#the parent trap 1998 x reader

[multimilfs]

Chessy x Fem!Reader: Operation 'Chunky Man' 

Summary: Chessy + 150 — “Stop distracting me.” 

Prompts found here!

A/N: This was really fun. My favorite thing about Chessy is just how much she means to the Parker family and how involved she is, so I couldn't write a fic without including Annie and Hallie!! I hope you all enjoy it!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld

Warning(s): None

“I have eyes on the target. Over.” 

“Copy that, Big Bear. Can you make contact? Over.” 

“I think I can, Red One. Over.” 

“Red Two, are you in position? Over.” 

“Red Two is in position. Over.” 

“Good. Operation Chunky Man is a go. Big Bear, you are free to make contact with the target. Just keep in contact with the team. Over.” 

“Copy that, Red One.” 

You shove the mini walkie-talkie into your back pocket and saunter in the back door. Chessy looks up from her place in front of the stove and smiles, Sammy laying at her feet. The smell of chili and cornbread lingers in the air around you. 

“Hey, hon. Did you and the girls have a good day?” Chessy asks. 

“We did,” You smile, walking around the island to kiss her cheek, “Hal was a lot more interested in fishing than Annie, but they’re both having fun with the walkie-talkies.”

“I’m glad we let them open them early. They seemed pretty out of it.” 

“I think it’s weird for them to have both Nick and Liz gone, even if it's only for a weekend. How was your day?” 

You see Annie creeping into the kitchen out of the corner of your eye. Sammy perks up when he sees her, but you shoo her away when Chessy isn’t looking. She rolls her eyes and backs out of the kitchen again. 

Upon waking up this morning, Annie and Hallie had been far too glum for your tastes. To see both girls lacking their usual mischievous nature felt like a punch in the gut. So with a little persuasion, you convinced Chessy to let them open one of the gifts you’d both gotten them. 

The set of walkie-talkies had been perfect since you were taking them fishing. Being out in the woods, you always felt better having an alternative method of communication. You had even left one with Chessy for the day to be safe. 

“I got a lot done. Sammy here even helped, didn’t you, buddy?” Chessy coos and crouches to scratch the dog all over. He accepts the affection willingly, tail wagging a mile a minute. 

With Chessy’s back turned, you eagerly rush Annie into the kitchen. She patters softly over to the stove and ladles a few scoops of chili into the bowl sitting on the counter. You grin and wink at her stealth. Chessy has no idea. 

Offering a thumbs up back, she quietly begins to walk out of the kitchen, careful not to let the spoons clatter against the side of the bowl. You’re both impressed and concerned at how spy-like she is. Offhandedly, you wonder if Liz ever had any contact with MI6. 

“Hold it right there!” Chessy says and you jump. 

Somewhere in the few seconds you’d been distracted, Chessy turned, catching the girl red-handed. Your eyes widen. Annie looks like a deer in headlights, looking between you and Chessy. 

“We’ve been compromised, go!” You shout and wrap both of your arms around Chessy’s waist. 

Annie takes off through the doors and outside where Hallie waits. You’re grateful she’s running outside; some of the chili sloshes out of the bowl when she’s running down the porch steps. 

“Go get her, Sammy.” Chessy instructs. The dog takes off and outside, you can hear Annie squeal as he catches up with her, “And you—stop distracting me.” 

Chessy turns in your arms and offers up a glare. Unfortunately for her, you can tell there’s nothing behind it, and that she’s holding back a smile of her own. You kiss her cheek. 

“Where’s the fun in that, sweetheart?” You ask. 

“The ‘fun in that’ is getting to sleep in our bed instead of on the couch.” 

“Come on,” You bat your eyelashes, “You wouldn’t really send your poor, sweet partner to sleep on the cold, hard couch now would you?” 

“Oh yes I would, Big Bear.” 

Your eyes go wide and you gape at her. Her lips finally pull into a mischievous grin. From the back pocket of her jeans, she fishes out a walkie-talkie of her own. You’d forgotten that you’d left one with her when you and the girls ventured into the woods. She heard everything. 

So caught up in keeping her distracted, it had slipped your mind. Her oversized denim shirt had completely obscured where it rested in her back pocket. 

Clearly beat at your own game, you hold up your hands in defeat. Chessy shakes her head and steals a kiss, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, but pulling back as soon as you try for something more. You pout at the loss. 

She holds the walkie-talkie up to her mouth and presses the button, “Girls, come get cornbread to go with your chili. Over.” 

Several beats of crackling silence come down the line. If you listen hard enough, you swear you can hear Annie and Hallie squealing out on the swings in the backyard. They had clearly forgotten the same information you had. Your time at the lake had wiped all of your memories, it seemed. 

She doesn’t wait for a response and turns back to the stove, ladling out three more bowls; a separate bowl for one of the twins, one for you, and one for herself. You set to work on grabbing drinks and cutting the cornbread. Placing it all neatly on the table, you smile at Chessy’s nod of approval. 

You watch her move around the kitchen and smile wistfully. What a woman. When she comes and sets the bowls down, you catch her waist again, kissing her breathless. It surprises her, though not as much as it used to. Chessy hardly hesitates before melting into you. 

The two of you spring apart when Sammy barks outside and comes bounding in the back door. He comes to a stop in front of you and waits. Laughing, you make sure to fill his bowl and set it near his water dish. 

Chessy is about to summon the twins again when the walkie-talkie crackles and a non-accented voice comes over the channel, “We’re coming now, Chessy. Over.” 

[pandalandalopalis]

Devil May Cry Wolf - Matt Murdock x Mutant Reader [Chapter Fifteen]

Masterlist Previous Chapter

Story Synopsis: The first time you jumped, it was 2014 and you were nine years old. You were in the back of your parents’ car — then you were in New York, standing on the street … and it was 1992.

The second time you jumped, it was 1998 and you were fifteen years old. You were heading back home to Saint Agnes after school had ended — and then you were knee-deep in snow, in Russia, in 1970. Outside a Red Room facility.

The third time you jumped, you were twenty-five and had spent ten years training as a Red Room agent. Ten years training your body to use your mutation. Jumping in space was easy — jumping in time was not. But you did it. After ten years, you did it. Now you have to live with the trauma.

Five years later, killing is still the only thing you know how to do, and the only thing you do best. In 2016, a vigilante named Daredevil stops you from killing a man who attacked you. He tells you that you can do better. You think maybe he’s right. But in 2017, Matt Murdock is in the darkest place in his life. When you show up to save him, he’s not exactly grateful. And when he finds out that you’re the best friend he grew up with in Saint Agnes that disappeared almost 20 years ago — things get even more complicated.

You’ll have to drag Matt out of the dark while being jaw-deep in it yourself. And you’ll have to try your best to do better — when Matt is trying his best to do worse.

Chapter Synopsis: Being sober is not easy when you have as much trauma as you do. You attempt to find a solution that Matt doesn't agree with.

Warning: Wolf is in a really dark place in this chapter so please take care of yourself while reading this. Mentions of suicidal ideation. Violent imagery. Allusions to sexual assault.

Part 2 - Chapter Fifteen: The Telepath

You lived in the Red Room again.

You thought it would be okay, going back to work after the withdrawal symptoms settled.

It wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

Every time you saw Bucky Barnes, his face shifted into one with a mask and you could feel bruises on your skin and taste blood in your mouth and feel the anxiety of waiting, watching, seeing if the Red Room would bring out its attack dog to come play with the girls—

He was the only person you never beat in combat; the only person who could anticipate your every move; the only person who could anticipate your teleporting—

The only person who could make sure you were dead if he wanted it. 

The only person you were afraid of.

Why did they trust a monster to help them

Why did they trust a monster to help them

Why did they trust a monster to help them

Couldn’t they see? Didn’t they know? Hadn’t they experienced it for themselves? The pain; the violence; the destruction. 

They brought a monster into their home

They brought a monster into their home

They brought a monster into their home

And not just a monster.

A reminder.

The smack of a mat in training; the feel of a gun in your hand; knives slicing into your skin; the sound of a bullet tearing through someone’s head; knife in your hand; blood on your hands; bruises on your body; hands on your body; mouth on your body; hands on your—

They killed the little girl in that Red Room

They killed the little girl in that red room

You were trapped in the Red Room

But you wanted to die in the red room

If you killed him you could be free

If you killed him you could be free

If you killed him there would be no fear

If you killed him there would be no reminders

Of blood and hands and death and murder and taking little girls from their beds and killing little girls in bedrooms—

If you killed him then you would not have to look into the face of the Red Room every day

Killing him would be killing everyone who had every hurt you

Ever touched you

Madame Ilyukhina

The Winter Soldier

The men—

The monster they had created

Killing him would be killing the Red Room.

You wanted to make the Red Room bleed and bleed and bleed you wanted to slice and cut and make it feel the pain that you felt you wanted it to suffer and die—

If you killed him you would be free

If you killed him you would be free

If you killed him you would be free

Free from the fear and the torment and the blood and the hands. Free from the Red Room.

That was a single moment. That was seeing him before he left on a mission with Natasha. 

It took everything you had to stay very still. And when he was gone, you told the Avengers you still felt under the weather and you needed to go lie down. 

You sat in your room in the void and memories and tried desperately to find a reason not to kill him.

And found it more and more difficult to come up with one.

He was gone on the mission and for a time there were no more reminders. You could live like you did before. Pretending that nothing was wrong. Living in reality (at the very least, the one you had manufactured for yourself to live with the Avengers). Spending time with Steve. Liking spending time with Steve.

He was kind. He was calm. He had no blood on his hands and they did not wander. He was safe. 

“Are you doing anything Friday night?” Steve asked.

You gave him a smile. “No, why?”

“Well, I got tickets for the ballet and I was wondering if you wanted to—” He kept talking but you had stopped listening.

Ballet.

They trained you in ballet, too. That was the cover. Girls training for the Bolshoi Theatre. Perfect little girls trapped in a music box. 

And suddenly you were back to the blood and the hands and the monster and the little girl sobbing in the Red Room and the red room—

You could feel your panic rising and your breath quickening— You couldn’t let Steve see you like this—

You weren’t sure what excuse you made but you made one, and you hurried your way to the elevator and inside and down down down until you were at the bottom and out of the building and away from any security cameras—

—You teleported perfectly into Matt’s bathroom, just in time to vomit your guts into the toilet.

Your breath was coming in too fast. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t get enough air into your lungs, you couldn’t stop this feeling, memories coming back all at once in crystal clear eidetic clarity—

“Hey, hey, hey.” Familiar voice. Matt’s voice. You blindly reached out and gripped onto him when you found him in front of you. “What happened, what’s wrong?”

Blood, hands, monster, little girl, little girl trapped, little girl dead, little girl wanting to die—

Red Room red room Red Room red room—

You vomited again until you were gagging with nothing left to come out. Sharp breaths hurt your lungs and you couldn’t grip anything hard enough to root yourself in reality, to the here and now— You lived in the Red Room and you could not leave—

“Breathe, Y/N.”

“I can’t.”

You felt Matt’s hand cup your cheek and you opened your eyes. You hadn’t even realized you’d closed them. 

“Listen to my voice. Breathe in for four counts. One . . . two . . . three . . . four.”

You heaved breath in your lungs, forcing it in.

“Now hold it for seven.”

You closed your mouth and focused on Matt. 

You had other memories than just the Red Room. Other memories that could be brought to the front of your mind, too.

“One.”

“I don’t know—” a sob “—where my mom and dad are. I don’t know—” another sob “—where I am.”

“I know someone who can help.” The boy took you by the hand. “Come on.”

“. . .two. . .”

“You’re a thousand times better than that guy. You shouldn’t let an asshole like him get to you. If you do, then he wins.”

You did hate losing. “You’re right,” you murmured. 

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, and pressed your cheek to his shoulder. You felt his grip on you tighten a bit in response.

“. . .three. . .”

“I know that whatever . . . this is,” he gestured between the two of you, “is complicated. I still don’t . . . really know how to feel about it.”

Neither did you. In a lot of ways.

“But I know,” Matt continued, “that I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“. . .four. . .”

“You are the person that I. . . .” Matt seemed to trail off, as if he was searching for the words. 

“I cared about you,” Matt finally continued. “And I know a lot of things have changed but that doesn’t change what you meant to me, once. I want you to stay. I want the chance to get to know you again.”

He smiled at you and you didn’t know how to describe the feeling in your chest but it felt warm and light and different from anything you had felt in a long, long time.

“. . .five. . .”

Matt smiled at you, then. “I think it’s cute that you care about my coffee tastes.”

“Shut up,” you said, but there was laughter in your voice and a smile on your face. “Drink your damn coffee.”

“. . .six. . .”

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated a third time.

You hadn’t realized how close he had gotten to you. His hand was placed on the edge of the table next to yours, but on the inside, so your arms were crossed and his shoulder was brushing yours.

And for the first time, you . . . felt . . . better about something traumatic that had happened to you. 

Not . . . numb.

Comforted.

“. . .seven. Now breathe out for eight.”

You loosed the breath you had been holding, pushing it out, letting yourself live in different memories, now. Memories of comfort and laughter and a lightness in your chest you thought the Red Room had snuffed out. 

“. . . seven . . . eight. Breathe in for four again. One . . . two . . .”

Matt had you continue the cycle a few more times. You felt dizzy but calmer than you were before. You weren’t here. You were sleeping on Matt’s couch and sitting on a rooftop with Daredevil and standing in a hallway being told not to go and fighting next to him and being stitched up in a church basement and drinking coffee in Matt’s kitchen and sitting in Matt’s shower, with Matt’s arms wrapped around you.

“What happened?”

But you couldn’t live in memories. You had to be here again. You had to face reality again. 

“Steve asked me if I wanted to go see the ballet with him.” Already, fresh bile threatened to come up again.

Matt’s eyebrows knitted together. “Okay,” he said slowly, not understanding.

“They taught us ballet in the Red Room,” you explained, and the realization spread across Matt’s face. “That was the cover. That the girls were being taught ballet and nothing more.”

Matt sighed. “He reminded you of the Red Room.”

You felt the exhaustion of the panic attack in your bones, all the adrenaline tapped out of you. “You know, I used to be better at this.”

“At what?”

“Coping.”

Matt shook his head. “You weren’t coping. You were drunk, or high. That’s not coping, that’s just . . . not dealing.”

You closed your eyes. You were so tired. You wanted a drink. You wanted some Oxy. You wanted to feel numb again.

“I’ll call Foggy, tell him I can’t come in today.”

You opened your eyes. “No. You already took time off work to take care of me when I was sick. You shouldn’t take any more days off.”

He looked worried. You bit down the instinct to tell him that you would be fine. He’d know it was a lie.

“Come to work with me,” Matt said. “There’s free coffee.”

He couldn’t leave her alone like this. She was spiraling, the way he had been spiraling last year. She’d only ever developed bad coping mechanisms and now that those were gone, she had none left to lean on. He was afraid of what she might do.

But Y/N shook her head. “I’ll only distract you. I don’t need you to take care of me. I did this shit without drugs or alcohol for ten years in the Red Room and I can do it again.”

“Y/N. . .”

“Please go. It’s not going to help me if I’m disrupting your life.” She stood and he stood with her, monitoring her carefully. “I’ll leave first.”

“Y/N, please just—” But she was gone by the middle of his sentence.

Blood and hands and the monster and the dead little girl—

You didn’t know which would consume you first: the void or the rage or the grief— You just wanted it done, you wanted it gone, you wanted the memories to stop stop stop stop stop—

Until another came to the forefront. Of a flier you saw pinned up in Matt’s office a few weeks ago, where some of his clients like to advertise helpful services to others.

Mutant Therapy: Telepath Psychiatry

That’s it. Of course that was it. A telepath.

Someone who could erase your memories.

You had to sit in a waiting room for a little while. 

(What you didn’t know was that the telepath had to vet you first, look inside your mind and make sure that you were legitimate. With parts of the government trying to pass Mutant Registration, the telepath had to be more careful with her services.)

Eventually, your name was called and you entered the room. It looked exactly how you expected a therapist’s room to look. Comfy couch on one side with lots of pillows and a single chair on the other. There were calming photos of nature pinned on the wall and lots of windows to let in natural light. 

The telepath told you her name and asked you to take a seat. You got a chance to get a good look at her as you sat down. 

She didn’t exactly look threatening, but you supposed a telepath’s strength wouldn’t be in their physicality. She had kind eyes. For all accounts, she seemed like the type of person that actually wanted to help people. 

She had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and your eyes snagged on some orange-ish ink spreading up her arms. Black double bands circling her wrists. “Nice tattoos,” you commented.

The smile she gave you didn’t reach her eyes. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here today, Y/N?”

“Don’t you already know?” Maybe you were wrong. Maybe this was a scam and she really wasn’t a telepath.

“Clients usually like to say it in their own words first before I start poking around in there,” she replied, the sympathy reaching her eyes this time.

You took a deep breath. Then, “I want you to erase my memories. Not all of them, just the traumatic ones.”

She didn’t look surprised. Just simply looked at you for a moment before saying,

“No.”

You couldn’t stop the involuntary bristle. “No? You are a telepath, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“And you can erase memories, can’t you?”

“I can.”

“So what’s the fucking problem?” you asked. “I thought you use your powers to help people.”

“I do.”

“So fucking help me then.”

She shook her head. “Not like this.”

You gritted your teeth together. “Why the fuck not?”

“Erasing your memory won’t help you. The more you want to erase something, the more you’ll try to get that memory back once it’s gone,” she explained.

“Why the fuck would I want it back?”

“Because you won’t know what you’ve lost,” she continued. “You’ll only know it was something significant. It’s human nature — or mutant nature, rather. Nobody wants to be told, ‘It’s better if you don’t know’. If I erase your memories now, you’ll come back. In a month. In six months. In a year. Looking for the memories that you lost.”

You felt like you were grasping at something slipping from your fingertips. “Then I’ll promise not to come back, okay? C’mon, Doc.”

The Doc sighed gently through her nose. “I don’t erase memories here. You won’t heal that way.”

“God, fuck healing.” You stood. You wanted to shake her. Get her to understand. “I just want them gone.”

“It won’t help you, not really.”

“I disagree.”

She sighed again. “Why don’t you sit down and we can talk.” She paused. “Why don’t we talk about the Red Room?”

You recoiled, something shattering and splintering within you. Blood and hands and the monster and the dead little girl. You surged forward, anger spilling out of your eyes and ears and nose and mouth. “Erase my memories or I will kill you.”

The Doc didn’t so much as flinch. “No, you won’t,” she simply said. “You made a promise.”

You felt violated — open and spread out on a table where she could see everything. Every part of you that you tried to hide. This was a mistake. Coming here was a mistake. “Stay out of my fucking head.”

“I can’t erase your memories, Y/N, but I can help you,” the Doc said. “Do you want to talk about him?”

She wasn’t talking about Matt. “I don’t want to talk about anything,” you seethed. “I want you to erase my memories!”

“You still want to kill him. The Winter Soldier.”

“SO WHAT IF I DO?” you finally admitted. Your breath heaved in your chest. Something had to give. It was him or you. And you couldn’t continue to live like this, with him alive, a constant reminder of what he had done to you. What the Red Room had done to you. If he was dead, you wouldn’t have to feel this way anymore. You could breathe. You wouldn’t have to be afraid, and you wouldn’t have to live in memories. “What if I did kill him? Matt would forgive me. That’s what God is all about. Forgiveness. Repenting. And I will spend the rest of my life repenting, to kill him. Just him. And then I’ll never kill another living soul.”

“Matt would forgive you,” the Doc agreed. “But would you forgive yourself?”

You had had enough of this. Enough of her looking into your head and saying things you would never say out loud. “Fuck you.”

Then the Doc said, very gently, “I’m not going to erase your memories.”

You saw the rest of your life ahead of you: pain and anguish and guilt and rage and grief and void and blood and hands and a dead little girl trapped in the Red Room and an alive little girl in a red room wishing she were dead. 

Your voice was quiet and broken. “Please.”

The Doc’s voice was not mean or cruel. “No.”

You shut down again. Clawed that vulnerability back into your chest and bared your sharp teeth. “You will regret this.”

The Doc’s eyes did not leave yours. “You won’t.”

You finally ripped your eyes away from hers and stormed out of her office, disappearing on the way out.

When Matt got home late from the office, he found Y/N tearing through his apartment. Opening drawers, opening cupboards — frantic.

“Y/N,” he said, hurrying to her and putting his hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong, what are you looking for?”

“I don’t— know— I— I—” Her breathing was coming in sharply and she was shaking. “I don’t know—”

Truthfully, you didn’t. You were just trying to find anything to make yourself feel better. You didn’t know if you were trying to look for drugs and alcohol. You knew Matt didn’t keep any in his apartment anymore. You didn’t know why you were here and not in your own apartment, looking for any stray substance you might have missed, a bottle of booze or a bottle of pills left behind. You didn’t know what you were trying to find. But you were grasping on the edges of things and you were trying to find something.

“I don’t know— I don’t— I went— I went to the telepath but she wouldn’t help me, she wouldn’t erase my memories, she wouldn’t— and I—”

“What?” Panic spiked sharply in Matt’s chest. “She what— You— What did you do?”

“Nothing because she refused to erase my memories.”

“You tried to—” Confusion and panic and worry were swirling all around in Matt’s mind. He was breathing just as hard as she was now. “You tried to erase your memories?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she repeated. “Why?” She breathed hard and the sound that left her mouth then could have been a laugh and could have been a sob. “Why the fuck do you think?”

He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “You can’t just erase your memories, Y/N.”

“Yes, I can!” she pushed back. “I can do whatever I want with my own memories and if I want to erase all the bad ones then I can and I will, and I am sick of people telling me that I can’t.” She shoved his hands off her and walked away from him.

He followed her. “How could you try to do this?” The idea of her going off to have her memories erased, it terrified him. It terrified him that if something had gone wrong, he could have lost her. Again. “How could you be so reckless with your own mind?”

She turned sharply to face him. “Well it’s my mind to be reckless with and I can do whatever I want with it and it’s not really any of your business, now is it!”

“Yes, it is!” he maintained, voice rising. “You are my friend and I care about you.” Matt had been keeping his mouth shut about so many things, so afraid of scaring her off — but this was the last straw. Her trying to erase her own memories was the last straw. “And I have kept quiet for a long time about a lot of things because I was terrified of you running off if I pushed you too hard, but I can’t keep quiet anymore. I need to help you,” he begged. “Let me help you.”

“What are you gonna do, huh?!” she yelled. “How are you going to help me? How are you going to make it better? It’s not going to be better— It will never be better— That’s why I have to do this!”

“Have you even thought this through?!” Matt yelled back. “What if it went wrong? What if you lost all your memories and not just the bad ones?”

“Well I’d rather be a blank slate than deal with the trauma.”

The words scored over his heart, angry and raw and grieving. He felt tears fill his eyes, and he tried to temper his anger but he was losing her and he didn’t know how to stop it. “You’d give up all your memories? You’d give up this? Give up us?”

“YES!” you sobbed, hot tears spilling out of your eyes now. You were dealing with so much unfiltered trauma that you hadn’t had to deal with for years and it was chipping away at you and eating away at your heart and your mind, ripping and tearing and consuming the flesh in bloody messy bites and you weren’t thinking about what you were saying, only that you wanted it to stop. That you wanted it to end.

Something in Matt guttered at her admission. He was sixteen again and standing at her funeral refusing to believe she was dead, refusing to give up on her, spending the next twenty years holding on to some bit of hope, never letting go, never letting her go—

He had given a piece of his heart to another person who would leave him, and Matt was almost certain that she had the last piece, that there was nothing left to give, that she had all that was left—

There was a cavernous, empty void where his heart should be, a place that pulled in anger and grief to fill it, and Matt wasn’t sure which one fueled his voice more when he said, “How could you say that?” After everything. Everything they meant to each other. “Doesn’t this mean anything to you?”

Matt was not Matt to you right now. He was not the person you grew up with, the one person you trusted, the one person you cared about, your safe place, your closest friend. 

Right now, he was simply another person keeping you from finding a way to survive. From finding a way to keep the trauma at bay. Another person telling you to drown in blood and hands and death; to live always wanting to die. To suffocate under bodies, and not just the lifeless ones. 

You knew you would not let yourself make the same fatal choice a third time, and so there was no permanent escape from this now. And yet this person in front of you had the audacity to ask you to choose?

Anger bubbled up from your chest and you could not recognize the person before you for who he truly was. You felt as if you were snarling with foam and spit dripping from your maw, like a rabid wolf who had lost her mind. With no concept of friends anymore. “You are not worth keeping my trauma.”

It hurt more knowing that she was right.

Why should Matt stand in the way of her purging her memories? Purging everything, if it meant she could be free of everything that hurt her? How could Matt stand here and tell her that he was worth her keeping all that? 

Because he wasn’t. He didn’t like to think about it, but he knew that. That he was only bloody knuckles and Devil-red rage and even God had left him for a time because of it. So many people had left him because of it. Because he wasn’t worth anything.

And yet. He couldn’t bring himself to let go. Maybe that made him pathetic. Or maybe it was because anger was the only thing left in him.

Matt’s hands gripped Y/N’s shoulders again, tighter than he should have. With something that would leave bruises, but he couldn’t get himself to hold her any gentler. If he had anything, if he was worth anything, it was that he would not go down without a fight. “You said to me once that you owe it to the person I used to be and the person you used to be not to destroy yourself like this.”

She shook her head. “And none of those words were said sober. If she was alive to see me now, she would understand.”

“You are alive, Y/N!” Matt shouted.

“NO I’M NOT!” you screamed back.

You were living through so many flashbacks you didn’t even feel like you were present in front of him.

Were you really here in front of him right now?

Did you live in memories instead?

Were you in the Red Room?

Were you with the Winter Soldier?

Were you with Madame Ilyukhina?

Being trained?

Being beaten?

Being . . . being . . .

Suffocated, used, touched—

“You can’t erase your memories, Y/N,” Matt said. (You couldn’t hear his voice breaking — you couldn’t hear anything but the sound of your own thoughts. Your own memories.) “You can’t do that!”

“I can’t. Do this,” you said, tears running down your face. You steeled your voice. “I’ll find another telepath if I have to.” 

Y/N turned away from him and Matt grabbed her arm, desperate. He was so, so incredibly angry with her and yet he couldn’t bear to lose her. He didn’t know what would happen if she did this. Even if she only erased parts of her memory. He didn’t know how that would affect a person. “You can’t just erase what you want. You have to learn to live with the memories, like we all do. If you erase a part of yourself you wouldn’t be you anymore.”

He was terrified of losing her.

He was terrified of losing her.

Rage rose suddenly and overwhelmingly and you ripped your arm away. Some clarity returned in who the person was before you— Matt, your Matt— How could he believe that? How could he believe erasing the trauma would change you so fundamentally he wouldn’t recognize you anymore? How could he believe that that’s all you were? A person with so much pain and trauma that you couldn’t take it away? The person that you cared so much about — how could he see you that way? “Fuck you,” you spat. “The fucked up stuff I’ve been through doesn’t make me who I am.”

Blood on your hands and hands on your body and a monster made of parts that were left and a dead little girl trapped in the Red Room and an alive little girl in a red room wishing she were dead.

Blood and hands and monsters and the Red Room

Blood and hands and monsters and the red room

Even Matt sees it

The blood and hands that will never go away.

Matt realized his mistake too late. “That’s not what I meant—”

But she was gone already.

You teleported into the telepath’s office. You pressed your gun to her head.

The Doc didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t look scared. 

“Erase my memories or I will fucking. Kill you,” you said, evenly, though rage and pain and grief and void bubbled in your chest.

“We both know that you won’t,” she said calmly. “And you know that I know that you won’t.”

Tears were streaming down your face and all that pain bubbled over and spilled and spilled and spilled and spilled— “THEN WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?”

Very gently, the Doc took the gun from your hand. You let her. “You start by sitting down. Then you begin wherever you wish.”

So you sat down. And you started at the beginning.

Next Chapter

A/N: I know it's been a while since I updated but this chapter was pretty emotionally volatile so I was hard to get into that space to write it. Hope you guys like this one!

Tag List: @stupidiout100 @coff3e-and-biscuits @caswinchester2000 @waywardsister1111 @ummvengers @asongofmarvelanddc @1971marauders @krazy-katt-lady @flowercrowns3438 @takethee @lov3vivian @burn-crash-rqmance @readers-posts

[tonixe]

"Christmas Magic"

n.o.t.e.s - Merry Christmas or Happy holidays!

w.a.r.n - Just fluff, and maybe a crackfic(?) and Homelander

p.a.i.r.i.n.g. - Homelander x Human!reader

w.c. - 1189

Christmas music was playing. You were cutting out a little piece of decorations cutting the pieces of white paper, and making a snowflake. You delicately handed the paper, humming to the music as it played out.

While Ryan was coloring the coloring paper with an assortment of crayons and colored pencils, as the picture of art resembled an ornament.

You took a break from cutting the triangle piece of paper in your hand as you looked at Ryan's piece of art he was working on. "That looks good!"

Ryan stopped working on his piece and looked at you, responding with a 'Thank you.' The tension between you was a bit awkward ever since what happened with his mom, Rebecca. In the end, he went with his dad. It was December 21st, and you were preparing for the holiday.

Homelander left off to do some 'superhero duties' which, to simplify, cause chaos and wreak havoc all over New York. Leaving you with Ryan. You were supposedly dating Homelander; you were trapped inside his suburban home, making you a hostage.

But you were still known to the public, interesting.

But hey, it was the holidays, and you didn't want him to know that his dad was a fucking kidnapper, you didn't want the burden to be on Ryan, so you tried to socialize with a 10-year-old boy. "So, what do you want for Christmas," you said, piquing up a conversation.

The boy was a bit awkward about responding to the question, "My mom back.." he responded to the question, his eyes watering, sniffly with his nose.

"Oh," The response made the tension between you guys awkward; "What would something you want for Christmas that you get to have with your hands" as you gently slapped the table you were on, trying to make the awkward tension into a happy moment.

"Uh, I don't know" he wiped his eyes with his sleeve as he started sniffly.

"Well, do you know what I always wanted for Christmas when I was your age?" you said, looking at him with excitement.

"What did you want?" the conversation piquing his attention.

"A 1998 holiday barbie, but my parent never got it for me," you spoke to him, smiling at him.

"Im sorry for that," Ryan said, "It's okay, but now I told you what I want. Can you tell me what you want for Christmas?" giving him a reassuring smile.

"Maybe....a lego set?" he responds

"Which kind?" you questioned, his eyes brightening up that you were invested in his wish.

"A Star Wars mega galaxy set!" he smiled after completing his response.

"That sounds Awesome!" you smile at him.

"I guess so," he smiled back, his voice becoming excited with the content. "So, have you ever gotten to experience a snow day?"

"A snow day?" he stared at you, confused and full of admiration for the idea.

"Yeah, it's when you have snowball fights, make snowmen, and have no school. It's pretty fun, too." you put your hands up, dramatizing the whole ordeal.

You continue cutting up and snowflake, "-And you get to catch a snowflake on your tongue" you open up the triangle piece of paper, showing the paper snowflake to Ryan.

"Woah, that sounds cool" Ryan had a big smile.

"It is!" placing down the paper snowflake.

You responded to him, leaving the room with quiet tension. You couldn't lie, but you are fond of this kid, even though he's the son of a narcissistic weirdo.

"So, make some Gingerbread men; they are really good, and you can decorate them!" you suggested.

"Yeah!" Ryan smiled at the idea and got up off his chair, and you both went into the kitchen.

45 MINS LATER

The smell of gingerbread men's cookies spread throughout the house as the timer rang out to mention the cookies were ready. You wore mittens, taking the hot tray out of the oven.

As you pour the colored frosting into the pipping bag, you remove the cookie's decoration from the cabinets as you let the cookie rest and become cooler to eat.

"Ryan! the cookies are ready!" You yelled out for him since the cookie was ready.

The boy came running into the kitchen, smiling with joy, as we stood next to you looking at the cookie on the tray, "Be careful. It's still hot!" you warned him.

Giving him one of the piping bags to decorate the cookies, he held the bags and started decorating the cookie, making gingerbread men scraps and clothing with the sweet frosting.

"That is some good-looking gingerbread man" you smiled at him, complementing his artistic ability.

You heard the door opening and familiar footsteps coming into the house, "-And maybe we have some hot chocolate as well," you patted Ryan's shoulders.

You walked out of the kitchen to where your kidnapper, Homelander, stood near the door; you decided to butter him up so he might be lenient with you leaving the house or giving you some time outside.

It made you feel like a prisoner, but due to the holly season, you didn't want to crush it. "Welcome home, Homelander" you gave him a small smile.

"Well, someone is excited" he respond back with a smile, his sharp canines showing giving you a bit of a fear shock.

"Yeah, well, Ryan and I are just making some gingerbread cookies for, you know, the Christmas occasion." leading him into the spacious kitchen where Ryan was decorating the tray of cookies.

As soon as Ryan saw his dad, he placed the cookies and the pipping bag on the counter, running to him to hug him as Homelander reciprocated.

You couldn't lie, but the moment was cute, even with the situation you were in.

"Woah! Ryan, those look delicious!"

"Thanks!" he broke away from the hug, coming toward the counter with the cookies.

"Let's eat these" you took the once hot tray with your hands as you walked to the table, placing them down on the round table.

As Homelander and Ryan went to the table and sat down, you went back to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate for you and Ryan, while you poured a glass of milk for Homelander.

Grabbing the beverages with your hands, and walked to the round table once again and placed them on the table, as Homelander gave you a 'Thank you' as he smiled at you, making you a little uncomfortable.

Walking to the seat next to Ryan, "So..Ryan, how was Y/N!" Homelander broke the silence.

"It was super fun" Ryan responded with a huge smile, as Ryan continued with his response, the Christmas music blared into your ears.

The only thing that you last heard was Homelander saying "-Kinda like a family" he stared at you, smiling at you with his sharp canines showing.

'-And Heaven and nature sing, and Heaven and nature sing...'

the Christmas music blaring into your ears as the voice blocked out.

'Holy Shit, he's really got you in the palm of your hands' you started to grip the table as you started hyperventilating, staring back at him.

'...and Heaven, and Heaven, and nature sing......'

Reblogs, Likes, sharing, and commenting will be greatly appreciated >3

[woobly]

CAUGHT IN HIS TRAP, AGAIN . . . 정윤호 !

PAIRING. ex-husband! yunho x wedding fashion designer! fem! reader GENRE. exes to lovers, parent au, designer au, fluff WARNINGS. quick mention of unplanned pregnancy, slightly aged-up! ateez, some dialogue taken from the movie this is inspired from, not edited ☠️, i'm not too familiar w the exes getting back tgt thing so this might be unrealistic idk, lmk if i missed anything ! WORD COUNT. 3.3k

𓂋˚˖ SYNOPSIS. your daughter had just returned from summer camp, and surprises were suddenly popping up left and right. the last thing you expected was seeing your ex-husband enter your own studio with another woman.

𓂋˚˖ A/N. i loved writing this one bc it's based on a movie i've watched countless times and know even the dialogue by heart. pls don’t worry about spoilers because the plot is slightly different! if anything, only minor details are the same, but none that could spoil the original movie :] (if you’re not sure what the movie inspo is about, here’s the imdb!)

𓂋˚˖ EVENT. for @kflixnet's childhood memories event! this fic is based on the 1998 remake of The Parent Trap <3

ELEVEN, ALMOST 12 YEARS.

Eleven, almost 12 years since two beautiful twin daughters blessed you and him. Your relationship with him moved so quickly that you didn’t even realize you were already having kids not even two years after you first met him. Although you weren’t exactly planning on forming a family yet at the time, given you were both hardly even adults, you tried your best to care for your children all the same. 

Eleven years since your life unexpectedly turned on its head and changed for what you thought at the time was for the worse. Getting married and settling down as a family, you thought things would finally fall into place, but other things just kept coming up, fights kept breaking out, and you both eventually knew what was coming. Of course, no one blamed the girls for anything; they were only two identical babies who understood nothing of the world.

Eleven years since you last saw him and your daughter Jinhee. You were living with him in California at the time, but you packed your things and moved back to your father’s home in London with your other daughter Sohee. It was difficult watching him carry your other child as the taxi that was taking you and Sohee to the airport drove farther and farther away from them. It was even more difficult, at first, trying to raise a daughter who was hardly even a year old on your own, but you could only imagine how he would be doing on his own.

Eleven years of looking back at the short period of time you spent together, but you would never admit out loud that he had actually been crossing your mind once in a while. It was difficult not to do so, especially when there was a living, walking proof of your failed marriage. It didn’t help either that you kept only one picture of him (until Sohee caught you looking at it and took it for herself a few months ago)—a picture torn up in the middle of you and him on your wedding night. You kept his side of the photo, but you could only wonder if he kept yours. Wonder if he looks at the picture once in a while like you do. If he looks at it and thinks about how things could have been different like you do. If he blames you for whatever went wrong all those years ago. Because you don’t. How could you? All you both did was try, but apparently, that wasn’t enough.

Now, eleven almost 12 years later, you have finally become the fashion designer you had always dreamt of becoming. You mostly made wedding dresses, but you’ve also tried your hand at tuxedos, which didn’t really work out for the most part. Most of your friends found it ironic that a divorced woman loved to design wedding gowns, but you always laughed it off, saying that having lost in romance shouldn’t hinder you from becoming the designer you always wanted to be. You were just grateful for how life turned out after all these years, and especially for your daughter Sohee.

“Madam, your secretary is on the phone,” your butler announced as he entered the dining room with a bottle of wine, refilling your father’s glass.

“Oh thank you, Martin,” Before leaving the table, you took the piece of tissue that your daughter handed you with a smile.

“Hi, Eleanor! Is there something wrong?”

“Good morning, ma’am! No, there's nothing wrong! But I forgot to tell you that the client arriving from the States personally requested that you be present during their fitting today,” your secretary sheepishly chuckled from the other side of the telephone line.

You looked back towards the dining table to see your daughter already looking at you. She had just come back from a two-month summer camp, and all you wanted was to spend as much time with her as you could before she goes back to school. “Did they mention what time they will be arriving?”

“Around 3 in the afternoon, ma’am,”

You sighed defeatedly. What’s a few hours lost to work, right? “Alright, I’ll be there. Thank you, Ellie,”

“Are you leaving for work today, mum?” Sohee asked from her seat as she held a white bunny plushie on her lap, which she claimed belonged to a friend she met at camp and accidentally ended up in her suitcase.

“A client wants me there at two,” you sat down and returned to your lunch, looking at your daughter in front of you apologetically. “I’m sorry darling. We can watch that movie when I come back,”

“Or I can come with you!” Sohee and your father quickly glanced at each other, but it went unnoticed by you.

“To the studio?”

“Yeah, I haven’t been there ye– in a while,” she smiled expectantly, and you gave in.

“You wanna come too, dad?” Sohee’s and your father’s eyes widened, thinking you must’ve noticed that there was something they weren’t telling you, but you only laugh at their reaction.

Since the studio was only a couple blocks from your home, you and your daughter decided to walk the way there. You’ve done this a few times with her in the past—crossing the busy streets, passing by that Harrods store that you both so loved to shop at. What caught you off guard today was the types of questions she was throwing at you.

“Doesn’t designing wedding gowns ever make you think about getting married again? Or at least make you think about the F-word?”

You paused in your tracks, stopping Sohee as well. “What F-word?”

“My father!”

Laughing at yourself for thinking she would have meant anything else aside from that, you continued your walk to the studio. “Oh that F-word! Well, no actually because I didn’t even wear a wedding gown when I married the F-word,”

“You didn’t? Why not?”

“Why the sudden interest in your dad, huh?” You smiled at your daughter because ever since she arrived back from camp, she has never failed to surprise you, and getting a haircut and pierced ears are only a few of them.

“Well, maybe because he’s never mentioned, and you can’t blame a kid for wondering! Mother, you can’t avoid the subject forever—at least tell me what he was like!” Sohee gave you the classic puppy eyes, and again, you only gave in.

“Okay. He was quite lovely, to tell you the truth. When we met, he was—actually, entirely lovely. Alright?”

“Is that all?” your daughter chuckled and looked up at you teasingly, pushing you to say something a little more than just lovely.

“Well, I guess he was tall, handsome. Girls definitely fell head over heels for him the very moment he merely passed by them,” you sighed as nostalgia slowly kicks in. “We used to live in America, you know,”

“No kidding! So, was it love at first sight?”

You gasped at how curious Sohee was being and slightly pulled her to a running pace as raindrops started to fall. “I knew you were going to ask me these questions one day!”

Once you and your daughter are finally under the shade in front of your studio, it was her turn to gasp at the wedding dress on display.

“Wow, that’s incredible! You designed that?”

“Well, I had to do something while you were at camp,” you turned her around to face the glass doors and enter. “Come on, let’s go inside before the client arrives,”

“Are we there yet?”

“I don’t think so, kiddo. Just wait a bit more,”

Jinhee wasn’t actually asking where they were—in fact, she immediately recognized the Harrods store that their taxi just passed by—because she wasn’t actually Jinhee. 

She was more than nervous, and unfortunately for her, it was written all over her body. She knew what was going to happen today, and she also knew that it could only go one of two ways. Of course, she was hoping that the plan would go smoothly, as did her twin sister, who was already waiting at the studio.

Sensing her nervousness, the woman beside her took her fidgeting hand from her lap. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Jinhee turned to face Yeseul, a woman in her mid-20s, who was already looking at her curiously. “Nothing! Why, do I look like there’s something wrong?”

Her father turned around from the front passenger seat to look at his daughter. “You do. Is there something bothering you?”

“I uh,” Jinhee faced the window again, in hopes to finally seeing the studio but to no avail. “I’m not sure. The weather, I suppose,”

“That’s true. It’s a shame it’s raining on such a special occasion,” Mingi, one of Jinhee’s uncles, spoke up from the other side of the back seat.

“But that shouldn’t ruin anything, don’t you think? We are still doing the fitting, and with such beautiful gowns at that. Jinhee, how did you know of this designer? I’ve heard her name only a few times from my friends, so I’m surprised to hear it from you,” Yeseul asked as she rubbed the back of the child’s hand.

“Well uhm, I met a friend at camp whose mother designed wedding gowns, and she said they’re pretty good! I heard that a princess from Greece bought one recently,”

“Really? I loved the designs I found online too. What’s truly a shame is that she’s underrated,”

As if on cue, the Y/L/N Designs logo finally came into view, and it gave Jinhee the sense of familiarity and comfort that she just needed.

Upon entering, Mingi immediately asked one of the clerks for the restroom, and Jinhee took her distracted father and Yeseul as an opportunity to escape to the rooms at the back.

“Madam, the client is here,” Your secretary announced as she entered your office where you and your daughter Sohee were chatting about her time at camp.

“Then, I won’t keep you any longer, Mother. I’ll just be around here,”

“Alright, I’ll just be quick. You won’t even notice I’m gone,” You stood up, cupped her face, and kissed her forehead before leaving her alone in your office.

You already knew that surprises have been coming your way ever since your daughter returned home. The surprise that you weren’t at all ready for however, was just about to shove itself in your face.

“Hi! Thank you for— Yu– what are you doing here?” Your smile quickly faded away the moment you see him. Again. For the first time after 12 years.

“Y/N? You— You’re the designer?” Unbeknownst to you, he was also familiar with the string of surprises that his daughter brought him. But for him, seeing you once again had to be the most delightful yet and cannot possibly top the rest. Not even the time Jinhee—or who he thought was Jinhee anyway—started yelling at him in French.

Snapping back into reality upon seeing the curious face of the woman who you assumed was the client, your smile appeared once again, albeit not as wide as it was two seconds ago.

“Yes, hi. Thank you for taking an interest in my designs! I hope you’ll be able to find a gown that is to your liking,”

You didn’t want to take another look at him, refusing to believe that he was here in your studio at this very moment. And with whom? It would be wrong of you to assume anything, but how could you not when you’re all standing in an establishment that had a very obvious theme of marriage? 

You didn’t want to take another look at him, but your eyes betrayed you anyway. And you were caught off guard by the way he was already staring at you just like he did the first time he saw you all those years ago.

“Oh, I think I’ll definitely find one that I like. But if you don’t mind me asking … do you two know each other?” Yeseul stood awkwardly between the two of you, looking back and forth like she was watching a tennis game.

Not wanting to prolong the tension any longer, you scramble your brain for any excuse to leave. “Yes, but you don’t have to worry about us, ma’am. I’m just going to get some things in my office. Please take your time looking around,”

You smiled, and once again, you tried not to look up at him but ended up doing so before turning towards your office. He watched you leave and chuckled once he realized what you had just implied.

“Did she just assume we were getting married?”

“That, she did. And to answer your question, she’s my ex-wife,”

“Ex-wife?” Mingi, who had just finished his business with the restroom, had finally returned. “As in Y/N? She’s here?!”

“She’s the designer,” His smile never left his face as he looked around in search of his daughter Jinhee, wondering how she knew if she knew.

“You serious?! And what, you’re just gonna stand around again?”

He immediately turned toward his friend and frowned. “You didn’t see her reaction to my presence, but she didn’t look too happy seeing me here,”

“Maybe that’s because she thought you’re the one who’s getting married. And don’t give me the ‘she probably needs space’ talk because if you ask me, I think 10 years is more than enough time and space. You didn’t entirely end up on bad terms anyway, so I’d be more surprised if she was still upset like your last fight just happened yesterday,”

“I don’t know what happened, but I think he’s right,” He turned towards Yeseul, who was agreeing with her fiance Mingi despite just learning of the existence of his friend’s ex-wife.

But he knew they were right. He knew that you weren’t childish enough to still be upset after all these years. He knew that you couldn’t stay mad at him for so long. How could you? When all you and he did was try.

So he went after you, unlike the last time you left. Because not going after you was the only thing he truly regretted the last time he saw you and Sohee 11 years ago.

Your forehead was being held up by your hands as you blankly stared at your table, trying to process what had just happened and trying to think of what you’ll say when you go back. You half-wished that someone could be here with you to help you sort out your thoughts, but Sohee nor your secretary were nowhere to be found.

Your half-wish did come true, however the person who knocked was the last you were hoping to see.

“Hey,”

“Yunho, I uh,” You stood up the moment you saw who was at the door and looked around your office, just anywhere but him. “Aren’t you supposed to be looking at gowns with your fiance?”

He chuckled, and your head turned towards him with confusion. But it was quickly replaced with admiration, for you so missed the sound of his broken laughter and the way his smile always made his cheekbones more prominent.

“I’m not the one getting married. Mingi is. He was just in the restroom when you arrived,”

Your eyes widened at the information that was just given to you. To be ashamed is an understatement, but to be pleasantly surprised is something you will never admit.

“I’m sorry I immediately jumped to conclusions,”

“Again,” You chuckled with him this time because you both knew what he was talking about. But you were glad that it was something that you could both now look back to and not feel too upset or angry about.

“We’re sorry too,” Sohee and Jinhee had finally come out of their hiding place and entered your office.

“Sohee?”

“Jinhee?”

“Hi, Dad,” “Hi, Mum,” Your daughters smiled apologetically at the two of you, but at this rate, neither of you could tell who was who.

“What’s going on here?” Yunho thankfully spoke for you both as you were at a loss for words.

“I guess you and Mum kinda think alike because you both sent us to the same camp and—we met there, and the whole thing just sort of .. spilled out,”

“So Jinhee, you were here with me this whole time?”

“And I’ve had Sohee this entire time?”

“Well, I wanted to know what you were like, and Jinhee wanted to know Mum and—are you angry?”

“Honey, of course not. We just can’t believe it,” The twins moved to hug the parent that they had fooled, Sohee with Yunho and Jinhee with you, and all that was truly flowing through the four of you was nothing but love and comfort. “But how could you do this to me? To us?” You jokingly asked as you hugged the real Jinhee tighter.

After some time, Yunho spoke up once again. “Girls, why don’t you leave your mom and I to talk alone for a few minutes, okay?”

The twins teasingly mutter little ‘okays’ and ‘take your times’, giggling as they leave the two of you alone in your office. You took a seat on one of the chairs your clients usually sit on, and he took the seat across from you.

“So, how are you, y/n? Or does everyone call you Ms. y/l/n now?”

You chuckle at his attempt at striking up a conversation with you. “Well of course, my colleagues call me that, but my father still calls me y/n when he’s in a good mood,”

It was his turn to chuckle, and you smile once again.

Leaning forward in his seat, he studied your face and made sure he memorized every subtle wrinkle that appeared whenever you smiled. “You know, you haven’t changed a bit,”

He was staring at you again for the nth time today, but neither of you seemed to care. He couldn’t stop thinking about how you still looked the same as if you hadn’t aged and yet still look even more beautiful than the last time he saw you. On the other hand, you thought quite the same—that he still seemed to be the bright adventurous man whose smile could have anyone falling for him within milliseconds.

“You know, some time, if we’re ever really alone,” he spoke up again. “Maybe we could talk about … what happened between us. It all feels a bit hazy to me now. It ended so fast,”

You smiled, remembering some of the petty arguments you had, and then the very night when you first met him, before you looked into his eyes. “It .. started so fast,”

“Well, that I remember perfectly,” he teased, causing you both to chuckle.

However, as if the universe wasn’t allowing you to be left alone with the man in front of you, someone came knocking at the door. “Madam, the client is requesting your presence,”

You quickly stood up from your seat, but before you could leave again, Yunho gently grabbed your wrist. “Can we continue this over coffee later?”

“Dad, is that really the best you can do?” Jinhee appeared from behind the door. “To save you the trouble, we actually already have something prepared for you tonight,”

You looked at your daughter, shocked at how they’re always one step ahead of you both, and turned towards Yunho who was already staring at you expectantly.

But how could you turn him down? When the first time you left him at your once-shared home in California, you were actually waiting and hoping for him to come after you. Now that he was here again, just an arm’s length away, finally ready to maybe, hopefully, start all over with you, who were you to say no? Because just as how your daughters had tricked you into finding each other after all these years, you seemed to have fallen for his trap once again.

You know what they say, second time’s the charm, right?

© woobly, 2022. all rights reserved.

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

welcome to the time travelathon fic challenge!

hi lovelies! i’ve reached a new milestone on here, and im so grateful for every single one. thank you for being so sweet and kind, and supportive! <3 to celebrate, i’ve created my very first fic challenge that i think will be very fun for the new year, ironic to this challenge hehe

→ guidelines to enter: 

send me an inbox or message if you’re interested or planning on joining, and/or please reblog this post with a little message in the tags if you’re thinking about participating! anyone can join, you don’t have to be a writer! 

there is no word count. if you have a small idea, blurb, headcannon, moodboard, etc., that is very much welcomed! if you want to make it a full and long fic, that is great as well! 

it must be harry x ofc, reader, or y/n

deadline is january 31st, or you could definitely post it later as well bc i know life happens and writing isn’t the most important thing in the world. im not really big on deadlines, but i would be too excited to read everyone’s stories, so there’s a deadline for this lol. but if you can’t make the deadline, please let me know! 

smut, angst, fluff is always welcomed! but please avoid triggering topics such as domestic violence, r*pe, suicide, etc. tag and put a trigger warning for certain topics that are needed! 

make sure to tag me @havethetimeofyourstyles and your fic with #timetravelathon, so i could see it! sometimes tumblr doesn’t notify me when im tagged, so please message me if i don’t see it within a day! 

→ where to begin:

below the cut, you will choose a time era or decade to write about that must be written in that year. please put the date/year at the beginning of the story so we know when your story takes place! 

you could write about anything you want, but i will provide some events/movies that happened during those years that you’re free to base your story on! feel free to use the tropes as well! 

then, you will choose a piece of dialogue. you could use however many your heart desires. 

have fun and get creative! i can’t wait to read <3

→ time era: 

anything from the 1920s-2000s 

nothing after 2002, please! 

→ events/movies 

the great gatsby (1920)

grease/pink ladies and the t birds (1950)

hairspray (1960) 

breakfast at tiffany’s (1960) 

woodstock (1960) 

pretty in pink (1980) 

dirty dancing (1980) 

the breakfast club (1980) 

sleepless in seattle (1993) 

empire records (1995) 

you’ve got mail (1998) 

the parent trap (1998) 

serendipity (2001) 

music festivals (1960-2000) 

meeting your favorite band/artist

drive in

summer love

digging and opening up the time capsule 

you don’t need to base it on a movie, but these are some suggestions that are based in those time periods, which i think will be fun to write about! and if you have a movie in mind that’s not on the list, go for it!

→ tropes/aus

friends/enemies/strangers etc to lovers 

actor!harry or actor!yn/ofc

babysitter!yn/ofc

baker!harry 

ceo!harry or ceo!yn/ofc

designer!harry or designer!yn/ofc

famous!yn/ofc

jock!harry x cheerleader!yn/ofc or jock!yn/ofc 

millionaire!harry who owns a mansion, boat, and hosts a lot of parties 

model!harry or model!yn/ofc

(single)dad!harry or singlemom!yn/ofc 

sugardaddy!harry 

teacher/prof!harry or teacher/prof!yn/ofc

uni/frat!harry 

dunkirk/war

friends with benefits 

fake dating 

high school/college sweethearts 

next door neighbors 

royal au 

again, these are ideas that you don’t have to use, but feel free to use them!

→ prompts: 

“And if I don’t? What are you gonna do about it?”

“You’re cute, I like you!” 

“Because I care! Why don’t you get that?” 

“So, that’s it? You’re just gonna walk away?” 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. I can’t stop staring at you.” 

“You like that? Tell me how it feels.” 

“Join the club, sweetheart!” 

“This moment, right here, it’s all I need.” 

“You’re actually a fuckin’ dickhead.” 

“Better be quiet before I make you.” 

“Is that your way of threatening me with a good time?” 

“I’ve always been in love with you.” 

“Let them know how good I’m making you feel.” 

“Yeah, I’d like to see you do better.” 

“Why am I naked and you’re still fully clothed?” 

“Don’t even think about it. You’re stuck with me.” 

“Remind me why you’re still talking?” 

“You’re the only one that matters to me.” 

“Well, isn’t this just a lovely surprise.” 

“Fuck me like you mean it.” 

if you’re taking part in this, thank you so much! please have fun with this, and i can’t wait to read your beautiful and creative minds <3 any questions, you could ask me here or message me! 

[anika-ann]

hi! i love your work i was wondering if you take requests?

if so, i was wondering if you could write a steve rogers x reader based on the movie the parent trap?

 Hi sweets!

I’m delighted that you’re enjyoing my work🥰

However, I’m not accepting requests at this time (if ever), so I’m sorry to disappoint😟 Especially since The Parent Trap (1998 version) is actually one of my comfort movies✨

Thank you so much for reaching out and I hope you have a lovely day/night ❤️

[prose-for-hire]

[I know what you did last] Halloween

Part One // Part Two // Part Four

Pairing: Scooby gang x reader (platonic)

This the third part to a platonic story with the reader as part of the Scooby gang. Set season 3. This is a multi-parted serial killer/slasher fic for Halloween. This one is probably the longest, and with the largest number of deaths. 🖤🦇

Warning: It is a serial killer fic, main characters are going to continue to die (I’m sorry, it’s Halloween). 

There is a reference to suicide. I do not describe anything (method, etc) in detail, it is implied. It is not the reader. Violence. Blood mention. Swearing.

Domestic Disturbances – the new norm?

Sunnydale Express, October 1999.

At The Sunnydale Express, we are always using statistics to tell us what may be happening in our town. A large spike in cases tells us that more young people are getting involved in domestic disturbances, both with partners and friends.

Furthermore, young people in Sunnydale are 50% more likely to be in public places after dark and this accounts for their high numbers of disappearances and more recently, their high numbers of serial-killer related deaths.

It comes to light in the recent spate of serial killings that many young people attract attention to themselves by partying, going out late at night and allowing their friends to walk home alone.

After the argument, Cordy stalked off. She was cold. She only had on her cheerleading uniform and it barely covered her skin. She had goose bumps. Hugging herself as she walked. Still muttering under her breath about the group. She had never known a Californian evening to have such a chill in the air, it was as if she had stepped out into the arctic circle.

“Damn it!” She groaned, realising she had left her cell back at the house. She didn’t want to go back, not after she had already stormed out. She rubbed her own arms as she walked, trying to create a little more warmth.

As she walked, she had this strange feeling. As if she was being watched. She kept checking behind her, quickening her pace. She was starting to worry. She thought she had better contact her father, maybe he could pick her up seeing as her car was in the shop.

She eventually came across a payphone and stepped up to it. She took some money and dialled the number.

She heard a noise as she waited and paused, looked around. She squinted into the darkness but shrugged, stepping back up to the phone. She waited, the phone rang out and she sighed not knowing what to do. It felt as if it was getting colder and she swore she could feel eyes on her.

All at once, her fears came true. Her feeling wasn’t unfounded.

He stared, silently just watching her. When she just stared back, he knocked on the pay phone box with his scythe. She started to diall the phone quickly getting as far as ‘91-′ before he slashed the cord.

 “Oh, what am I supposed to be scared? Am I supposed to, like, run away? Give you a chase?” She asked, standing toe-to-toe with the masked figure before continuing, “Well, I’m Cordelia Chase, dumbass – who the hell are you?”

“Your worst nightmare” The voice spoke as if he had been chewing knuts and bolts.

“Oh please” Cordelia replied, her hands on her hips as she arched an eyebrow, “I’m from here. Y’know Sunnydale? We slay creeps like you for breakfast”

“Slay this, murderer” He said evenly. Cordelia frowned but didn’t manage to move fast enough as he hooked her on his scythe. The hook so deep it came out the other side of her body. She looked down and screamed, scratching at the mask and trying to pull on it. The killer hadn’t been expecting it. Somehow she managed to unhook herself, whether it was adrenaline or maybe because she was used to having sharp metal stuck through her middle, she really was made of stronger stuff than he had anticipated.

She started to run, clutching her now bleeding stomach. She was going to have to find a really good surgeon to sort this mess out, she sighed. She ran as fast as she could, leaving a trail of thick blood in her wake. She started to falter. If the killer didn’t catch her, then a vampire might. This spurred her on, making her run faster.

She turned down an alley, not able to see him behind her anymore. But she didn’t slow, just kept running. That was, until she ran straight into him. He had caught her off-guard sending her straight into his path. He stared for a moment, almost savouring it before he acted. He stabbed her, slashed at her stomach. The blood sprayed over the costume as she screamed at him, mostly in anger but also out of pain. 

She turned, much slower than before and started to try and get away. He paused, just watching her as she went slower and slower.  She started to collapse but she didn’t stop propelling herself forwards. She was trying to fight, to survive until her last breath. She started to claw at the gravel with her nails as she ended up crawling to try to get away. The wound was too much. 

The next day held yet another American horror story for you to wake up to. One that would continue to haunt you as you tried to live through the days without breaking. You felt trapped. Targeted. Like a caged animal, knowing you were next for the slaughter. But mostly, you just felt sad. Missing your friend.

The sky was overcast and grey. You had never seen weather like it in Sunnydale before. It had filled you with a sense of foreboding before you had even woken up properly.

You were all hung over, but that feeling was nothing compared to how you felt when you had heard. Willow had called but she had only sobbed and hung up on you. You waited by the phone until you had another call. From Buffy. 

You had heard about Cordelia’s death the same way everyone else had, through word of mouth. Her body had been arranged publicly for unsuspecting members of the public to pass by. Everyone had told everyone. By breakfast, everyone knew and the media was playing catch-up.

You didn’t go near where her body had been left for everyone to see. You just sat in silence. Your ears ringing, not able to focus. Her body had been horribly mutilated and her intestines had been arranged so that they spelled ‘murderer’. Newspaper clippings arranged around her. You couldn’t stop thinking about how you had just walked away from everyone. Just left them to argue. You felt you were to blame.

Should we blame the parents?

Sunnydale express, October 1999. Official death toll: 6

The police have launched a case that is apparently now being investigated in connection to a now deceased young woman. The alleged murderer, Cordelia Chase, was discovered early this morning who rather ironically was caught spilling her guts to the world. We wonder why it took the act of a serial killer to reveal this. Mr Chase declined to comment.

The Sunnydale Express expects more truth to be disclosed as the vigilante (or, hero, as we may come to know him: you heard it here first) may reveal more as the weeks go on.

We wonder whether the parents should be held accountable in the same way that Ms Chase was.

 The police interviews were being conducted on the entire student body. The questions were apparently to be asked about the current murders as well as this recent accusation written using Cordelia’s death.

You were waiting for your turn. You couldn’t help think that it wasn’t a coincidence that you and your remaining friends were the ones called to the principal’s office first. Snyder had never liked any of you, but he had some (in honesty, not ridiculous) suspicions about you. Especially since you looked like walking zombies in the corridors since last year.

You were sat in the waiting area, trying to keep calm. You were staring straight ahead, into a dead man’s eyes. Principal Flutie. You hadn’t really known him very long, you had probably seen this memorial plaque more than you had seen him in person.

But it made you wonder why his death wasn’t investigated with as much importance. Why, when it came to supernatural crimes did nobody ever question it? His death was pronounced natural causes. You had never met someone who had died of less natural causes than students that had been taken over by hyenas eating your face.

It also made you think that ever since those students killed the Principal, you hadn’t seen them around school anymore. You knew at least one of the girls had moved to a different state. And two of the guys played basketball… or was it football? You couldn’t recall (it wasn’t very interesting to you anyway, you were more likely to have murder on the brain). You do remember that Snyder had kept them for at least another year because they won the school trophies.

But it concerned you. It was right that Mr Bates’ death should be investigated, but there are so many other people that didn’t get this much attention afforded to their case. You wouldn’t be surprised if there was someone in the authorities that they hired to weed out the supernatural from the normal crimes and only focus on them.

“Y/n? Your turn” a voice told you and you got up and walked over to the door, your legs working without your brain catching up. You were mostly on autopilot now. The kind receptionist smiled sympathetically at you as you walked in, passing Willow who’s face was red and puffy. She avoided your eye contact and you felt a growing sense of dread.

 You came and sat down, opposite three men. Two investigators and Snyder. As soon as you sat down, Snyder was enjoying himself, he had a sadistic smile on his face every time the officer turned back to look at you. You avoided looking at him after a while, your eyes trained only on the investigator. Snyder was agitated and you were trying to keep your composure. 

“Where were you on the night of Halloween, 1998?”

“At a party – the same party everyone in town was at” You answered in short sentences, sure you would choke on your words if you tried to say anything else. They knew. About Mr Bates. They suspected you. You hadn’t known the police in Sunnydale to find a lead so quickly. It was as if they had offered themselves to the devil in exchange for half-decent investigative skills.

“Did you see Ms Chase on that date?”

“Yes I saw Cordelia on Halloween” You replied. The questions continued like that for almost an hour. Questions being asked in circles, trying to see if any of your responses changed. They sounded pleasant but there was an underlying accusatory tone that you knew was completely fair. You had, in fact, been involved in the death they were questioning you about after all. 

“Do you have any further information?” The investigator asked finally.

“Have you spoken to Faith?” You asked. You didn’t know why you mentioned her specifically but you were still seething from the argument you had with her. You wanted to check, even though a part of you knew the sentence was somewhat loaded with accusation.

“Ms Lehane is not a suspect”

“But you know she was at the party and she was seen with Cordy-”

“Ms Lehane is not a suspect and we have yet to contact her lawyer for a statement”

“Her lawyer?”

“Yes, a representative from Wolfram and Hart. Why, do you need a lawyer y/n?”

“N-no, that’s okay” You offer, getting out of your seat and avoiding eye contact as you left the office. 

Weird. Since when could Faith afford a lawyer? And why was she suddenly immune to the authorities? You had never thought of her as having friends in high places.

You walked straight past your class, needing some room to breathe. The walls of the corridor felt as if they were closing in and the acute feeling of misery surrounded you. Everyone felt it. Avoided you in the corridors because of it. You went into the library. Wesley saw you, he nodded, understanding you needed your space. You needed time somewhere you felt safe. The library had always made you feel this way.

You ran your finger along the spines of the books, barely paying attention as you picked one out at random and walked over to a desk in the corner with it under your arm. Even if you didn’t manage to focus on the words, it would be at least some comfort to you.

You sat down in your favourite spot and opened a book that read, ‘Ouija boards and how to use them’. Must have been in the occult section. But it did lead to an idea that started forming in your mind.

That was it. That’s what you needed to do. Maybe they would have some kind of clue, some kind of weakness. Maybe they could tell you who the masked figure really was and if you knew them. You decided you would tell the others during the lunch break that you usually spent in a melancholy silence, picking at your food.

You sat back in your chair, knowing Wesley was watching you - debating whether he should offer a friendly ear. But he ultimately decided against it, he could get a little awkward around discussing emotions and he wouldn’t know what he would do if you started crying. You felt his concern though and you looked up and nodded at him, sending him a tight smile. He returned it and quickly scurried off to do some organising of the books now he had become head librarian.

You sat back in your chair, considering everything that had gone on already today. It was enough to make your head spin. You didn’t know if you could handle much more. You were afraid. For yourself, for your friends.

There was something about these killings. Either someone had done their research or they were very lucky in picking off the exact people they needed to target. You figured it must be someone at school, you found yourself deciding you wouldn’t even be surprised if it was Snyder at this point.

It was late afternoon now and you should be in history class. So should Buffy and Willow. But none of you were. You had closed all of the curtains and lit as many candles as you could find.

You knelt down beside Willow and Buffy, a Ouija board on the coffee table that you sat around. You started to reach for each other, to hold hands but something stopped you.

There was a loud knock at the door and you all jumped violently. Maybe it was Faith finally arriving - you had been waiting for her but she had been so late you had to start without her.

“Y/n? Y/n! Is it true you were friends with Cordelia?”

“Wha-”

“Are you next? Do you think the vigilante will be coming for you now?”

“Why would-”

“Leave. Now!” Buffy shouted firmly. The reporters had all heard of Buffy and backed off slightly. But a few pictures flashed of you both before Buffy slammed the door shut on them. You thanked her softly, all of your faces solemn 

The only chance you had now was to contact the spirits, hope they had some kind of information so that you could find the killer and stop him. You could offer them help too. Maybe that was the kind of atonement that would make you feel less guilt? No, you didn’t really believe that. Well, it may save the rest of your friends lives so it was worth it you decided.

You tried to calm yourselves down, you had all been shaken from what had happened. You hoped they couldn’t print anything about you. Newspapers couldn’t publish anything without actual facts, right?

The three of you held hands, closing your eyes and focusing on calling the spirits of the people you loved back to you. The Ouija board was in the middle of the circle, but it was more of an object to focus your minds rather than to speak to your dead friends. You were hoping to manifest them here. To talk to them.

 And you did.

But not in the way you had hoped. Xander, Giles and Cordelia appeared. As if out of thin air. You smiled at them, so pleased to see them. Relived to see their faces. Until you looked properly. It was like seeing them in fog. Their faces slightly distorted. The scars from their deaths sewed up but prominent.

“You did this! You did this! YOU DID THIS!” they started to chant simultaneously, getting louder and louder. The grudge they held was strong. You felt it deep within. They hated you. They wanted you in their place.

You kept trying to talk to them, apologise and even plead with them to talk to you. But they wouldn’t. They started to charge towards you, violence in their eyes as you broke the circle in shock. As soon as you let go of your friends hands, they disappeared. 

You were all exhausted. It had taken a lot of energy and you were no closer to finding out who the masked killer was. You had little hope for living into tomorrow and your friends all blamed you for their deaths. You had used up all of your options. You had no more plans.

You, Buffy and Willow were still recovering from contacting the spirits when Faith entered, a lot later than you had told her to come. She had needed to meet with someone. Someone she had never told any of you about.

“Where did you get your fancy lawyer from, huh? You live in a fucking motel!” You got up immediately, not bothering with the niceties. You had a bad feeling. Like she was somehow going to spin this back onto you. Something about how she had been acting recently didn’t sit right with you.

“Yeah, thanks for offering me a bed” Faith quipped, but you weren’t getting distracted easily.

“Lawyer?” Willow asked, frowning at Faith.

“Why do you have a lawyer?” Buffy asked, her hand on her hip as she scrutinised Faith.

“I was just told I needed one” she shrugged.

“By who?” You demanded. You knew it. You knew there was something going on.

“By no one!” Faith rolled her eyes, “Stop ridin’ my dick, y/n”

“Don’t do that! You’ve fucking told someone!” You persisted. You could feel it, “You never liked Cordelia and you’ve never mentioned needing a lawyer before - why do you have one now? Feeling guilty over something?”

You tried to swing at Faith but she grabbed your wrist and twisted your arm around your back painfully. Buffy had to run in and broke you up. You apologised to Buffy, but avoided looking at Faith as you tried to calm down. She looked around at the rest of you, sighing. She knew you were all suspicious of her now so she left, slamming the door behind her.

Teen suicide: Trendy or tragic?

The Sunnydale Express, October 1999. Official death toll: 6.

It has come to our attention that, amongst the increased missing cases, apparent self-inflicted deaths have been on the increase in Sunnydale especially in young people. Here at the Express, we like to get the facts so we interviewed some students from Sunnydale high school and paraphrased their response.

‘Life totally sucks’ – anonymous student.

‘We just, like, don’t care’ – another anonymous student.

There you have it, real words from real students. It makes us wonder at The Sunnydale Express, whether suicide really is serious or just ‘the next big thing’?

Willow and Oz were sat on the sofa in Oz’s home. They had the house to themselves and they were making the most of it by watching rentals and cuddling. Oz had an arm over Willow’s shoulder. Luckily, he hadn’t heard about the reporters yet and so his girlfriend was satisfied he had no suspicions. Willow wasn’t really in the room however, she was just staring into space.

“I’m startin’ to worry. You’re not yourself” he said softly, kissing her cheek.

“I’m not?”

“Ever since last Halloween… I know what it is. What you did” Oz stated. Calm as ever.

Horror swept across her face, quickly rounding the corner into panic. She was stunned. Unable to move. Speak. So Oz continued, “You and Xander… it was when you and he started... Right?” his voice was level and his expression was stoic, but there was something there. He was still hurt by what had happened, but he understood that this would hurt more. Now he had died. Now so many of the people she was close to had died. And now she had seemed to stop talking to everyone except Buffy. Everything happening this time of year was bound to take her usual Willow shine.

Willow visibly relaxed at his suggestion, but this didn’t last. Estimations suggest it was around half a second, before a voice boomed into the living room, answering Oz’s question. “Wrong” the gravelly texture to his voice making Willow wince.

Oz got up from the sofa, immediately standing in front of Willow. The figure moved his head from side to side, the signature mask not allowing them to see an expression. But the hairs on the back of their neck was standing on end.

Tell. Tell. Tell. Tell.

As if there were still some spirits left over from earlier in the day, Willow felt it within. He wanted her to tell Oz. 

“I- I can’t tell him”

“Tell me what? Will?” Oz asked levelly, his hand comfortingly rubbing her upper arm.

“Tell him… or he dies”

“W-we killed that man. Well, we hid his body a-and then we started getting these notes a-and-” Willow collapsed into sobs as she tried to recall everything that happened, “G-Giles- too and we cleaned it up and made it look like an a-accident”

Oz’s face twisted into shock. He had never been this visibly shocked.  Then his face changed. In their horrifying exchange, they had almost forgotten they had a visitor and Oz had moved to face away from him. Oz looked down, his eyes wide in horror.

It made Willow look down too. It was as if a demon was breaking out of his chest. His t-shirt stained with blood as the blade was removed and then repeatedly stabbed into him. Each time the blade sliced through him Willow winced and stared in horror. She was rooted to the spot. That was, until Oz fell forwards into her arms.

“Did I say or? I meant ‘and’” the voice said, Willow was able to hear that he was smiling through his mask. He cleaned off the scythe with his finger and watched. She sobbed, lowering herself to the ground and Oz became dead weight. She held him to her, his horrified look still in his eye as his breathing began to slow. A pool of blood started to surround them as the killer watched, as if in fascination from above.

He let Willow bawl for a while, her salty tears mixing in with Oz’s blood. Then he got bored. “Sign” he stated, brandishing a typed up note under her nose. He started to grow impatient as she didn’t reply and demanded again, “Sign it”

“W-why? What is it?” Willow said between sobs. She was still on the floor, clinging to Oz.

“A confession” He stated, tilting his head to the side before looking down at his other hand that had appeared from behind his back, now there was a noose in one hand and the already typed note in another.

“No!” Willow screamed and started to run but she was still weak from shock. She knew what was coming. She got up, desperately trying to run but it had been too much. It had been exhausting. Hiding. Living in fear. Witnessing everything she had seen and it never got easier. Especially not now. “Oz”, she whimpered.

The figure chased her through the house, she ran up the stairs towards the bedroom. She slammed the door and jammed it closed with a set of drawers she managed to push with some effort.

He had been right behind her and had started to stab through the door with his scythe when he realised it was locked. The door splintered and eventually gave through. He stuck his arm through the gap, swinging the weapon wildly as if he could catch Willow even slightly but she was huddled in the corner.

“Willow dear, light of nobody’s life?” he asked frantically realising this was futile, “Let me in… Let me in!” he started to get angrier, his composure slipping only briefly before he moved away leaving a gap in the door. She heard footsteps descending down the stairs and slowly moved from the corner she had been hiding in. Willow was breathing heavily, tiptoeing to the door to see where he had gone. She paused before hauling the cupboard back. She started to open the door slowly and stepped tentatively onto the landing. As soon as she started to walk slowly he ran at her full pelt. She stumbled over her feet, running down the stairs and past the front door, through the kitchen, checking behind her to see that he was right behind her.

She turned into the living room, shrieking in horror, she had been chased in a circle back to where she had started. He had been toying with her. Humouring her.

She was covered in Oz’s blood and skidded to the floor, hitting her head on the coffee table. She clutched at her head, Oz’s blood mixing with hers as her vision started to go fuzzy until it finally went black…