#But I need to finish Jane Eyre first

[ohmygoly]

ITS STINITZ DAY. MY FAVORITE SHIP. MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE SHIP.

I was channeling my inner Fitz and was in the kitchen all day. (I made cinnamon rolls and peanut butter cookies that both turned out pretty good!) Due to this I don't have much to offer in terms of Stina and Fitz. I love them though, I'll say that much. I remember in seventh grade I was laughing with my friend in the library because we wanted Fitz to date Stina because no one else loved him and because we thought it was a fitting punishment. Then we wanted them to die.

Seven years later and Stina and Fitz are in my top three favorite characters (I love the characters who are accidentally the most complex and morally grey lol, or misunderstood.) They are also my favorite ship in all of Keeper of the Lost Cities, if for no other reason, than because I love both of them individually so I love their ship the best (Tiana comes next for me lol.) Stina is a nerd at heart, she cares about how society views her, she is accepting of those who are cast out by society while simultaneously pushing away the one who maybe resembles her the most (Dex) because she knows that its too close for comfort. Because she's always been insecure in her status. For the record, I do prefer Stinitz over Stinex simply because I like the way their characters are built together more and because I think Dex does a better job as her plot foil without romance involved.

I think Stina must have initially loved Fitz for all the reasons everyone else did. He was perfect. He had a movie star smile. The closest thing to elven royalty, as Sophie noted. Stina, who cared so much what the others thought of her, who pushed most people away who could've cared for her because she knew that, like Dex, they could also shun her. She would shun them out first. This Stina loved the idea that Fitz' status would prevent her from any social judgment. This Stina loved that winning grin, the boyish naivety, and the shiny exterior he presented to the world. Fitz didn't like Stina at all. If nothing else, he thought her gripe against Biana (as I headcanon) as well as potentially Deck (her known rival) was unnecessary, but he also thought her attitude towards the rest of the school was abhorrent and rude.

The only relatively "flawed" side of Fitz Stina got to see would've been in splotching matches. If there was one area Stina was the most relaxed and yet still the most competitive, it was when she got to exercise the skills her father taught her and show everybody else that she was better than them. Fitz would always equal her in competitive rage, so there was never a boring match between the two consistent finalists. The only thing Stina didn't like about Fitz might have been that he always beat her, though she figured she'd try to accept it if they ever really married (fat chance of that).

Even though she wanted him to like her more than others at the school, she couldn't help telling him when he was wrong. He was ignorant, he was dense, "there is no way he actually thinks thats a good idea" -circa around the time of Oblivimyre. In his bias against her, he found this mostly unattractive.

I imagine Stina growing up. We see that she does soften towards Sophie in the later books. I still believe she was friends with her henchmen and some others in a whole other circle of elves, but she didn't have them follow her around as a defensive mechanism and to gang up on Sophie and her friends. All of this allows me to believe that she would also mature in her view of Fitz, in her ability to connect to people, in the way she presents herself. No longer is she as bratty and standoffish. Sure, she's got her rough edges, but she helped birth the alicorns, she cares for animals, she works hard for the Black Swan and demands what she deems right (like Maruca seeing Wylie). In this maturity she sees Fitz as something different. He's not perfect. He's beautiful but not perfect. Everything around him is falling apart, as the girl he liked goes for his best friend, his best friend runs away and makes questionable decisions, and his family is part of a legacy he doesn't want to be a part of. Stina sees that rage and sadness that surrounds him now, as he wants to fight but he's angry at everyone he cares about. Stina understands that. She not only understands all the ways she turned to anger in her dark days, but all the ways Marella was and is turning to bitterness as she deals with her mom, pyrokinesis, and loneliness. The ways Maruca started out colder and bitter, ready to betray a friend, in desperation and insecurity as well. The ways Linh wasn't completely sweet from the start, but the ways she turned sharper as she battled with her brother, partner, and protector leaving to the Neverseen just for her. Because she knows how easy it is to feel ostracized from the world and turn to anger, bitterness, and defensive tactics to cope with it, she can do nothing but see Fitz in a new relatable light. One where he isn't on a pedestal. She approaches him finally, in a way where she doesnt expect him to be perfect.

How refreshing for him. His dad still expects the best, Biana looks up to him, the Lost Cities still wants the elven prince, Sophie wants a supportive friend and wanted the perfect boyfriend, and everyone else just sees "Golden Boy" Fitz as well. Even Keefe might have been so wrapped up in how much better the Vackers were than his own family that he missed a lot of the pressure Fitz was under and was never able to help him ease it as much as he needed. So when Stina comes up to him one day, when they're hosting a Team Valiant meeting at Everglen, to see if he's okay, he lets a little bit of the pressure off. She listens to the tidbits he's willing to give her and tells him that there's no reason why he should think he needs to be perfect in the middle of a war. If Sophie can blow up a Neverseen hideout, then Fitz can even just walk into the meetings a little rougher for wear somedays, if not more. (Maybe use that cane he's been avoiding but definitely needs.)

From here they start talking a bit more as friends. Stina sees his human collection, and being a bit fascinated in humans herself, and having a few friends very interested in the species, she enjoys this very much. He gets to help her take care of the unicorns some afternoons and he realizes how refreshing a workout it is. He also gets to see just how useful she was during the alicorn birth, even though everyone said she did basically nothing. Maybe some days he brings specially baked treats for them, and other days he gets to ride with Stina and family/friends across the Norwegian landscapes on their backs. And he even has his own unicorn at their house now. And Stina has her own mini shelf of books on whatever information she's researching at Everglen, though only most of it is for Team Valiant meetings. He even gets invited to some of the hangouts with the girls, and they all laugh and tease each other and he feels a weight off his shoulders for the first time, that he's starting to feel very determined to keep. Stina is more than just a bully to him. She's a hardworker, a fighter, a lover, a nerd, and insecure in ways he didn't even think about. They both have a lot to learn about not letting others dictate their anger, and not letting society expect perfection out of them, but I think they can get through that together.

Also, maybe they advance from splotching to real goblin training and their kiss moment is Stina finally beating Fitz in a match and everything he came to respect about Stina just collapsed together as she won and her competitive side matched with his and he realized he loved seeing her beat him at something. That she was really cute when she was actually proud of herself. And it was so pure at that moment, unlike most other moments of Stina's life, that Fitz just couldn't get enough, so he kisses her. Fitz loves smart, adventurous women, and didn't he find one in Stina Heks.

I think I might do another post lol, after I'vecleaned up my kitchen. Cause I've saved some aesthetic photos for them on my pinterest board and I might have stinitz excerpts scattered across my KotLC notes app. @doodle-do-wop

Also, like, give me criticism please. Not like just on my writing but on my character analysis and ship pairing. I want to see how wrong I am lol.

[bxriles]

I’m sure that this is not a hot take and that a lot of people feel the same way but like…

The question “does it have spice?!🌶️🔥” makes me want to jump off a cliff. I’m out here looking for gothic book recommendations on Reddit, tumblr, and goodreads and WHY is this the first question so many people ask 😭

Look, I love erotica as much as the next person but come on. There have got to be other things that matter when recommending books or choosing to pick one up, my GOD.

[fictionadventurer]

"You talk about life as though it were something rare and surprising that one had to be very careful of. It's nothing of the sort. It's ordinary. And it's only when you've accepted it as ordinary that you begin to see the wonder of it. That a swallow or a green field should be beautiful is nothing, but that they should be common as dirt is a miracle."

-Rhododendron Pie, Margery Sharp

[chemicalarospec]

reading Death Note and reading Jane Eyre was actually a pretty similar experience for me.

[iishmael]

Ok I finished the Silmarillion!!!! God it was so so so so so so good I can’t believe I never read it before

[aphrvdisiac]

OFF TO THE RACES.

ellie williams, abby anderson x fem! reader.

part one of to lie and love like you do.

SUMMARY | you are in a poly relationship with new york’s elite women, ellie williams and abby anderson, but living in the world of power, money, and lust possesses each one of you as the dynamic amongst you three becomes more volatile and violent.

WARNINGS | adult language. graphic violence. polyamorous relationship. abby calls reader “bunny,” ellie calls reader, “little lamb.” mentions of alcohol consumption and drug usage. possessive and obsessive behaviors. dark content: graphic details of t*rture and m*rder, men being pigs, controlling behavior. adult content: sub!reader x doms!ellabs, doing it in a confessional booth, god kink, fingering, degradation, overstimulation, edging, ball gag, strap-ons, face smacking, mommy and daddy kink, knife play w/ branding, double penetration.

NOTES | so brief explanation: this is my fic, off to the races. it used to be on my original, old account that fell under the user “angvlita” but unfortunately i deactivated that account so the fic no longer exists. anyways, all rights are reserved to me for this, and i do not want it published anywhere else. with that being said, please take into caution all the tags and warnings because this isn’t meant to be taken lightly whatsoever. ellie and abby are mean and cruel in here. thank you, and enjoy.

If Los Angeles was the city of Angels, then New York was home for all Hellbound.

You grew up in such a glistening city, where people’s facades weren’t as hidden, illicit affairs took place, and a fifteen year old was trying cocaine for the first time. It held beauty just like Lucifer, having greater cruelty and an ominous essence lingering beneath its soul.

You wish you didn’t get caught up in a reckless lifestyle, that you didn’t become so corrupted that you were a girlfriend to your two best friends.

Ellie Williams, daughter to architect and businessman Joel Miller, and Abby Anderson, daughter to a famous renowned surgeon Jerry Anderson. The two had great power, control, and wealth – they fucking lived off of it. They were cruel and vicious to everyone.

Ellie was a venomous scorpion, Abby personified as such a nefarious viper. The two together were threatening, and it all surprised you when they wanted you in their circle in the early start of Junior Year, easily befriending you.

You remembered it clear as day.

You were sitting at a table, reading Jane Eyre. It was your free period, and you had not much to do, finished with any assignments.

The silence you enjoyed was interrupted when two figures sat themselves down at the table, gaining your attention as you peered up at the book, and noticed elite scholars Ellie Williams, and Abby Anderson.

They were grinning at you, eyeing you like a predator did with their prey, a cascade of goosebumps running over your skin.

“Can I help you?” You asked, bookmarking your spot before closing the book, and setting it down.

You knew it came off rude and too sharp, but their appearance made you uncomfortable, and weirded out.

“We’ve been keepin’ an eye on you,” Ellie said, and your heart sank, not knowing exactly what that mean. “We aren’t here to ruin your life, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I mean, I don’t know,” you chuckled nervously, fidgeting with your Cartier bracelet. “You have quite the reputation.”

“So you know us?” Abby asked, and you shrugged, unsure of what else to say.

“We want to invite you out,” Ellie added, and your brows knitted together, utterly confused. How could you not be? It was a random invitation, and you didn’t have any prior interactions with them.

You just had Fine Arts Honors with Ellie, and English Literature with Abby — though, you never made any conversations with them, and you didn’t see the need to.

“Why? This is new, no?” You questioned, eyeing them back and forth in the moment the duo looked at one another, words kindling behind their eyes.

“Somethin’ about you is sweet… special,” Abby confessed, and a smile threatened to curl onto your lips. “You interest us.”

“Marrona, at 8PM,” Ellie stated, getting up with the blonde by her side. “Just come by, and if you still don’t like us, you’re free to go.”

“You’re trusting a stranger? Interesting,” you lightly joked, smiling to yourself. “The world must be ending, then.”

They smiled with you, a rare expression anyone could come across.

It was an unforgettable night that you thought of for a week before either of you approached each other again.

Many of your friends told you to not fall for it, that you’d be a laughing stock, and would only be ruined. You didn’t know how ruined you would become, and you simply wanted to know what it would be like to sit in their company.

You were sure it was because of your status — your mother was an heiress, and your father was a CEO of an advanced technology business. You were humble about your life, yet knew you had a higher position in money and glory than them. You were sure they wouldn’t just let anyone in, that they were more intelligent to let a random classmate of theirs be brought into their social circle.

The deeper you fell into their rabbit hole, you had become tainted, and cruel as them. You were their rotten apple, something they possessed and prized so admirably as you were theirs only. Before the relationship was even thought of, you weren’t allowed to talk to anyone else besides them, leaving you to drop all your closest friends, and submit only to the two girls.

Yet, they took care of you like no one else did — expensive gifts, abrupt trips to Europe, fancy dinners, and the sex they gave you.

God, the fucking sex.

It was them at the same time, or one coming to your place to claim you entirely. You didn’t mind it, no, you had become so immune to being theirs, you would please them.

You don’t exactly remember how the polyamory relationship came to be; you were getting closer with Abby, Ellie didn’t like it, and the two had come to the idea of sharing you, right before twelfth grade. You weren’t opposed to it, but hated the twisted repercussions that tied into it.

During all of Senior Year, you weren’t allowed to go out without them by your side, or at least one of your bodyguards. You couldn’t get drunk, only at home, and that’s it; they had this monologue about how dangerous the world is, and how they wouldn’t be able to forgive themselves if something happened to you.

You had no privacy, they always had a guy watching you from a distance if you went out with family, and tracked your location. Your only friends were whoever else was in their group, which wasn’t much whatsoever, so you were practically without anything.

When you all graduated, and you were planning to attend Columbia, you hoped some leniency would be kicked in from their part, but no — the two only got more dominant about everything, to the point they refused to let you share a dorm room with a girl.

“Oh my fucking god, I’m not going to fuck her!” You yelled. “You’re being dramatic; it is better for me to live on campus so I don’t deal with traffic every morning.”

“What if she tries something?” Ellie asked, sitting down on her couch with a glass of bourbon in her hand. “You know we are just trying to look out for you.”

“No, you’re being insane,” you stated, and she scoffed, eyeing Abby. “Both of you have really got to stop this shit. I need to make a career for myself, be my own person without your crazy bullshit jeopardizing it all.”

Abby got up, now towering over you as she grinned. “Such a brat you are,” she mocked, and you shivered, glaring at her. “After all this time, we hoped you would start being appreciative.”

“I… I’m more than grateful for the both of you,” you assured softly, frowning. “But please, I'd rather be in a dorm room than some penthouse where you’re being insufferable.”

“The fuck did you just say?” Ellie asked, hastily standing up, and before you could speak, she grabbed your jaw. “Insufferable, huh?”

You whimpered, the grasp tightening, and worried she might crack a bone. “No… no,” you whispered, and the pair mockingly cooed at your panic.

Ellie shoved you into Abby’s arms. “Deal with her, I’m in a good mood today.”

Abby held onto your wrist, seating herself down, and bent you over her lap. “Gotta keep training you, ‘specially after all this time,” she mumbled, flipping up your skirt. “Starting to think we should just replace your ball with some soap, maybe raise up the punishments.”

“No, no,” you pleaded, peeking up at her. “I didn’t mean to say—”

“Don’t fuckin’ stare at me,” Abby spat, and you whined, looking away as you could feel her hands massage your ass. “You’re lucky it’s me being lenient, not her.”

Abby wasn’t wrong there — Ellie was more harsh with her punishment, would leave you in a puddle of tears, and it would be Abby that had to reel her back into reality. You recalled the moment when Ellie had you bent over the edge of the kitchen table, hitting your ass while she kept her thick rings on, and you were in tears by the end.

You didn’t talk to her for at least two weeks, but she repeatedly apologized, and was no longer able to strike you with no more than seven slaps, and if she did, Abby had to put her in check.

You never knew why you liked being punished like this, like a ragdoll of some sort, or why you let consequences happen to you. You were human, but something about these two keeping you in check was pleasuring, and comforting in a way.

The first hit made you squeal, kicking your feet in reaction. “Fuck!”

“Count, bunny,” she said, the nickname made your stomach turn. “I know you can do it.”

“One…” you shuddered, another strike coming after it. “Fuck— two!”

“Only doing five today, it’s okay,” she assured, kissing the back of your neck, and your ass was met with the third strike.

“Three!”

Another one.

“Four!”

And the last one.

“Five,” you moaned, your ass burning. “I fucking hated that.”

“Me too, bun,” Abby said, picking you up, and let you sit on her lap. “Let me look at my girl.”

She took your face into her hands, fingers brushing past your ears, and grinned. “There’s my bunny, are you okay?” She wondered sincerely, a frown tugged on her lips.

“‘M fine,” you muttered, resting your head on her shoulder as she held you. “Is Ellie mad at me?”

“You know how she is,” she reminded, and you huffed, nodding. “We love you, more than you’ll ever know. We wouldn’t be able to live if someone hurt you, or something horrible happened.”

“I know, didn’t mean to be rude,” you mumbled, and she sighed, kissing the side of your head. “I just feel like both your lives should be more than just me.”

“Oh, baby,” she sighed, bringing your head back up, and gazed at you with immense endearment, you could faint from it. “You are our life. Our religion, our air, everything we want and need.”

You grinned. “You mean that?”

“Of course. Now, let’s go see Ellie, yeah?” Abby suggested, and you agreed, trailing in front of her as you walked to Ellie's bedroom in her penthouse.

“Ellie,” you sang out, pouting. “Are you still mad?” You opened the bedroom door, finding her sitting on her desk chair with an electric guitar in her hands.

Ellie looked up at you the second you were in her presence, and she sighed, sitting the instrument aside of her. “Hey, little one,” she greeted, opening her arms for you. You rushed to her, perching yourself on her lap, and wrapped your arms around her neck.

“Sorry for being rude,” you mumbled into the crook of her neck. “I love you and Abby both.”

“Sweetheart, I know,” she rested her hand on the back of your head, her thumb caressing it. “We know what’s best for you, that’s why we take care of you unlike anyone else.”

Ellie wasn’t wrong there, and that saddened you. Your parents had always be mentally and emotionally distant; they were there physically, but always focused on their own issues. It was either your mother was caught up in her pill addiction, or your father having a new mistress.

There never really was time for you — you raised yourself for as long as you could remember.

Many would say you had no reason to hate your life when you have this trust fund, nepotism lifestyle, but you would trade all of that just for parental affection and care. Yet, that never came, and the only people who tended to your needs were Ellie and Abby.

They came into your life when you needed them the most.

“Our parents want a gathering tonight,” Abby walked into the room, clearly irritated. “First stop is church.”

“Church?” Ellie laughed. “Oh baby, it’s your parents that want that.”

You never understood why your parents went to church. They may have grown up religious, but the things you witnessed them doing led them to earning a one way ticket to Hell.

“We could have our fun,” Abby assured, grinning. “Isn’t being selfish and ungrateful a sin?”

Ellie picked your head up off her shoulder, forcing you to look at her. “Yeah… it is,” she smirked at your protesting whines, and patted your bottom. “Get home, and get changed.”

You walked inside the cathedral by your parents side, searching around for your girls. “Ah, there’s Jerry!” Your father pointed out, taking you and your mother to Abby’s dad. “Jerry!”

Jerry turned around, grinning at him, both hugging one another. You hopped to Abby’s side, smiling up at her. “Hi,” you whispered.

“Hey, baby,” she mumbled, gently pinching your arm. “Ellie is in the confessional booth.”

“What?” You asked. “Why?”

“You sinned,” Abby reminded, and you swallowed thickly as she leaned into your ear. “And you need to repent.”

Your parents were caught in conversation with Jerry, and you sighed heavily, rolling your eyes. You knew they wouldn’t pay much mind if you were gone for a bit.

“Don’t fuckin’ roll your eyes,” she spat, tightly seizing your wrists, and tugged you away with her. To your unfortunate luck, the confessional booth had its own room in the cathedral, and gradually spacious, giving you more than enough privacy.

“Let the fuck go of my wrist!” You shouted, and she halted her footsteps, turning around. “I can follow, ya’know? I’m not dumb.”

Abby ignored you, suddenly tossing you over her shoulder as you screeched, furiously kicking your feet. “Ellie’s going to love hearing this,” she taunted, and you zipped your mouth, giving up all protest.

Abby twisted open up the door to the room, putting you down on your feet, and slammed the door shut.

Ellie was leaning against the wall, joint in her mouth, and was wearing a black suit, a bralette underneath her fine blazer. “There’s our girl,” she beamed, yet her bright expression toned down when she took notice of Abby's unsatisfied attitude. “What did she do?”

“Rolled her eyes, being a brat,” Abby said, and you looked down in shame, not knowing why you kept digging a hole for yourself. “Don’t know why she keeps doing this. Maybe we’ve been too nice.”

Ellie hummed, burning her joint out on the windowsill before leading herself into the stall, her legs spreading as she sat down. “We’ll take our turns. Kneel before God.”

You only stood still, gazing up at her.

Abby’s hand curled around the back of your neck, getting a whine out of you. “The fuck is your problem today? Want to be ignored instead?” She wondered, and you shook your head. “It sure seems like that, bunny.”

“Bring her over here,” Ellie beckoned, and Abby guided you over to the auburn-haired girl, forcing you down to your knees. “Wearin’ such a pretty dress today. All for us, hm?”

You looked at her, hands resting on your thighs as you nodded. “Course I did. Wanted to be pretty for you both.”

“Hmm. Roll up your dress,” Ellie said, and you froze, not moving. She inched closer to your face, tilting her head. “Something wrong, honey?”

“No, ‘course not,” you muttered, fingers fiddling with the ending hem of your babydoll dress.

“Then listen,” Abby added in, and your breath shuddered as you bunched the skirt to your waist, exposing your bare cunt. “Won’t you look at that? She thought she was gonna get something.”

“Did you think that?” Ellie asked, and you hesitantly nodded, her cruel laugh ringing in your ears. “After how you’ve been acting all day? Silly girl.”

“Where’s your rosary?” Abby wondered, and you opened up your purse, scrunching it up in your palm. “Not even a pure girl anymore, just a depraved whore for us.”

Ellie grabbed the jewelry piece, wrapping it in between her fingers as the end dangled in your face. “Abby, next to me,” she ordered, and Abby took off her leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor, stepping in the stall.

You stayed kneeled, trying to put water to the fire you sparked.

The tip of Ellie’s combat boot hit under your chin, raising your eyes to hers. “Get over to her,” she cocked her head to the side, and you rushed up and over to the blonde haired woman, who grinned at you.

Abby pushed you down onto her lap, your back pressing up against her chest as Ellie pushed open the sliding barrier, mindlessly playing with your rosary. “Why are you here today?” She began, yet Abby shoved your legs open, one hand on your throat, and the other snaked down in between your thighs.

“F—Forgive me,” you stuttered, shivering to Abby's fingers glazing over your needy cunt, “for I have sinned.”

“Go on,” Ellie agreed, and Abby slowly pushed one finger into you. “What troubles you?”

Your head fell back onto Abby’s shoulder, squeezing harder on your throat as a warning. “Fuck… I—I’ve been selfish, sir,” you continued, whining to her teasing pace. “Cruel and ruthless to those who love me.”

“And why is that?” Ellie wondered, paying no mind to you or your noises. “Do they deserve it, little lamb?”

Abby put in a second finger, the pace now running a bit higher, but made sure to not give you entire satisfaction. “Do they deserve it, bunny?” She whispered in your ear, her thumb pressing on your bud. “Tell her now.”

“No, God no,” you whimpered, placing a hand over Abby’s wrist. “I’m just… just a brat— holy fuck, fuck me.”

“Using vulgar language in front of your God, little lamb?” Ellie teased, knowing what she was getting at.

She was your God — both of them were. They were your religion, devoting every piece of you to them, would do anything to have their forgiveness and love for eternity.

“I’m sorry, God,” you moaned, Abby’s fingers pounding into you as you were beginning to fall apart at the seams, grabbing onto her wrist. “Fuck— Forgive me, God. I need your forgiveness.”

“You have to earn it,” Ellie stated, and Abby breathily chuckled, her breath fanning against your skin.

“Want to be good for your Gods?” Abby asked, and you nodded, your face falling into the crook of her neck. “Gonna do anything just for us to fuck you, huh? ‘Course you are, baby. You’re filthy— look what we’ve done to you.”

A warm sensation ran in your stomach, down to your thighs as your body jolted on her lap. “Please, God,” you pleaded, tears at your waterline. “I want you, God. I’ll never sin again.”

Ellie hummed, looking at Abby. “What do you think?” She asked. “Does the whore deserve to be forgiven?”

“Might have to work a little harder,” Abby said, and you were lost in your head, your climax burning in your abdomen. “She’s going to break another commandment.”

“No, no,” you breathed, shaking your head. “I won’t do it unless God tells me to.”

“Is that right?” Abby cooed, and her free hand combed through your hair, grabbing it. Her fingers slipped out of you, tossing you down onto your knees again with a harsh thud, a soft weep eliciting from you.

Ellie stepped out of her side of the booth, moving to yours, and you heard the rustling of her and Abby’s pants, keeping your head down. A nude Ellie brushed past you, sitting down onto Abby’s lap, both of their seeping cunts shown to your eyes.

“Please us, little lamb,” Ellie said, and you slightly moved yourself closer, your mouth latching on Abby’s cunt, hearing a soft moan leave her. You slid two fingers into Ellie’s, who cursed under her breath, and the pair looked down at you as you stared right back at them, desperation shining in your eyes.

“Doing s’good, baby,” Abby gently praised, her breath jagged, and looped around Ellie’s waist to keep her in place. “Keep fuckin’ going like that.”

Your mouth switched between the two, lapping up their juices as they made out with one another, sweetly moaning into each other’s mouth. All you could do was admire them, kneeling obediently while you drowned your mouth in their juices, needing more than just this.

Ellie put her hand on top of your head, the end of your rosary dangling in between your eyes, and she rutted her cunt against your mouth, keeping it latched. You stuffed Abby with three fingers, enough to fulfill her, roughly thrusting them into her.

The rosary continued to stay in your vision, almost like a mocking coming from Ellie and God; that once a pure angel fell into the hands of the corrupted, and became just what and who they are.

But you loved it, you loved that they curated you into this way. All you wanted to do was please them, see how sensitive they could turn out to be.

You spent the remainder of mass baptizing yourself in between their thighs, drunk on the taste of their sweet pussies.

You had spent the next day at home, making sure you had things planned out for when you moved out for Columbia. Abby and Ellie had convinced you to live in a penthouse that was about a block away from the school, and you had agreed on the fact that it was better to be with people you knew than a stranger as they knew it made you easily uncomfortable.

Your parents had left randomly for vacation, staying at their place in Milan, leaving you alone with your cat. You didn’t mind the loneliness, it was something you well adjusted to as you got older, and you only ached for attention when it came to your girls, but they had their responsibilities that you couldn’t interfere with.

You had finished packing up your box of books, setting it in the corner of your bedroom. Your attention turned to the sound of your phone going off, the soft ringtone coming through. You grabbed your phone, grinning at the contact name of “Jesse.”

“Well if it isn’t my favorite troublemaker,” you teased. “What’s up?”

Jesse James and his girlfriend, Dina Woodward, were the only people Ellie and Abby trusted you with; which said plenty because they would kill anyone who they didn’t know, and tried to talk to you. He was good, despite the fact he came from a shit father, constantly got in trouble with the law, and blew money on anything. Dina was the only one who could put him in check, and you had grown close to her over the time of knowing him.

“I fuckin’ bought a club,” Jesse started off, and you scoffed in disbelief. “Turned that shit into a burlesque. She’s a beau, you have to come out and check it out.”

“Well, I can’t right now,” you denied, and he groaned. “I’m trying to make sure I have everything together before I leave for college.”

“Cry me a river, come on!” He begged, and you breathily laughed. “You are always so attached to Ellie and Abs, make time for me.”

“Is your girlfriend with you, at least?” You wondered, and he hummed in response. You looked at the time on your clock, reading “9:03PM”, and you sighed. “I’ll be there in an hour. Don’t go anywhere.”

True to your word, you arrived at Jesse’s enriching club. You got out of the black cab, and stared at the sign that gleamed in pink neon “Carissima.”

You hummed softly to yourself, approaching the security guard at the front. “Friend of Jesse James,” you said, and he nodded, easily recognizing you. He opened up the door for you, thanking him, and moved inside, hearing the familiar melody of “I Put A Spell On You” by Nina Simone tune through the venue.

It didn’t take much to find Jesse, his arm wrapped around Dina’s shoulder as the two sat on a lounge chair in front of performers, their soft laughter knitting between the music. You walked up to the side of the furniture, their eyes averting to you.

“You made it!” Dina exclaimed, jumping up, and pulling you into a hug. “I’ve missed you. Feels like forever.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said, separating the hug, and gave a hast squeeze to Jesse before sitting on the side of Dina. “So, what made you buy this?”

“Good investment,” Jesse said, and you awed, chuckling. “My dad doesn’t agree, but it’s beautiful. These performers… mind blowing, a fascination to everyone in this room.”

“You tell Ellie and Abby?” You wondered as Dina handed you a cigarette, lighting it up for you. “They would love this, think you are a genius.”

“I thought you would bring them. Ya’know, since you’re attached to them,” he teased, and Dina smacked his arm, glaring at him. “Bad joke, fuck! But where are they?”

“Don’t know, I haven’t talked to them all day,” you answered, puffing out a blow. “But they got their shit to worry about, don’t like being in the way.”

“You’ve been their world since you met them,” Dina said, taking the stick from you. “However, it is scary how overprotective they are.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

Jesse laughed. “Those two have always been frightening—”

“Yeah, but their care for her is… different,” she stated, and gazed back at you. “Known them since we were kids, and I can say they would kill for you.”

“So dramatic,” you joked. “They’re the closest people I have in life. They take care of me, know what’s good for me and I don’t know— I’ve never really had that.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she mumbled, handing you back the cigarette. “I just know they’re fucking you good.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go get a drink!” You beamed, inhaling the tobacco, and got up. “You need anything?”

They shook their heads, and you hurried to the bar, continuing to burn out the cancerous stick in a spare ashtray. You smiled at the bartender as she headed over to you.

“What can I get you, love?” She asked.

“Just a cosmo, please,” you said, and she hummed, turning to the drinks. You waited patiently, fingers tapping on the gradient countertop in thought.

A shoulder softly brushed past you, but you ignored the person, until they cleared their throat. “All alone here?”

You shivered to the voice of a man.

“With some friends,” you dryly answered, eyes focused on the bartender who had her back turned from you.

“That’s a shame. Woulda invite you to hang with me,” he said, his voice thick and heavy. “You always still can.”

“No thank you,” you denied, shaking your head, and prayed for your drink to come quicker, only for the bartender to head into the stock room for a moment.

Oh, you felt sick.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Dina and Jesse lost in their conversation, completely oblivious to you.

Your phone was in your purse, and you were scared to even fiddle with it.

“I don’t bite, honey,” he assured, and your heart leaped into your throat as his hand touched your bicep. “Come on. A pretty thing like you should be having fun.”

“Please let go of me,” you said, yet harsh enough to come off stern. “I don’t like your hand on me, so get the fuck off.”

“Now don’t be a bitch,” he spat.

You finally looked at him, your body wanting to collapse on you. He was taller than you, about six foot three or so. Broad and muscular, completely fit. His eyes were dark, had a goatee on his face.

You thought about throwing up all over him just to get this over with.

You hoped people sitting around would notice, yet no one did, caught up in their own worlds. You yanked your arm back, and scoffed. “You don’t got the right to touch me, you fuck.”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” he threatened. “You come here in that little black dress, and expect nobody to fuck you?”

The bartender came back, and was the only one to notice this unsettling tension. “Hey, honey!” She called out, putting your order on the countertop. “Had to head into the back to grab more cranberry juice, I’m sorry.”

She kept her eyes locked on the man, a pair of scissors in her hand. “Can you hold onto my order for a second? I need to use the ladies room,” you said, and she nodded, making sure to keep the man secure in her radius.

You hurried into the bathroom, your shaky hands taking out your phone. Teardrops collected on the screen as you hit Abby’s contact, the first name on your recent call list.

It took only two rings until she answered. “Bunny?”

“Abby… abby,” you breathily whispered, sniffling. “Is Ellie with you?”

“Yeah, baby. We just got done with some things,” she said, and you sighed in relief. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I’m at this club, Jesse’s club,” you began, sucking in a sharp breath. “And went to the bar to get a drink… this man came up to me, wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“What?” Abby’s tone sharpened. “Did he hurt you? Where the fuck is Jesse? Or Dina?”

“He just grabbed my arm. Jesse and Dina were just busy with each other, I was too far away for them to notice anything,” you stated clearly, wiping away your hot tears. “I don’t know if he’s still in here, but the bartender is keeping a close eye on him, and I’m hiding in the bathroom.”

“Stay in the bathroom, we’re coming right now,” she assured, and you hung up the call, sitting yourself on the porcelain seat, trying to compile all your thoughts and emotions.

As Abby brought the phone down to her lap, Ellie glanced at her. “What happened?”

“Someone fuckin’ weirdo touched her,” Abby exsperated, and static rang in Ellie’s ears, scoffing in disbelief. “Jesse opened up his own club, she was there, and went alone to get a drink.”

Ellie texted Jesse for the address, and Abby searched around the backseat compartment. “I don’t know if the gun is still in here,” Ellie said, and the blonde groaned in frustration. “We can’t go in there with one.”

“The one time you don’t bring your weapon,” Abby sighed.

“Got the address,” Ellie mumbled, opening up her phone. “Charles! Hit 7th avenue.”

“The fuck are we gonna do with this dude?” Abby asked, and Ellie grinned. “Talk to me, baby.”

“We fuckin’ kill him,” Ellie stated.

You passed time by playing games on your phone, the stress of it being enough to forget the short horror experience you just encountered. The shout of your name in the bathroom caught your attention, killing your high score in the process.

“Baby, where are you?” Ellie called out, and you rushed out of the stall, getting her attention. “Oh, there’s my girl.”

She hastily brought you into her arms, letting you cry into her shoulder as she held you, cupping the back of your head. “My brave girl, hm? So proud of you,” she praised, kissing your temple. “Abby and I are gonna take care of everything.”

You nodded, bringing your head back, and she smiled softly at you. “Do you have any party favors?” You wondered, and she sighed, shaking her head. “Please, just wanna wash off tonight.”

“Honey, you are not taking coke,” she said, and you frowned. “I know you are upset, but your body isn’t used to it, and you wouldn’t like it.”

“Yes I do! Remember when I did it off your ass on our ski trip in Aspen?” You recalled, and she kept denying you. “Please! Just this once. I’ll have Dina make sure I don’t do more than three lines.”

“Dina couldn’t even keep an eye on you right now!” She shouted, and you flinched, body tensing. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just— You need to be careful.”

“Just three lines,” you repeated.

Ellie reached into her trouser’s pockets, fiddling with the bag, and handed it to you. “Go have fun, baby,” she said, and you kissed her cheek, thanking her before sprinting back out to Jesse and Dina.

The couple bounced up from their seats at your appearance, clear worry plastered on their faces. “Fuck, we’re so sorry,” Dina said, gently grabbing your wrists. “We were so caught up—“

“It’s fine,” you smiled, sitting down on the lounge seat, and popped open the bag of cocaine.

“Fuck, you’re doing lines? Haven’t seen you do that shit since the Debutante Ball,” she said, and you poured some of the white powder onto the table in front of you.

“Ellie and Abby don’t know about that,” you told her, and her eyes widened, looking at her boyfriend who only shrugged at her. “They would kill me if they knew the amount of drugs I’ve done behind their back.”

“You’ve only done cocaine, no?” Jesse questioned, and you only glanced at him over your shoulder, giggling. You took a random card out of your wallet, dividing the powder into neat lines, a dumb smile on your face.

“Jesse, can you go get my cosmo, please?” You asked, sweetness laced in your tone. “I deserve some of that with this shit.” He sighed, nodding, and getting up from his spot.

There were seven lines made, and you wiped off the collected powder from the edge of the card, sniffing it up your left nostril. You exhaled sharply, snickering, and traded the card in for a dollar bill. “You want some of this?” You offered, turning around to look at Dina, and she denied the offer, eyes focused on you.

You hummed, tightly rolling up the bill. “More for me, then.” You brought the paper up to your nose, aligning it with the first line, and took a heavy inhale, a strong burn hitting your nose. You sniffled, bringing your head up and leaned it back, shakily laughing.

“Easy there, babe,” Dina put a hand on your back, rubbing it. Jesse came back on time with your drink, handing it to you, and noticed the dollar bill next to the second line.

“Already started?” He teased, and you took a sip of the cocktail, eyeing to the drug. “I’m all good, treat yourself with that stuff.”

With you doing lines and being utterly distracted inside of the club, Abby and Ellie were on the top floor of the building, inside a storage room with a beaten man on the ground.

Abby took another kick to his gut, Ellie sitting in a chair with a cigarette in her mouth. “You like touchin’ females you don’t know!” Abby yelled, and he sobbed, restrained by cable ties, his right eyes kicked in. “Fuckin’ touching her like that, you aren’t getting away with this shit.”

Ellie took the gun out from the back of her trousers, lucky enough to find the weapon in the glove compartment by the driver. She flashed the object to the man’s eyes, a vile grin playing on her lips as she stared at him.

She got up, and stalked towards his limp body, standing by Abby’s side. “What’s your name, man?” Ellie asked, with her partner taking a hast note to her facade. “Got any kids or anything?”

“My name is Brandon,” he breathed, and Ellie nodded, squatting down to match eye level with him, letting the gun dangle in her hands. “Shit, dude, listen— I—I’m sorry. I didn’t think she was taken.”

“What makes you say that?” Abby questioned.

“A girl like that… wants attention,” he said, and the girls looked at one another before glancing back over to Brandon. “Can even tell she’s got lingerie under that shit. She’s a fuckin’ tease, a whore.”

Ellie hummed, reloading the glock in her hand, and chuckled. “I think I’m done with my cigarette now,” she mumbled, jokingly frowning as she played with the stick in between her fingers. “Too bad I don’t have an ashtray on me.”

Abby took out a switchblade, exchanging it for the gun. “Tell me when you need me to do it,” she said, and the auburn haired girl seized the man’s jaw, squeezing open his mouth as a wave of protests elicited from his throat.

Ellie pushed the bud to his tongue, and cruelly laughed at the garging scream that came out of him. “Keep fuckin’ talking shit!” She shouted, flicking open her switchblade, and held it to his throat. “Swallow that cigarette, wanna see if you still want to run your mouth!”

“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Abby chimed in, taking off her leather jacket. “You’re lucky we don’t kill you right now.”

Ellie put her hand over the man’s mouth, refusing to let him spit out her cigarette, only giving him the option to swallow it for good. She smiled, pleased with the simple act, and took her hand back. “Got anymore shit to say?” She questioned, tilting her head to the side.

Brandon sniffled, jagged sobs intertwined with his heavy breathing. “You’re both fucking insane,” he began, trying to gather oxygen into him. “She’s going to leave you. You’re going to drive her away with this shit.”

“We’d like to see her try,” Abby said, and Ellie stood up, putting herself aside to let her do as she pleased. She sat back down, opening up her phone to text Jesse.

E: How is she?

J: Two Cosmos in. Had seven lines. Get down here soon.

E: Don’t let her strip her clothes off. We don’t need a sequel to Barcelona.

J: Me and Dina can’t handle her, only you can. She won’t shut the fuck up about you.

E: Don’t let us down again. P.S., may need a mop in here soon.

She tucked her phone away, and admired Abby damaging the man. She was ruthless, yet composing herself enough not to kill him — just yet. His face had molded into a pulp, unrecognizable to anyone as his blood painted on Abby’s hands, his weak pleas being ignored by the pair.

Abby and Ellie got high off of this, hurting or killing anyone who made you uncomfortable. They had been getting away with it for so long, and you had been gullible to it, never blinking an eye to their unknown actions.

They would do this over and over again, even if something was your fault within it, they dealt with you in their own way — but no one was ever to lay a hand on you, and you knew that too.

Abby snagged his wallet out of his pocket, opening it up. “Brandon James,” she announced, pulling out his cash, and putting it in her pockets. “Gonna use this to buy her something pretty and nice.”

“Where does he live?” Ellie asked.

“Won’t you look at that!” Abby said, pressing her boot to his face. “He’s a rich brat. Lives in that building next to yours, Els.”

Ellie chuckled. “Money probably got him out of his shit. Isn’t that right, Brandon James?”

“Please,” is all he could manage to say, dizzy and lightheaded.

Ellie returned over to him, and stood over him before lowering herself. “This may hurt,” she said, signaling for Abby’s help, who obliged by opening the man’s mouth. Ellie grinned, tugging at the tip of his tongue, and began to sever it with her switchblade.

He screamed, thrashing around, but was overpowered by the two women, entirely useless to their strength. “This isn’t even the worst part,” Ellie muttered, grunting as she went on to cut off his tongue. “You made her cry, ya’know? Poor baby was so scared, and didn't know what to do.”

His tongue ripped out, being put to the side of his head. She got up, staring at the blood of her hand, and could only curl her hand into a tight fist.

He fuckin’ frightened her, she thought to herself. He deserves to die.

He was already facing death in a horrid, slow manner, and the last thing he would see was these two, towering over him; utterly indulged by his death, and letting it fuel their ego.

“Kill him. Jesse wants us back,” Ellie ordered, and Abby aimed the gun at his face, her finger carelessly pressing down on the trigger. His face blew, and they both hummed, taking in the view. “Good job. Already called the crew to come get him.”

Stuck yet hast of cleaning themselves up, alcohol and drugs overrode your brain, consuming you. You were sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at the dancers on the stage who moved with elegance, and passion. Each one of them were beautiful, confident in their own way that made your heart beat.

“Wish I was as good as them,” you said, sipping on Jesse’s cup of scotch. “I can fuckin’ dance, but not like that.”

“They’re giving a simple show,” Dina noted, and you blew a raspberry, glaring at her.

“They’re doing much more than that,” you retorted, and inhaled one last bump, coughing. “I… I want to go up there.”

“You’re not,” Jesse denied, and you pouted. “Ellie and Abby would murder you, and then me. We don’t want Barcelona to happen.”

“Oh my gosh! That trip was so fun!” You recalled, warmly smiling at the memory. “Wait, what happened?”

“You drank too much, got lost in the crowd dancing with too many people,” Dina said, and you zoned out, attempting to have any recollection. “Then, you bought everyone shots, danced on top of the bar, and flashed your ass to them.”

“Okay, that’s not bad,” you giggled, shrugging. “I’m going up there!”

“Do you have a death wish?” Dina wondered, and grabbed your wrist, preventing you from standing up. “Your girlfriends are going to kill you if you do some sort of strip tease up there.”

“They’ll get over it,” you said, freeing your wrist from her hold. “They’re not here, anyways, and they won’t do shit about it.”

Jesse and Dina sighed, giving up all attempts and let you run off onto the stage. The burlesque dancers beamed at your presence, letting you stand in the middle as you were too mind numbed to understand what you were doing, just knowing you wanted to have fun.

The song and crowd were an echo, intoxication burning into your body, controlling each thing you did. You sheepishly grinned, your hand reaching to the side of your dress, and pulled down the zipper.

“No, no!” Dina shouted, and Jesse mumbled multiple curse words, sipping down the last of his drink. “Oh, we are so dead.”

Abby and Ellie appeared right next to them, at the exact time you were shimming off your dress, and were exposed in your garter belt, stockings, and undergarments. “What the fuck did we say!” Abby shouted, and the couple sighed, watching in horror with the two girls while you were oblivious to them.

People in the club cheered for you, a few getting their wallets out. You laughed, your vision a blur as you showed off your body, letting your hands run all over your body.

Your girlfriends watched attentively, millions of thoughts piling on top of each other, thinking of how to get off the stage, and back home. They weren’t going to punish you while you were clearly out of your mind, but that gave them enough time to think of how to handle you.

They just fucking murdered someone for you, and your flashing your body to strangers. You were more than ungrateful at this moment.

The dancers on stage encouraged you to do what you wanted, cheering you though they knew you were not intact with reality. “Should I take off my bra?” You questioned, and the people in front yelled in agreement, earning a small laugh out of you. “Yeah? Flash my tits for New York?”

“What the fuck is she saying?” Jesse asked. “Go get your girl before she turns this into a riot house.”

Abby and Ellie both rushed to you, having to fight through a crowd just to reach the steps to the stage. Your hands fidgeted with the hooks of your bra, and before you could strip it off, they got to you on time. “Oh, it’s my girls!” You slurred, hiccuping as you laughed, and blushed in shame. “How long have you been here?”

Ellie took off her blazer, tossing it over you as Abby picked up your dress from the ground. The crowd booed and groaned at your escort as you only waved at them, blowing a kiss. “Bye Dina and Jess! Love you both so much!” You yelled, and squealed from being abruptly thrown over Abby’s shoulder. “Ow, my stomach!”

The limo was parked outside, and the chauffeur opened up the door, Abby throwing you onto the seat but made sure you didn’t bump your head. Ellie climbed in right behind her, the door shutting.

“Hiii,” you slurred, continuing to giggle. “You like my outfit?”

“Who gave you coke?” Abby asked.

“Els!” You said.

“Ellie, we talked about this!” Abby protested, and the auburn shrugged. “She can’t do that shit unattended.”

“I’ve done it so many times without you both,” you confessed, and their eyes snapped at you. “You made me this way — fucking corrupted, and shit. I am your blessing and nightmare.”

“You’re drunk,” Ellie sighed. “You need to rest when we get home.”

“Why, daddy?” You asked, and Ellie reddened at the nickname. “I know you both want to hurt me. I was bad tonight, disrespecting you both. How silly of me.”

“Fuckin’ watch it, bunny,” Abby spat, and you laughed. “I mean it.”

“Whatever. You’re idiots,” you mumbled, and Ellie had thinner patience than Abby did — meaning one more insult would cause her to take you in the car. She tossed your dress at you, eyes boring into you. “You could just hand it next time.”

“You are one more backtalk from getting it,” Ellie warned, and your smile slowly faded. “Anything else you need to confess before we deal with you in the dawn?”

“Oh, I can’t have a life of my own!” You realized, carelessly putting back on your outfit.. “Can’t take drugs without your eyes following me. Can’t even hang out with someone without a bodyguard being there! So fucking annoying!”

“If it’s so annoying, why stay?” Abby asked.

You went silent, looking away from the both of them, and finished throwing on your dress, slouching in your seat. “Only ones who take care of me,” you murmured, so soft and quiet, pouting too. “Make me feel special.”

“Yeah, and we’re the only ones who will put up with you this way,” Ellie added, and you nodded, tears welting in your eyes. “Who else is gonna do that? Tell us.”

You shook your head. “No one… no one,” you mumbled, chewing on your lower lip. “Can… Can I sit on your lap? Please?”

Ellie heavily sighed before giving in, beckoning you. You practically hopped into her lap as you wrapped your arms around her neck, nuzzling your face into her chest.

You fell asleep on the ride back to the shared penthouse.

Sunlight crept into your eyes, taking you out of your gentle slumber. You groaned, stuffing your face into the pillow, and felt warmth on both sides of you. Your eyes slowly parted, finding Ellie’s tattooed arm dangling over your chest, Abby’s looped around your waist.

You were trapped in between them, no way out. Your head pounded, your nose stuffy, and dying in sickness. You stayed still, trying to resurface last night's events, yet only blur spots flickered in your head. You whimpered, loud to drag Abby out of her slumber, her eyes adjusting to the sight of you.

“Hey, bunny,” she whispered. “You okay?”

“Did I drink last night?” You asked, and she weakly chuckled, nodding.

“And you did cocaine,” she muttered, and she brought her hand up, resting it on the side of your face. “You are in trouble.”

You panicked. “Whatever I did—”

“Baby, you are okay,” she assured, thumb caressing your cheek. “But you said some rude things. All we plan to do is spanking, that’s about it.”

“I’m sorry,” you frowned, and she kissed the side of your head. “Hope that’s the only stupid thing I did.”

“And you stripped and performed at a burlesque club,” she shared, and your eyes widened, whining in embarrassment. “Ellie nearly ripped your head off in the car.”

You looked over at Ellie, and grinned. “I’ll make it up to you both,” you promised, pressing a kiss to her lips, and she smiled, nodding. “I’m going to clean myself up, I feel a bit nauseous.”

“We had your things moved and unpacked yesterday,” Abby said, and you sat up, stretching out your arms.

“You broke into my house late at night, and got everything settled that quick?” You laughed. “I’m still a month away from attending school, and you’re already locking me down.”

“Better to get it done now,” she acknowledged, and you got up from the bed, padding over to the bedroom’s bathroom, closing the door behind you.

It took you only about thirty minutes to clean up, unimpressed by how worn out you looked. Your lipstick smeared, eyeliner and mascara cluttered around your eyes, your breath reeking of alcohol.

The shower was enough to relax your body, yet still felt sick, considering you needed a meal. You stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body, and stepped in front of the sink.

You found an unopened toothbrush waiting for you, and you grinned, opening it up. You turned on the faucet, and laid down a portion of toothpaste on your toothbrush, running it under the water shortly after.

You brought the object into your mouth, and used your free arm to pick up your pajamas. You walked over to the walk in closet, and looked around for the hamper, only to find it shoved into the corner.

Peeking over the basket, you noticed a white shirt stained with some red on it. It grabbed your attention, looking too crimson to be considered red wine, or anything else.

You just shrugged it off, putting your clothes over it, and went back to brushing your teeth. “Hey Abs,” you called from the bathroom. “What kind of shit did you get into last night?”

“What do you mean?” She shouted back, the loud conversation awakening Ellie.

“One of your shirts is stained,” you said, and Abby inhaled sharply, Ellie shooting up to look at her girlfriend. “Did I fall and eat shit, and get blood over one of you?”

“Honey, you did,” Ellie lied, voice groggy and hoarse. “I had to carry you inside, you had blood coming out your nose.”

“But I have no bruises or anything?” You realized, spitting out the paste, and cleaned up your toothbrush and mouth. You changed into shorts and tee before walking back into the bedroom. “Did you guys get into a fight last night?”

They went silent, and you got into the middle of them on the bed, going back and forth looking at them.

“You had an incident last night,” Ellie said, and your brows furrowed. “A man was being a fuckin’ dick, you called Abby, and we handled it.”

“Oh what, you fucking killed him?” You joked, and they laughed dryly with you, but enough to make it believable. “If you beat him, you just have to say that.”

“We handled it,” Ellie repeated, and moved herself closer to you, putting her hand on your cheek. “Now we need to handle you.”

You rolled your eyes, bitterly scoffing.

“Fuckin’ roll them again,” she dared, and Abby laid back against the headboard, letting everything unravel. “Always going to be a brat? Even when we’re so good to you?”

Your face softened into a doe expression, tilting your head to the side. “Doesn’t that make you want to fuck me?”

“We won’t even touch you if that’s what you're trying to accomplish here,” she taunted, and her hand snaked up to the side of your head, tightly gripping your hair. “When are you going to learn, little lamb? Is what we do for you not enough?”

“It is,” you whimpered.

“Yeah? Then why do you keep acting like it isn’t?” She asked, and eyed over to Abby. “What should we do with her?”

“Break her,” Abby said, getting up from her spot. Ellie grinned, turning her head back towards you, and your cheek was met with a harsh slap. You gasped, and her hand slid down to the back of your neck, pushing your body onto the bed.

“Fuckin’ strip,” Ellie spat, and you whimpered, but obliged. You fiddled with the ending hem of your shirt, taking it off, and your fingers hooked around the waistband of your panties and pajama shorts. “Need you on all fours.”

You huffed under your breath, glad that she couldn’t see you roll your eyes again. Your clothes piled down onto the ground, letting your knees sink into the mattress, your chest laying flat as your ass was lifted to her eyes for display.

“Baby, you’re fucking soaking,” Ellie cooed with Abby returning on time, able to hear the clicking of objects. “Let’s hold off on gagging her until she wants to say some shit.”

Abby moved to your eye level, grinning. “You want to keep being a desperate whore?”

“I’ll get my satisfaction either way,” you assured, and she inhaled sharply, eyes snapping into Ellie’s. The auburn handed her an item, noticing the pink ball. “Wait, wait!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Abby seethed, maneuvering your face and brought it up, fastening up the ball gag. “You’ve really fuckin’ done it this time, bunny. And Ellie is going to handle you, not me.”

You swallowed thickly, your doe eyes shining with pleas but the blonde dismissed you, tossing your face back onto the bed.

Both girls had stripped themselves bare, Ellie positioned behind you as Abby sat in front of you, her cunt for you to gawk at, but forbidden to please.

In a sharp breath, you felt thick silicone push into you, causing your cunt to stretch. You cried, yet it was mumbled, and Abby laughed at you. “Gonna deny you everything, honey,” Ellie muttered, her hands grasping onto your cheeks for support as she carelessly thrusted into you, breaking into you. “Need to make you cry, need to know you’re fucking place with us.”

“We could easily get rid of you,” Abby continued on, and your brows knitted together, shaking your head. “Could’ve fucking disposed you months ago, but no. Here we are, still putting up with your bratty ass.”

You cursed and moaned breathlessly, the pain turning into a bliss as Ellie’s strap pounded into you. “Wouldn’t want that, huh?” She asked, and you cried in response. “Course not, honey. No one fuckin’ loves you like we do.”

You stared at Abby with teary eyes, your hand aching to touch her, only for the blonde to slap it away. “No, take what you are getting right now,” she warned, and you nodded, your hips rolling and swaying with the rhythm of Ellie’s thrusts. “Won’t ya look at that? Little bunny just can’t get enough.”

Your hands grasped onto the messy bed sheets, nails digging into them. You stuffed your face into the material, lewd noises eliciting from you through the ball gag, almost feeling as if your body was jolted with electricity the moment Ellie’s strap found your orgasmic area.

“She’s enjoying this too much,” Abby pointed out, and Ellie hummed, all movement being halted. You groaned in protest, and she switched around your body, laying you flat on your back. She straddled herself on top of you, intimidating you with how she towered over you.

She popped the gag out of your mouth, your lungs engulfing fresh air. “Oh, little lamb,” she softly whispered, and smacked your face again, seizing it afterwards. “You got me upset, you know that? Treating me like shit.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, the strike burning your cheek before she placed another one. “Fuck!”

“You’re sorry?” She repeated, almost as if she didn’t trust you. “For which part, honey?”

“Just… just wanted to get a rise,” you admitted, breathing heavily. “Couldn’t ask for it.”

“Look where that landed you,” she said, and hit you once more, your head spinning. “You going to apologize to Abby, hm?” She climbed off of you, her hands guiding you around to face the blonde. “Say sorry, baby.”

You were a crying mess, and weren’t even at the worst part yet. Though you were scared, you were aroused; maybe you were as depraved as they were. You enjoyed the sadistic acts they brought onto you, wanting to be all theirs to use, and play with.

You were their girl at the end of the day, nothing could change that.

“I’m sorry, mama,” you mumbled, and Abby hummed, careless to your apology. “Please, mama. Didn’t mean it, I’ll be better.”

“You need to start acting right,” she said, and you nodded, mumbling promises through your sobs. “You aren’t able to leave us, you know that, right?”

“I won’t,” you reassured, sniffling. You knew that’s what many people wanted, that they knew you couldn't be without these two girls, simply as if they were your life support.

Everyone knew it.

“Where’s your blade?” Abby asked, and Ellie gestured to the night stand. She opened up the drawer, taking out her prized switchblade, something she always carried with her, but you didn’t know why. “Got to mark our girl.”

Ellie grabbed her knife, flicking it open, and she settled herself in between your thighs. She was grinning to herself, yet so was Abby, the two only knowing what they had done the previous night with the weapon, and you were clueless to it all.

“Need you to be a big girl for me,” Ellie stated, and you sucked in a sharp breath, the tip of the switchblade pointing into your right inner thigh, beginning to carve into your skin. “Right there, baby. Doing s’good for us, focus on mama.”

Abby scooted closer to you, putting your head on her lap. “Don’t cry, bunny. It’s gonna be over soon.”

Ellie branded her initial firstly into your right thigh before moving onto your left inner thigh, starting to cut Abby’s into it. You were trying your best to compose your body, squirming and softly sobbing to your skin being pierced.

“Mama, it hurts,” you pouted, and she caressed your cheek, looking down at you. “I know I’m your girl.”

“Just so you remember,” Abby reminded, groping your breasts. “Sometimes you forget, baby. We can’t keep repeating ourselves.”

You only nodded, melting into her gentle touch. Ellie threw her knife on top of the pile of clothes, smirking at initials. “Ah, now we can give you what you want,” she said, and you sighed in relief, a smile playing on your lips.

Dots of blood appeared on the wounds as the girls got up from the bed, opening the bottom drawer of the night stand. You stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the burn that scorned, and a large hand pressed onto the side of your body, shifting you around.

“Come on, baby,” Abby whispered, positioning you on your knees that sunk into the bed, and could feel her bare chest brush on your back. “Need you to spread yourself for us, you can do it.”

“You’re our girl,” Ellie promised, kneeling in front of you, and cradled your face into her warm hands. “Don’t know what we would do if you tried to leave us.”

Abby wetted her fingers, spitting down on your tight hole as she pushed two fingers into it to start you off. You roughly gasped, your body nearly faltering. “Stay steady, princess,” she said, moving her fingers at an easy pace. “Gotta prepare you for my cock, I need to make sure you can take it nice and sweet.”

Your face stayed in Ellie’s hands, trying to keep you focused on her. “Make sure to keep yourself spread for mama,” she told you, and you nodded, your shaky hands clawed down on your ass as you kept it spread open for Abby. “You can take it, you always do. Isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

“Yes daddy,” you muttered, and Abby’s fingers popped out of you. She put her hand back on your shoulder, guiding you back in the same moment she let her strap harshly sink into your whole. You cursed under your breath, tears welting in your eyes, and Ellie cooed, keeping your face in place.

Abby didn’t move further, letting your hole take in all of her, and nodded at Ellie. She dropped her hands, hooking your arms around her neck as she filled your hot cunt with her strap, and your body shuddered, your face collapsing down onto her chest. “No no, baby,” she said, shaking her head. “You gotta show us how much you want us. Fuck yourself on our cocks.”

“Too stuffed,” you mumbled, and Abby’s hand reached for the front of your neck, tugging your head back.

“Show us how needy you are, pathetic bitch,” Abby spat, and you whimpered, but compiled, gently bouncing yourself on both silicone objects. “Yeah, that’s it, bunny. Fuckin’ take everything we give you.”

Ellie’s was captivated by the way your cunt swallowed her strap, dripping and soaking it already. “This is all you wanted, right?” She taunted, breathlessly chuckling. “Just wanted us to make you cock drunk, for us to treat you like the dumb whore you are.”

“Y—Yes, yes!” You choked out, rolling your hips as your body began to endure the scorching pleasure. “Oh my god, feels s’fucking good, please.”

“You’re barely fuckin’ two minutes in on fucking yourself,” Abby laughed, bringing your head back and laid down on her shoulder, forcing you to look up at her, “And you’re already falling apart. Can even hear how wet your pussy is.”

“Want to be fucked, please,” you breathed, on a brink of sobs. “Can’t do it on my own.”

“You have to earn it, love,” she stated, and grinned. “Show us how bad you need us, want us to fuck your pretty holes.”

You pouted, and she shoved your head back forward, a spin of dizziness whirling in your brain. Ellie sadistically smirked in front of you, her hands laid on your thighs, and tilted her to the side. “Looks you’re about to cry, little lamb,” she teased, and you kept heavy eye contact as your holes stretched further with every desperate bounce. “Got nothing to cry about, honey. You brought this on yourself, you know that.”

“S—said sorry, daddy. I’m sorry,” your breath shook, sobs threatening to spill from you. You were overfilled with needs, feeling as if you were in heat, and only they could put the fire out. You could fuck yourself good, but they could make you feel orgasmic tides crash into your soul, and take you in one.

“Only saying sorry ‘cause you’re not getting what you want,” Ellie said, and you were quick to deny it. “Don’t fuckin’ lie, you know how much we hate that.”

“Please, please,” you begged. “I’ll be so good, won’t be a brat ever again.”

“Fucking lying again,” Ellie scoffed, and Abby grinned, smacking your ass. “Don’t worry baby, we like when you are; means we get to see you cry and break.”

You were stuck in the middle of these two, falling apart on their cocks as they observed you, waiting for you to break down into sobs. This was their whole pride, everything they fucking thrived off of, and if it made them the happiest they’ve ever been, you would them hurt you over and over again.

Your bouncing turned rapid, breasts in sync, and porngraphic noises drawing out of you. Your sensitive spots were being hit at, your eyes rolling back, and could feel heat pooling in your abdomen. Your hands reached out for one of them, but they denied you of it, leading you to fall into pits of sobs.

“There it is,” Abby growled. “Just what we wanted.”

“Can’t do it,” you sobbed, shaking your head. “Please, need mama. Need your help, please.”

“Yeah, bunny? Need us to take over?” She asked, mockery tangled in her tone. “Can’t use that silly brain of yours, huh? Our poor baby that’s useless.”

Her words mixed in with the fire that bubbled inside of you, expanding into your thighs. “Fuck me, fuck me,” you babbled, choking on your tears. “Need it s’bad, please. Just fuck me.”

Ellie halted your movements, and kissed your cheek. “We got you, honey. Let us do whatever we want, okay? We need to fill your holes, want to see it leak out of you.”

The duo situated themselves before handling you to stretch your form better, your knees locking place to keep you up. Abby braced her hands on your waist before her strap brutally thrusted into you, Ellie following the same tempo shortly after.

You could feel yourself being split open, Abby’s hands residing on your hips as Ellie’s let hers rest on the sides of your breasts. Their noises were shaky, rough, and undeniably lewd, a string of curses muttering out of them.

They would always be hypnotized by you, your body, and how fucking well you always took them. They would fuck you hours on end, and they have before, but they couldn’t get enough it. It was a fucking drug, worse than any they’ve taken. Everything about you was addicting and pure perfection to their eyes, knowing that they would be the only ones who could see you crumble under them like this, let them take control of you, and tear you apart.

They wanted to fucking spend the rest of their life in your pussy, fucking destroying it, and letting it cry with you.

Raw lust was a firestorm on your skin, sinking into your body, and coursing through you. Your climax was overrode, about to collapse on you, and take you entirely, just needing to be free. Your legs trembled, slowly weakening, and a muscular arm snaked around your waist to lock you in.

“Our pretty girl needs to cum,” she acknowledged, and Ellie’s fingers furiously hooked around your throat, squeezing it. “What do you think, babe? We let her cum?”

“Don’t know if she deserves it,” Ellie said, and your sobs were uncontrollable; your body was breaking, haze clouded in your head, and your high was unbearable over the limit. “You want to cum, little lamb? ‘M having too much fun seeing you like this.”

“Wanna cum, need to cum,” you blubbered, breath hallowed, and could feel them so far into you, you could almost swear they were poking at your stomach. “I’ll be so good forever. ‘M your girl, only yours; won’t ever be ungrateful again.”

Ellie grinned. “You mean that, honey?”

You mindlessly nodded, agreeing anything just so you could cum — it was fucking torturous.

“Cum for us, sweetheart,” Abby said, and you exhaled in relief, your body relaxing to her permission. Like a violent hit, your high crashed out of you causing your body to jump and shudder. Abby kept her arm around you, the pair not being done with you until they came.

You could hear the sploshing of your juices as Ellie viciously rammed into you, Abby’s cock abusing your tight hole with absolutely no remorse. You were there, letting yourself be their garbage waste, waiting for them to fill you up.

“Imagine if we could fuckin’ put a baby in her,” Abby laughed, her moans knitted into it. “Make her our bitch forever, wouldn’t be able to leave us then.”

“That what you want, angel? For us to make you a pretty mommy?” Ellie asked, and you blankly agreed, braindead and numb. “Keep you trapped forever, nowhere to fuckin’ go.”

Abby and Ellie always considered that; having a family with you, though they never practically discussed it with you, or if that’s what you wanted. They truly wanted you in their life forever, needed you in every way that would kill them if they couldn’t have it. And if you did try to exit out of their lives, they would find a solution to reel you back in.

“Mama gonna fill your hole, ‘kay?” Abby warned, and you hummed, falling in and out of reality. Ellie left her on your throat as extra leverage as she continued to hammer herself into you, her own climax trailing behind the blonde’s.

A symphony of vulgar, raw noises echoed throughout the bedroom, and your second peak surfaced in the depths of your belly, your body frail and trembling.

“Fuck, baby, baby, baby,” Ellie cried out, her nails clawing into your skin, and Abby’s hands crept down to your cheeks, clawing into them. Your skin was running hot and wild, their body heat radiating onto you as the room smelt of filth and sweat, shameless moans and whimpers wailing out of all three of you.

Your cunt and hole were stuffed with cum from their straps with Abby and Ellie’s climax dripped out of their sweet pussies. They pushed themselves out of you, and you fell back on the bed, gathering lungfuls of breaths.

“Won’t you look at that?” Abby said, her and Ellie mesmerized by their cum leaking out of your holes, their initials branded into your thighs. “So fuckin’ pretty, all for us to look at.”

“Head… hurts,” is all you could manage to say, curling up into a ball.

The girls took off their object, dropping it to the floor as they separated to obtain things for you. Abby went to the kitchen, grabbing cold water, painkillers, and a box of cherries for you; Ellie was in the bathroom, wetting a rag, and seized the first aid kit.

They rushed to your side in under a minute, worried that they might have finally done it this time.

“Baby, you with us?” Ellie panicked, and you nodded, sleep wanting to take you. “Can you sit up for us, please?”

“Can’t,” you whimpered, and Abby sighed, helping to pick you up. She kissed the side of your head, holding you sit up while Ellie aided you.

“You did so good for us, sweetheart,” Ellie cooed, running the cloth over your aching cunt and hole as you hissed in response. “I know, I know. Just need to make sure we clean you up well, okay?”

Abby brought up the glass of water to lips, stroking the side of your head while you took slow sips. “There we go, there’s our tough girl,” she whispered, and opened up the bottle of painkillers, inserting two pills in your mouth, returning the glass back to your mouth afterwards. “We’re so proud of you. You’re okay, bunny, we’re almost done.”

Ellie soothed your wounds with hydrogen peroxide, putting bandaids over it after. She put a chaste kiss to your hip, and you smiled small, thanking her. “You want to get some rest?” She asked, and you nodded. “Okay, honey, let us change the sheets while you eat some food, yeah?”

Abby carried to the loveseat sofa that sat in the corner of the bedroom, handing you the box of cherries as she helped out Ellie. The two weren’t even cleaned up, but made sure you were comfortable and okay before they were.

You wanted to cry.

They’re so fucking perfect, you said in your head.

You had eaten about five cherries by the time they fixed up the mattress, and put new sheets on top of it. You set the food next to you, and Abby returned to you, scooping you into her arms as you grasped onto her, sitting you on the edge of the bed.

Ellie picked out a new set of pajamas for you, changing you into new underwear, and a soft, pink nightgown. “Get some rest, and we’re gonna get ourselves fixed, ‘kay?” She said, guiding you under the duvet covers, and made sure you were tucked in. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

You hummed, your eyes drooping, and let rest take over you. You felt them press a loving kiss to your forehead before you passed out.

You could hear your ringtone tune, lulling you out of your slumber. You let it go through as it shut up a few seconds later, and you groaned, trying to fall back asleep.

Then, the ringtone came back, and the buzzing added onto it. Your hand reached for your phone, finding it laying next to you. You grabbed it, squinting to who was calling.

Joel Miller, the contact name flashed.

Why the fuck was Joel calling?

You noticed the time, seeing it to be 4PM — how fucking long were you asleep for?

You swiped the button right, bringing the device up to your ear. “Hello?” You mumbled, clearly exhausted and groggy.

“Hey, kid. I was wonderin’ if Ellie was with you?” He asked, trying to sound calm, but wasn’t. You instantly sat up, finding a note on the nightstand, and you picked it up.

Abby and I went out to get some things. Be back as soon as we can. Love you always, sweet girl.

Xo, Ellie.

“Um, no,” you answered, putting the note down. “Why? Did something happen?”

There was silence for a moment. “The cops are here, asking for her.”

“Cops. Why?” You asked, fear streaming through your whole body.

“They’re accusing her of murder,” Joel said, and you swallowed thickly. “Someone reported their friend missing — a Brandon James — saying how they saw him leave with Ellie, and Abby.”

Memories now began to flick in your brain, like bright lights, and bile burned at your throat.

The shirt. The red on the shirt.

Blood.

“We handled it,” you recalled Ellie saying.

“We handled it” was code for “we killed someone.”

You remembered the Brandon guy harassing you, grabbing your arm, and it sent you into full panic mode. You remember calling Abby about it, and Ellie giving you coke to distract you for the meantime. You remembered them not being with you for a while, keeping you with Dina and Jesse.

They needed you blind and gullible.

“Are you sure it’s even her description? People just say shit ‘cause they hate her,” you said, holding yourself together. “And Abby? That’s crazy.”

“Another person at the club supported it by saying they saw the two walking out with you,” Joel continued, and you quietly cursed under your breath, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “They were there, so were you.”

You went quiet as you heard some shuffling over the line.

“Do you know something?” He asked.

“I don’t,” you said, sincerity mingled in your words. “I promise I don’t. And I don’t remember anything about being at a club, I’m sorry.”

“Okay, well if you see her or them, call me,” Joel said, and you hummed, hanging up the call immediately. You let go of your shaky breaths, and nodded to yourself as a waterfall of hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

You couldn’t stop thinking of the shirt. It had someone’s blood on it, and they were dumb enough to leave it at home. You knew Jesse and Dina wouldn’t narc them out, they were the same as Ellie and Abby.

You were alone in this; you had the choice of coming forward with the shirt, or keeping your head down, being naive to everything.

Everything started to make sense — the possession, the house, the authority you had given them. They never wanted you to leave, and they eliminated any threats, even ones that hurt you. You were glad they were there at your beck and call, but you never knew it would go to the extremes of murder. You were starting to worry that this wasn’t the first time they did this, but the first time it was starting to catch up with them.

You continued to sob as you went through your phone contacts, and clicked your mother’s number.

It took a few rings until she picked up. “Hello?”

“Momma…” you sobbed out, not knowing how to explain what you were thinking without exposing a lot of things. “Momma, I’m worried.”

Your parents weren’t entirely neglectful — if you really needed them, they were there, and would never get mad at you for anything, even if you had some fault in it. They had their fatal flaws, ones that even affected you, but they’d drop everything if you were in danger.

You never knew why that was, but you appreciated it.

“What’s wrong, dear? What happened?” She asked. “Why are you crying?”

“I think something bad happened,” you sobbed, sniffling. “And… and I can’t be here, in the city. It’s a lot to explain, but can I stay with you in Milan? Please?”

“You’re worrying me, cherie,” she said, and you broke down further, everything in the room spinning with you. “You can come stay. Are you at home?”

“At this penthouse… I’ll send the address to Tony,” you stated, trying to steady your breathing. “Thank you, momma.”

“Of course,” she softly responded, and the line went dead. You rushed down to your feet, running into the walk-in closet, and grabbed a suitcase. You tossed random amounts of clothes until the baggage couldn’t take anymore; you could buy more stuff in Milan.

You tossed your hygienic products on top of the clothes, and before you were going to zip up the luggage, your eyes averted to the hamper. You contemplated taking the shirt with you, burning it in another country so nothing would be traced back to them.

You couldn’t tamper with evidence. But these were your girls, and it was your turn to take care of them, even if their actions made you sick at this very moment. You grabbed the bloody shirt, tucking it under your clothes, and zipped up the suitcase. You put on your sneakers, and tossed a leather jacket over your nightgown.

Abby’s jacket.

You shrugged it off, and grabbed your cell phone, putting it in your purse. You double checked to see if you had everything in your purse before rushing yourself out of the penthouse, and into the elevator.

You didn’t need to leave a note, or anything of that sort. You couldn’t talk to them for a while, not until you made sure you weren’t crazy or overthinking this whole situation. But the shirt was enough to confirm the first of your suspicions, and what Ellie said.

“We handled it”, her voice kept playing in your head, like a broken record.

For now, you needed to isolate yourself; besides, it wasn’t like they would find you.

That wasn’t possible.

You hoped.

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Six

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour in a semi-public place. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.7k

A/N : I think I've finally sorted the tagging issue.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE

MASTER LIST

Chapter Six

It felt like you were in a daze, like the night before had just been a fever dream. You’d almost been willing to write it off as a dream before you saw a note in your kitchen from Billy, telling you that the leftovers from dinner had been put in the refrigerator for you. There was no telling if he’d brought them through himself or if he’d had the maid do it, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless. 

After your usual morning routine, you headed to the library to finally return Billy’s copy of Dorian Gray, exchanging it for Jane Eyre, another book that you’d never been allowed to read growing up.

By the time Billy emerged at sunset, you’d finished the leftovers and you were sitting on the sofa, with your nose buried in the book and your stuffed beagle on your lap. You’d even put tonight's blood in his thermal travel mug, hoping to keep it warm for him.

“Good evening,” he said as he joined you on the sofa, eyeing his travel mug before turning his attention to you and smiling all the more when he noticed the stuffed toy. “I hope I’m not interrupting the two of you.”

“Not at all, me and Bill were just reading.”

“Bill?” He laughed. “You can’t call him Bill.”

“But he’s Bill the Beagle,” you told him, biting your lip and trying your damnedest to stifle your own laughter. “It’s too late to change it, he’s used to it now.”

The both of you sat for a moment, trying to fight back the laughter but it didn’t last. You cracked first and, soon enough, the pair of you were laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Just the sound of his laughter had you smiling. It was nice, precious even. It was only then that you realised that you didn’t hear him laugh very often, at least, not properly. He seemed happy, honestly happy with no hint of smugness.

“Is this for me?” He asked, reaching for the mug.

You nodded, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious at how much thought went into the gesture. “I just thought…”

“Thank you,” he offered, obviously sensing your discomfort and not wanting to force you to finish the thought. After taking a slow drink, his attention turned to the book on your lap. “So, what are you reading now?”

“Jane Eyre,” you answered and caught a questioning look from him. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just very... apt.” 

“Is it?

“I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you,” he answered. Then, a beat later, he changed the subject. “I’d like to ask you something; I’m throwing a party here next month, and I’d very much like you to come. It’ll mean taking you for a new dress, of course, but -”

“A new dress?” You repeated, barely keeping up with all the information he was throwing your way. “But I already have so many.”

“I want you to have something special, something you picked for yourself. And it means an evening out of the penthouse,” Billy explained. You didn’t need to answer, he could tell just from the look on your face that you wanted to. “We can go on Wednesday.”

“Okay,” you smiled.

“Great, now that that’s settle, what do you want to do tonight?”

You fell silent, wondering if it was a trick question, if there was an expected answer. It’d be a lie to say that some part of you wasn’t hoping for a repeat of the night before, but you couldn’t say that.

“We could watch something?” You offered and Billy almost seemed taken aback by the simplicity of the suggestion. “Just - you know, because we talked a lot last night and I haven’t exactly done anything interesting today...”

“If that’s what you want to do,” he shrugged.

“We don’t have to, if you’d rather...” you trailed off, cheeks starting to warm.

Billy reached for you, fingers ghosting your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “No pressure or expectations, remember?” He told you softly. “If you want to watch a movie, we can watch a movie, okay?”

The only response you could give was a meek nod before quickly excusing yourself. When you returned a couple of minutes later, you had a blanket and a bowl of popcorn, explaining to Billy that they were crucial for a TV night. He nodded while fighting back a laugh and you realised that, while you’d been out of the room, he’d been and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses. 

“Why don’t you find us something to watch?”  Billy asked, handing you the remote.

And then began five minutes of mindless scrolling through Netflix, watching trailers, and trying to find something that you’d both enjoy.

“What about this one?” You asked, lingering on Black Sails, a show that caught your attention because it was about pirates and you’d been interested in pirates ever since you’d  secretly read Treasure Island as a child. “It’s a series but... well, we’ve got all year, right? Maybe we could watch TV together more often?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, the smile on his lips growing, like you were offering him far more than the occasional night in front of the TV.

“Okay, let’s watch some pirates,” he agreed, filing the two wine glasses and handing you one of them.

When you’d chosen the show, you’d thought that you’d be able to watch and talk but, within five minutes, you were hooked. 

It wasn’t long before Billy was awkwardly reaching across, trying to steal your popcorn, prompting you to edge closer and closer until you were pressed against his side. You were so caught up in the show that you barely noticed Billy draping his arm around you or the way your head had ended up resting on his shoulder. 

One episode finished and another started, then another. You made little comments to each other, but after the popcorn and wine were gone, you were mostly silent. There was more sex and nudity than you’d expected and you felt your cheeks warm every time. If Billy noticed, he was nice enough not to say anything about it. But, aside from that, you were enjoying it; you were enjoying the whole night. It was nice. And Billy seemed to be enjoying it too.

“Oh, now I see why you’re watching this,” Billy joked when a particularly muscled and shirtless pirate appeared on screen. You pulled a face. “What? He not your type?”

“I don’t have a type,” you confessed, playfully nudging him with your elbow. 

Billy retaliated by nudging you back and things seemed to escalate from there. You gave him a shove and he pushed back, his hand discovering a ticklish spot on your side and, once Billy realised you were ticklish, it was game over. You squealed as he started to tickle you, laughing and pushing against him but, somehow, you ended up on your back with him above you. The tickling continued for a moment, but it soon turned into kissing.

“What is it about you?” he asked softly. “How do you make me want like this?” 

Before you could answer his lips were on yours again, the kiss more eager than the last. He pressed closer, his hips between your thighs, and you soon felt the increasingly familiar press of his erection against you. A soft sound slipped from your lips and into his, your heart hammering in your chest.

“The things I want to do to you,” he muttered, lips pulling from yours to your neck, kissing and sucking, leaving little marks in your skin. “The ways I want you,” he continued. “I’d ruin you. I’d make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

It sounded insane but that didn’t stop you from wanting it, craving it.

Your hips pushed up against his while your fingertips pressed against his spine, holding him against you. A loud moan spilled from your lips when he pressed back, causing your body to tremble, your back arching against him of its own accord.

His head lifted from your neck, his dark eyes looked down at you, his jaw tense. 

“I want to make you mine,” but this time it wasn’t Billy’s voice, it was something closer to the way he’d sounded that night in the kitchen when he’d been hungry.

Every fibre of your being suddenly tensed, your heart stuttered and your breath caught. Your eyes were wide as he leaned to roughly press his lips to yours, his tongue dominating the kiss. His hips pressed down against yours again, grinding his clothed cock against you.

“I want to make you scream my name.” He growled before sinking against your lips again.

The whimper that escaped you next wasn’t one of pleasure, it was shock and, if you were honest, a little bit of fear. But that little sound seemed to be enough to snap Billy out of it.

His lips pulled from yours suddenly, and he buried his face against your neck. He was still and silent for a few seconds. All you could hear was your own panted breaths and the echo of your pounding heart in your ears.

The shock lingered but the fear was quick to dissipate. He’d stopped. You hadn’t even had to ask him to. He’d stopped the moment he realised that you were uncomfortable, even though you could still feel how unfulfilled he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against your neck, then again; “I’m sorry.”

Your mind was racing, between this and the night in the kitchen, you didn’t know what to think. He’d been hungry that night - at least, that was the excuse you’d given for his behaviour, but now it was starting to seem like it might be something else entirely.

“Are you -” you dared to quietly ask, “- okay?”

“No,” he answered and that one broken syllable shattered your heart.

Without hesitation or pause to think, you started to run your fingers through his hair, wanting to soothe whatever it was inside of him that was hurting. You heard him take an uncomfortable breath, but you didn’t stop. 

After a few minutes, he finally started to relax a little.

“It’s okay,” you muttered. “You didn’t hurt me.”

His head lifted slowly and the look on his face caused your stomach to knot.

“I could have,” he told you, looking almost sick at the thought.

Finally, he moved, pulling away from you and sitting up, his head in his hands. You followed suit, sitting beside him, giving him a moment of silence to think.

But that silence quickly felt deafening and you felt worse for the part you’d played. You hadn’t expected the things he’d said and they’d unsettled you a little, but that was all. You weren’t used to men being so forward and borderline aggressive about their desires. But he’d stopped. He hadn’t done any of the things he said. He hadn’t hurt you. He certainly hadn’t forced you into anything.

“You could hurt me right now,” you stated. “You could’ve hurt me last night, or that night in the kitchen, but you didn’t. And I don’t think you will. I get that I’m fragile and weak, and that worries you, but -”

“I don’t think you’re fragile or weak,” he told you, lifting his head and fixing his gaze on you. “You’re not either of those things.”

It was your turn to drop your gaze, cheeks warming as you shook your head.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, and you did as he asked. “You being here is proof that you’re not

weak. Taking this job, being stuck here with me for a year, there’s nothing weak about any of that.”

Your head shook again. “You don’t understand. You were right, I am running away. I’m here because I wasn’t strong enough to do anything else.”

“Everything you’ve done since you got here - standing up to me, the night you helped me, that was reckless and dangerous. It was brave.” He told you, not giving you a chance to argue. “So, no, it’s not because I think you’re fragile and weak. It’s me, I...” he sighed, “I told you, control is an issue for me.”

Cautiously, you reached for him, taking his hand between yours and holding it tight. 

“I didn’t even have to ask you to stop, Billy,” you told him softly. “You stopped yourself before you took things too far. You were in control. And I - I don’t know, it’s not like I was scared, I’m just not used to things being that... intense.” You watched him swallow awkwardly and decided to cut him off before he could speak. “Why don’t we rewind this episode and finish watching?”

He gave an uncertain grumble and you reached for the remote, winding back the last fifteen minutes of the show, back to the last thing you remembered. Sitting back, you grabbed Bill the Beagle and pulled your blanket back up over your legs, and when Billy finally sat back, you snuggled into his side again. And, eventually, he wrapped his arm around you again.

The rest of the night passed without incident. Your eyes started to close and, for a few minutes, you even drifted off. Billy woke you with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Bedtime, sleepyhead,” he muttered softly, and you reluctantly agreed, stifling a yawn as you got to your feet. “I should see you briefly tomorrow, but I’m needed in the office pretty early.”

Nodding, you headed for your rooms, saying goodnight before leaving him.

True to his word, the next day you saw him at sunset for a few minutes on his way out. On Tuesday, he was almost late leaving because he pulled you into a hot and heavy makeout session in the kitchen that seemed to suggest he was frustrated about not getting to see you. But then Wednesday rolled around, and it was time for Billy to take you dress shopping.

The moment you stepped into the elevator with him, he took your hand in his and kept hold of it all the way down to the parking garage below the building, leading you to his car and opening the door for you. You’d never been in a Rolls Royce before, and you caught Billy smiling as you looked around the car in wonder as your fastened your seatbelt.

It wasn’t a long drive to the dress shop - a large boutique affair, filled with bespoke pieces as well as off-the-rack gowns and dresses. And, while you’d been in fancy dress stores before, you found yourself taken aback. Usually at times like this, you’d have your mother at your side, and she always had an idea of what you were supposed to wear; what colours were acceptable and how much skin a decent woman should show.

“Mr Russo, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” one of the assistants said as she approached.

You watched as she approached Billy and he kissed her cheeks in, what you could only describe as, a Parisian fashion. He introduced you and she took a step back, looking you up and down. Next to her you felt more child than woman - she was obviously a vampire, with perfect skin and hair that fell in natural tight ringlets, framing her face. She was another example of the stunning women who seemed to gravitate around Billy.

But it was her looking at you in an appraising way that really caught you off guard.

“Your pictures really didn’t do you justice,” she remarked and you quickly looked at Billy for clarification. 

“Hannah picked your wardrobe,” he explained.

“Oh.” Suddenly you found yourself looking down, thinking about the outfit you’d put together - jeans, a blouse and boots - wondering what the person who’d chosen all the items thought of how you’d decided to wear them.

“Why don’t you have a look around, see what speaks to you?” Hannah offered.

Billy gave a wave of his hand, indicating for you to do just that and, slowly you started to move towards the racks of dresses. It wasn’t long before you were looking at the sorts of dresses your mother might have picked for you; a-line dresses that showed a hint of your waist and with necklines high enough to cover any and all cleavage. You could practically hear her voice in your head telling you how no respectable man would ever want you if we went around showing too much skin.

While you looked, a bottle of champagne was opened and two glasses were filled; one for you and one for Billy. He kept hold of your glass while you looked around.

You pulled one dress out and looked at it front and back. It was like every other dress you’d had since you’d started to grow into your figure. It felt safe but boring, like it wasn’t really you but what you thought was expected of you. But you weren’t that person anymore - at least, you were trying not to be.

“If you don’t mind me saying, with your figure, I’d suggest something a little more fitted, something with some slink.” Hannah offered.

“Slink?” You repeated, looking at Billy, wondering what he thought.

“I think you’d look lovely in a slinky dress.”

“Can you help me choose?” You asked Hannah. “I don’t know where to even start.”

Rather than the expected look of judgement, Hannah just smiled. “Of course. Why don’t you and Mr Russo go sit down and I’ll put together a collection for you to try.”

“That would be brilliant, thank you Hannah,” Billy answered for you, handing you a glass.

Fifteen minutes later, you were in a fitting room the size of a small bedroom, looking through a whole rail of dresses. You started with a black dress, but hated it the moment it was on, then you half pulled on a short red dress but decided that you couldn’t stand the colour. Then you started to rummage through the rail again.

Your attention was quickly drawn to a  silver number, and finally you understood what Hannah had meant by slink. It had thin spaghetti straps and a neckline that plunged to a couple of inches above your belly button, and a slit running up one side from ankle almost right to your hip. Even the back of the dress hung low. 

You pulled it on and looked at yourself awkwardly in the mirror. Because of the way the dress was cut, you had to remove your bra to get a real idea of how the dress was supposed to look. You stood on tiptoes and turned this way and that, not sure what to think.

“How’s it going?” Billy called from outside.

You stayed silent for a few moments before sighing. “I don’t know,” you called back.

“Need a second opinion?”

You poked your head around the door, the awkward discomfort on your face drawing a sympathetic smile from Billy. He waited a beat before getting to his feet, you felt your cheeks warming as he approached you. You remained hidden behind the door, not sure you wanted him to see.

“I look ridiculous,” you pouted.

“Are you gonna let me see?” He asked, a hint of laughter in his tone. You shook your head and he gently pressed against the door with his hand. “Come on, let me see.”

For a moment more, you held the door in place before finally stepping back and letting the door swing open so he could see you. When he didn’t immediately say something, you took another step back.

“You hate it.”

“What? No, I’m speechless,” he told you, stepping forwards, closing the gap between you. “You look amazing.”

“I feel like a kid playing dress up.”

He kicked the door shut behind him as he stepped into the fitting room, his gaze roving up and down your body. Clearing the distance between you, he placed his hands on your hips, turning you to face towards the mirror.

“Look,” he instructed in a low voice, spoken into your ear, and you did as you were told, looking at your reflection. “You only feel like a kid because that’s how you’ve let people see you. But that’s not what I see. I see a sexy, elegant woman. I see curves and tits that get me hard, and it kills me that you don’t realise how amazing you are.”

His lips pressed to your neck before you could respond and your breath caught, watching your reflections. 

Whether it was his words or the way he was touching you, he made you feel more confident, like you really could wear the dress and not be seen as ridiculous. You pressed against him and felt his cock against your hip, and that felt like all the proof you needed that he meant what he was saying.

His hands began to move, one pressing against your stomach while the other moved to rest over your racing heart. You took a breath, filled with a sort of wanting that only he seemed to bring out in you. Not giving yourself a moment to second guess, you reached behind him, palming his erection through the fabric of his dark jeans.

“Can I -” you started quietly, voice little more than a whisper, cheeks starting to heat. Billy stared at you in the mirror, expectant but patient, letting you find the nerve to finish. “Can I touch you?”

He smirked at you through the mirror as he undid the fastenings of his jeans and pulled his cock out. Your eyes widened, watching everything through the mirror because you were too embarrassed to look down. Billy took your hand in his and wrapped it around his shaft, and you started to stroke him slowly. And, when your gaze dropped, you found Billy’s fingers beneath your chin, urging your head up.

“Don’t be shy,” he muttered in your ear, his breath catching as your thumb brushed over the tip of his cock. “See how amazing you look right now, taking what you want?”

You bit your lip, watching his reflection, seeing the way his jaw went slack as his breathing got heavier in your ear. Once he was certain you weren’t going to look away, his hand moved from your chin to your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of the dress. 

“You look so fucking good in this dress,” he groaned, returning his lips to your neck, “so confident and sexy. You’ve got no idea what I want to do to you right now.”

His hand moved, slipping one of the thin straps down your arm, causing the front of the dress to fall, exposing your breast to him. Your hand faltered for a moment, cheeks burning hotter.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he husked in your ear, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. There was a seriousness about him that sent a shiver down your spine despite the smile on his lips.

Your hand started moving quicker as his cold hand moved to grope you again. And, finally, you started to see it; when you looked at your reflection, you didn’t see the shy, embarrassed girl, you saw the woman who had Billy Russo, desperate and groaning, in the palm of her hand. You felt almost powerful, filled with a kind of confidence you’d never been allowed to feel before, and it was all thanks to Billy.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he grunted, face pressed against your neck. Your hand moved quicker as his body started to tense. “Oh, shit...”

You felt him twitch in your hand and watched him come undone. It was a beautiful sight, even if you did go straight back to feeling embarrassed once it was over.

“Are you going to try any of the others?” He asked, pulling the strap back onto your shoulder and straightening the dress, before tucking himself back into his jeans.

“I don’t think I’ll like any of them as much as I like this one.”

“I don’t think I will either,” Billy agreed, smirking at your reflection. “Why don’t you get changed and we’ll have Hannah help you find some shoes.”

You nodded and Billy pressed one more kiss to your neck before pulling away from you. He left to speak to Hannah and, for a moment, you couldn’t even move. You kept your eyes on the mirror and the woman that was staring back at you; was that really you? Could you be the confident woman who took what you wanted? Eventually your gaze dropped, realising that Billy had managed to get cum on the mirror.

That got you moving.

You quickly, but carefully, dropped the dress and started to pull your clothes back on when, suddenly, the door opened and someone stepped in.

“Sorry, I -” you started to speak but stopped the moment she lifted her fingers to her lips.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” she explained in a hushed whisper. “My name is Agent Madani, I’m with Homeland Security, and I believe you’re in danger.”

“What? I -” you took a step back, head shaking. 

“Are you being kept against your will?”

“No, I - it’s my job, I -” you didn’t get to finish.

“Your parents believe that you’ve been kidnapped,” she sounded almost confused at the revelation you were there of your own free will.

“No, I left home. It was my choice,” you told her. “They don’t know I’m here, do they?” Your voice quickly turned frantic, trying to make sense of what was happening. Surely your parents wouldn’t have been able to get Homeland to look for you.

“No, they don’t know yet -”

“Yet? They can’t know at all,” you pleaded. “Please.”

“Your parents aren’t why I’m here,” she continued quietly. “Has Russo said anything to you about the other women who’ve worked for him?”

“No, I just know that they quit because they didn’t want to work for him anymore,” you tried to explain, your mind racing.

“Three of them are missing. All presumed dead,” she told you. “Each went to work for Russo and haven’t been seen since.”

“Billy wouldn’t, he’s not -” you stopped abruptly, noticing her eyes finding the mess Billy had left on the mirror and obviously putting the pieces together. When she looked back up, you could barely hold her gaze.

“Have you seen anything suspicious? Has he tried to feed from you without permission?” She asked. “Is he forcing you to sleep with him?”

“No - no, nothing like that. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you told her, so confused by everything she was trying to tell you.

“You need to be careful. He can’t know that we’ve had this conversation. He’s dangerous -” a noise outside the fitting room seemed to spook her, “- I’ll be in touch again soon. Don't worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And, then, just as quickly as she’d appeared, she left. 

Your mind was reeling over everything she’d said. It seemed insane, ridiculous. Billy had been nothing but kind to you, nothing but careful and considerate. You couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone. There had to be some other explanation.

You must have been taking too long because, soon enough, Billy appeared at the door again. 

“Are you alright? You’re not having second thoughts about the dress are you?” He asked with that soft smile that caused butterflies in your stomach.

“N-no, sorry... I guess I just got distracted,” you told him, deciding not to mention Madani to him, not knowing how he’d take it.

“Come on,” he offered you his hand, “Hannah’s picked out some shoes for you to look at.”

There was something about him in that moment, something about the way he was smiling at you that made you want to believe the best in him. After all, you’d met monsters before, and Billy Russo just didn’t seem to fit the bill. 

Grabbing the dress, you took his hand and let him lead you across the store to look at shoes. Agent Madani was nowhere to be seen and, for that evening at least, you decided to try and forget all about it. Tomorrow you’d be having lunch with Karen, maybe you’d be able to find out something then. But, in that moment, you were content to hold his hands and look at shoes, trying to forget the stain on an otherwise amazing evening. 

End Note : Dun-dun-duuuuuunnnnnnnn. I have nothing to say because I don't want to potentially spoil what I've got planned. But, yeah, I decided that reader and Billy should watch Black Sails together because it's been showing up on my dash a lot and it's an a+ show if you haven't seen it already.

As always, thanks so much for reading (and also thank you so much for all the new followers) I've really loved all the feedback from this fic and for my last fic, and you've all just been wonderful.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (I think I've found a way to get tagging to work properly again, please let me know if it doesn't tag you.)

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

@sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim

@countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl

@rosey1981 @benbarnesprettygurl

[tilebytiles]

infallible beliefs - a.t. (part 1)

summary: as it turns out, professors are actually capable of feeling things, and alex feels more things for you than he’d like to. word count: 7.8k warnings: age gap (reader is 21 and alex is 30), mentions of violence, abuse (physical, emotional and financial) a/n: the reason he's 30 is bc i personally didn't feel comfortable writing an age gap bigger than that ! lets all just use our imaginations and pretend that the looks are there </3

you liked to consider yourself the kind of person that had everything together. to some degree, you thought you did — you went to school and kept your grades up, you had a part-time job at a local pet store that you loved, and you shared a lovely flat with your boyfriend of three years. by all appearances, you had your life together. but that was the exact issue, wasn’t it? what good were appearances supposed to be when you constantly felt like you were on the brink of falling apart?

coffee in hand, you rushed into the english building and made a beeline for your british literature professor’s classroom. due to the smaller size of your class, it was never in one of the lecture halls, meaning lessons always felt more intimate. you knew everyone’s names — you couldn’t say the same for the astronomy class you’d taken during your first year, or the nutrition class you were taking this term in an effort to chip away at your electives. you were normally one of the more participatory students, asking questions and answering any your professor posed to the class. your love for literature ran deep, hence why you intended on getting your degree in english. it was easy for you to be invested in the lessons.

“good morning, ms. l/n,” your professor called from the desk at the front. he was doing something on his laptop, presumably trying to get the slides for today pulled up.

you smiled softly at him. “good morning, mr. turner.” you walked to your usual seat and set your bag down on the floor, settling down into the chair. your coffee felt like it would run cold soon if you didn’t finish it.

you were in your third year of university — in the middle of the spring term — and mr. turner was the nicest professor you’d ever met. you’d taken one of his classes before, and when the term had ended, you were half-tempted to sign up for every class he was offering. would half of them even fit into your schedule? no. did you really care? also no. there was something about him that made his class actually enjoyable; maybe it was the way he spoke — soft yet sure, polite even when he was being forced to listen to the stupidest thing he’d ever heard — or the way he presented material, like he was genuinely interested in it and he wanted you to be, too. whatever it was, you were utterly captivated.

the clock struck 10am, and mr. turner shut the door to the room before turning to the class. “good morning, everyone. today, i thought we could discuss charlotte brönte and the impact of her writing, most notably jane eyre.”

rent was due soon. you needed to remind john to pay it. speaking of john, he’d told you to ask for a raise at the pet store, but you really didn’t think you needed it. your current wage was enough, wasn’t it? plus, you didn’t want to come off as money-hungry by demanding more pay out of nowhere. was he concerned about money? you knew the two of you had enough. you took a sip from your coffee and tried not to make a face; it was lukewarm. in your eyes, coffee either had to be piping hot or freezing cold to be enjoyed. you preferred iced coffee; the risk of frying your taste buds prevented you from chugging hot coffee as soon as you got it, so you tended to opt for iced instead. you were suddenly glad you didn’t try to get john coffee; he would be as displeased by the temperature as you were. he only liked hot coffee. would you see him for lunch? if you did, you could remind him about rent then. you hoped he wouldn’t want to go back to your flat to eat.

“ms. l/n?”

the sound of mr. turner’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up at him. “i’m sorry?”

his expression didn’t change, but you could have sworn you noticed a subtle shift in his eyes. “i asked what you thought of the feminism in jane eyre.”

“oh, uh …” silence filled the classroom, the kind that was all-consuming and threatened to swallow you, your classmates and your professor whole. there was a metallic thunk as someone near the back set their water bottle down. you looked down at your notes, as if they’d save you, but you’d written a whole of three sentences before clocking out. speaking of clocks, what time was it? how long had you been deep in your own thoughts?

you finally acted as your own saviour and managed a meek, “i think it’s a product of its time.”

mr. turner’s eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly, and he nodded slowly. you were waiting for him to point out your spacing out to the rest of the class, but he said nothing of the sort. all he said was, “that could be argued, yes. brönte didn’t write jane as a hyper-feminist that smashed all stereotypes and expectations of women in the 1800s. in fact, many have argued that jane eyre has no true feminism due to jane’s submission to gender roles by the end of the novel …”

the rest of the lesson went by in as much of a blur as the first half did, except now you were actually trying to pay attention. eventually, mr. turner dismissed all of you, and the room was filled with bags unzipping and the clacking of pencils and pens being picked up off desks. you got your things together and stood from your seat, preparing to head out (and throw out your disgustingly cold coffee on the way). you were stopped, however, by the sound of your professor’s voice as he said, “ms. l/n, could I have a word with you, please?”

you made a quick trip to the bin beside the door and tossed out your coffee cup, then circled back around and stepped towards the desk at the front of the room. mr. turner had looked down for just a moment, marking something on a sheet of paper, but as you grew closer, he looked up, offering you a small smile. it did nothing to calm your nerves. gulping slightly, you said, “you wanted to speak to me?”

“yes. it’s about your …” he looked off to the side as he searched for the right word. “… inattentiveness in class recently.”

the alarm bells sounded in your head, and your brain was a breath away from sending a signal to your legs to get you the fuck out of there. sensing your impending panic, he quickly added, “you’re not in trouble, i promise.”

your brain halted. “oh. i’m not?”

“no. believe me, you’re not the first student i’ve had zone out during my lessons.” he waved his hand dismissively as he spoke, as if trying to shoo away your worries. “however, it is strange coming from you. you’re normally a very active participant, but recently, you’ve hardly spoken. i just wanted to know if something was going on.”

you didn’t know if you were relieved or even more scared. “no, i’m fine,” you replied, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “i guess i’ve just had a lot on my mind, is all.”

“well, you can always talk to me if you just need somewhere to dump your thoughts. you’re one of my best students, and i wouldn’t want to see you fail.” he smiled again, and you managed a small smile in return. you appreciated his offer, although you weren’t sure if you’d be using it anytime soon. you didn’t want to burden him in any way.

you hadn’t noticed the way his gaze latched onto your wrist. at least, not until his brows furrowed. he raised his hand, but didn’t touch your wrist, just gestured to it. “where did that come from?”

you looked at your wrist, equally as confused as he was, and saw the small bruise that had formed just below where the bone protruded. the alarm bells started back up, and your brain began drafting up that signal for your legs. “oh.” you gulped. “it’s nothing. i just bumped into a table in my flat.”

his eyes narrowed, and his hand dropped back to his side. “are you sure that’s all it is?”

“i’m fine, mr. turner,” you said quickly, already turning around to leave. “i appreciate the concern, really, but i’m just clumsy. i have to go now.” you beelined for the door. “see you on friday!”

“… right. have a good day, ms. l/n.”

it took everything in you to not run down the hall and slam through the doors. you forced yourself to keep your pace at a brisk walk, gently pushing the doors open once you reached them. you spotted john’s car in the nearby parking lot with relative ease and headed towards it, cursing yourself internally for the shitty excuse you’d made for mr. turner. bumping into a table? really?

as you slipped into the passenger seat and settled your bag into your lap, john leaned over the console and kissed your cheek. “how’d your class go?”

“it went okay.”

you secured your seatbelt, and john reached over, gently grabbing your wrist. he turned it over, examining the bloom of purple by the bone. “why didn’t you try to cover this up with makeup?”

“i was in a rush this morning. i didn’t think to.”

his grip tightened, his fingers digging into the bruise and making you wince. “no one saw it, did they?”

“no.” you didn’t dare mention your professor’s questioning.

“good.” he released your wrist, then put the car in reverse and looked up at the rearview mirror as he began backing out of the parking spot.

the car ride was silent as john drove the two of you to wherever he planned to take you for lunch (not your flat — you’d already passed the street he would normally turn onto). you were content to stare blankly out the window the whole time, but he had other ideas. “you know i love you, right?”

you looked over at him, a little surprised. “yeah,” you said quietly. “i know.”

“i would never intentionally try to hurt you like that, baby. last night was just …” he sighed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “i was just frustrated, that’s all.”

the frustration in question arose when you had asked if you could buy the starry night lego set. van gogh was one of your favourite artists, and you’d been dying to get the set since it had first released. when you told him what the price was, though, john was practically seeing red. the bruise did come from a table, but it was less because you’d bumped into it and more because he had shoved you and sent you crashing down against it. you had apologised and promised to never bring the set up again.

“i love you, y/n,” he said, dragging you out of your thoughts and back into the car.

“i know,” you repeated. you couldn’t remember the last time you had said you loved him.

the car eventually came to a stop, and you looked up, spotting the café he had brought you to. the two of you had eaten there a few times before; you quite enjoyed the food, although john wasn’t very fond of coming because he was convinced the male waiter stared at you. the last time you were here, you’d made a point of checking for stares, and every time you looked, the waiter’s eyes were nowhere near catching yours. you kept that to yourself, though, not wanting to have a shouting match with your boyfriend in the middle of lunch.

as you both headed for the door, you wondered if this was his way of trying to make amends. you knew it would take a lot more than a lunch date for you to forgive him, but you at least appreciated his efforts; it was better than him doing nothing at all, right? his fingers were stiff between yours as he held your hand just a bit too tight to be comfortable, guiding you through the café as the employee behind the counter led you to an open table. you sat down across each other, and the employee informed you your waitress would be with you in a couple of minutes before disappearing, presumably to return to her post. you picked up one of the menus and opened it up, quickly scanning the options available to you.

sure enough, your waitress came just a couple of minutes later, notepad in hand. “hey, friends,” she said with a warm smile. you liked her already. “my name is alina, and i’ll be your waitress. what can i get you guys to drink?”

“can i have a margarita, please?” john asked, looking up from his menu.

alina nodded and quickly jotted it down before looking to you. you did your best to return her smile and said, “just water, please.”

“alright, a margarita and some water. i’ll be back with those drinks as quick as i can, and then we’ll get going on food, okay?”

“thank you,” you said, watching as she departed from your table. you eventually looked back over at john, doing your best to mask your mild disapproval. “are you sure you should be drinking this early in the day?”

he scoffed. “y/n, i can hold my alcohol. i’ll be fine.”

“but you’re driving —”

“i’ll be fine,” he repeated, his voice growing cold. you nodded and looked back down at the menu, pretending to suddenly be interested in the café’s sandwich selection.

eventually, alina returned with john’s margarita and your water and set both drinks down on the table before getting her notepad back out. “what can i get you guys today?”

“i’ll have the salmon benedict with a side of chips, please,” john said, looking down at his menu before looking up at alina.

she nodded and wrote down his order before turning to you. “and for you?”

“she’ll have the caesar salad.”

she looked back at john, slightly surprised, but nodded and wrote it down anyway. “will that be all for you two?”

“yup.”

“alright, i’ll get this to the kitchen.” she smiled at the two of you and collected your menus before departing once more.

john reached over the table and lightly tapped your nose. “hey. what’s wrong?”

“hm?” you looked up at him. “nothing.”

“you could try to look happier, you know.” you sighed through your nose and forced your best smile. he rolled his eyes. “not like that.”

“i’m not unhappy, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“could’ve fooled me. you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” you kind of would, but you didn’t tell him that. “you haven’t even thanked me for bringing you here when you know i hate coming here.”

“thank you, john.”

“for?”

the image of you dumping his margarita right into his lap flashed through your mind, but you quickly shooed it away. “thank you for bringing me here even though you don’t like being here.”

he nodded, as if to say your thanks was satisfactory enough. “you’re welcome, y/n.”

you were beginning to wonder how much longer you could do this for.

•••••

“alexa, i could’ve come here on me own.”

“you could’ve, but i wanted to come with you. you can shop for your cat, and i can shower the animals in attention.”

alex sighed and pulled the door to the pet store open, allowing alexa to step through first before following her inside. it was the middle of the week and just shy of turning to 6pm, so there weren’t many other customers inside. he kept running through the list he’d made in his head, not wanting to forget anything, and headed for one of the aisles while alexa flagged down an employee to ask about petting the puppies.

he hadn’t intended to become a cat owner, but during an outing (with alexa, funnily enough), he’d come across a stray black kitten shivering to death in a cardboard box. the sight of its small, furry form teetering between life and death was too much to bear, and it’d taken hardly any convincing on alexa’s part before he was picking up the cardboard box and carrying it back to his car. they’d immediately gone to the vet and had the cat taken care of, and it turned out to be a male. alex named it herbert.

that was a couple of weeks ago. although herbert had the basics — food, a collar (for when he was actually big enough to fit in it), a bed (that he didn’t really use because he always slept with alex) — he didn’t have much in the way of entertainment. alex wasn’t sure which toys he’d like the most — which toys any cat would like the most, actually. he wasn’t used to taking care of animals.

he slowed to a stop in front of a shelf full of cat toys and bent down to grab a small plush mouse. he turned it over and over in his hand, trying to decide if herbert would like it. it was a mouse, and cats were obsessed with mice, weren’t they? if the wild misadventures of tom & jerry had taught him anything …

“mr. turner?”

he looked up at the sound of his name and locked eyes with one of the employees over the shelf. “ms. l/n,” he said, blinking a couple of times in surprise. “i didn’t realise you worked here.”

you smiled at him, perhaps a little shyly, and he instantly recognised it as the kind of smile you donned in class whenever you were invested in the topic at hand. for a brief second, he questioned why he even remembered what that smile of yours looked like, but he tried not to dwell on that for too long. “i’ve worked here for a little over a year now,” you told him, dragging him back out of his own head. “it’s a nice excuse to deal with animals all the time.”

you liked animals, then. he made a mental note of that, although he wasn’t sure why. “that’s entirely reasonable,” he replied, managing a small smile that mirrored your own. “i became a literature professor because … well, i love literature.”

you laughed at that, a small, soft laugh that bordered on a giggle. “i don’t imagine you’d become a literature professor because you love science.”

he chuckled. “no, certainly not. science was never really my thing, anyway.”

“what are you doing here, anyway?”

“ah, i needed to pick up some things for herbert.” when you stared at him in confusion, he realised his error. “my cat, i mean. i wanted to get some toys for him, but, er, i don’t really know what cats like.” he held up the little mouse toy in his hand for emphasis, and your confusion quickly morphed into understanding.

he watched as you walked around the shelves and made your way to the aisle he was on, coming to stand beside him in front of the row of cat toys. “do you know how old he is?”

“uh, not even a year, i don’t think. he’s a tiny little thing.”

you nodded slowly and seemed to think on it before reaching out to grab a toy that perfectly resembled a fishing rod. it was one of those sticks with the line of string at the end and something attached to the string, but the something in question was a little stuffed fish. clever marketing, really. “kittens tend to be more energetic, so he’ll probably get a kick out of something like this.”

you held it out to him, and he took it from you. “thank you, ms. l/n.”

“oh, you don’t have to call me that,” you said quickly. “you can just call me y/n.”

his brows raised a little, although he didn’t object. he knew your first name, of course — he knew all his students’ first names — but he always opted to refer to everyone by their last name, seeing it as the polite thing to do. calling a student by their first name felt … foreign, admittedly. if you wanted him to, though … “right,” he said, smiling faintly. “thank you, y/n.”

you returned his smile, and he hated the faint flutter he felt in his chest at the sight. “of course, mr. turner.”

silence settled between the two of you, although it wasn’t necessarily awkward. a question lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase it. he wasn’t sure if it was even his place to ask (it probably wasn’t). still, before he could catch himself, the words tumbled from his mouth. "are you ... doing any better?" he had half a mind to run out of the store and quit his job.

the way you were staring at him wasn't helping.

"oh, um ... yeah," you said, your voice quieter than it'd been before. "i mean, it healed." you held your wrist up, and his gaze dropped to the smooth skin beneath your wrist bone. sure enough, the purple blemish that had been there before was gone. a part of him was relieved, but another itched to know why you'd even had a bruise in the first place.

"that's good," he murmured, his gaze flickering back up to meet yours. "y/n ..." he paused, then sighed. it really wasn't his place to ask, but — "iff you're alright with me asking, where had that bruise really come from?"

he watched as your own gaze fell upon your wrist. you slowly turned it over, as if you were expecting to find some new mark you would need another half-assed excuse for. nothing was there, though. you eventually opened your mouth, a syllable of a word escaping your throat, and he was immediately bracing himself for the answer — one he knew he wouldn't like — but you never got to tell him. at the same time you began to speak, alexa came over, nudging her shoulder against his. "did you find anything?"

he jumped slightly at the sudden contact and looked over at her, blinking once or twice. "oh, er ... yeah. she helped me." he gestured to you, making alexa glance over at you. "she's one of my students," he added.

alexa smiled at you and held her hand out for you to shake. you did so and offered her a small smile. "pleasure to meet you. i'm ms. chung in the design department, but you can just call me alexa. i don't think i've seen you around campus before."

"i'm y/n," you told her. "i'm going into literature, so that's probably why we haven't crossed paths."

"alex didn't have to bully you into that, did he?"

you laughed and shook your head. "not at all. i'd already decided a while ago what i wanted to study. he's been a wonderful professor, though."

you thought he was wonderful?

it was stupid, and he felt like a teenager again, his head partway in the clouds and partway stuck to reality as he bought the cat toys and some extra food for herbert. stupid and reckless, that's what it was. you were his student, and as far as he knew, you were that nice to everyone. you considering him a wonderful professor didn't mean a damn thing, and it was insane of him to think it did — no, scratch that, to want it to mean something.

those feelings of his weren't entirely out of the blue; he'd just gotten good at ignoring them and maintaining a professional boundary between the two of you. even if it wasn't illegal — you were 21, and he 30 — it was morally reprehensible and went against everything he stood for. sometimes, though, he still found himself staring at you for just a second too long, and sometimes your enthusiasm in his class made his heart skip one too many beats. throughout the term, he had done his best to never cross the line he'd personally drawn, but when he'd seen the bruise on your wrist ... it was difficult to deny the feelings it stirred up within him. he didn't like the worry he felt seeing it, and he didn't like the cloud of concern that followed him for the rest of the day as your shitty excuse and your forced smile played on repeat in his head.

"earth to turner."

alexa waved her hand in front of his face as they walked down the sidewalk together, heading back to his car so he could deposit the bag of goods for herbert inside. he blinked in surprise and looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "what?"

"you're thinking awful hard over there."

"i've just — got a lot on me mind, is all," he said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand.

her eyes narrowed, but she didn't press him for answers. she just shrugged and sighed, redirecting her gaze to the world in front of them. "whatever you say, al." He knew she could see right through him, although he was silently grateful she didn't say anything else; frankly, he wasn't sure he even had any answers for her.

what were you doing to him?

•••••

you weren’t fond of bars. you didn’t mind alcohol — although you usually kept your drinking restricted to special occasions — but having to deal with other drunk patrons wasn’t the greatest way to spend your time, you thought. having to deal with your drunk boyfriend wasn’t great, either.

you weren’t fond of bars, but when john wanted to go to one, you weren’t really in a position to say no.

although your boyfriend seemed to go all-out every time the two of you left your flat, you couldn’t be bothered. you pulled on a white skirt that went down to your knees and a grey jumper than had some american university you were unfamiliar with printed on it (you had gotten the jumper from a charity shop, if you were remembering correctly). despite it being spring, days were still cold in london, and the nights weren’t any better. plus, you preferred to show as little skin as possible, especially if you had to be around drunk men.

you stuffed your phone, wallet and keys into your bag and double-checked that you had everything before zipping the bag shut and slipping the strap over your shoulder. john finally re-emerged from the bathroom and ran a hand through his hair, raising an eyebrow at the sight of you. “that’s what you’re wearing?”

“i don’t see an issue with it,” you said. your voice was a bit curt, showing that you weren’t in the mood to deal with his persnickety bullshit, and he seemed to get the message. instead of responding verbally (starting an argument), he just nodded and grabbed his keys.

fifteen minutes later, after an uncomfortably silent car ride, you found yourself sat beside john in one of the booths at the back of the bar, nodding absentmindedly and giving false hums in an effort to make yourself seem like you were paying attention to whatever it was he was rambling about. you were only really picking up bits and pieces — his older brother was disappointed in him, he was convinced his parents didn’t love him even though you knew from firsthand experience that they very much did, all things you’d heard before. it wasn’t that you didn’t care; to a degree, you did sympathise with him. but it was only to a degree.

as he drunkenly babbled on in your ear, you glanced around the dimly lit bar, your eyes scanning dozens of faces you didn’t recognise. you could pick out a couple — students you’d seen around campus before — but the rest came together to form a sea of unfamiliarity in front of you. you sipped from your glass, wincing as the alcohol carved a burning trail down your throat. the bar you were in had live music on the weekends, and tonight, the performer was someone you hadn’t caught the name of. he had a shaved head, wore what appeared to be a leather vest with nothing underneath and a pair of black skinny jeans, and his eye makeup was leagues better than anything you could pull off. he seemed cool, and you liked the sound of his voice. you made a mental note to figure out who he was before you went home with john.

“i have to use the restroom,” you said suddenly, standing up from your seat and cutting john’s sentence short. you looked down at him. “i'll be right back.”

his brows furrowed, and he grabbed your wrist. “i'll go with you.”

“i’ll be fine, i promise. just wait here.” you pried his hand off (due to his inebriated state, he wasn’t gripping you very hard) and slipped out of the booth, heading straight for the bathroom. you kept your head down, doing your best to avoid eye contact with anyone.

the music was muffled and, admittedly, a little less headache-inducing in the bathroom. you stood in front of the row of sinks and sighed, rubbing at your face with your hands. you examined your reflection in the mirror, immediately noting the dark circles under your eyes and the almost gaunt appearance of your cheeks. had you lost weight recently? you hadn’t noticed. you’d been too busy with everything else …

“fuck you!” a shrill voice screamed, bounding into the bathroom as the heavy door swung shut behind the owner. you jumped at the sound and turned your head, watching as a girl stomped behind you, stopping in front of the sink beside you. she was huffing, her chest heaving, and for a second, you swore you saw steam pouring out of her ears.

it wasn’t really your place to get involved, but she looked like she was a breath away from blowing the building up. slowly, you asked, “are you alright?”

she slammed her bag down onto the countertop — that, too, made you jump — and began rummaging through it, pulling different things out. ah, she was fixing her makeup. “my stupid fucking boyfriend started chattin’ with some other girl and thought i wouldn’t fucking notice,” she said, opening up a pack of makeup wipes. “it’s not even the first time he’s done it, i’ve just been too nice and let him off.”

“did the girl know you —“

“if she did, i’m rippin’ her fucking face off,” she muttered.

fair. you turned the water in your sink on and let it warm up for a few seconds before leaning down to splash your face. “is he still your boyfriend, then?”

she scoffed. “absolutely not. i told him he can go find some other girl to be a wanker around since he’s so desperate to get away from me.”

as you rinsed your face off, you wondered if you should have been grateful that john wasn’t a cheater. as far as you knew, anyway. sure, everything else he did was … less than ideal, but at least he wasn’t going behind your back. right?

“men are shite,” the girl said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

you turned the water off and reached for the paper towel dispenser. “yeah. they are.”

you could only think of one man (besides your father) in your life that wasn’t utter shite.

you left the bathroom after drying yourself off and intended to head straight back to your booth, but the sight of a familiar head of hair gave you pause. it wasn’t like he was the only one with that haircut, and for all you knew, you were about to look creepy as hell walking up to some random bloke and asking if he was someone else. still, you couldn’t stop yourself from quietly approaching, hesitating before reaching up and tapping the figure’s shoulder. his head turned, his eyes seeking out yours, and for some reason, you felt comfort in being right in your assumption.

your literature professor, the only man in your life that wasn’t utter shite, got up from his stool and turned to face you fully. “y/n,” he said, raising his voice a little more than usual so you could hear him over the music, “i didn’t expect to see you here.”

“i’m here with my boyfriend,” you told him, and if you weren’t paying attention, you easily would’ve missed the subtle shift in his expression before he schooled it back into a state of neutrality. “i could say the same of you.”

“professors need a break, too, you know.”

he had a point.

you awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say now. you felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t; like you were a child finding your teacher in the supermarket. you were both adults, sure, but the scene gave you the same feeling you’d had in the pet store. encountering him outside of lessons just felt odd.

he seemed to feel the same as you, struggling to find anything to say. eventually, he opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted by the sound of a voice behind you. you immediately knew who it was, and the way his gaze hardened confirmed it.

you turned and came face to face with john, who was nothing short of seething. “you said you were going to the restroom.”

“i did.”

“so then why the fuck are you here, chatting up some bloke instead of talking to me?”

“john —“

“answer me,” he demanded, reaching out to grab your wrist. his grip was much tighter this time, almost bruising, and you winced at the pain that shot through you.

“i think there’s been a misunderstanding,” mr. turner began. “i’m just her —“

“you’re not a part of this, you fucking wanker,” john spat, glaring at him before looking back down at you. “why are you talking to him?”

“he’s just my professor,” you said, forcing yourself to stay calm. “john, please.”

“just your professor?” he echoed, ignoring your plea. “why the hell’re you talking to your professor in a bar, hm? is there something you’re not telling me?”

“don’t do this.”

“gettin’ him off for a good grade? is that it?”

you felt sick to your stomach. “john, stop it, now.”

“i always knew you’d do this to me, y/n! can never fucking trust you with anyone! am i not good enough for you? everything i’ve done, and you’re shaggin’ your goddamn professor?”

“john, shut up!” you shouted, the last bit of your restraint slipping.

with your restraint went his — or what little he’d had left. eyes wide, he lifted his free hand and quickly swung it in your direction.

you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the impact, but it never came. the musician’s guitar stuttered. the drums missed a few beats. you opened your eyes and were met with the sight of mr. turner gripping john’s wrist, the veins in his forearm protruding with how hard he was holding it. his brows were furrowed down in rage, and you could see the anger that swam in his eyes, threatening to drown him and you and everyone in that damned bar. “let go of her,” he said quietly, “and get the fuck out of here. now.”

you’d never heard him swear like that before.

john stared at him, then at you, then at him again. he yanked his wrist from mr. turner’s grasp and finally released your own, turning to leave. not, though, before saying to you, “don’t bother coming home.” and then he was gone.

the loud chatter within the bar’s walls had been reduced to mere murmurs by the scene that had just unfolded. you were shaken up — quite a bit. you were used to him exploding, hurting you, but not in public. never in public. he had gotten good at making sure his outbursts were kept behind closed doors.

“y/n.”

you jumped at the sound of mr. turner’s voice and looked up at him. your heart was thumping in your ears. you felt shaky. you needed to sit down. he could tell you were on the verge of a panic attack, and he put a hand on your back, murmuring something about finding you a seat as he led you to one of the back booths. it was a more secluded spot, away from the stares and whispers of the other patrons. you were grateful.

murder was illegal. murder was illegal. murder was illegal.

that was the only coherent thought alex was immediately capable of making. he let you slip into the seat first before slipping in beside you, making sure to keep a respectable distance between the two of you. you stared down at the table, and he stared down at you, thinking of a million things to say and not finding a single one of them appropriate given the circumstances. the more empathetic side of him wanted to dance around the issue, tiptoe around what had just happened, but he knew he’d never get any real answers if he tried to play nice. this couldn’t go on.

“y/n,” he said again, crossing his arms and setting them down on the table, “how long has this been going on?”

you were silent for a few moments, making him panic internally and wonder if he’d already fucked up in his line of questioning. eventually, though, your answer came to soothe his worrying brain. “at least a year, maybe more.”

“a year?” murder was illegal. “has he been hurting you this whole time?”

“he doesn’t usually hit me. that’s only when he gets really pissed about something.”

“when did this start?”

“when we moved in together. he had always been kind of … kind of rude before that, i guess, but once we saw each other every day, it was like he just snapped. i guess he realised he finally had power over me.”

of course. if the flat was in his name, then he could kick you out at any point he wanted. one wrong move on your end, and you would be out on the streets. he’d backed you into a corner; a corner you hadn’t left in over a year. alex’s heart felt heavy. “he’s always been kind of rude, you said. what … what do you mean by that?”

you sighed and sank a little further down in your seat. “he makes comments on my weight sometimes. he never calls me ugly or fat, but the implication that he’s unsatisfied with how i look is always there. he likes to poke fun at the books i like and the music i listen to and the films i watch. it’s like — like he wants me to be a carbon copy of him.”

“y/n, your weight’s fine,” alex said with a frown. “you look like you’ve lost weight, actually. i’m worried about you.”

you looked up at him, and the resignation in your eyes added extra weight to his heart. “i’m fine, mr. turner.” even though you clearly weren’t.

silence fell between the two of you, leaving alex to swim in the pool of his thoughts. realistically, the most he could do by the school's terms was offer you resources for abuse and maybe help you get your boyfriend reported to the authorities. the issue, though, was that as far as he knew, your boyfriend wasn't a student. you being one — one of his, for that matter — didn't immediately give him the right to get involved in your private life, even when you were clearly in danger. there was also the matter of whether or not you even wanted him to get involved — that one, he wasn't really sure on. he didn't want to betray your trust and interfere with your relationship if you asked him not to, but he also hated the thought of turning a blind eye to what was happening.

alex had never been one for violence. that wasn't to say he was a total pacifist, but he typically believed things could be talked out rather than resorting to fists (or worse). when he had seen your boyfriend grab you, though, and prepare to hurt you in public with such ease and no shame, he was pretty sure he was a breath away from knocking that bastard to the floor and giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“he didn’t mean it when he told me not to come home,” you finally said, dragging alex back out of his thoughts. “i just have to give him some time.”

time. of course. “if you’d like, i can drive you home.”

“i would appreciate that, mr. turner. thank you.” he offered you a small smile, and you did your best to mirror it. it didn’t quite reach your eyes, but he appreciated the effort.

you would have given a more genuine smile, but you were embarrassed and still shaken up, and really, all you wanted was to curl up in bed and cry for a while. you knew that, realistically, it wasn't embarrassing to be in an abusive relationship, and you knew that mr. turner was one of the last people on the planet that would ever be judgmental over it. you certainly wouldn't judge anyone else for being in one. when it came to yourself, though, it was just ... you couldn't help but wonder if this was all your fault.

you weren't sure how long you and mr. turner sat in that booth, but it had at least been long enough that you were sure john had either cooled down or passed out in your flat. the pair of you got up and headed for the door, but not before he stopped to say something to the musician that'd been playing, who was now sitting at a table and nursing a beer. "sorry i can't stay for the rest o' your set," he told him, "i've got somethin' i need to take care of."

the musician glanced at you, and understanding flickered in his gaze. "course, al. don't even worry about it. i'll see you 'round, yeah?"

"yeah." mr. turner flashed him a smile before turning back to you and leading you outside.

as he took you to his car, you asked, "who was that?"

"miles Kane. he's a friend of mine. we go way back."

"oh." miles kane — you did your best to remember his name for later. "i like his music."

"me, too." he opened the passenger seat of his car for you, and you quietly thanked him and slipped inside. he went around the front of the car and got into the driver's seat, turning the car on and fastening his seatbelt. you did the same.

after you gave him your address, the two of you fell into yet another bout of silence, although this one wasn't as uncomfortable as it'd been in the bar. mr. turner fiddled with the radio, eventually settling for a station playing rock songs from the 80s. you recognised a few of them, although you were more familiar with the general tune than the lyrics. you could occasionally see him tapping out the beat against the steering wheel from the corner of your eye.

unlike the drive to the bar with john, which had felt like an absolute drag, the drive to your flat with mr. turner was much more bearable and hardly felt like ten minutes, let alone fifteen. once his car slowed to a stop in front of your block of flats, you undid your seatbelt, the soft click seeming to echo in his car. "um, thank you," you said quietly, popping the door open. "i really appreciate it. sorry if i ruined your night or anything."

"no, no, it's fine," he said quickly, shaking his head. "you didn't ruin anything, alright?"

"okay." you nodded.

you stepped out of the car, bag in hand, and were about to close the door when he suddenly said, "y/n."

"hm?"

"can i put my number in your phone?"

ashamedly, your brain immediately jumped to what you deemed the most logical conclusion: he was proving john right and hitting on you. "huh?"

"so i can check on you, i mean." he smiled apologetically at you when he noticed the brief flash of panic that darted over your features. "i'm not, er ... i'm not like that, i promise."

"oh. yeah." now you felt foolish. you unzipped your bag and fished your phone out, handing it to him. he was quick to create a new contact for himself and handed your phone back to you. his contact name was 'alex turner', and you didn't know why it surprised you. maybe you were just so used to calling him 'mr. turner'.

"if anything ever happens, please don't be afraid to contact me, y/n," he said softly. "i may just be your professor, but i'm also a human being. you can talk to me."

you nodded. "thank you, mr. turner."

"of course. you should go inside now, it's getting cold out."

after exchanging a final quick goodbye, you headed into your block of flats, taking a silent trip up in the lift to the floor you lived on. you retrieved your keys from your bag and unlocked the front door to your flat, immediately noticing that the lights were still off. you slipped in, shutting and locking the door behind you, and crept through the living room, being careful to not wake a sleeping John on the sofa. as you'd suspected — he must've fallen asleep after he got back. had he been waiting for you?

you threw a blanket over him before continuing to your bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as you could behind you. you let out a small sigh and leaned against the wood for a few moments, shutting your eyes. this was not how you'd anticipated your night going. you eventually reopened your eyes and turned the light on, depositing your bag into the armchair in the corner. out of curiosity, you stepped up to the window, peeking through the blinds to see if mr. turner's car was still there. he was already gone, though.

after getting changed into your pyjamas for the night, you collapsed onto your bed and held your phone over your face, peering at the screen in the newfound darkness. you kept reading mr. turner's name over and over, the image of his quiet rage permanently seared into your brain. you were so used to him being calm and collected at all times — quiet, too. granted, he hadn't exactly raised his voice, but somehow, that was scarier than him shouting could ever be.

and it was all because of you.

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay

[rinaforpages]

day 3 : last minute shopping

strangers to lovers(?), park jisung x reader

—————

the bookstore was warmer than outside was, a half-read classic sitting in your hands as you flipped the page and rolled your eyes at mr. rochester's nonsense.

customers talked to themselves and over the phone quietly throughout the small shop, making sure not to disturb anyone else.

a regular, who had mentioned she had gotten her christmas shopping done weeks prior, came up to the counter, you closed jane eyre.

“forgot a present?” you asked, gesturing to the selection of books she had chosen. she shook her head.

“kinda. forgot my present.” you laughed, scanning the books and checking her out. the bell to the door rang as she opened her mouth to say something. your head shot to it.

“hi, welcome, are you looking for something specific or just browsing?” the man in the mask who had walked in froze, his eyes widening. “um, let me know if you need anything!”

“what are your plans for christmas?” she asked in a hushed tone, you smiled, checking a text from a friend and placing the phone back down.

“nothing so far. i cant exactly go home but my familys not here.” she hummed, nodding. “why?” she shook her head, saying she was sorry, and left. after she had, the guy in the mask walked up to the counter, playing with his hoodie. “hi, do you need help with anything?”

“yeah, hi. my friend wants a book, but i really really dont know what to get him.” you let out a laugh, nodding. when you asked about his friends’ interests, he paused, thinking for a moment. “um, cars. he has cats too, he also likes playing like, cod or valorant with me.” you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the description of a typical male. still, you led him to the first aisle you wanted.

“so this is a book on european sports card, a lot of male customers like this one. and…” he grabbed the book from the shelf as you moved aisles, to the one where another pair of regulars stood giggling amongst themselves, waving at you as they flipped through a book. you waved back. “this is fiction. it takes place from a cats’ perspective and it’s adorable. very studio ghibli esque.” the couple next to you nodded

“and its a series!” the girl interjected. “yn, do you have tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow? i dont see it” you glanced at the shelves, pausing.

“uh, i think i forgot to restock it. i’ll get it from the back for you once im finished here.” she nodded, turning back to her boyfriend. you turned back to the customer, whose eyes crinkled. “are either of these two ok?”

“yeah, theyre both perfect, thank you. i go check out over there, right?” you nodded, walking over with him.

you paused while checking out the books, looking up at him.

“would you like these to be wrapped?” he thought for a second, before nodding. you smiled, pulling out the wrapping paper and beginning to wrap the two books.

as you lined up the books, another regular walked up, ready to be checked out. you gave him a one second, and he nodded.

“yn,” you hummed. “you not going back home for christmas this year?” you shook your head.

“school got in the way. parents have work too.” he nodded.

“im sorry. that sucks.” you laughed, taping up the books and tying the bow on top. you told the man the total, who nodded, handing you the cash. you gave him his change, and he left.

———

it was almost 9:30, and your eyes were practically closing as you restocked the shelves for the next day. there were no customers, although you were still technically still open.

the bell above the door rang, and you almost fell to your knees and screamed.

“hi welcome in! are you looking for something specific or just browsing?” the usual lift in your voice was not there, and the masked man reappeared in front of you. “oh, hi! do you need something else?” you pushed at a book on the shelf.

“i told my friends about how you dont have anywhere to go. they wanted me—i wanted to invite you to join us for christmas.” you paused.

“i’d um—i’d love to. are you sure? you barely know me.” he nodded, taking off his mask, smiling brightly at you in the soft light of your bookstore.

“im park jisung.” he stuck out his hand. you shook it.

“ln yn.” he smiled, handing you his phone, and you put in your number.

when he left, 10 minutes later, you felt a buzz of excitement. you told your parents they didnt need to worry about you having no plans.

[en-busca-de-mi-ikigai-blog]

Tagged in Book bingo 2025

I was tagged by @thearcaneuniversity to do the 2025 book bingo by batmanisagatewaydrug. Thank you!

Okay, let's do this. I haven't read a whole lot during 2024, but indeed I have read more than the years prior, so I think it's a good start. I will, however, include the books I have yet to read, I'm afraid the list will be pitifully short if I don't...

Also, I'm giving myself permission to make this light-hearted, so I'll include atypical reads here. I read in spanish and in english, but the former is my native language, so unless stated, assume it's in spanish.

Literary fiction: do fanfics count? I think fanfics should count. Both in english and in spanish.

Short Story Collection: I've read part of a poetic anthology Poesías Escogidas (Chosen Poems), edited in 1972, with poems from Spanish folklore. Poetry has a time and a place and I don't like rushing it, so I read a random one whenever I feel like it.

A sequel: no sequels in 2024, but I'm planing for reading some in 2025.

Childhood favourite: hm, I may re-re-re?-read Verano en Vaqueros by Ann Brashares next year. God I loved this series as a teenager. And apparently it includes a 5th book? I have just learned this and I don't think it's in spanish but I need it!

20th Century Speculative Fiction: The Orb And The Wheel by Michel Jeury has been on my to read list for years, and still is. Fahrenheit 451 by Rad Bradbury has always peeked my interest too.

Fantasy: probably the only book in this list I have truly read and it isn't even true because I have yet to finish it. It's Brandon Sanderson's The Way of Kings.

Published before 1950: I own a copy in english of Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre I'd like to read someday but I'm afraid my english won't be proficient enough.

Independent publisher: ah, that would be the poems by my good friend @mercuriopoetry which I haven't finished yet, like the chaotic person I am.

Graphic Novel/Comic Book/Manga: recently I was kindly gifted a copy in english of the first volume of Bungo Stray Dogs, written by Kafka Asagiri and drawn by Sango Harukawa.

Animal on the cover: interesting… My copy of Jane Austen's Pride and prejudicehas a peacock lined in golden in the cover and I was planning on reading it this year.

Set in a country you have never visited: Think of a Number, by John Verdon, is my to-go book when insomnia hits. It's been years and I'm a little more than halfway through but last year was the year I advanced more, that's for sure. Set in USA.

Science Fiction: most of the time, I despise the genre. Since Isaac Asimov is a famous representative and I have been wanting to get my nose into my copy of A Short History of Chemistry-An Introduction to the Ideas and Concepts of Chemistry, titled simply in spanish as Breve Historia de la Química (A Brief History of Chemistry), I'll use this one as my excuse, if you will, as a chemist. That book is not from this genre, of course.

2025 Debut Author: what do you mean you can know who is publishing their first book in the near future? Sorcery!

Memoir: ah… She hasn't passed away, but my friend made a poem book that can be considered somewhat her memoir. She's 30, and very much living so I don't know if it counts. It counts, right?

Read a zine, make a zine: years ago I got a copy of the Trans-cendent zine (Fire Emblem Three Houses characters reimagined as trangender) that I have yet to finish.

Essay Collection: ehm, I don't read essays, I watch them in YouTube. Sorry!

2024 Award Winner: having watched a teaser of The Vegetarian by Han Kang, it sparked something in me and I am willing to try that read, although I do not tend to read awarded stories, I think.

Nonfiction/Learn something new: maybe not new, but I'm filling this one with my notes for the upcoming exams.

Social Justice and Activism: I want to read something by Nikki Giovanni.

Romance Novel: Sense and sensibility by Jane Austen is another one I'd like to read this year.

Read and make a recipe: I'm afraid here I'll have to put The Sad Bastard Cookbook: Food You Can Make So You Don't Die by Zilla Novikov and Rachel A. Rosen. Maybe depression doesn't hit me this year (hopefully), but I think I will need it nonetheless.

Horror: nope.

Published in the Aughts: I'm pretty sure it will mess me up bad if I do, but I always wanted to read The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.

Historical Fiction: does Träumerei qualify for this one, @aveynn?

Bookseller or librarian recommendations: oh, I'll have to ask in the new city I'm going to live in this year!

Extra: hehehe, not in the original bingo but I wanted to add my two cents because there's a book I was gifted recently that I want to read and it's a theatre play! Los Gestos by Pablo Messiez. I have no idea what it's about but it promises to be intriguing.

Thanks for the tag, @thearcaneuniversity, it took me a while, but I loved making this list all way through.

I tag, of course, @mercuriopoetry and @aveynn. @wordsofpink choices could be interesting too. Also, @viviresmasquerespirar, if you ever see this, consider yourself tagged hehe.

[constantfragmentation]

Since I'm back on my Arcane shit, and read your posts. I'm gonna fangirl the shit outta you rn.

I found your Silco fic and what the fuck did I just read? One of the most amazing fics EVER. Like seriously, I never would have put Silco in a gothic setting and holy f*ck does it work!!!

Put this mf in regency or victorian clothes and he walks around like Peter Cushing serving cunt. Because that's what you wrote. I'm DYING. It's soooooooooooo good.

I know it's a terrible thing to ask a writer, but will you finish Bend and Not Break? I have to know how it ends. You've twisted it enough away from Jane Eyre to make me wonder where you're going to take it.

This is like crack. I need it.

You are a gifted writer and should do it professionally. You have a knack for writing gothic/victorian settings. Do you write for other fandoms or just Silco?

Are you ok with DMs to discuss?

Oh wow. I'm speechless. Thank you. I admit I'm not the greatest at receiving compliments, and I feel humbled when anyone likes anything I write. I've only been writing fiction for a couple of years and I'm still learning.

I'm a huge gothic/horror/romance junkie so this is right up my alley. I've only written for one other fandom. Some fics were canon for both book/tv and some AU styles, including gothic regency. You can DM me if you want a link. I don't know if those stories are or if the ship is cool with my fellow Arcane/Silco simps so I'll keep those stories separate. But one in particular is a huge (going on 50 chapters) gothic/ghost/horror/romance story if that's your jam.

Silco is a character who can fit into almost any scenario and time period. I really liked how he, Jinx, and the Arcane World managed to mesh with Bronte's dark and foreboding Regency/Victorian Era. I'm shocked I've managed to make it work. I wasn't too sure in the first few chapters, but I'm so glad readers liked it.

Yes, I will finish it. I'm re-reading the whole thing right now to get myself back up to speed on where I was when I left off. I think I may want to make some changes in the most current chapter posted before I write a new chapter. Plus, I'll have to refrain from wanting to edit every chapter as I read. I hate being a writer and finding 'mistakes' everywhere.

I apologize to all readers for the long hiatus. Some know I've been dealing with medical issues and I'm really trying to get my headspace back.

I can't remember who convinced me that Peter Cushing is like the perfect live-action Silco and now that I've seen a few films, I'm inclined to agree.

You are so very kind. I'm not near good enough to consider writing professionally. I have an original story I've mostly written but still haven't finished because I'm slow as hell to write. Plus, it's a complicated plot. I may have bitten off more than I can chew. Only time will tell if I can get it done. I wish I had better self-esteem, but I've always been overcritical, too.

I'm always open to DM and Asks. Please feel free to contact me with questions, etc. I'm always happy to discuss anything Silco.

I'm not taking requests right now since another person asked me recently. The last request I wrote was Two Masks (my other Regency Silco fic) and I still need to finish that one too. Like I said, I'm a slow writer in general.

Plus, I have another story I need to write and there's a new Silco story I want to write (putting him in the Roaring 20's era).

Thank you again so much. I really appreciate and I'll try my best to get back to whatever my new normal is and get back to writing.

[servants-hall]

All Creatures Great and Small: Samuel West on his Yorkshire heritage, meeting his fellow cast members and finding Siegfried

All Creatures Great and Small actor Samuel West talks to Stephanie Smith about his Yorkshire heritage, first meeting his fellow cast members – and finding Siegfried Farnon.

paywalled article - full article copied below

If there is a magic formula for making a hit TV drama series in the 21st century, All Creatures Great and Small has bottled and then gift-wrapped it. Values are key and, says Samuel West, the upcoming Christmas Special spreads a much-needed message of decency and kindness.

“It’s about people coming together in difficulty, to support each other, at a time when so many terrible things are happening in the world,” he says. “It’s got absent friends, people who are missing, people who won’t ever come back, just like life.”

Samuel plays Siegfried Farnon, the Yorkshire Dales vet with a short fuse and a huge heart. It is a role that he has more than made his own, even for those who remember Robert Hardy in the original BBC series that ran from 1978 to 1990.

Samuel West and Peter Wright in All Creatures Great and Small Meets The Yorkshire Vet. Photo: Channel 5

The “new” Channel 5 adaptation launched amid a pandemic-crippled UK back in September 2020, coinciding with the 50th anniversary of the publication of If Only They Could Talk, the first of the James Herriot bestsellers penned by Thirsk vet James Alfred “Alf” Wight. There have now been four TV series made (and we are talking to mark the release of a DVD box set of them).

All Creatures has been a great success for Channel 5, with viewing figures for the fourth season peaking at 3.7million. Samuel saw the show’s potential from the off. “I was already thinking about Channel 5 as a good place, because they had given up Big Brother and so they had to fill about 250 hours a year of schedule, and they started filling it with drama, which was delightful.”

When approached to play Siegfried, he was already a respected actor, with a rich and varied career mingling theatre, TV and film, radio and voiceover work. Nominated in 1993 for a BAFTA for Howards End, his film credits also include Jane Eyre, Van Helsing and Notting Hill, while his TV work includes the BBC’s Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (filmed in York in 2015), Waking the Dead, Any Human Heart, Slow Horses, The Crown, Small Axe and four series of Mr Selfridge. He was artistic director of Sheffield Theatres from 2005 to 2007.

He learned that Golden Globe and BAFTA award-winning production company Playground was making the new All Creatures. “I had just finished watching Playground’s Wolf Hall, which I had adored, and that period stuff is hard to get right, and expensive to do well,” he says.

The treatment he was sent included a back story about Siegfried, written by lead writer, Ben Vanstone. “It was beautiful,” says Samuel. “Almost sort of Chekhovian in its detail and the cables that ran through the man. They had set a lot of things in this past that had made him layered, and I realised, just from thinking about the man, and looking at the books and remembering Robert Hardy’s performance in the 1970s, that he was going to need a lot of playing. It was going to need vocal and physical size. But I thought, if I am on the right track and I know where I am coming from, I think I’m quite good casting.”

He met Nicholas Ralph (James Herriot), Rachel Shenton (Helen) and Callum Woodhouse (Tristan) on the train from Leeds to Skipton for a couple of days’ rehearsal. Samuel says: “At the end of the journey, I thought, what lovely people, and at the end of the rehearsal, I thought, this ensemble really works, and then they cast Anna Madeley and she was the icing on the cake that was already rising.”

Siegfried is often spotted reading The Yorkshire Post. “Quite right, too,” says Samuel. “ I also love the paper. I think your editorials are sometimes some of the most sensible things I read all week.”

In this series, Siegfried is a widower, a detail not in the Herriot novels but echoing the life of the real man who inspired the character, Donald Sinclair, whose first wife, Evelyn, died of tuberculosis. He was married to his second wife for 53 years. She was called Audrey, which just happens to be the lesser heard name of Anna Madeley’s character, Mrs Hall.

Samuel discovered more about Donald Sinclair when he teamed up with real-life vet Peter Wright while making the programme All Creatures Great and Small Meets The Yorkshire Vet, which airs on Channel 5 just before the All Creatures Christmas Special on December 21. He also visited The World of James Herriot with Alf Wight’s children, Jim Wight and Rosie Page, and has incorporated into Siegfried’s portrayal some of the details they passed on. “My father says, do as much research as you can because, even if only 10 per cent is useful, the more you do, the bigger the 10 per cent is. Except he says I say that.”

Samuel’s father, actor Timothy West, is Bradford-born. Family legend has it that Timothy’s father (actor Lockwood West, known as Harry) was on tour there at the time. “It's not true,” says Samuel. What actually happened was, in pre-NHS days, he and his wife, Olive, also an actor, had been told of an inexpensive maternity home up in Yorkshire. Samuel says: “They were playing in Eastbourne at the time. She went by train to Bradford, had the baby, and Harry continued to do eight shows a week.”

Samuel - who has two daughters, aged nine and six, with his partner, the playwright Laura Wade - plans to save the All Creatures Christmas special to watch with his father and mother, fellow actor Prunella Scales. “My father, in particular, is quite cross that he’s not in it, but he can’t be in everything,” he says. “And we would have to be related - we look increasingly like each other.”

The All Creatures Great and Christmas 2023 episode will be broadcast on December 21, at 9pm in the UK on Channel 5 and My5.

[coquelicoq]

I cannot resist a book ask ♡! I hope you won't mind me being a little greedy, can I ask 3, 6, 20, and 23 please? (Or any of those that strikes your fancy) -☆

3. DNF With Prejudice: Book(s) you didn’t finish on purpose

i think i'm gonna call it on 7 types of ambiguity: a study of its effects on english verse by william empson. i'm in danger though because i just picked it up to see how far i got (176 pages out of 289) and was immediately like this book SEEMS like it could be so interesting though, if only i understood it. but i big-time do not understand it. and i get cranky every time i look at it. so i should probably take that as a sign.

6. Dead Dove Do Not Eat: Book you would recommend to a select audience with a mountain of caveats

gotta be the name of the rose. i originally said i wouldn't recommend it to anyone, but then i ended up giving it to my sister for christmas. mostly because she likes languages and murder mysteries, though i kind of feel like i shouldn't even say that much because it will give people the wrong impression about what the book is actually doing lol. the caveat i gave her is that it's a book you just have to let happen to you. don't try too hard. just let it happen.

20. Did you re-read any books? Were they what you expected?

according to my spreadsheet i reread 22 books, but i think some of these were duplicates because i know i reread the books of the raksura multiple times. and i reread all systems red twice. i don't think i was surprised by any of them, but there were a couple i then got rid of after rereading because i didn't feel like i still needed to be able to reread them whenever the urge overtook me (a main reason to keep a book i have read): i capture the castle, texts from jane eyre, dear emma, harriet the spy, his dark materials.

23. Free space–talk about any book you read in 2024 not otherwise covered

project hail mary (2021) by andy weir was quite enjoyable except i was totally annoyed by the linguistic worldbuilding, which didn't really hang together for me. i am fine when an author of speculative fiction with aliens goes, "and they all use a universal translator because this ain't about that" or whatever, though obviously i love stories that really get into how interspecies communication would work, but i am peeved when an author decides that they're going to dig into it but then has communication work in a totally unrealistic way. idk man either gloss over it (no pun intended) or talk to a linguist??

i remember talking to a scientist friend about his earlier book the martian and she was like "i checked out in the first chapter when he survived being knocked out on mars. unrealistic" and for me that was just part of disbelief suspension because i don't know anything about what it would be like to survive on mars. but as soon as he came for something i do know a little about and decided to spend chapters and chapters being unrealistic about it i was like okay yeah i get it, this is annoying.

2024 book asks

[ejzah]

A/N: After an extremely long break, I’ve returned with this story after someone on ff.net requested an update.

***

There’s Nothing Friendly About It, Part 4

“Hm, maybe I should have picked a different book,” Kensi mused, flipping to the next page of a worn copy of “Jane Eyre”. She’d just finished narrating a heartbroken Jane leaving Mr. Rochester. “I remember it being less…depressing last time I read it,” Kensi continued to Deeks, even though she knew he wouldn’t respond.

From everything she’d read, reading was supposed to stimulate brain activity, and Kensi would do anything that might help Deeks regain consciousness. It had the added benefit of filling the silence and keeping her mind occupied. Nell had dropped off a small stack of books, including a couple Harry Potters, a terrible looking romance, and a couple of fantasy novels the other day.

“Why were crazy wives in old books always from tropics? Maybe we should switch to Harry Potter. Right now He Who Must Not He Named seems a little less dark. What do you think?”

“Not the fifth one.”

Kensi’s head snapped up at Deeks’ croaked request. His eyes were slightly cracked, his head turned towards her.

“Deeks,” she whispered, all but falling out the chair in her desperation to be at his side.

“Mm,” he grunted.

“Oh my god, you’re awake!” She cupped his cheek, needing to confirm what her eyes were telling him. His skin was just as pale and cool as before, but she saw the spark of light in his eyes.

“I’m guessing it would be in poor taste to joke right now?” Deeks said, pausing every few words to catch his breath. When he was done, he cleared his throat.

“You’ve been unconscious for six days,” Kensi told him carefully. “Do you remember what happened.

“Something not good.” He coughed a couple times and winced. “I remember something about mechanic and fraud, but nothing else. Did I get shot or stabbed this time?”

“How about we talk about that after I get a nurse?”

Deeks narrowed his eyes at her, but it didn’t have its usual affect since he blinked halfway through.

“I’ll be right back.” She hurried off, grabbing the first nurse she found (they all new her at this point), who immediately grabbed a car and accompanied Kensi back to Deeks’ room.

The nurse performed the usual checks and asked Deeks a series of orientation questions. For once, he wasn’t actively flirting, but Kensi could tell the nurse was charmed by all the same. Especially when he recalled her name.

“Well, your blood pressure, oxygen, and heart rate are in a good range,” she said. “I’ll ask the speech pathologist come around to assess you and

let your doctor know you’re awake.”

“Thank you, Renee.”

“Oh, you’re going to be trouble.” Smiling at Deeks, she patted his arm, then added to Kensi. “Don’t give him anything to drink or eat until the speech pathologist is by. Ok?”

Any worry Kensi had about Deeks insisting she answer his questions turned out to be unnecessary since his eyes started slipping closed again shortly after Nurse Renee left. He slept restlessly until the speech pathologist came.

She brought in a tray of various liquids and foods, giving Deeks a little of each to try. After that, she asked him a variety of questions and story problems. Even with his energy clearly waning again, Deeks answered them with little difficulty.

In the end, she determined that Deeks didn’t have any trouble with swallowing and aside from some confusion with the date and time, his cognition appeared to be unaffected. Kensi quietly sighed in relief.

Once the room was empty again, Deeks patted the side of his bed, waiting until Kensi gingerly scooted in beside him. He looked thoroughly exhausted and in pain, but determined.

She curled around him as best she could, automatically threading a hand through his hair.

“Ok, what happened?” Deeks asked.

“We went to the mechanics garage, just like you remembered and it turned into a shootout,” Kensi started. “You were hit.” She paused, needing to steel herself against the pain of remembering him laying on the ground, trying to stop his bleeding, and then watching him lose consciousness.

“Hey, it’s ok. I’m here,” Deeks murmured, shaking her free of the memories.

“The doctors said the bullet hit a small artery. You nearly bled out.” She shuddered, and Deeks kissed her temple.

“I guess that explains why it feels like several elephants walked over me.”

“Deeks.”

“I’m sorry.” He tried to slide his arm around her, but gave up when he couldn’t figure out the tangle of IVs. “Did we catch the guys who did it?”

“Um, yeah, they’re either dead or under arrest,” Kensi said. She knew what he was asking, and that she was lying by omission. She also knew she couldn’t tell him the truth. She hadn’t even come to terms with the reality that he’d been shot by a teammate.

“Good,” Deeks sighed. He closed his eyes, then squinted one back open almost immediately. “You’ll stay here?”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving.”

Closing his eyes again, he settled into the pillow. Kensi ran her fingers through his hair, relief overshadowing every other emotion.

The truth could wait until later.

[noweakergirl]

Hey! I finished up jane eyre and Jane and Rochester aahh!!!!💖💖💖

Bertha's story was honestly so creepy, the part when she tears the veil in Jane's room! And also I felt so bad for Rochester for all that happened to him after Jane left 😭.

Omg hiii 💕 wait you already finished the book? Woaaaah you are FAST! I've been absent these days so I need to catch up on your tag but I am so glad you enjoyed it. I absolutely adored Jane and Rochester, their dynamic was so good, not to mention how both of them are weirdos, a.k.a perfect for each other. There are so many memorable scenes from that book, like their first meeting, him dressing up as a fortune teller, their intimate moment on the night Bertha started fire in Rochester's room, Jane feeling as he is calling her name later in the book (Jane! Jane! Jane) etc. They truly have my heart. I also adored how fairytalesque this story was. In a gothic fashion, though. Jane started as poor and neglected by everyone (as a true fairytale heroine); later in life, while she was working at school as a teacher, she decided to send that job letter for unexplainable reason even to herself (INVISIBLE STRING MOMENT); Rochester describing her as a magical being etc. Just !!!!! 🤎 Thank you for letting me know you've read it and feel free to share all your favorite/least favorite moments. Oh, and latest movie adaptation with Mia Wasikowska is pretty good!

[widowshill]

Things you said prompts: 10. … when I wasn’t listening? please and thank you!

thank you for your patience on this one, my friend. r/v/b ; mature content under the cut !

“Here is a talisman will remove all difficulties,” the former governess read, “and she held out a pretty gold ring.”

It was quiet, save for the steady noise of summer rain on glass and the scratch of shifting logs in a popping fire. No wind — not like the howls up on the hill. The storm had kept up all day: just like Collinsport, Burke had scoffed, to keep a steady downpour on hand for his arrival so that everything was wet and grey and bleak enough to really feel like home. Divine punishment, or something like it, in the pitiable heap of unused swimsuits and ready-folded beach blankets – suntan lotion that remained woefully unapplied by generous hands. He had enough sun in Texas, Vicki had reminded him, with a smile that awaited his arm around her waist and his promised complaint that he had no one to share it with. She’d assured him she liked sharing rain with him just as well, and that had been that. The great anger of Burke Devlin had melted away.

His chest rose and fell easy, now, and Vicki maneuvered her head to lie in the valley between neck and shoulder so-carved for this very purpose (or it seemed so) — the scent of cigarette smoke and cologne mixed with that of old, old pages. Last century’s leather. To Kitty, the inscription read, my dearest Jane. 

Vicki, indolent, traced the fine gold emboss. "'Put it,' she said, 'on the fourth finger of my left hand —'"

“And I am yours, and you are mine;” Burke, peaking now over her shoulder, finished for her. “And we shall leave earth, and make our own heaven yonder.’”

Their guest at her feet rolled his eyes while her husband, with the same smooth confidence of a sailor drawing into mooring, hooked a finger under her chin and drew her near to kiss her. Out there in the bay the boats pitched – kissed on the underside of the hull with breakers, decks slick, clung to by pairs of warm, knowing hands. Unsteady, thought Vicki, Burke’s grip tightening slightly at her waist, but safe. Anchored. Roger made a noise when the lull dragged on and Burke, bolstered immeasurably by the disapproving 'tch', took her left hand and kissed now the extravagant gold thing he had put there. 

Vicki, delighted, flushed (and ever-so-slightly now breathless) held open Jane Eyre with her right hand and surrendered the left to capture. “She nodded again at the moon. The ring, Adele, is in my breeches-pocket, under the disguise of a sovereign: but I mean soon to change it to a ring again."

A few dollars in a Portland jewelry store, for a simple little band — a few more, for the marriage license — and, as easily as that, Adele, the moon at her fingertips; what need for fairies (or for rocket ships)? Though, she supposed, Burke’s promises were more easily fulfilled than President Kennedy’s. They had only gone as far as Manhattan for heaven (which as far as most of Collinsport was concerned, had as well been on the moon) and that first-class flight was only pocket change. Rings to sovereigns to hotel suites and negligees, and back again.

None of which had accounted for Roger — who was somehow both part of the moon and its second lasso. Her former-Rochester remained now unusually silent, toying with the fine stockinged ankles in his lap, tracing patterns — drifting occasionally upwards to where she’d begun to go threadbare at the knees. He’d been considerate enough, at least, not to put any holes in them. Yet. 

Vicki, for her part, was resolved to ignore him. She adopted her best falsetto French for the little ward: "But what has mademoiselle to do with it? I don't care for the fairy: you said it was mademoiselle you would take to the moon?” 

Roger raised his head. It was mademoiselle, she thought, on her tongue, loose and soft as plucked rose petals. (He had always, so he said, liked the way French sounded in the back of her throat). After a pause, considering, he slid long, gentle fingers up the back of one leg — indulgent and slow — and raised her ankle to his mouth to place his kiss there, nigh-reverent, on old-wounded tendons. 

"'Mademoiselle is a fairy,” Roger supplied, when she went abruptly quiet —  

And her mind drifted to conjugation charts as he began to kiss his way along her calf, up her thigh, past the line of nylon where decency ended. It was growing steadily more difficult to ignore him, now, and Burke, too, gave him a knowing look, but raised no protest. 

Vicki, determined, swallowed. “Whereupon I told her not to mind his badinage; and she, on her part, evinced a fund of genuine French scepticism: denominating Mr. Rochester…” And here she slipped, and gave a (frankly) butchered approximation of the French. A true liar. Yes, she could think of a few of those.   

Roger pulled back enough that she felt his absence keenly, breath warm, close, against teased flesh, but his tone was deceptively starched. “Menteur,” he corrected — disapproving. “Again, Vicki.” 

“Un vrai menteur,” the former governess breathed again; this time, Roger hummed his approval. She was rewarded with a nip to the inside of her thigh, gentler than she was used to; perhaps because Burke was here observing the scene, or perhaps because too much pain served contrary to his pedagogical aims.  

She looked to her husband for relief but received only a smile: hungry, she thought. “Go on, little governess.” 

“Burke — ”

“You’ve got a chapter to finish, yet.” 

She wasn’t entirely sure he was listening to the Brontë anymore, that any of them were, and she felt in some distant corner of her mind that that was unfair to the author. Her gaze pinned to the page in front of her but Roger’s hands were digging now into the muscle of her thighs, and the words were swimming. Dizzy. She felt dizzy — even the English felt foreign and daunting in her mouth. Vicki closed her eyes, and thought of the cold winds of the moors, and the cold stone of Thornfield. Though where it rose grey and dark in mind’s eye it was laid with Jeremiah’s bricks — the Yorkshire wind howling with the widows’ voices. 

She cleared her throat, and found her place again. “— and assuring him that she made no account whatever of his 'contes de fée.'” 

“A translation, for your husband.” Roger’s breath was spectral, ghosting heated over saturate flesh, and she shivered. Their French lessons seemed so very distant. The dutifully-taken lists of vocabulary that had trailed off into so many lazy pen lines, conversations that had always — inevitably — likewise dissolved. But she summoned up the term from distant recesses — fairytales — and squirmed when her tutor offered her his tongue as reward.

Roger laughed in that low, wicked way he did when he was teasing her, and dug his fingers in harder to keep her still. But again Burke supplied no rescue, nuzzling at her, his grip at her rib cage iron-clad. The prince, she thought, and the wolf — the golden-haired scion with his air-light kiss to wake the princess, and the desire-wet jaws that awaited them. Though it was a monstrous prince; a cultivated, slicked-back wolf.

Whispered, now, and conscious of her phonetics: “and that: du reste, il n'y avait … n’y avait pas de fees.”

“Good girl,” came the murmured praise between her legs, and when she made a pretty whine Roger stuck his tongue inside her — at which point her noises became much more pathetic. She leaned to kiss Burke, but he indulged her only a moment before deflecting, kissing instead her cheek, her jaw, with a low growl at her ear.

“What’s it mean, Vicki?”

Charlotte Brontës opinion was now a forgotten consideration, but she would think on her later, much later, when she read the chapter again for comprehension, and if she was listening somewhere on the other side of this life, to beg for her forgiveness. 

“That even so, there’s …” She twitched again: a graze of teeth. This time, it was her husband who laughed, and brushed a work-worn thumb over the curve of her bottom lip. Her mouth opened slightly, expectantly. “There’s … I can’t think.” 

“Focus.” 

She whimpered: Roger had doubled his efforts, clearly enjoying the interruptions to this oral examination, but she tore her eyes from Burke and put her forefinger to the page nonetheless, in her very best effort to obey. “There are no fairies.”

Burke’s palms crept lower, over the curves of unresisting rose cotton, and edged up the hem of her dress further still. His fingertips danced over the bump of her hipbone, her lowest rib, there beneath her belly button, tender skin that made her breath hitch. She thought of masses of silver herring, lifted from the water in finely-woven nets — the panic as they broke the surface, gills pulsing, muscle twitching — the rope that dug destruction into skin. 

“Is that right, Roger?”

“Exactly right.”

Satisfied, Burke kissed her again, long and slow — savoring her less like a lover than a meal. Vicki closed her eyes and couldn’t see which of them it was that slid his fingers inside her, but she could feel Burke’s pleasure smiled into her mouth when she arched against him. “Are you ready to give up yet?” She shook her head. “Then read the rest.”

Mrs. Devlin was missing, perhaps, only the plaid woolen skirt and buckled flats of the dutiful student, having torn herself away from her husband with extreme reluctance and digging fingers into the leather binding so as to keep them out of Roger’s hair. To keep in good health and not die was, she supposed, was the only answer for a wicked girl so very fond of her pit full of fire, and so very content to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever. 

“Et quand meme … ” Her breathing had quickened, now, and she blinked at the swimming words on the page, forcing herself to give attention to the way her chest expanded, compressed, the feeling of sea air inside her lungs. She could still hear the rain, but it was no longer distinguished by individual drops; but instead, a hazy, dull, distant roar. “Quand meme … ”

Roger, kissing now and then at Burke’s hands, teased, and there was a stubborn undercurrent of want in his own voice, now, slightly muffled: “Do as your husband says, Vicki.” 

“Roger, please … "

He hummed his wordless encouragements, which did nothing whatsoever for her concentration.

“Il y en avait…”  Vicki trailed off, trying — and failing — to stifle a moan, as Roger’s book slid at last from her fingertips. 

Burke, thankfully, was fast enough to catch it; expert thumb sliding between pages to mark their place. And he read off the last of the paragraph in quick, disinterested succession before tossing Jane Eyre to the floor: “She was sure they would never appear to him, nor ever give him rings, or offer to live with him in the moon.”