing headaches from clenched jaws, palms sweaty, tired of the endless threats from Steve to go and join the agents in the field.

Each stutter of noise on the radio had signalled a new round of tense glances between the three of you, notes scribbled down, short fingernails carving half-moon into palms.

Then, it was over. No fatalities on any side seemed a small miracle, but you knew Javi took no pleasure in hearing that the enemy hadn’t lost anyone either. Shot and bleeding and bruised, every bastard who had walked into that fight managed to scramble away. The transmission from the scene finished curtly, and you felt the three of you deflate.

“Fuck,” Peña muttered.

Murphy slamming his closed fists onto the desk painfully hard.

You exhaled, reeling from the whole evening, stretching back in your chair and wondering what the hell this meant for tomorrow.

“Again,” you sighed, hearing the other agents grunt in shared frustration.

Leaning forward you perched your elbows on the desk, throwing your notes away from you in disgust, letting your head fall into your hands. Your eyes ached, your very bones feeling unimaginably fragile as your muscles untensed and your heart fought to restore calm to your body. It was no good. Adrenaline like this would last hours.

Murphy grabbed his gun from the desk, kicked his chair away as he stood, storming from the room. When you looked up to Javier, worried about what the stupid bastard might do, he just rolled his eyes.

You had a sneaking suspicion that the three of you would be spending your pay checks on whiskey that night.

“Fucking hell,” you declared, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Peña gave a strange little laugh, shaking his head. He copied you, elbows on the table, letting his forehead fall heavily to his palms with the weary exhaustion which had plagued all of you since you first heard the name Escobar.

“What a shit show.”

You nodded in agreement, aching eyes closed. Each blink felt like it would scratch, the darkness of the office only broken by the shitty fluorescent light which created a tiny island of life around Peña’s desk. Everyone else was on the raid, or at home.

Sensible.

“We have to get him. One day. That bastard can’t run forever.”

Peña’s hum of agreement had no conviction, it was as uncertain as you felt, but you liked to imagine he really believed you.

You could feel your body giving up on you, so deprived of everything human for so long in pursuit of a man who always managed to escape back into the shadows. Hunger gnawed at your stomach, the muggy heat parched your lips, your head ached from the smokiness of the room and the sleep which evaded you more and more these days. Your skin felt dirty, no matter how often you washed, stained with guilt and the rivers of blood which ran through Bogotá. It didn’t matter how often Peña told you it wasn’t your fault: you knew your guilt, your sense of inadequacy, would weigh on you for as long as the Cartel was alive and operational.

He felt it too, the hypocrite.

The hunt had drained everything from you. Every ounce of softness and humanity. How long had it been since you were hugged? Since you knew a peaceful night’s sleep or a kind touch? Since you entered a room without imagining the ceiling joists falling under the force of a car bomb? You had slept with a gun nearby since you had joined the DEA here, thinking yourself paranoid. Now, you slept with the damn thing loaded.

“I had such a good feeling about this one,” Peña mused, more to himself than anyone else. You knew he would go home tonight filled with guilt.

Maybe he would take it out on some poor sex worker, fuck away his guilt and fear and frustration.

Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would call you, pretend the phone lines weren’t monitored as the two of you spoke in vague terms. Unable to discuss work on an unsecured line, desperate to hear something real from another human being, exchanging snippets of your shaking voices until one of you finally managed to find sleep.

With nothing else to discuss, the two of you would talk about yourselves.

You never knew how much was true. How much was omitted. You lied sometimes, out of instinct more than anything, and you knew Javi did too. People like you always did. Beneath it all, though, you got the strange sense that you were really hearing something honest about him.

In the deep grumble of his voice, his landline phone cord stretched to his bed as he took the distraction as a chance to drift off, you would hear something real about him. A story from his youth, some reminder that he was real and mortal, a complaint about an injury that wouldn’t heal, some grievance with a dry cleaner. Even the scratch of his stubble as he ran a hand over it sounded like a confession. A reminder you both had beating hearts.

Every word you exchanged, hitched breaths, waiting for reactions or hums down the phone to tell one another you were smiling.

That felt real.

You blinked, wincing at the horrid overhead lights, which seemed to flicker periodically, only when it would really piss you off. Javi was looking at you with concern, the deep lines of his forehead contorted over a raised eyebrow. His badge was in one hand – he’d been fidgeting with it for hours – but his over hand was extended towards you. Palm up, like he was offering it to you.

When you met his eyes you saw worry, mixed with sheer exhaustion, and tried to offer a weak smile.

Someone was moving in a corridor outside, and he waited for their steps to grow quiet until he spoke.

“Are you okay?”

He didn’t need an answer. The weak smile you offered felt like enough to make you cry, and he closed his open fist, nodded his head in understanding.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

He shared the same burden, the same burnout, pulling him to the ground with ten times the force of gravity, yet refusing to let him take a break in pursuit of these bastards.

“Go home,” he offered sincerely, raising that awkwardly hovering hand to clap onto your shoulder.

You closed your eyes. There was nowhere you wanted to be more than your own bed, but as you devoted a second to thinking about getting home, your body felt impossibly heavy.

“I’m exhausted,” you admitted, hoping Javi didn’t notice the tremble in your voice.

“You look it,” he agreed.

With a raised eyebrow and half-hearted glare you had him scrambling to apologise.

“I- I mean, you look lovely, doll. Always do. Just, shattered. I can barely see it –”

When you laughed, he realised you’d been joking, letting his head fall onto the desk braced by his exposed forearms. You glanced at the clock, realising it was gone midnight. None of you would be in the next day. You’d already gotten the time off, knowing the raid would run late.

They usually did.

Especially lately, everything the DEA did seemed to become an unmitigated disaster.

“Give me a minute, ‘til I can be bothered to walk to my car,” you mumbled, knowing Javi would understand your words.

You admired the mussed up back of his hair, looking worse-for-wear after a day of being tousled and pulled at by his twitchy hands. You wanted to fix the piece which was sticking straight up, but your arms felt too heavy to move.

Adrenaline was a funny thing. It left you jittery, pent-up, and yet completely stationary.

It would be fine once you moved, you knew. You’d forced your body through this gruelling pattern often enough.

You rolled your neck, moaning at the tightness in the muscles, and Javi looked up with that damn cheeky grin. He should be exhausted, but there he was, eyebrows raised, eyes gleaming with mischief. You groaned at him. That man could find an innuendo anywhere.

About to look away, you forced yourself to meet his challenge instead.

“I’m starting to see why you go to those fuckin’ brothels,” you drawled. “You think I could convince them to give me a neck rub?”

“I’m sure they’ll rub anything you want, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as one hand remained on the back of your neck, the muscle rock solid from hours in this stupid metal chair. He stretched out his closed fists and stood wordlessly, taking his place behind your chair like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were about to say something when he commandingly rolled your head forwards, tugging your collar down. When his warm hands found your neck, you gave him a rumbling, contented moan far better than the one which had piqued his interest.

For just a second you felt the slow movements on your neck halt, before he continued to clumsily kneed at the muscle either side of your spine. It hurt, his strong hands against all those tender spots, but it was the best kind of ache.

His hands grew gentler, rubbing softly for a moment, before he spoke.

“Better?” he grunted, and you found yourself scanning the room for something reflective, disappointed that you couldn’t drink in the image of Javier behind you.

“Better,” you choked out, your voice unnatural as you felt the closeness of his touch affecting you.

It had just been too long, you told yourself.

Fuck, you wanted him to do that to the rest of your back. Your limbs. Those strong hands learning your body. And more, if he wanted it.

He cleared his throat and stepped away, and you rolled your shoulders, starting to collect your notes and belongings to leave. Javi slipped his jacket on, adjusting the collar and shaking the arms into place, and you fought not to watch.

“That’ll save you some money from the ladies of the night,” he teased, his tone just a little flatter than it ought to be.

You knew him well enough to sense awkwardness in that rough voice.

“Who said anything about ladies?” you shot back. “Are there male prostitutes? Must be.”

Javi seemed a little shaken, less steady on his feet as he took a second attempt to kick his chair under his desk. He was squaring up papers and stationary as if that was all it would take to tidy the mess around his typewriter, refusing to meet your eyes.

“I haven’t met any,” he ground out, “so I’m not sure I can help you there.”

“And I thought you were a connoisseur.”

You were a little taken aback when he didn’t laugh, and the playful smile fell from your lips. You hadn’t realised how much you were waiting for his deep chuckle, his silence forming a strange missing link in your conversation. Looking up at him, you found him staring at your shoes.

“I’m just teasing, Javi,” you started to apologise.

“No, no. No worries.”

He cleared his throat, playing with the notebook, badge, and keys in his grasp. Passing them from hand to hand. He walked abruptly to the door, toeing it open with his shoe, one hand on the light switch as he waited for you. As you joined him, he looked down, that handsome face distorted with a slight frown.

Frowning seemed to come a little to easily to his features these days.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he rumbled, and you nodded gratefully.

He locked up behind you, and you felt a pang of guilt for ruining a perfectly good moment. You could still feel the phantom touch of his hands on your neck, the callouses of his fingers, experienced with women and yet inexperienced in such gentle touches.

The two of you strode down the dark corridors, and you wondered if he’d always walked that far away from you. He was walking a few feet ahead, and it felt like miles.

“I really didn’t mean anything by it,” you apologised, mumbling in the hopes he might not reply.

“No, I… I’m not upset. It’s fine. I’m just tired.”

You hummed, knowing he could sense your dissatisfaction with his answer. You were too dazed to find the right words.

As you stepped out into the muggy evening air, blinking against the flood lights, both of you froze. There was some commotion in the parking lot. Someone in plainclothes detained by a guard and another man dead on the ground, riddled with bullet holes. You weren’t sure why, but even after all the violence you saw every day, the puddle of blood around him made you clench your jaw with disgust.

Peña stepped in front of you defensively. He usually treated you as just another officer, but off-duty his protectiveness always seemed to kick in. Tonight, you felt your heart clench in gratefulness, as he approached the scene carefully, fingers on his holster. You were too exhausted to keep up with the rapid conversation between Javier and the guards, only tearing your gaze from the dead stare of the body on the ground when Peña called your name. A third time. He waved a hand in front of your face, and you blinked rapidly, apologising as you focused back in on the moment.

You expected the off-white flash of his teeth, laughing at your slowness, some snarky comment about seeming slow, doll. His solemn frown, his concern, was more startling than the flash of his palm in front of your face.

“That’s it,” he told you gruffly, one hand wrapped lightly around your bicep, “I’m driving you home.”

You laughed, half in surprise, and he smiled wearily.

“You’re exhausted.”

Ignoring his comment, you frowned, words tumbling from your mouth before you could stop them.

“Can you call me? Tonight?”

You knew it was pathetic. You sounded pathetic. You knew that.

He went to reply, and you found yourself unable to stop speaking to hear the answer.

“I just… I don’t know how I’ll sleep. I think… I want to hear your voice,” you stumbled.

Javier sighed, smiled slightly, gave a surprisingly bashful nod of his head.

“I’ll call.”

The two of you climbed into his car in silence, and you kept your focus on the moving dials of the dashboard as Javi crawled past the crime scene, joining traffic. The radio hummed quietly, indistinguishable from the noise outside, and you rest your head on the edge of the seat. As Javier drove you through the city streets you felt your energy return, as you knew it would. It always happened like this. You would be too exhausted to leave, be tempted to make a camp on the cool concrete floor of the office. Then, as soon as you were almost at your own front door, you would have the energy to run laps of the block.

You watched out the window, catching reflected glimpses of the flex of Javier’s forearms as he shifted gear, the columns of his neck as he shouted to other drivers, and deft way he handled the steering wheel.

Flashes of red and pink lights made you smile slightly as the car crawled through traffic. It wasn’t a part of town you’d visited outside of work, but you recognised the streets. Javi rolled down the window as you passed brothels, the darkness punctuated by flashes of beautiful women who cooed at Javi from their doorways. You refused to let yourself wonder how many he knew by name.

Then you wondered why you cared.

“Don’t want me to drop you off?” he teased, and you rolled your eyes.

You wondered if Javi had really taken this longer route on purpose, just to make a joke. From the smile on his face, you would believe it. He looked pleased with himself as you gave a groan, trying to hide your amusement.

“Any of them your type?” he goaded again, gesturing out the window, chewing his words.

You shifted in your seat, sitting up properly, blinking back a headrush as everything suddenly felt real again.

“None of them look much like John Travolta,” you noted, smiling as yet another gaggle of women gave the car flirty waves.

A few called out male names, fakes names you presumed, and you saw the man beside you wince. You waved back, smiling. Javier groaned, thumping his thumb against the leather of the steering wheel.

“Travolta? Really?”

You laughed, the lightest you’d felt all day, at the grimace on Peña’s face.

“Yes, Travolta! I’d totally pay a Travolta look alike. You got a problem with that?”

“He’s too soft. No grit.”

“He seems nice!”

Truthfully, there wasn’t much time for films out here. Even less American celebrity gossip. But you remembered him being very popular before you left.

“You could pick up a Travolta look-alike at any bar in this damn city, they’d be falling over themselves. You certainly wouldn’t need to pay them.”

You gave a private smile at the hypocrisy in his voice, as he scoffed over the idea of paying someone for sex. As if he was short on women who found him attractive.

“Yes, but unlike any old bloke in a bar, if I paid they couldn’t fall asleep on me after two minutes.”

Even as the traffic picked up speed, Javi rubbed a hand over his face in frustration, groaning yet again.

“That’s fuckin’ depressing.”

You could hear the unsaid pet name on his tongue, a strange stutter to the rhythm of his sentences, and you wondered why he held it back. The drawl of doll or sugar when he spoke to you was as natural as breathing at this point.

“Yeah.”

The red lights of brothels were far behind you now, and yet Javi was still driving the wrong way, taking a longer route to your place. You bit your lip, looking straight ahead and wondering why he was stalling taking you home.

Hoping you knew the reason.

Javier suddenly shouted, clutched the steering wheel as a car full of young guys cut him off, one hand reaching out like a safety harness across your chest as he slammed the brakes on. As soon as his arm was there, inches from your chest, it was gone again. He was changing gear and honking his horn and swearing under his breath, and you were trying to process the tight feeling in the pit of your stomach. He apologised as he swung the steering wheel, taking a side street to avoid the car ahead, wary of the guns and middle fingers waved from the windows by young men still convinced they were invincible under the cover of night.

You exhaled shakily, blinking away sleepiness as you tried to process what had happened, frustrated at yourself for your slowness.

He seemed to remember himself as the car crawled past sleeping houses, the headlights sweeping across cobblestone, finally in the direction of your place.

“Sorry, darling,” he muttered, fingers tapping on the wheel irately.

“No problem. Can’t be careful enough, at the moment.”

He hummed and nodded, gave you a quiet sideways glance before training his eyes on the road again. One hand rested on the gear shift, curved around so his wrist brushed your thigh as you uncrossed and crossed your legs. He glanced towards you again, something so inconspicuous you hardly recognised it, and you wondered if he knew you were trying not to stare.

The brakes complained under Peña’s foot as he finally rolled to a stop outside your building, the night as quiet as Bogotá ever got. There were a few lights on in your block, the faint shouts of an arguing couple muffled as they drifted on the late night air, a baby crying, faint sirens. All reminders that you were yet to settle this torn city.

Javier cleared his throat and reached for the handbrake, cutting the engine but leaving one hand on the ignition. No doubt it was one of those habits which had saved his life once, and then he could never drop it. You felt the slight movement of the car as his foot finally left the brake, and you smiled privately at how overly cautious he was, ready for anything to go wrong.

He shook slightly at the gear shift, checking it was in neutral.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, if you want. To get your car. Or the next time you need to be in the office. Whenever you need me, doll. Just be safe.”

He swiped at his moustache nonchalantly as he spoke then reached for a cigarette, leaving it between his lips unlit. He pulled a lighter from his pocket one handed, poised to light it as you spoke.

“Thanks, Javi. I really appreciate it, you’re too good to me.”

He froze up, before slowly moving the lighter to the centre console of the car, dropping it into the tray there with a clatter.

“Don’t say shit like that,” he grumbled around the cigarette, but you smiled anyway.

Seeing his prickly exterior come out only meant he was protecting himself from being vulnerable. He looked up at your building, ducking to survey the height of it. You knew it was rougher than where he and Murphy had ended up, but you liked the community of it.

“We gotta get you moved closer to us,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head for show, and you huffed out a laugh.

“I’m fine, Javi. Thank you for the lift.”

As you reached for the door handle he seemed to startle, the bubble of calm inside the car burst as a rush of hot air and noise swarmed through the open door.

“I’ll walk you in,” he declared, stashing his gun beneath his jacket and pulling the keys from the ignition.

“It’s fine, please, you can call me tonight,” you insisted, your feet finally hitting the ground as you got out of the passenger seat.

When you looked back into the vehicle for a gentle goodbye, you were surprised to see something sad on his face. Something disappointed, lonely, enough to make your heart clench.

“Unless you want to come in?”

He was beside you in an instant, the car needlessly loud in the click as Javi twisted his keys in the door to lock it.

“You’ve had a long day,” he reminded you, one hand hovering insistently behind your lower back, refusing to touch or grow further from you as you approached the entrance to your building.

It felt like forever ago, the failed raid, the violence at your office, the feeling of being fused to that bruising-hard metal chair as your heart raced in time with the static of the radio. The memory of Javi’s hands on you had finally vanished for just a second, until he brought it right back.

“You have too, Javi,” you muttered, looking away as you found your key.

“I’ll sleep like a baby tonight,” he grumbled, feet heavy on the stairwell as you ascended to the second story of the building.

“No other plans?”

Your question was supposed to be light-hearted, both of you breathing more heavily as you reached the threshold to your apartment. Key in the lock, you turned to see Javi leaning against the wall as casually as if he belonged there.

“None,” he whispered, “I’m here as long as you need me.”

Who said I needed you?

His arms were folded, fists clenched, and you wondered if he was stopping himself from reaching out.

He followed you inside quickly, taking the liberty of sliding over every lock on the door before you had the chance to. You could see him mentally sweeping the room, craning his neck to look for anything which might make his instincts rear up. You crossed to the small kitchen counter, dumping everything you were carrying down, as he gently paced the small space. He stuck his head into the bedroom, the bathroom, just checking.

Somewhere deep down, you knew why.

He would never forgive himself if something happened to you.

“Drink?”

Peña nodded, and you stepped back to let him raid the fridge himself, needing no permission. He’d been here enough times, though you couldn’t remember a time without Murphy. It was a different feeling, just the two of you. Calmer. Safer. You couldn’t meet his eyes as you moved around to switch on a couple of side lights. You knew you should eat, but you couldn’t walk back to the kitchen. Not while Peña was there.

The shouting had stopped, the baby had silenced, and yet you knew you wouldn’t sleep if you went to bed now.

Not a chance in hell.

You wondered if that was what Javier was doing too: distracting himself from the thoughts which would find him in sleep. By eating everything in your kitchen, apparently.

“I should cook for you, sometime,” he called, though his voice was quieter than you’d expected. Closer.

“You any good?” you teased, straightening up a stack of papers which would immediately slump into a mess again.

“Not really.”

You laughed a little, hearing his matching chuckle behind you. As you turned you found yourself suddenly between his arms, so close you could see the irritated red threatening the whites of his eyes. You wanted to stroke a thumb across those lines in the furrow of his brow, force him to relax until he turned back into the bright-eyed man you’d once known, who relished wasting government money on the finer things in life, and cheered like he’d won a star player when you were assigned to his team.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet here he was, still in front of you. The same man, beneath the exhaustion and the things he’d seen since starting this damn job. As you were examining the lines of his face, the dark circles which never quite managed to overshadow the beauty of his dark eyes, he was staring at you.

He gave you warning, time to move away or speak or – something. He told you what he wanted with heavy eyelids and a light grip on your jaw, in the slight shuffle of his body closer to yours. Then he kissed you, like it had always made sense. It didn’t feel like the first time, he felt familiar. The slight tickle of facial hair against your face, the tensing of his fingers, seeming to engulf your whole skull and guiding you to lean into him as he groaned into your mouth.

The sound of your lips separating made your eyes open, staring wide at Javier like he was a new man. His grip on your face slipped to hands resting on your shoulders as he watched you, waiting for a reaction, bottom lip between his teeth as he bit down a grin.

You smiled openly, only able to look at his face, and he matched you with a laugh. He pulled you with him as he walked backwards, dragging you on top of him as he sat on your couch, muffling your apologies with a kiss as you fell heavily onto his lap.

The couch creaked beneath him as your mouths met heavily, but if Peña had even felt the weight of you, he didn’t flinch. He was kissing you like the world was ending, like he had seconds before the two of you would be gone forever, and he was determined not to miss a second against your skin.

It had felt like that, you supposed. That you would be ripped from one another too soon. Countless times together you had been seconds from death, an inch from bleeding out, hours from being blown up. It could all end soon, the two of you swallowed in flames or a shower of bullets. Perhaps he was making up for each and every time you had called for one another across a soon-to-be crime scene, desperately glad to see each other unharmed.

Peña’s hand on your waist grounded you, dragged you back into the moment, and you poured everything you had into kissing him so hard his lips would be reddened for days. You wouldn’t apologise for the roughness of it – he was determined to bruise you in response, sharing the kind of desperation which couldn’t be expressed in any other way.

Finally his second hand found your waist, gently prompting you to sit up in your straddle across his lap, staring at this new glassy-eyed, wild expression he wore.

“I’m no Travolta,” he panted, the words ghosting across you face.

You sighed. No living that one down.

“He’s not got enough grit for me anyway,” you promised, pressing a gentle kiss to the aquiline slope of his nose, before strong hands guided your lips straight back to his.