#Floor Care Shop Review

[sammylkcho]

Mayhaps Sebastian saving us from something just outside his shop? Pretty pls?

Here you go! Sorry for the delay, and I hope you like the result, dear anon.

Warnings/Notes: slight descriptions of wounds, some blood mentioned but nothing major, unedited

"I'll go grab some blankets and cushions then, I won't take too long!" You informed Sebastian, gripping the canvas bag hanging from your shoulder. You planned on stuffing everything you could find inside it so you wouldn't have to carry things in your hands or deal with any extra worries when you returned.

Sebastian responded with a soft hum, his eyes still fixed on some classified documents. He had been busy reviewing, flipping through, and sorting various papers. Maybe he’d made some progress, or maybe not—you didn't really know since he wasn't telling you. So stubborn.

"Be careful out there. The anglers are a bit more aggressive lately. Some expendables managed to evade them, and it seems to have pissed them off. Big surprise…" He muttered the last part with a tone full of sarcasm, like the anglers were acting like spoiled kids who didn't get the toy they wanted. Hearing that gave you a slight shock and sent a chill down your spine, but you hid it with a soft hum.

Showing fear or the slightest tremor in this place could get you killed.

Every day outside the four walls of Sebastian's shop was a vals with death, never knowing what danger could be lurking around the corner. The only threat you'd managed to neutralize, thanks to Sebastian, was Painter's turrets. After Sebastian talked to him and explained the situation, the AI had mocked you but grudgingly agreed not to try and kill you anymore. Right before you were about to leave, however, the AI had apologized, explaining the reasons Sebastian had already mentioned.

You parted on good terms. You considered him a friend, though to him, you were just an acquaintance… It was progress.

"Well, don't miss me too much!" You waved goodbye, ducking to exit through the vent.

Once you crawled out, you looked both ways, like you were crossing the street, making sure no cars—or rather, no Pinkie or Pandemoniun—were coming your way.

Hearing nothing, you stood up and headed a few rooms over, careful not to stray too far.

When you came back, you had a blanket and three cushions you'd grabbed from one of the couches in one of the rooms.

You had to hide a few times, crouching into corners when you couldn't find a locker to duck into, praying to any god that you were in an angler's blind spot.

Now, you were on your way back to Sebastian's shop, looking forward to some warmth and safety in that little secure place. All you wanted was to curl up in the things you'd gathered, your body and mind exhausted.

Just as you were about to duck into the vent again, a sudden, sharp yank and the piercing bite that followed knocked the wind out of you, the attack violent and unexpected.

A high-pitched scream escaped your throat as the sensation of thousands of needles tearing into your skin like you were nothing more than food shredded through you. You could feel your blood spilling, staining both your wetsuit and neck crimson. The pain was unbearable, and the awkward angle your neck was pulled into made it hurt even more.

Your strength was fading, and your vision was speckled with black dots that refused to disappear no matter how much you blinked. The agony consumed you, and the urge to close your eyes wasn't helping.

You heard a faint noise coming from the walls (or above?), like something sliding quickly, but you couldn’t focus on it through the wave of pain as the wall dweller yanked and bit into your flesh.

The sound of one gunshot, then another, sent chills down your spine.

The wall dweller dropped to the ground, and its grip on you vanished, causing you to collapse from the loss of strength.

You braced for the cold, hard floor, but instead, two pairs of arms—plus one extra—caught you firmly, preventing you from injuring yourself further.

You glanced up and recognized Sebastian's clothes. You tried to smile to show your gratitude, but all you could manage was a weak grimace.

"You're lucky I've got a extra medkit. I won't charge you for it this time. Just be more careful next time, idiot." You could hear a slight hint of concern in his voice, along with that familiar frown he always made when you were possibly to blame for something.

He cradled you in his arms, and you didn't protest. You didn't feel like moving and could feel yourself about to pass out any second from the blood loss you were dealing with right now.

You closed your eyes for a moment, and when you opened them again, you were already inside the shop. How? You didn't know, and you didn't feel like overthinking it right now. Instead, you noticed how Sebastian's movements with his third arm were a mix of hurried and precise, like he didn't want to make a mistake with what he was doing.

You hissed as he began cleaning the open wound, wrapping a gauze around your shoulder and applying pressure to stop more blood from spilling.

You didn't pay attention to what he did next because of the discomfort and the awful itch spreading through the wound. It hurt, itched—you didn't even want to move your injured shoulder in case it opened up again or got worse.

Even after Sebastian finished, he didn't let go or lower you from his arms. He just stayed there with you, for who knows how long. Just you and him.

And you'd thank him later, verbally, for everything he’d done to help.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

TAKE YOU DOWN A PEG ─── neil lewis ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I want you. Your bones. Your body heat. The bite marks your teeth leave. To see how bad and beautiful those eyes look beneath me." — Beau Taplin.

pairing. sub!neil lewis x reader

summary. gumshoe video’s got a rude customer who neil can’t seem to ban…

warnings. swearing, voyeurism, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, breathplay, oral sex (m), cockwarming, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 5.3k

a/n. the hardest thing about writing this was scouring letterboxd for obscure films that i think neil would foam over. pls don’t beat me to death if my film references miss the mark 😭

Neil loves his job. Seriously, seriously, he does. It's completely self-satisfying, his personal passion project that’s taken up a large amount of his life, and brings him the uttermost joy of allowing him to do what he does best: recommend films. 

Gumshoe Video is like his fucking baby, and he takes care of it, immensely; he wipes down every tape every Sunday, he sweeps the floor and rearranges the furniture, he organizes the tapes almost constantly, and he does his hardest to provide stellar, passionate - if almost annoying - film advice. He wants the reviews up on this place, alright, otherwise it feels like he’s letting his baby down. 

Now, if there’s one thing Neil hates about his job, just one minor, teensy weensy thing, it’s probably you. You, the rude customer who came in three months ago and has come in everyday since. 

The day you and Neil Lewis met was one just like the rest. Gumshoe Video was promoting old spaghetti westerns; Neil was wearing a cowboy hat and opening deliveries from a video tape shop in Calabasas that had closed down; you were coming off work and were daydreaming, dizzily entering shops to get your mind off the irritatingly mundane job you had. Unlike Neil, you fucking hate your job. 

You had entered Gumshoe, browsing lazily through the Film Noir section, when Neil sprung up like a weed behind you, speaking animatedly about how the best film noir’s had to be Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, or Double Indemnity, and if you’d ever watched them before. 

As Neil blabbered on, your left eyebrow became increasingly raised. Finally having enough of him, you spoke. “So, are you one of those guys that talk all over the girl and ask them if they’ve ever seen Citizen Kane, or if I can even name five Ingmar Bergman movies for you?”

Neil spluttered, flustered with being confronted about his obsessive cinephile talking habit of carrying the conversation away like a track runner in a relay race going off with the baton in the wrong direction. “What? I was just —“

“— name dropping film noir’s, ‘cause I’m some ditzy, uncultured bimbo bitch who mistakenly walked in, right?” You said, rolling your eyes. Later, in retrospect, you’ll wonder if you were too rude; then, you’ll remember you don’t give a fuck, you were having a bad day, and Neil Lewis had one hell of an annoying face. 

Neil’s face grew offended, an irritated furrowed brow wiggling onto his features. “If you don’t want to watch what I recommend, you don’t have to!” he exclaimed, arms up placatingly in the air. 

“Uh huh, okay, and you don’t have to shove your pretentious cinephile knowledge up my ass.”

He just stared at you, boring his bright blue eyes into your own, face contorted so exasperatedly you might as well have climbed up to the stars, plucked the moon from the sky, and used it as a pillow. 

My god, Neil thought. Are you just a rude customer? Or did you get off on berating small businesses like a sadistic freak?

After a moment of you two staring each other down in the fluorescent artificial light of Gumshoe, both looking terribly affronted, you left. 

Neil would then rant about this “insane customer” for at least twelve hours straight to anyone who’d liste. The next day, the distasteful experience was extremely close to thereby fully exiting his mind, but didn’t, because you, yes, you, walked in again. 

You shot straight daggers with your eyes at Neil, but your expression became soft, demure, and gentle when you saw Jonathan manning the register instead. You trailed through the aisles unperturbed, Jonathan too busy sporting a hangover from working the late shift at that obscure speakeasy copycat bar (in which, as often as possible, he would sneak a shot to stay awake) to recommend films. 

In any case, that was Neil’s job, and Jonathan leaned over to whisper in his ear: “Neil, man, do me a favor and please distract that customer -- fuck, this headache’s killing me…”

Neil protested, shaking his head rapidly. “That’s her.”

“Her who?”

“Her! The - customer who -- who yelled at me!” 

Jonathan blinked blearily, clearly still too incapacitated to think about the matter much. “She yelled at you… and she’s back. Here. And why exactly is that…?”

“To yell at me s’more, probably!” Neil whisper-shouted incredulously. 

Suddenly, you broke Neil and Jonathan out of their not-so-quiet argument by slamming down Gumshoe Video’s copies of Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, and Double Indemnity. The irony did not miss Neil - honestly, it was a little on the nose, even for him. 

“Thought I’d see what all the rage was.” you explained “sweetly”, gesturing to Neil as you spoke, indignation seeping through your every word. Your grudge was, well, mostly unexplained, ‘cept for the fact you yourself were an avid cinephile, had watched those three movies more than you could count, and did not take Neil’s “have you watched these before” kindly. 

Thus started you and Neil’s long-winded rivalry slash animosity slash terribly caustic back-and-forth correspondence. 

You keep coming to Gumshoe Video, because, despite your anger towards Neil, you fucking adore the place. The films are downright amazing, the atmosphere is like fucking heaven with the walls lined full of video tapes, decorated in classic film props, campy lifesize cardboard cutouts making you jump at every turn, and Gumshoe Video’s concept is insanely different (and lightyears better) than the corporate monolith that is Media Giant. 

He keeps coming to Gumshoe Video because, again, Neil loves his job, and treats Gumshoe like he carried it for nine months and has been lovingly raising it for the five years it's been open. 

From that first incident, you and Neil’s relationship twisted a little into something like this: you come in, insult him on whatever costume he’s wearing, return the tapes you rented the other night, argue with him for exactly an hour and a half on the couch, insult him for another ten as you browse the store, ignore his film recommendations, and rent three more movies. 

He waits for you to enter, wears the ugliest costume he owns to visually assault you, gladly takes the tapes back, argues with you for 1 and ½ hours, fires back retorts as you insult him, recommends movies he thinks will make you jump out your apartment window, and gives you your movies. 

You’re the minor, teensy weensy headache Neil experiences everyday, but at least, at the very least, Gumshoe makes daily dollars from your rentals - kinda like the payback or relief fund a town gets after a hurricane’s run through it. 

But, (somewhat?) shamefully… there’s a reason Neil doesn’t just ban you from the store and live his life without ever thinking of you again. 

This reason occurred to him a month ago, when he was in the backroom, pasting barcodes and information stickers on tapes that were yet to be placed in the store. You were looking for the washroom, awkwardly stumbling through the back hallway of Gumshoe Video, and since you couldn’t find Neil — he, in spite of the nature of your relationship, trusted you to look around and rent the tapes by yourself, having done it several times while arguing with him at the counter — you had to brave through it alone.

Now, the thing about the room Neil was in — more of a shoe closet than a room, honestly — was that it was locked from the outside, and he didn’t have the key. The key was currently in the hands of one Lucien, who had gone to buy takeout for the two of them because of the late night cataloging of new tapes ahead of them. 

And… he was taking about a hundred years to come back because he was trying to get the cashier’s number at their usual Chinese restaurant. 

Anyway, imagine this: you’re looking for the washroom, and the door to a small room is propped open. You enter, don’t think much of the small stack of empty tape boxes acting as a door stopper, and let it close. The light in there is dim, just a shitty little ceiling light; Neil turns, tapes in his hand; you turn, after closing the door. 

Finally, remember: the room is more of a shoe closet than a room.

“Jesus -- christ!” Neil yelped, startled at your sudden appearance. “What  -- the hell are you doing here?” 

“I take it this isn’t the bathroom?” You murmured, ignoring his question and shifting uncomfortably. Seriously, the tape closet was only meant for one person in it at a time. 

If the lights were brighter, you would’ve seen how hard Neil rolled his eyes; they almost rolled out of his head. “Well, I don’t think so, given the lack of toilet, sink, and light, no.”

“Well, Neil,” you purred, hot breath curling around the sensitive skin of his neck, “maybe, just maybe, you should have a sign for the bathroom, so I don’t have my tits any closer to your face than I want them to.” You said this sweetly, voice husky, low, and oddly sultry, but Neil knew better than that: you probably wanted to fucking kill him right now.

You were right, though; your tits were flush Neil’s bandy chest, the heat between you two growing the longer you were this close in proximity. 

“Now get me out of here,” you said quickly after, ignoring how warm Neil felt against your body. You’d turned so your back faced him, hands twisting at the silver knob of the door - which, Neil honestly didn’t know why was there, considering it didn’t fucking work. 

Neil sighed. “The door locks from the outside.” 

“What?” You said, distracted by leaning down to press your weight against the door like it was just sticky. Moments later, “…What?” you all but shrieked, hands falling from the knob, turning to face him once more. 

And, again, if the lights were brighter you’d have seen Neil’s face better: he was bright fucking red, because, apparently not accounting for the small space of the room, you’d leaned and obliviously had your ass pressed right against him. It didn’t help that his large, warm hands, having long since dropped the tapes he was labeling, hung near the flesh of your rear, having nowhere else to go in the limited space.

Neil thanked the small mercy God graced upon him that there wasn’t any kind of friction, so his soft cock remained just that: soft, and barely noticed by you. 

“The door locks from the outside.” Neil repeated breathlessly, the amount of air in the shoe-box room being incredibly small, too small to share between the two of you. 

“Fucking…” You cursed under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. “So, what, we have to stay here ‘till someone busts us out? What’re you gonna do if I go batshit and eat you or something?”

“For one, Lucien isn’t going to take that long to come back. Anyway, why’re you assuming you’ll overpower me - what if I go batshit and tear into you?”

You snorted, like the connotation he could overpower you was completely implausible. “Neil, Neil, Neil,” you repeated nonsensically, before lifting a hand up to his shoulder and digging your nails into him, the fabric of his shirt obviously not thick enough to distort your strength. “I could have you pinned down in less than a minute. I do other things than watch movies all day, unlike your lanky ass.”

Neil merely let out a chagrined laugh in response, hands clammy at the thought: you pinning him down— he then shook himself mentally, about to slap himself upside the head. Fucking hell, this situation was doing things to him. 

“You don’t believe me?” You retorted with a raised brow. Swiftly, your hands curled around Neil’s wrists, pinning them behind him and pressing his back against you. “How about now, huh?” you whispered softly in his ear, making his head swim. 

Your chin rested on his shoulder, your nose brushing against his neck, and it took everything in Neil not to let out a breathy keen — this was all too much for him: your touch, your voice, and the apparent dawning on him that he found you terribly, massively, attractive. 

“Fuck, I, er - - um,” Neil scrambled for a response, when the door to the tape closet suddenly opened. Your hands released him immediately, and you strided out, breathing in deeply. 

On the other side stood Lucien, plastic takeout bag in one hand, closet key in the other. “What happened to you?” he asked confusedly, as Neil filed out after you, gaze trained on your stretching figure walking off. 

“We got, uh -- locked, in the- in the tape closet.” Neil murmured, thoughts still fuzzy from your rough touch. 

“With her?” Lucien shuddered, handing Neil the chinese takeout bag sympathetically. “You need this food more than I do.”

So, there it was. Neil’s reason. He would’ve called you an insufferable bitch that he never wanted to see enter Gumshoe Video ever again hundreds of times by now — if your sensual voice insulting him didn’t get him all tight in the pants. 

He began having thoughts — thoughts of you. You, whispering vulgar, humiliating words in his ear, your hands carding his hair, pulling tight against his scalp, selfishly making him do whatever you wanted him to do, no matter his pleas. 

The fantasy was unlike anything Neil had dreamed up before, having always believed it should be him on top, him controlling the situation, him dominating — but it wasn’t a bad one. He’d come faster than he ever did before, just by imagining you were rolling your hips into his own… your strength pinning him down… your lips brushing past the shell of his ear, telling him he was so fucking dirty, so filthy for being this needy. 

However, that was all just a vague, distant pipedream, especially with how you seem to actually hate him. All the interaction he’d had with you consisted of poisonous, irritated words, insults and curses — which had him feeling both incredibly turned on, and sick at the fact he was attracted to you just by being mean to him. 

Sometime after that, nearing the end of the work day, Neil was the only one left there: Jonathan had taken the morning shift, and Lucien was, surprisingly, on a date with the cashier at their usual Chinese restaurant place. Looks like he succeeded in getting her number, while Neil had been pressed against you in that tiny tape closet, moments away from getting a hard-on. 

So, Neil was the only one there - and you were the only customer there. Your daily routine of stopping by and verbally attacking him was late today, so it was nearing midnight when you and Neil sat on the couch and began arguing. 

“I’m sure your “manly” ego isn’t at all pathetic and easily hurt by the superiority of Mia Farrow’s performance in Rosemary’s Baby.” You spat, leaning into the diverse array of old throw pillows that sat on the couch day after day. 

Neil rolled his eyes, hands up in the air animatedly. “My manly ego - and I don’t enjoy the sarcasm nor the air quotes you’re using - isn’t pathetic, nor easily hurt! Mia Farrow just wasn’t better than John Cassavetes was. I stand by the fact they were equal.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, your hand coming down on Neil’s knee to dig into him angrily. “Neil, I don’t expect you to understand her performance - I don’t think anyone does, not with that little cinephile brain you have. Do you do any thinking up there, or is it just The Treasure of the Sierra Madre on rewind?”

Neil flushed, both at the insults and how your hand was on his fucking leg. “What about you? What is it that makes you keep coming back here if you think my opinion is so… worthless and entitled?” 

You grit your teeth, leaning in closer to him. “Because, Neil, this is the only other video tape shop for miles, and I will not be caught dead at Media Giant. Trust me, I despise this - “arrangement” of ours, far more than you do.”

He huffed, his gaze trailing over your features, unable to come up with a response: he was too busy focussing, trying not to zero in on how your face was inches away from one his, your fingers oddly inching up his thigh. 

“Don’t go making this about me. Why is it,” your continued, hands traced dizzying circles into the fabric of his jeans, “that you don’t just kick me out? I come in here, day after day, berating you, ignoring your recommendations… shouldn’t I have been banned a long time ago?”

Neil gulped. “You’re still a - a customer, one who rents daily I might add—“

You smirked up at him. “Don’t lie to me. I know Gumshoe’s doing just fine… and I heard you, y’know? Last week… in your office.”

“What? What are you talking about?” He stammered out, racking his head for what he might’ve been doing in his office— fuck. 

Fuck, he thought, mind racing rapidly, he thought you had already left by the time he started— 

“I heard you, hiding in your office… stroking yourself, moaning my name.” 

You’d rented just one tape last Friday, for a movie date with a guy from work, and you almost left - before realizing Neil took your membership card and never gave it back. You waltzed back in, and to your obvious surprise, Neil wasn’t at the register. 

“Neil?” You called out softly, trying not to spark an argument with him that would span hours, because you were trying to show up to this date on time. 

You walked down the back hallway, and found his office door, which had a gleaming NEIL LEWIS printed on its foggy glass. 

Your hand had almost reached for the handle, his name on the tip of your tongue, when you heard a needy whine slip past the door. Shocked, you lingered and pulled your hand away, pressing your ear against the pane to listen closer. 

“God, fuck,” you heard Neil curse, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “Need you so bad,” you heard him whisper to no-one but himself, before a low moan belted out of him. 

Your face grew warm, immediately, flushed at the news that Neil-fuckin’-Lewis was jerking off, in his office, mumbling your name. You squeezed your eyes shut, continuing to listen to his pretty voice, and after several moments of your lust-riddled mind drinking in his sweet noises, how he was so focussed on his pleasure while completely oblivious to your listening in, you found one of your hands coming up to tweak your erect nipple — fuck, his stuttered little moans had your cunt pulsing with utter need.

Neil was getting close, you could tell, hearing him buck into - what you assumed - was his wooden desk, sloppily muffled mewls leaving his mouth. 

You were biting down on your lip, hard, an incredible amount of self control in place. The man was so horny, sounding so fucking submissive it drove you insane: just the thought that he’d bend to your will and do whatever you wanted made your legs clench.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending who you ask, you felt your phone begin buzzing in the waistband of your modesty shorts - probably the date you were late for - and you had quickly fled. 

“Oh, jesus,” Neil blurted out now, alarmed, immediately in the flight part of fight or flight. “I- whatever you heard, I can - I can explain, really, so please don’t—“

Your hand gripped his thigh, keeping him from getting up. “Hey, hey, shh,” you said, bringing a finger to your lips. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I know, just as well as you do, how bad you want me.”

Truly, Neil couldn’t control himself that night. You had walked in, wearing a delicious little dress with a sweetheart neckline, strolling around in 3-inch heels, cooing mockingly at his costume for that week’s theme — a criminal wearing nifty little handcuffs to promote the double feature promotion of crime films and dramas — purposely leaning down to make him feel smaller than you. 

Neil had flushed, looking away, willing himself not to let out a needy groan at your get-up, instead silently checking out your tape rentals and quickly handing them back to you. After you’d walked out of the store, he’d dashed to his office, feeling the tent in his pants grow warm, aching. 

Quite similarly to how he felt now, your eyes coursing over his entire form, so close Neil felt himself sinking into the couch. 

“Look how fucking hard you are already.” you whispered, hand drawing away from his thigh and reaching for the bulge in his jeans, palming him between the fabric. “Does it turn you on? The fact you got caught?”

Neil’s breath hitched. “Fuck, please, I—“ 

“You’re so pathetic.” You said, laughing at him. “I can feel how big you are, such a thick cock, and all you know how to do with it is beg.”

Your plush lips were curled into a cheshire grin, baring your sharp teeth at him, and Neil was ashamed at how badly he wanted those teeth to press painful bites into his sensitive skin. 

He was about to whine again, plead desperately, but he shut up when you slipped off the couch, sinking to your knees, fingers undoing his belt buckle and fly. Shifting his jeans down, you dipped your hand down the waistband of his boxers and pulled his cock out: it was angry, hard and begging for release. 

But you wanted to tease him before you got to the good part. First, your warm breath fanned over his cock, making him jump, trying to rut up into your mouth, and your soft lips slipping past his leaking head had his hands tugging at your hair, trying to pull you closer to him. 

You thinned your eyes and got up, hand pressing his cheeks together and forcing his jaw open. You spit into his mouth, then patronizingly patted his face, “Do that again and I won’t touch you - I’ll take my tapes and leave you a needy fucking mess on this couch.”

Neil groaned, your spit foreign and hot on his tongue like lava. “God, I… I just wanna — want you so bad.” 

You tutted, sinking back down on your knees to face his rock hard length up and pressed flat against his abdomen. “Not yet. You haven’t earned it, you desperate fucking pervert. D’you know who jerks off in their office to someone they barely know? Fucking perverts.”

He leaned his head back, a moan leaving his lips at your insulting choice of words. It felt like you were torturing him, but his body wanted nothing more than you. 

Your lips then ghosted past him for another moment before you started your assault on his strained cock: you laid tentative kitten licks all the way down his length, enjoying how he squirmed under you, wanting nothing more but your wet mouth around him. Then, without warning, you took him in your mouth whole, tongue dragging and curling around his cock. You devoured him salaciously, hollowing your cheeks, sliding his cock in and out of your full mouth at an alarming speed, hitting the back of your neck with each thrust. 

Your tongue felt heavenly on his cock: wet, warm, and sticky, lapping at him without stopping. Your teeth grazed against him lightly, and Neil’s back arched into your touch. 

He was practically convulsing now, drooling as his eyes rolled to the back of his head at the pure pleasure you were inflicting on him with no split second or moment for him to regain his composure. You wanted to see him fall apart, come undone just by your mouth, he realized, and he wanted to let you, wanted to let go — but, as fast as you’d taken his hard cock into your mouth, you let him drop from your lips. 

“Why did you - please, fuck -- why did you stop?!” Neil whimpered noisily, head rolling onto his chest to look down at your face: lips plump, faint tear tracks running off your cheeks, your gagged spit falling from your chin. 

“I oughta take you down a peg, Neil. Show you what a dumb fucking loser you are, pretending you’re so confident, so dominant, like you know everything there is about movies.” You responded nonchalantly, getting up and shedding your panties and leggings. 

“M’not dumb,” he whined, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes, “god, you’re killing me here.”

“You’ll live,” you grinned, climbing on his lap and lining your wet sex with the fat head of his cock. Then you descended down on him, watching blissfully as his cock disappeared into your folds.

Neil’s hands wrapped around your waist, burying his face into your neck. He mewled against your skin, drunk on your tantalizing scent, lips wet with drool and leaving a slick trail. 

Despite your dominance in this situation, completely controlling Neil’s pleasure, you couldn’t control your own: Neil’s cock felt fucking good, long and thick in all the right places, a curve that arched right against your cervix, veins rubbing against your walls pleasantly. He stretched your cunt completely, making you wince, but there was still pleasure there, the feeling of your crevices being filled with his fat cock making your toes curl. 

After a moment of getting used to his cock, you rose back up, then sunk down, your hands gripping his shoulders for dear life. Neil’s head shot back, a labored cry leaving him as you set a steady, almost too slow pace, torturously sliding his cock in and out of your tight hole. 

Your hands trailed across his still-clothed chest, and you grieved the chance lost to have stripped him, your touch teasing him every step of the way — but having him deep within you was probably better. 

“Your- fuck, you’re so -- so soft,” Neil squeaked below you, revelling in how you took him, bottoming out each time like it was nothing. 

You simpered at his words, how helpless he was, succumbing to the pleasure; to you. “Knew you were,” you slammed down on his cock, making Neil choke, “pretending to be arrogant. You just needed someone to put you in your place.” 

Neil hadn’t realized it wasn’t a rhetorical question until your hand came up to his hair, tangling through his locks and tugging. “Who d’you belong to? Who put you in your place?” you murmured lowly. 

He whimpered at your roughness, leaning into the sofa obediently. “You! You own me,” he pleaded, desperately chasing his own pleasure. 

“That’s it,” you said, shutting your eyes, bobbing up and down on his cock faster. Your ass bounced above him, and Neil’s hands rested on the flesh of your rear, massaging you. 

Greedily, Neil tried to thrust into you, but you weren’t having any of it, deterring his attempts by pushing him so he laid flat on the couch, your hands pinning his wrists above his head, the new position pushing him deeper into you. 

“You stay down, you dirty fuckin’ loser,” you said caustically, but your actions said otherwise: your walls were squeezing around him needily, your cunt sucking him in so far you could feel his balls brushing against your clit. 

The tip of his cock brushed past your g-spot each time you rutted into him, and soon enough you felt it: that pulsing, that heat, that familiar coiling within your insides. Neil was reaching it too, his face flushed pink and his breathing as heavy as it was back then, in the tape closet. 

You began thumping down on him, your fingers tightening around his scalp. Your pace had gotten feverish, bordering feral, both your minds focussed on one thing: release. You could feel your cunt tensing, your mind going foggy, and then, there it was: your pleasure ran through you like electric current, shocking your body. You felt numb, tingly like when the blood flow to your arm gets cut off for a moment, making your pace stutter. 

You didn’t stop, however, riding out your high on his cock, bouncing up and down on Neil’s thick length. He felt fucking delicious, piercing you in all the right ways, and you adored how malleable he was right now: so horny and submissive he stopped speaking and was merely letting dirty moans leave his mouth without any protest. His gaze, his focus, was elsewhere, lost in the deep haze of pleasure your cunt was subjecting him too. 

You leaned down, pressing small love-bites onto his skin like he’d fantasized so many times before, and it broke him out of his stupor. “Did you think of this, in your office?” you whispered, “did you think of me, my tits bouncing, your cock deep in my cunt?”

“Ugh,” Neil groaned, reveling in how your seductive voice sounded like music. He was much, much closer than he thought, and when you licked up his jaw, your hot breath on the shell of his ear making him sweat, your cunt still fucking him roughly, he let go. 

You felt it first, the familiar liquid bursting past his thick head and painting your fleshy walls creamy, like a new coat of alabaster that Gumshoe desperately needed. 

“So good, so wet,” Neil groaned, shutting his eyes and pressing his forehead to yours. You stared at him, watching his lewd expression throughout his entire high, waiting for that beautiful blue gaze of his to open and face you again. 

“I’m milking you dry. Look how fucking full you’ve made me, you filthy pervert.” You were taking him for every drop he could offer, and it was delectable. 

You two were heaving now, both coming down from your highs. You’d effectively ruined the couch, your slick soaking the cushions and his jeans, as well as his come, which was leaning out of your still-stuffed hole. 

“I think you’ve gotta replace this manky ass couch, Neil,” was the first thing you said, your hands sliding down from their grip in his hair to his pink cheeks, rubbing his skin delicately. 

His eyes opened, watching you carefully. “It was about time,” Neil shrugged breathlessly. “Do you… do you actually - hate me?” he continued, murmuring self-consciously. 

You laughed, but it wasn’t sharp, not at him like before, no; it was tender, like a scarf Neil wanted to wrap around him in the winter time.

“I never hated you,” you murmured, tone reverent, “you’re just a little, how does it go…”

“Presumptuous?” Neil finished for you. 

You nodded, then grasped at his shirt and pulled him from the couch so he was sitting upright again. “Jus’ wanted to, ahem, “take you down a peg” like I said earlier..” you trailed off, cheeks growing warm remembering your earlier behavior during sex. 

This was all very new, to the both of you — you, in all your relationships and flings, were not the dominant partner. You guessed there was a first time for everything.

Then, you were about to get off his lap, but Neil held you steady on his cock. “Don’t go,” he said simply. “I’ve got Brief Encounter in the player, if you want to, y’know…” 

He wasn’t hard anymore, but it just felt good, cozy, having you two talk and regain your composure with him filling you nicely. It felt right. 

You smiled, a gummy, blissful smile. “Okay. I’ve actually never seen this,” you said, turning to face the tv, wincing slightly. 

“Really?” Neil said, an amazed joy seeping into his voice. 

“I’m joking,” you snorted, and you could practically see Neil pouting behind you. “But I don’t think we’ll be paying much attention…” you purred, clenching your thighs around his length. 

“Jesus fuck,” Neil groaned behind you, hands coming under your shirt, “you’re exactly like those movies.”

“I’m even better, baby.” 

[hb-writes]

Drunk Shakespeare

Summary: It’s Summer 1925 in the Little Lady Blinderverse. Isiah and Clara decide to end their work day early to escape the heat of the betting shop, but find the heat in the air between them is harder to escape than they thought.

Characters: Clara Shelby x Isiah Jesus, Finn Shelby pops in for a moment.

Prompt: Almost caught

Content Warnings: Just vibes and a little kissing.

Tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

Peaky Blinders (Non-Shelby!Sister) Masterlist

Clara watched the long hand of her brother's old pocket watch as it moved around the clock face, the quiet ticks and tocks seeming to mock her as they seemed to slow and delay in her mind.

After what had seemed like an eternity squashed into a mere morning and early afternoon, she was basically caught up on the books. Or at least, if she wasn't precisely caught up, Clara wasn't feeling particularly motivated to keep working on them. Not that she'd been doing anything that could really be considered ‘work’ for the last hour and a half.

Shoving the pocketwatch away, she glanced at Isiah. He was across the room in Finn’s office, twirling a pencil in his fingers. Clara wasn't sure what he was meant to be ‘working’ on in her brother's office, but she assumed pencil twirling wasn't it. 

It had been a slow afternoon. No one had been keen on laying bets or working, so the shop had emptied early. Everyone had finished up their day's work and gone home.

In this heat, Clara didn't blame them. Despite the mound of work she had to complete for her brother, she didn't want to be here either.

Clara had already shed her sweater. She couldn't respectably lose any more layers or she'd be left in just her slip, but she longed for it. She longed for a breeze or dip in one of the ponds on the grounds of Arrow House. She longed for a chunk of ice from the ice box in the kitchen. She longed for the end of this Friday afternoon, the end to this stale, sticky existence.

Clara pushed herself back from the desk—Tommy's desk, though he never used it anymore. The chair was more hers than his these days. Tommy had once said it could be Clara’s one day—the boss's chair—but even though it was her who sat in it more than him, Clara wasn't the boss. Today, she felt no better than any other working person staring at the clock and waiting for the end of their shift. It seemed that was all she’d done all day.

She'd have to come back and finish what she hadn’t accomplished before the end of the month—over the weekend or early before she was due at the Jamaica Row office on Monday morning. It wasn't smart putting it off, but Clara didn't care. The heat had zapped any sense of caring from her system, leeching all of the diligent conscientiousness she was known for straight out of her. 

"What are the odds we get caught out if we lock up early?” 

Isiah's foot fell off the desk and slammed against the floor, Clara's sudden presence in the room startling him more than it should have considering a wall of windows lined the office and he’d faced that way, his glossy gaze set out toward the empty shop she crossed over on her way to get to him.

"Christ, Clara—Trying to stop my fucking heart, eh?"

Clara sighed, rolling her eyes at Isiah’s dramatics out of nothing more than habit. The whole bit was familiar. He usually would have wrapped her head in an arm, ruffling her hair as retribution, but today he barely moved, barely even allowed the muscles of his mouth to pull into a smirk. 

Clara was glad for it because if Isiah laid a hand on her, Clara thought she might scream. The idea of him coming anywhere near her in this heat, of his warm hand in her already frizzy hair…she felt warmer just thinking about it.

"The only thing I'm trying to do is stop working."

"You're finished?”

Clara shrugged. She didn't have it in her to lie, but she didn’t quite want to admit she’d been doing close to nothing all day either. "Are you?'

"I've been done for hours." 

"What are you sitting in here for, then?"

She could see that she wasn't the only warm one. Isiah had rolled his shirt sleeves. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She couldn't imagine why he'd choose to sit here when he could be anywhere else.

Isiah raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?" 

"Fucking hell. You’re babysitting. Tommy's such a—" 

“Finn," Isiah interrupted.

"What?"

"It was Finn’s idea. Said 'I've got a meeting across town. Keep an eye on her.’ Not Tom."

Clara hummed, filing that annoying development away to complain about later. For today it was an order from Finn’s mouth, but before Finn, it had been John, and before that, she knew the order had originated with Tommy and Arthur. Tommy, who Isiah no routinely called 'Tom' and defended, as if they were friends. On the same side of things. Clara let the thought go, too hot for the annoyance that came with thinking too hard on her brothers.

"Where'd Finn go, anyway?'

"Meeting across town," Isiah answered, repeating the words with a smirk. 

Clara breathed deeply, stifling the urge to hit him. She could imagine herself doing it, the satisfaction of her open palm—all clammy and swollen with the heavy moisture of the air—smacking against Isiah’s stupid, sweaty forehead. 

“I just said.” Isiah added, stupid grin still on his face. “The heat getting to you, there, Miss Shelby?” 

It was hotter in Finn's office than it was in Tommy's. There were no windows to the outside here, no airflow. Clara pulled at her dress, the fabric sticking to her collarbone as she tried to catch some relief.

“I meant who’s he with?” 

Isiah shrugged. “Afraid that's above my pay grade. Can’t be asking after the boss’s whereabouts now, can I, love?” 

Clara rolled her eyes. Finn wasn’t any sort of boss, not really, even if he was acting like it lately. And the amount of things that fell above Isiah's pay grade had dwindled over the last few years. She was nearly certain Isiah knew exactly who Finn was meeting with and what it was about, but she let it go, figuring that if it was important or relevant to her, he'd have just told her. The fact that he was playing with her told her it wasn't either of those things.

“Fine. Tell me, love, does the 'boss' have anything good in that drawer there?” Clara nodded toward the desk and Isiah shook his head, chuckling. 

“What are you shaking your head for? What’s he going to do?” she asked. “Fire us for borrowing his whiskey and skiving off?” 

“Tom—”

“I don’t care what Tommy or Arthur or John or Finn has said. It’s hot and there’s no reason for us to be cooped up here. I’ll take my chances with the lot of them.” Clara reached down, pulling out the bottle of whiskey. She opened it and took a slug before she handed the bottle to Isiah. After he drank, Clara held a hand out to him. 

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the hand they both knew was clammy and damp with sweat. Clara ran her hand down the side of her dress before presenting it again. 

Isiah rolled his eyes as he slipped his hand into hers and Clara groaned, dropping his slicked hand in an instant. Isiah smirked as he ran his hand down the side of her skirts same as Clara had just done. No other man would’ve dared to slide his hand down Clara Shelby’s side like that, but this was Isiah and they were alone in the shop—no prying eyes to watch over them for a change.

“You’re insufferable.”

Isiah chuckled. “You’ve said so plenty enough.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Well, between you and me, it’s mutual.”

Clara yanked his hand then, pulling him out of the chair and to his feet. Isiah stumbled for her benefit. 

“You’re testy today.”

“I’m hot,” Clara answered, walking towards the staircase. She tugged Isiah along up the first few steps, her arm straining as Isiah stopped on the third step from the bottom.

“And we’re going to the second floor to cool off?” 

Clara took a deep breath before stopping and turning back to Isiah. 

“We’re all locked up?”

Isiah nodded. He'd gone around to check all of the doors after Finn headed out. “Have been for hours.” 

“Good, now shut up and do what you're told.” 

Isiah snorted. “Yes, ma’am.”

Clara smirked at that. At least someone respected her. Even if it was just Isiah, and even if he was only playing, the telltale smile tugging at his lips, a bit of glee right there dancing in his eyes. Because even with those things present, Clara knew some part of it was genuine. Isiah respected her more than most people in her life. Believed in her more than most, too. And he had always offered up a bit of his power in the context of their relationship, allowing her to win on most things. 

Not every single thing, but most. 

Enough of the time that Clara knew when he was doing it. 

As they moved up the stairs, the heat wrapped around them like a blanket. Someone had shut all of the windows, the air up there even more stale than it had been down in the shop. 

Clara had a moment of doubt while the stifling heat grew, smothering them both and challenging Clara's breathing. Sweat collected on her back and chest under her clothes. She cursed in her head that maybe Isiah was right. Maybe there was no relief to be found on this Friday afternoon, not unless she wanted to give in and head out to her brother's house. 

But Clara didn’t want to. If she did, Tommy would have questions about the books and whether or not she’d caught up yet. She didn’t have it in her to try to lie to him. If she was being honest, she didn’t have it in her for much of anything except simply being. 

Walking the stairs of her childhood home with Isiah’s hand growing sweaty in hers, Clara was reminded of simpler days. Of times when she’d been just allowed to be. Even then, she’d been an anxious child. Overwhelmed and feeling like she was pulled in a million different ways, but looking back on it now, Clara was nostalgic for a certain freedom inherent to childhood. A certain freedom that came with not fully understanding the actions and motivations of the adults surrounding her. 

She had always sought to understand, had always wanted to be a part of things, and now that she was—now that she and Isiah both were thoroughly integrated parts of the things they’d once begged to be included in—Clara would give anything for the two of them to go back to before. 

To be reading together from a book, or pretending to be Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. To be just two kids in their own little bubble, just the two of them against the world. It was a lovely thought, accompanied by a lovely feeling of nostalgia and as they stepped onto the second floor—just the two of them there within the walls of number 6 Watery Lane—Clara thought maybe it could still be the case.

The times were less frequent these days, but there were still moments when Clara would catch Isiah's gaze across the room, the two of them immediately caught up in some secret conversation that no one else even knew was taking place. 

And sometimes, the two of them would dance, and as Isiah spun Clara around, she could’ve sworn there was no one else in the world. On those occasions, it was as if the music played of its own accord, no one needed to pull the strings or croon the melodies, the two of them feeling anonymous and alone even though they were surrounded by other couples. 

“Come on, Siah,” Clara said as she tugged Isiah’s hand, some part of her certain that she could reach out and grasp that feeling, as if it was something she could trap and hold onto, keeping it close to her heart. 

Isiah smiled at Clara’s impatience, his body so near to hers that he could feel the heat radiating off her back, a warmth separate from that of the air around them, almost pulsing between them. 

Clara dropped his hand as she stepped into her bedroom, still neat and tidy and kept as if the 12-year-old girl she once was still lived there. As she moved toward the window, Clara pressed the whiskey bottle into Isiah’s hand, not bothering to look back to confirm it was within his grasp before she let go. 

Isiah leaned against her dresser, watching as she struggled with the window, the wooden frame stiff and swollen and thoroughly stuck from the heat and years of disuse. 

As he watched, Isiah wondered...when was the last time Clara Shelby had climbed out through her bedroom window? When was the last time Isiah Jesus had climbed out with her? 

Neither of them could remember, and it seemed like the room had forgotten as well, the window remaining belligerently shut even as Clara dug in her heels and leveraged all of her strength in trying to raise the pane, a new layer of sweat gleaming at her hairline as she struggled. 

“Alright,” Isiah started as he eased off the dresser, the whiskey bottle set aside. “Let me—”

“No!” Clara answered, her voice booming with the strength of her struggle as she kicked a leg out in Isiah’s general direction to keep him back. “I’ll get it. You choose a book.”

Clara sent her foot out again, this time directing it toward the other side of the room, and Isiah turned to follow the direction of her kick, straight to the chair beside her bed where a stack of books sat piled dangerously high. 

The pile was a mix of old and new, a selection of books from her childhood and few of her more recent favorites interspersed with a few of the books Isiah remembered as coming from Tommy’s shelf. Those books had once been forbidden to Clara, but Isiah supposed they were far beyond forbidden books at this stage. And Tommy Shelby had far bigger concerns than what types of books his sister was reading. 

Isiah fished a book out of the pile before returning his attention to Clara. He was about to sit down on her bed to watch the show of her struggle when the window flew open, the sudden movement accompanied by a rush of air and a celebratory shout from Clara. 

“I told you I would get it,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow as she turned to him.

Isiah rolled his eyes fondly and crossed the room to grab the whiskey, a swallowed comment on the tip of his tongue because even though Isiah and Clara usually passed quips back and forth, he was more interested in getting out on the roof, more interested in the reprieve of fresh air. Isiah pressed the book and bottle into Clara's hands before swinging himself out through the window. 

Isiah was through in a small span of seconds, but it was certainly a more difficult maneuver than he remembered now that his body was all long limbs and the window seemed infinitely smaller than it once was. 

Reaching back through the frame, he took the book and the bottle Clara handed off. Isiah set them both aside before holding his hand out back through the open window.

“I can—”

“Just let me help, won’t you?” Isiah interrupted. He wiped his hand down the front of his pants before holding it out again. “Gotta fight me about everything.” 

“I’m not—” Clara grasped his hand, allowing Isiah to tug her through, and letting go once she was steady on her feet. “—fighting. I just—”

“Can do it yourself,” Isiah answered. “I know. Doesn’t mean you should always have to.” 

Clara huffed even though a part of her appreciated the sentiment. She tried to be independent. She tried to do everything for herself. She tried to prove how smart and strong and capable she was to just about everyone, but she didn’t have to prove any of that to Isiah. 

Clara unbuttoned the top of her dress, gently fanning herself with the loose fabric as she looked over the courtyard. She took a deep breath, grateful for the grey and cloudy Birmingham skies that shielded them from the heady rays of sun she usually craved.

The roof outside of her bedroom wasn’t exactly the reprieve she had imagined, but it was marginally better than the dense staleness of the shop and her bedroom. 

“Romeo and Juliet?” Clara asked as she lowered herself to the roof and reached for the book. “Really, Isiah?” 

While Clara enjoyed her Shakespeare, the play hadn’t exactly been her favorite, and her memories of the piece were tainted by the fact that she’d first read it at school, with Juliet’s role going to a girl she wasn’t particularly fond of. Clara would’ve preferred to revisit Sherlock Holmes or one of Tommy’s old books. 

Isiah shrugged and sat down beside her, reaching for the bottle. “Reminded me of when you tried stepping out with that Italian kid.” 

He said it as if he didn’t remember the name of the ‘Italian kid.' As if it had been nothing but a blip. As if her social connections hadn’t gotten her into nothing but trouble that year and been the source of arguments between her and her family, and her and Isiah.

Clara shoved Isiah’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t stepping out with anyone.”

It had been a friendship. Maybe with a hint of a crush, but there had been no stepping out. Nothing close. Her brothers' reputation had seen to that.

“And anyway, it’s more like when you were stepping out with that Cheapie girl.” 

Isiah raised an eyebrow. “What are you on about?” 

“Ruth,” Clara answered. “Practically Wally Bartow in a dress.” 

He snorted. “It was one dance, Clara. Didn’t even know her name. Had no clue she was a Bartow.”

Clara shrugged. “You looked awfully cozy if I remember properly.” 

“Well, that’s just how I dance, love.” Isiah winked at her before taking a swig from the bottle. “You know that better than anyone.

“And I'm sorry to inform you, but if either of us is destined to have a love life like these two—” Isiah nodded towards the book. “—it’s you. No matter who you end up with, it’ll be like Montagues and Capulets. Shelbys against whatever poor sap you choose.” 

Isiah knocked her shoulder, the touch telling her it was only a joke. Clara stayed leaning against him as long as she could manage in the heat before prying the bottle from his fingers to take a sip.

“Ada says us Shelby girls are cursed that way.” 

Isiah reached for the book, thumbing through the pages rather than answering. He had an idea about that particular curse. He had been old enough to remember how Ada’s marriage had been handled, and even if he hadn’t been, Isiah knew how Clara was being managed. 

How they both had been managed for years now. 

Isiah reached out for the bottle, taking another swig before he started reading.

“Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene…”

They passed a few hours reading and talking and sipping from the bottle, the pair moving on to gentle conversation interspersed with quotes from Shakespeare’s catalog once the pages became too difficult to read in the dimming light. Lost in the throes of conversation, easy laughter and the cooling night breeze, Isiah and Clara were suspended in what felt like a world that was just their own, their sense of time and place and awareness pushed aside.

Clara was giggling at some obscure quote Isiah had pulled seemingly out of nowhere when Isiah sensed suddenly that the world was no longer theirs alone, his attention gone to the far end of the shared courtyard, a familiar chorus of boisterous laughter reaching his ear from across the space. 

Isiah was faintly aware of Clara naming the play he’d quoted before she shared her next quote, a gentle laughter lacing her words as she spoke, but the awareness of his heart pounding against his chest was stronger, a sudden urge to quiet her—to shield their presence there on the roof—taking over.

Overcome with that urge, Isiah could’ve shushed her or set his hand over her mouth to stifle the words.

Or he could've taken a breath and calmed himself and simply let her finish. 

It wasn't as if they were doing anything wrong. There was no reason to hide.

Isiah could have let Clara tell him, ‘I do desire we may be better strangers,’ before dissolving into giggles. He could’ve then told her the quote was from ‘As You Like It,’ a quote which he was intimately familiar with because Clara had directed it at him and Finn a number of times before, sometimes in jest, sometimes because she wished to hurt them. 

No one would question Isiah and Clara being out on the roof with a book and a bottle of whiskey, least of all Finn. People were plenty used to their antics, but something felt different tonight so Isiah only let Clara get half a sentence out before he placed his hand at the back of her head, drawing her in close and pressing his lips to hers in the dark, catching her words and quieting her so efficiently that it was nearly silent on the roof as Finn and the junior Peaky Boys passed over the back threshold of no. 6. 

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but Isiah felt Clara’s whole body relax within his touch. She leaned into the hand he cradled behind her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss he hadn’t intended on giving in the first place, her hands reaching out for him, her fingernails grazing his scalp in a way that sent shivers down his spine. 

Isiah pulled away, but even so, for a moment, he forgot where he was. He forgot why he’d kissed her, or at least he’d forgotten whatever justification he’d initially provided himself for pressing his lips to hers. He forgot about Finn and the boys. He forgot about Shakespeare and feuds and consequences. With his warm hand still on the back of Clara’s sweaty neck, barely able to see the details of her now flushed face, it was once again just the two of them there in the world. 

With their faces still so close that Clara could feel Isiah’s warm whiskey-tinged breath on her face, her eyes shifted to his lips. She couldn’t remember what they were talking about before. She didn’t know why he’d kissed her. She had heard the back door slam, some part of her aware of her twin's proximity, an awareness Aunt Polly had always tol her was part of her gifts, but as Clara pulled Isiah's lips back to hers, she found she didn’t care to remember there was more to the world than the two of them and this. 

She didn’t want to question it, and yet, Clara was first to pull away this time, her ears far more sensitive to the familiar sound of someone turning the handle of her childhood bedroom’s door than Isiah was. With a sudden swiftness, she removed herself from Isiah’s hold and pushed him back against the roof as she extended her hand up to the sky. 

“There you are,” Finn said, sticking his head out the open window to see what Clara was pointing at. "What are the two of you out here for?"

Clara tilted her head back to her brother. “Constellations and Shakespeare. Would you like to join us?” she asked, the words feeling odd to her as they passed through her swollen lips.

“No,” Finn snorted. “It's payday. We’re heading to the Garrison, and then maybe to a few other—” 

“No, thank you. I'm staying here,” Clara answered, even though it wasn’t exactly an invite Finn had extended, but more of a declaration. An order.

A flash of something passed over Finn’s face. Clara could barely see it in the dark, but she figured it was a bit of annoyance, maybe, or a touch of shock at being refused. It seemed like more and more, Finn was coming to expect the same sort of compliance from Clara that the others did, forgetting that it was mere minutes that separated their births rather than years.

“It’s too hot, Finn,” Clara added, her tone a bit softer. “I have no desire to be holed up in the snug, squashed between you lot.”

“Alright, then. Isiah?” Finn tried.

“She’s got a point, mate.” 

Clara heard someone shouting from the floor below, the details muffled by the shut door, but Finn seemed to recognize their meaning well enough. 

"Are you sure?" Clara sensed the question was for Isiah even though they could barely see each other's faces in the growing dark. "Drinks are on Shelby Company Ltd. tonight," Finn added, as if Isiah's drinks weren't usually on the house, anyway.

"It's alright. You go ahead with the boys," Isiah offered. "I'll keep an eye on Clara."

Clara's elbow twitched, the desire to ram it into Isiah's ribcage surging as she caught the hint of a smirk on Isiah's face, but Clara stopped herself knowing that it had been the right thing to say.

Finn nodded his understanding in the dark, his attention pulled to the stairs once again by a sudden noise.

"Don't fall asleep out there, Clara."

Clara heaved a breath to stop herself from telling him he had no business telling her where she could or couldn't fall asleep, but Isiah beat her to it, telling Finn he would handle it.

No matter that Finn would likely be the one who needed assistance finding his bed before the night was through...

"Have a good night," Finn said as he stepped away from the window, leaving Isiah and Clara alone. They leaned back against the roof, the two of them staring at the sky in silence as they listened to the sounds of Finn and the boys heading out through the back door, their shouting and laughter echoing as they traversed the shared courtyard. 

When the echoes died away, Clara stretched out her fingers, seeking the familiar roughness of Isiah’s palm. 

“That was bad,” Isiah said, his fingers closing around hers. “Close...we almost got caught.”  

Clara heaved a breath before turning to face him. “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” 

Isiah snorted. He glanced briefly to his right to meet Clara's gaze in the dark before tipping his head back to the sky.

"Hamlet," Isiah answered softly, squeezing her hand gently before releasing her fingers.

They had been through this time and time again, the two of them dancing around the label of what they were. Friends. Best friends. Something more. They had settled on friends as far as most of the world was concerned, but that didn’t mean the lines weren’t still blurry at times, their belligerent feelings tangled and confused and persistent. For years now, they had maintained a mostly unspoken agreement that they’d keep anything beyond friendship hidden—from themselves, from one another, from everyone else. 

Most especially from everyone else. 

They'd learned early on that it wasn't worth the strife. It wasn't worth the fight. Any resistance had been squashed down time and again. Somehow, this felt easier. Less painful.

If it was up to the two of them, perhaps things would be different. Perhaps they’d have tried at love and failed, and moved on by now. Or perhaps they would have tried and it would have been easy. Smooth.

Perhaps there would be no confusion or jealousy or hiding. No dismissing their closeness as nothing more than echo of a childhood friendship, no stinging comments on who the other had stepped out with—the slights used both as a weapon and a protection to guard their tender hearts. 

But as it was, Clara and Isiah had never been given a proper chance at something more. A boundary had been set for them at the outset, a series of orders they’d both been too young to fight at the time. They’d been at the mercy of the powers that be, and even though they were older now, they were still at the mercy of that power.

Or maybe they still danced around the boundary because it felt easier, somehow safer for them both to keep that prescribed distance between them. 

“Perhaps I am destined for tragedy, Isiah.” Clara mused. “Or simply to be alone. Unloved for eternity.” 

“You’re not alone, love.” Isiah reached for the hand he’d dropped only moments before. “I’m right here.” 

“And you know I love you," he added as Clara curled toward him, resting her head against his chest. 

Clara sighed and nodded. 

“I love you, too,” she added, and Isiah’s chest fell with the breath he’d been holding. 

“Can we not just pretend that’s enough?” Clara asked. “Just for tonight?”

They were dangerous questions and Clara asked them without turning to observe Isiah’s face. She could feel the tenseness of his body beneath her, the fear her questions provoked.

“Like it’s just us in the world and no one else?” she tried, a question and a wish because the house was empty and the roof was dark and it was unlikely they’d be caught. 

Isiah feared that a little, but more than he feared getting caught—for they’d successfully explained away so much over the years and he had no doubt they could manage it again—Isiah feared the two of them getting caught up in things. He feared getting caught up in the true feelings between them, the ones they’d so carefully worked to keep a hold on all of these years, a carefully manicured relationship that allowed them to be close, but not so close that they fell over the edge. 

For even though Isiah dated other girls, and even though Clara insisted that Isiah Jesus was just a friend, they both knew there was something more between them. A magnetic pull, something in their hearts that they both knew to be true love. 

In the moments when the two of them could be honest with each other, when the rest of the world fell away...on nights like tonight, it wasn’t especially unusual for their lips to meet. It wasn’t unusual for Clara’s hopelessly romantic naïveté to make a showing. For some part of her to feel that it could be easy. That it could work.

And it wasn’t unusual for Isiah to agree. For every part of him to want the very thing they spent the bulk of their days denying and shutting down.

They were both craving it now though, both barely able to remember why they ever did hold back. It was just the two of them there on the roof beneath a blanket of smog-covered stars, both of them still hazy around the edges due to the whiskey and the heat and the memory of their kiss, the memory of his hands on the back of her neck. 

Those things made it easy to hope. They made it easy to forget.

Because if they were surrounded by friends at the Garrison or out at Arrow House or under the watchful eye of a Blinder, Clara and Isiah wouldn’t even entertain the thought that they could be more than friends. Under those circumstances, they’d be easily convinced that regardless of the feelings between them, it was much too complicated, much too difficult. 

“Maybe we should just run away. Find a place in the world where there are stars in the sky and no Shelbys.”

Isiah snorted. “Not even you?”

“Well, just me,” Clara amended. “Just me and you and no one else we've ever met. It could be easy.”  

“Maybe,” Isiah hummed, his hand tilting Clara’s face up to his as he spoke. “but the course of true love never did run smooth, Clara Shelby” 

“A Midsummer Night’s—” Clara started, only for the rest of the play’s title to be caught up by Isiah’s lips. 

They both knew it wasn’t a good idea, dabbling in love when neither was ready to commit to the war it would be. Neither was quite ready for the consequences of them moving beyond friendship, moving against her family’s wishes and decrees, but they let it happen anyway, some piece of their hearts holding on to the hope that someday they wouldn’t be hiding on a rooftop, stealing hungry kisses in the dark.

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

Peaky Blinders (Non-Shelby!Sister) Masterlist

[johnwickb1tsch]

gif by ficsnroses

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 43 all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

43.  surprise

A week later John interrupts you in your studio, looking unfairly edible in old jeans and a white henley, wiping his hands with a greasy rag. By his little smile, you can tell he was watching you for a while, before purposely alerting you of his presence. 

You don’t mind the interruption. You were just playing around, not feeling particularly inspired, just doodling. It’s funny, how contentment can kill your driving need to make your mark on a canvas, as though you’ve made some devil’s bargain with your muse.  

“I have a surprise for you.” 

“Baaaabe…” It still makes you a little uncomfortable. All the gifts. He presented you with a new phone the other day, programmed with your old number no less, and you are still feeling guilty for some reason, even though he destroyed your last one. Aside from the photos, and the occasional texts with your friends who are usually too busy for you anyway…you hadn’t really missed the device. 

You asked if he would like for you to go back to work, feeling like a freeloader–and he laughed at you before kissing you silly, and walking out of the room. 

You’d called your mother to check in, and found out she didn’t even realize you were gone longer than you were supposed to be in Italy. Your youngest half-sibling was crying for something on the other end of the line, and she had to let you go after barely saying hello. 

You’re not really sure why you even try, anymore, but it left you feeling slightly less sad than usual after talking with her. At least, you’re not alone anymore. You have someone in your life who thinks you irreplaceable. You feel how precious that is, more than ever. 

“I think you’re really going to like this one. I’m going to like it too. Come on.” 

You sidle up to him, not moving half as quickly as he’d like. You can tell by the way he narrows his eyes down at you, those plush lips pulled in a half-smile. Truth be told…the way this simple white shirt fits across his chest does unmentionable things to you, and you’re not sure you’re in a hurry to go anywhere. 

“If you keep looking at me like that, you’re not getting your surprise today,” he playfully threatens. 

“I have everything I need right here,” you assure him, running hands over his pecs, completely distracted. He catches your mouth with a groan, strong hands digging into your waist hard enough to bruise. 

“I’m going to sling you over my shoulder in five seconds if you don’t come downstairs with me.” 

“No!” you giggle, nipping him on the lip and running out the door. He chases you, and you laugh as you sprint down the hall, adrenaline and too much joy to stand singing through your veins. You feel like your heart literally might burst. 

He doesn’t catch you until you are down the stairs and halfway across the living room, grabbing you up in his strong arms, bending you over backwards with the fury of his kiss. He grins like a wolf between nipping at your tender flesh, and suddenly you find yourself on the floor, sinking into the plush new area rug with his solid weight on top of you.

“Hey, what about my surprise?” you goad him, laughing as he seems to attempt to bite through your bra strap under your shirt.

“I have a different surprise for you now, kitten,” he growls, unbuttoning your jeans. Your mirth quickly turns to moans, as his long fingers find your wet center, swiping up your juices and circling your clit.

As surprises go–this wasn’t bad at all.

***

You make it to the garage–eventually.

He blindfolded you with a clean dish towel, because it was on hand after the two of you staggered drunkenly like lovesick idiots to the kitchen for a drink of water, after christening John’s new rug. Soft. Good cushion. 10/10. Imagining giving this review to Charlie’s tough-looking clean up crew makes you almost choke on an ice cube.

“John!” you complain when you bang your toe on something. A tool box? Your legs still feel like spaghetti. 

“Sorry,” he chortles, not sorry at all, but trying to lead you with more care with arms on your shoulders. You take little steps, trying to track where you are in the garage, but your brain isn’t really functioning yet. 

“Hold out your hands.” 

You do so, extending them in front of you, groping through the air. Your fingertips brush something rubbery. And…some metal tubing. Your other hand finds the cool curve of…a gas tank. “Are you taking me for a ride?” you ask excitedly, caressing the contours of the leather seat.

“I thought I just did?” 

“Pfft,” you tease. “On wheels. I missed the motorcycle.”  

“That’s good news. Because you’ve got your own now.”

What? 

Now you can’t stop yourself from tearing off the blindfold, finding a sleek beetle-black machine before you. It’s smaller, definitely not John’s bike–but it’s cool. 

“It’s a Kawasaki. Just 400cc’s,” he tells you, patting the seat. “Perfect starter bike. When you get the hang of it we’ll get you something with more kick.” 

The significance of this particular offering does not escape you. That he would offer you the means of transporting yourself independently speaks of this newborn trust between you–and it means the world to you. He only staggers a little when you suddenly throw your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his. “I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. When do we start?”

“You’ll have to get your learner’s permit. But I’ll take you to the empty parking lot in town right now, if you want to start learning how to shift.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” His polished ebony eyes are absolutely shining, and you don’t know how it’s possible, that every time you think you couldn’t be happier, this man raises the bar again. 

How far the two of you have come.  

“One question.”

“Hmm?”

“Where does the samurai sword go?”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: Happy Friday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The grocery store is a panoply of colours and sounds. You feel hollow as you lean on the cart and trawl the aisles. You won't fill it, you got it for support. Your legs are weaker by the minute.  

You balance out every credit in your shop. You can't go a dollar over the allotment. It isn't very much at the end. Better for you, you're worried about carrying it all. 

You swipe the card and crumple the list. You had to leave a few things off. You hook the bags over your shoulders, the effort further sending your burnt hand to pulse. As you come out onto the beaming light, you examine the tortured flesh peeking out. You unwind the fraying bandage and gasp, tears springing free as you peel it away from the sticky, stinky flesh. 

It stings in the open air. You keep it up against your chest and walk on. It's more of a lumber as your feet drag and your body moves stiffly. The sun beats down mercilessly and has you sweating despite the constant shiver rolling through you. 

You slow as you come in sight of your building. You look around cautiously, searching for the glasses and blond beard. Did he listen? Did he go away or is he lurking? Just like Lee, always waiting... 

You don't see him. The edges of your vision are so blurry, you can't be sure. You don't have the energy to worry about him. You just want to go back to bed. 

You cross the street and clumsily aim the keys at the slot. Through one door, then the next. You don't hear them catch behind you but you can only hear the echoing impact of each step. 

You stagger into the apartment and leave the chain to dangle, the latch flipped the wrong way. You trod into the kitchen but don't have the length to lift the bags onto the counter. You drop them on the floor and stare. You're so tired and you can't stop shaking. 

As you stand there, time and space pinpoints on you. You look around, the silence setting in. It's so quiet. You can't hear your mom. Or him.  

"Now aren't ya gon put that all away?" Lee drawls as his weight creaks in the floor. 

You nod without looking back and make a noise. You can't muster a single word. You bend to reach into a bag and take out the box of generic macaroni and cheese. You hobble to the counter and set it down, using your good hand to open the cupboard. You put it on the shelf and grasp the door. 

You're so dizzy. You lean on the counter and suddenly, the doors swinging shut. The edge hits your cheek and you yelp. You're crushed against the drawers as Lee pens you in from behind. 

"You're startin' to really tee me off. Takin' your time and all. Like you ain't good for nothin'," he snarls as you fold over the counter top. "Whatsa matter with you? You not gonna fight, huh?" 

He grabs a fistful of hair and wrenches your head back. You heave as your hand slaps painfully on the stained linoleum, the flesh radiating with flame. You whimper as his other hand creeps around your stomach. He pushes on your pelvis until his crotch is flush to your ass. 

"Let me show you what you're good for, huh?" He sneers and shoves his hand down the front of your pants. You whimper as he touches the coil patch of hair beneath, "mm, feel that? You want this. Ain't even got no panties." 

"Stop," you murmur as your head lolls from his grasp. 

"You'll be beggin' me not to in a minute," he snorts and forces his fingers between your thighs. 

"Sto-sto-stop!" You stammer out helplessly. 

"Now, you keep quiet. It won't be long," he leans into you until your hips ache, "teach ya to be disrespectful." 

He curls his fingers and scratches between your folds. You whine and gulp through your dry throat. Panic surges through your delirium as you reach back to claw with your injured hand. A shriek erupts at the the vibrant agony. 

"Ahhhhhh!" You wail, "mom! Mom! Help!" 

"She drank herself stupid already," he growls and nips at your ear, "just us, girl." 

"Mom!" You yelp as his fingers dip towards your entrance, his rough palm scraping against your soft flesh, "mom!" Your heart throbs and your head rings, "mom!" He pushes his fingertips through your tight slit and you erupt, "MOMMY!” 

Your knee hit the wood as you wriggle against him. You’re so weak. The walls close in as you feel yourself losing your grasp, not just on the counter but on the world. His fingers sink in deep, the callouses rough against your delicate walls. 

Suddenly, you’re jarred and the room tips over. You hit the tile in a heap and groan. Your fiery hand rests against the cool squares as your vision swirls and you hear huffing and puffing, grunts intermingled and the crack of violence. Thwack, thwack, thwack. 

Lee’s heavy figure hits the wall and his legs go out from under him as he slides onto his ass. You blink through the silty haze and shake your head. It’s all foggy and senseless. It wasn’t you who pushed him off. It can’t have been. 

“Mom,” you mutter as you try to sit up only to fall back as your hand burns with acid. Your blood is hot but your skin is ice. “Mom, what’s going on?” 

A dark shape bounces off of Lee’s jaw and red dribbles down his chin as he leans against the wall, slumping down onto his shoulder. You drone mindlessly as you bring your hand over your stomach and whine. It hurts so bad. The shadow moves to stand over you and you close your eyes. 

“Please...” you beg. It’s definitely not your mom; they’re too big, too strong. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” the grizzly timbre tickles in your ears as something firm slips beneath you; one arm around your shoulders, the other under your knees. 

You float in the air, eyes threatening to roll back as you fight through the clouds, your form jittering uncontrollably against the blaze that surrounds you. The man is hotter than fire. You tilt your head up and see the tufts of his short blond beard. 

It’s him. It’s Professor Smith but why is he there? Where is he taking you? All those questions merely stir in your slanted consciousness as your head falls against his shoulder. You’re too tired to think and you’re done fighting. It never you any good anyhow. 

You feel the motion of his steps and how he angles you through the door. Down the stairs and outside back into the unbearable light. You squeeze your eyes tight. He continues on, laying you into something soft. You look at him between your eyelids and garble. 

“Sweetheart, just stay here,” he bids in his lilt, pulling a lever to recline the car seat. The vinyl smells brand new and the upholstery looks just as pristine. It stamps your vision before you once more hide inside your head. “I’ll be back.” 

You don’t protest. Why is he doing all this? For you? He’s your professor... it doesn’t make much sense. Nothing does right now. Everything is just messy. 

He puts the engine on. The low whir is comforting. He adjusts the vents to blow air, though it feels hot to you. He stands and removes his jacket, spreading it over your quivering shoulders and chest. He huffs and cranes to see behind him. 

The door shuts and locks at his back as he leaves you. You stay as you are. It’s as comfortable as you’ve been in days. Time stretches on, crackling in your ears. You drift off into a void, brought back only by the hollow thunk of the electric locks. 

Professor Smith tosses something in the backseat and snaps the door closed, moving to the driver’s. He sits beside you and lets the car idle. He reaches over to touch your forehead as your lashes flutter at him. He hums as he appears as a ghostly smear. 

“Very well,” he says and the car rolls into motion. 

📓

You jolt up, a splash of water flying up across your face and chest as you rip your hand away from the electrifying pain. You’re caught by the shoulder and hushed. You blink tightly and lean back, looking over at the man on the other side of the porcelain. Professor Smith reaches over to take your hand out of the water, the ripples scalding on the tormented skin. 

“It’s already infected,” he says, “you’ll make it worse. I’m trying to dress it so be still.” 

Your confusion nips at your ears as you look down at yourself. You’re naked, in a tub of steaming water, the scent of lilies roiling up with the wisps. He sighs and you hiss as he presses a wet swab to the burnt patches of skin. Some of it even looks green. 

His sleeves are rolled to his elbows and there are cuts and scrapes on his own knuckles. Even so, his nails are cut and tidy and his skin is clean. He is diligent in his attention to your own mottled skin. 

You put your hand over your lap, trying to hide but all modesty is spent. You’re too dazed to care that much. There’s bigger questions. Where are you? Why? 

“I couldn’t let you to wallow in such a horrid place,” he speaks as he works, his touch gentle despite the thickness and firmness of his hand. “And after our last interaction, I could not just tuck my tail. It isn’t of my nature.” He tuts as he wets a new swab with alcohol, “and the filth--” 

“Professor...” you slur. “What... why?” 

“There are many details, yes, I had to jump through hoops but you needn’t worry for all that. What’s more important is we get you clean. The state of it,” he shakes his head, “a day or two more and you might’ve died.” He stills his hands and looks at you. You dare to meet his gaze, shame scalding as hot as the fever, “it wouldn’t do.” 

You frown, “I didn’t ask for help--” 

“Well, you are getting it,” he scoffs and sets back to disinfecting. “And a mother like that. Neglectful...” 

“She’s... lost.” 

“It doesn’t matter, does it? She’s still a mother. Bringing that man around. Certainly, he isn’t the first, either.” 

You lower your head. You wince and whimper as he carries on but you do not pull away. He works methodically. 

“We’ll get some antibiotics in you and tuck in,” he speaks to himself, “perhaps they can have some broth brought up to the room. Never fear, I’ve brought my own sheets and sanitized ever speck.” 

You cough and shake your head. You can’t keep up. 

“When you’re up to it, we’ll leave town. I do fear I will have to be back in office, at least my home office, within the week,” he takes out a roll of gauze and you wince. 

“I’m... what’s going on?” You ask. 

“Naturally, when you start something you need to follow through,” he says, “I’ve done and started this, haven’t I?” 

“Started what?” You utter. 

“Can’t take you back now,” he secures the bandage and lets your arm rest over the porcelain. “Don’t get that wet.” 

“Sir, professor,” you sit up, another spiraling sensation overcoming you. You look down and fold up to hide yourself, your exposure tingling over you, “what... please tell me what’s going on.” 

“Would you need help? Cleaning, I mean. Purely practical,” he offers, “I wouldn’t mind. Of course, I did wipe your face already, did my best with the hair...” he sits back on the low cushioned stool he’s on and puts his elbows on his knees, “there is soap and a fresh scrubber there.” 

“Can you please just--” you bluster and a faintness blows through you, sending you back against the porcelain. You slip down dangerously, your arm sticking up against the side of the tub. He catches your elbow, heaving you back up as he bends over you.  

“Yes, feverish still,” he says, “perhaps a hot bath is not the best for it.” He hauls you up and sits you on the ledge of the great basin, “hang onto me then, I will get you washed up.” 

You have no other choice but to obey. The humiliation cannot feed the strength you need to resist. You cling to him with your uninjured arm and lean your head on his shoulder. He pauses before he can grab the scrubbie and instead rubs your back. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he coos, “yes, right then.”  

His hand lingers before he reaches once more and swipes up the bottle and sponge, moving his arms around you. You collapse into him and groan. At least he isn’t hurting you. Not like Lee. 

[animasolaoriginal]

A B A N D O N E D 🥀 1/3

A new-in-town urban explorer stumbles upon a (not so) well hidden secret in an abandoned building, turning his life upside down when he takes more than pictures and leaves more than footprints.

Normal dude meets broken girl turned sex toy

WARNINGS: Urban exploration. Implied past rape. Implied past caning. Wounds and injuries. Objectification. Submissive character. Strangers to lovers. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Fluff. Eventual smut*. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 7.6k

A/N: This is a spin-off to my original story INFATUATED, set in the same universe. There's no need to have read INFATUATED, just know that there's a man we refer to as Sir who took in (kidnapped) a girl we refer to as Darling to make her his personal little plaything (but then proceeds to develop “feelings” for her), and this is the story of one of the unfortunate girls before her. A "study" on what a normal dude may think about an abandoned sub. Remember: this is fiction! A product of my own sick little mind, a fantasy. Our guy here may have some opinions later that may or may not stem from my own view on things (just some rants about certain kinks, and if those insult you, please forgive me, I don't mean any kink shaming. Everyone is valid around here – except Sir who might not get the best reviews in this story). By the way, the protagonist may have a name here, but it's only mentioned a few times, so you can still imagine any character here if you want to!

1 🟢 2 🟢 3

Glass crunches beneath his boots as he makes his way through the abandoned building. It's eerily quiet, just the wind howling through the broken windows and holes in the walls. The occasional rustle when debris or dry leaves move under the breeze. Nature's completely reclaimed this old house that used to be an apartment building with a bunch of tiny shops on the ground floor. Too off the beaten path, the shops became obsolete when a large mall opened only a few blocks away.

He's also in a very bad neighborhood, and nobody seemed to care about this particular building for a long time. Overgrown and broken, glass panes a good target practice for your usual teenage delinquent or bored child, doors ripped off their hinges by age and decay and maybe some random angry dude who needed a place to vent. Furniture long gone, either taken along or stolen later, things that couldn't be moved too easily (like sinks or toilet bowls) smashed into tiny pieces.

Normally he prefers places stuck in time, where tragedy struck and nobody's been back in decades, with faded photos on the walls or on dusty shelves, the smell of slowly rotting armchairs and a hint of mold in the air. Those make the best pictures. Little time capsules, evidence of older times, in the midst of a blooming bustling city. This building, however, looked more promising from the outside.

He raises his camera and takes a shot of a broken window where thick vines of ivy crawl around the frame and up the wall, the light of the setting sun giving the scene a soft glow. He changes the angle a few times, then moves on, up the stairs, looks through open doors into old apartments, mostly empty, walls vandalized with crude, unreadable graffiti, carpets full of dirt and a (not so) healthy layer of mold.

What strikes him as a little unusual is that the hallways look as if used fairly often, leaves and dust bunnies line the sides, but there's a path between the debris, leading further up the building. Not too unusual, these kinds of buildings usually attract a lot of shady people or bored teenagers, some to meet for illegal business deals, other to party hard in a place Mom and Dad cannot find them.

Maybe it's used for all kinds of things as he notices a growing abundance of empty soda cans, broken alcohol bottles and other garbage lying around (the most striking sight was a trail of discarded condoms and empty lube bottles). His destination is the roof, maybe he can at least snap some pictures of the sunset and the city around him from this place, for all he got now are shots of broken windows, nature reclaiming the urban space and your typical down-the-hallway shot. He even found the one-single-chair-in-the-middle-of-an-empty-room motif.

Of course he's not the first urbexer to walk through here, it's been abandoned for a long time, probably old news for the locals, but this is his first time here, in the city too, and he wanted to see as many abandoned things as possible. He heard from others that this house had good bones, meaning stable stairs and floors, no risk of breaking through and landing in the moldy basement with a pipe through your torso. He is looking for adventure, the thrill of being alone in a lost place, inhaling the intoxicating scent of debris and decay, he is not looking to pay a horrendous hospital bill because he's been too careless.

He takes the last section of the winding staircase, stepping onto the upper most floor, the roof access visible at the end of the corridor. There he hesitates. Unlike the floors below him, there's something different here. It's not as dirty, and the most prominent thing: all the doors are intact and closed. It almost looks like an actual floor of a still lived-in apartment building where you would find the same amount of dust and grime on the floors and walls.

Raising his camera, he takes a few shots, cursing when he realizes it's too dark to get it lined up best. The only light source is a badly boarded-up window at the end of the hallway, a tiny skylight above him and the glow creeping up over the staircase from the lower levels. Why is this window boarded up? What's happening up here that nobody wants to have witnesses for? There are other buildings around this one, still functional, mostly, probably for seedy reasons as well, but there's still the chance of people noticing what's going on here.

The closed doors irritate him. Everything else about this building was ripped out and broken and vandalized, nothing left in its former state. He came in through a bent-out-of-shape shutter gate, most of the former shops have so many holes it's fairly easy to get access to the rest of the house. And nobody seems to care about people walking about. There's an old No Trespassing sign near the boarded-up front door, but that's about it.

Though it doesn't surprise him in this kind of neighborhood. He might be new in this city, but he knows a crime haven when he sees one. Everything looks old and run down, shops are only fronts for other businesses, grim looking people stand around, gangs linger in groups in neglected parks or on the curb corners. He also saw some prostitutes walking the streets, looking as worn and shabby as the clothes they were wearing. Most normal people would avoid going deeper into the belly of the beast, but he likes the more dangerous places, and frankly, he fits right in.

Tall and bulky, he could pass as one of those bouncers standing in front of shady clubs, but he looks also young enough to be confused with a fresh gang member or mafia initiate or whatever. At least he thinks so because he's gotten no curious stares as he entered the neighborhood. Though he was glad nobody talked to him, his accent would have given him away for sure.

He feels his heart beating faster when he approaches one of the closed doors, the hairs on his arms rising in anticipation. It's a thrill to find something unusual in a place you've already pushed aside and declared boring. His hand grabs the door handle, twists it... and nothing happens. Locked. A locked door in an abandoned building. How curious. He tries the other ones, the same thing occurs. When he reaches the last door, he almost jumps back when the knob turns and the door opens with a click and then a creepy squeak.

One open room on a floor full of locked doors. His breath quickens, but he forces himself to remain calm. He doesn't even know what he's expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. The room is almost bare (but not as empty as the rooms he's seen before), aged wallpaper peels from the walls, the windows are covered by thick curtains, old and rugged looking, there's a couch in one corner, covered in blankets that have seen better days too. But the most unnerving sight is the bed in the middle of the room.

It's literally in the middle of the room, a sturdy looking metal frame he could walk around if he wanted to. But for now he only stares. There are handcuffs chained to the headboard, ropes tied to the low bed posts. And then there are the stains on the old mattress, lighter and darker ones, some are definitely blood. Old and dried, though one looks a little fresher, on the lower part of the bed. He's mesmerized, disgusted but mesmerized, almost forgets the weight around his neck before a shiver crashes through him.

It's an automated gesture to raise his camera and take pictures of what he sees. Pics or it didn't happen. It's a strange sight, but he isn't sure he wants to share this scene on his official page. He's known for showing off decaying architecture and nature reclaiming its place in the world full of stone and people. To share a potential sex dungeon might not be the way to go. But he still has his side blog. He has to share this, work through the experience, hoping somebody knows something about this.

Though he hasn't even seen everything. Slowly he takes a step into the room. There's a table behind the door, a longer one, fit for a person to lie on, and the leather belts attached to it suggest the same. Fuck. Is this really one of those freaky sex rooms?

He doesn't want to imagine what goes on in here, but he can't completely ignore that he has seen similar settings in various porn clips. Echoes of crying girls crash through his mind, creepily leering men in ski masks standing around the bed, the table, the couch, cocks in hand, others holding paddles, canes, vibrators, ready to torment whoever is unfortunate enough to be strapped to the structures.

He wants to believe there's consent involved, a scene being played out, discussed beforehand, those girls willingly trapped with a bunch of horny men, but sometimes it's hard to imagine that anyone would want to go through that on their own free will. He swallows, only now noticing the stench of the room. Sweat and sex, various bodily fluids all around, with a metallic undertone. Blood.

Shivering he can't help himself, he takes more pictures, walks around the room as if treading on thin ice, careful not to disturb the scene. He's also hyper aware of the noises around him now, the low buzz of the city beyond, voices passing by the building, birds landing on the roof above him, pigeons cooing, crows cawing, seagulls screaming. He tells himself he'd hear if somebody came back to clean up the scene he's witnessing right now. He could flee to the roof, hide it out, maybe find a way down from there.

Goosebumps attack his bare forearms when he rounds the bed and notices a pile of blankets on the floor. But it's the hair poking out of it that makes his heart stop. No. He freezes on the spot, staring down, camera heavy in his hand. He's heard stories of other urban explorers encountering unsettling things, the more harmless one coming into contact with a squatter, either awake or passed out in some corner, and the most disturbing one... stepping onto a crime scene, finding blood, bones... or dead bodies.

Yet instead of panicking, with the urge to run as quickly as he can, he finds himself staring with an obscene fascination. His eyes trail the blanket, noticing how it's wrapped around whatever is curled up inside it, and he bends down a little, crouching beside it, the smell overwhelmingly strong down here. His stomach protests, but his curiosity is too obnoxious to ignore. Shifting his camera into his other hand, he reaches out, carefully, knowing he should probably wear gloves, but he also doesn't care. He has to know.

His fingers grip the edge of the blanket, and he pulls, gently, his eyes widening as the scene unfolds in front of him – together with the body of a girl unfurling from its curled-up position. He will never share his first impression with anyone, because it's primal, an instinct, the thought of a man whose cock has a mind of its own: she's pretty.

Also naked, covered in grime and other substances, pale skin adorned with angry red welts and purple bruises, something pink caked between her thighs. She's on her side, legs scissored open, arms bound behind her back. Her thick dark hair is braided into two pigtails, and one of them seems to be cut off as the hair frays out and lies around her head like a dark halo. Tears and sweat allowed a thick layer of dust and dirt to cake to her face. Eyes closed, long dark lashes clumped, full lips swollen and raw looking, slightly parted.

Before he continues taking in every detail of her, he has the urge to bring his finger to her nose, and the relief when he feels the slightest bit of air movement against his skin lets him exhale loudly as well. She is not dead. And there's the problem. She looks like she should be, like it would be the better fate. The sight scares him as much as it fuels his morbid fascination, which may explain why he's still frozen on the spot, staring at her instead of calling the police or an ambulance or doing anything to help her. He can't take his eyes off her.

Her slender neck is covered in dark bruises as if someone has tried to strangle her, probably thought they succeeded too. Why else would she lie on the floor here? Left behind after whoever assaulted her was done? And assaulted she was. Sexually, physically. The welts on her body look horrible, thin red lines all over her small breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs, on her ass as well from what he can tell. She was caned, the poor thing. He hates watching those kinds of porn videos. He can see the appeal of spanking, the hand on ass contact, but hitting someone with a rigid cane doesn't seem very pleasurable, it's only about inflicting pain and having evidence of it days later.

A sadistic move, and sadists were definitely at work here. There are more bruises on her thighs, probably from strong hands holding her down and open while various cocks forced themselves into her holes. He feels his cheeks warming up when he takes a closer look at her pussy. Apart from layers upon layers of what he assumes to be cum and other fluids, there are welts and bruises on there too, on the soft skin of her inner thighs, on her puffy outer lips (that look stretched as if held back and open by clamps or whatever these bastards used), but most are on the strangely swollen clit. Ugh. Genital torture, a genre he really hates. Spanking a woman's clit is just downright sick and barbaric.

The more he looks at her, the worse he feels. Not just for what she had to go through, but knowing he can't really help her. How should he? Call the police and wait for other horny men to find her? He never trusted the cops, and in a neighborhood like this he is certain there won't be a good guy among them. Calling an ambulance may be an option, if he does it anonymously and flees the scene quickly, but that leaves him wondering if anyone ever found her. And again, in an area like this, the people who did this may still be around watching the place, stopping help before it can get anywhere, maybe even finishing the job, killing her.

And if he stays and wait, he will be in danger of those people seeing him, and as he now knows too much, even took pictures of the evidence, what's stopping them from killing him too? And even if they don't find him, he fears the damn hospital bill might be his end. Yes, strange priorities, but his brain is buzzing and he feels sick and nauseous the longer he stays in this horrible room, staring down at the poor girl.

She looks younger than him, maybe a few years, maybe a lot, the pigtails give the illusion she might still be a teenager, but her body looks too developed for that. A thin face with high cheekbones, no baby fat, soft albeit small breasts, a narrow waist, plump hips, thighs just rounded enough to create that amazing thigh gap he likes so much. The initial thought is still there, and his cock agrees, she is beautiful, despite the state she is in.

And maybe that's why he forms an idea in his head: why not take her with him? Away from this place, into safety, then assess what help he can get her. She can't stay here, that's for sure. A better man would face the danger of being discovered by her abusers, to make sure she'll get the care she needs, no matter how expensive and uncomfortable it may get. A better man wouldn't crouch beside her limp body and stare and drool.

But he's not. He's a runaway, dropped out of college to party, then got too old and paranoid to return. Too distracted by the world around him. Traveling on a budget, with just enough money to feed himself once a day, couch surfing, loitering, pissing his life away one day at a time. It's only been during the last years that he's gotten a bit more stable, making a name for himself as a photographer, selling prints and doing commissions, and by coming into this city he's hoped to make it even bigger.

Renting an old loft he hopes to transform into a photo studio one day, he's trying to settle down. He still has barely any money, lives off those stupid strangers willing to pay for his pictures even though they're not even that special. He always hopes for the occasional exceptional find, something he could sell to newspapers, but even those prefer to steal their pictures off other people's Instagram instead of paying for a more professional shot. Tough times.

As he crouches next to the unconscious girl, the hand holding his camera twitches. It's an instinct to raise it, bring it in front of his eyes, look through the finder and press his thumb down to take a picture of her. He feels sick for it, but also... not. She's part of this little sex dungeon, the main attraction, actually, and it's an inborn need to burn her image into a bunch of pixels. Pics or it didn't happen. He considers sharing her story with whatever newspaper may want it, but then his name would be attached to the evidence, he could be linked to this scene, and what's stopping any corrupt cop to call him guilty for this? Or the bad guys to come and erase any kind of evidence? Him and her included?

She can't stay here. He can't keep staring at her. Something has to happen.

Before he puts his camera into his backpack, he can't help but take a few more pictures of her, of her wounds and injuries, of the evidence caked to her skin, the blood trailing down her inner thigh. Maybe justice will come one day, but he'll need pictures of the crime scene to make it happen. He also snaps a few shots of her face, peaceful in slumber, of her soft curves, those tiny feet with the ankles covered in rope burn. Those he does in several angles, maybe he has a future in selling feet pics. And it's not his fault the market exists.

The world is a sick place, and he's just trudging along.

Eventually he stores his camera in his backpack, then moves the blanket back around the girl. His hand finds her cheek, and it's warm to the touch, she's certainly still alive, and probably in pain, so he doesn't want to disturb the few quiet moments this cruel world has given her. He wraps her up and scoops her into his arms, a barely there weight, poor thing looks and feels malnourished on top of being treated so horribly.

Lifting her up, he realizes the light has turned from the soft sunset glow into the harsher, darker tones of the street lamps coming to life. Time to go. Maybe her abusers will return soon. He carries her out of the room, she's warm and soft in his arms, head resting against his shoulder, hair and one half of her face peeking out of the blanket cocoon. She's tiny, in comparison and in general, and knowing her fate he feels even worse for her.

His heart clenches by the time he's descended all those stairs, and when he reaches his point of entry, he hesitates. It's one thing to slip into a building during the day, nobody cares about a man with a camera creeping around old houses much, at least not in this kind of area, but knowing this place is frequently used for terrible little sex adventures, he feels uneasy now. The night is fast approaching, and he knows these kinds of things probably happen when the shadows fall.

Looking around, he decides to find another exit, preferably one leading around the back, and luck is on his side when he finds a broken window looking into a backyard filled with black trash bags. With the girl still in his arms, he climbs through, but slips on something at the last second. Curling his back, trying not to harm her further, he feels his backpack scraping over the rough wall, hoping it didn't damage his camera. It's one of his few prized possessions, but thinking about it, maybe he should reconsider his priorities.

He's carrying a life in his arms, a life he intends to save, so a broken camera, a replaceable thing, really isn't that big of a deal. He can always salvage the SD card inside anyway. No harm done. Rolling his shoulders, he shifts her against his chest, then continues through the dark alley. He's parked the hunk of metal he calls his car a few blocks away, at the edge of the neighborhood, hoping he'll still have all tires when he returns.

And indeed they are all there, as full and dirty as he's left them. The old truck was the last thing he could afford after renting out the loft, so even if he's bound to this city, relying on random strangers to finance his life, he has a means to get away if he has to. For now, he's pulling the passenger door open and carefully puts down the bundle of limbs and hair and blankets, and when he does, she suddenly stirs.

He freezes, staring at her as her eyelids flutter open. A soft groan escapes her, but when her wide eyes, beautiful dark irises, glazed and a little dull, but beautiful nonetheless, meet his, she stiffens too, lips parted, and he expects a scream, a distress call, anything, but she doesn't issue a single peep, just looks at him, almost calm, probably just glad she's still alive or thinking she died and woke up in a weird realm between the worlds where it's normal to wake up in unfamiliar places, facing unfamiliar people.

He still feels the need to calm her. “Hey, it's alright. No need to be afraid, I'm not here to harm you. I want to help you, okay? Do you understand?”

She blinks, her lips trembling, but then she utters a barely audible “Yes, sir”, and he feels his heart jumping a little. To his own shame, his cock does the same. He clears his throat, nods to her, then closes the door with a thud and rounds the car, putting his backpack into the covered truck bed. Her eyes are following him when he slips behind the wheel, despite her slouched position on the seat. She's eerily quiet, not at all concerned about a strange man packing her into his car.

He watches her as he pulls the seat belt over her small frame, then buckles himself in. “You'll be alright,” he says softly, giving her the hint of a smile, and she continues staring at him. She must be in shock, no other way to explain this behavior, probably fighting the pain coursing through her, the soreness and burning, the stickiness between her thighs, the memory of the whole ordeal. He can't blame her. It must have been absolute hell.

He starts the car, glad it does so on the first try, and maneuvers it back into the nightly city traffic until they reach the old warehouse at the edge of it. It's the cheapest he could find, between two concerning neighborhoods, but those are still better than the one he found her in. At least he has running water and electricity, and a bed. Hmm. One bed. He'll give it to her for now, trying to squeeze his big body onto the small couch. It'll work.

She's still only staring at him when he unbuckles her and picks her up, though her breaths are a bit more labored. Maybe the shock is fading, letting through the pain more and more. He hums soothingly to her, tells her it'll be alright, knowing the more he'll repeat that, the more she'll believe it. It's his life motto too, fake it till you make it. She's that pliant body in his arms as he carries her to the old elevator, hoping it'll last another day.

When he reaches his apartment door, he shifts her in his hold, and she winces, a horribly pathetic little sound he hopes never to hear again. “Sorry,” he mutters as he fumbles for his key and unlocks the door. “You'll feel better soon, I promise.”

Her warm breath hits his neck as she presses her face closer against him, a strangely submissive gesture, a naive hope to trust a stranger. He takes her straight to the bathroom, where he sets her on the closed toilet lid and slowly unravels the blanket from around her. She's sitting perfectly still, the only movement coming from her almost curious eyes as she watches his every move. She winces when he brushes against the welts on her skin, chest rising and falling a little faster, but that's about all the motion he gets from her.

When the blanket falls away, she's that naked thing covered in sweat and cum and blood, and it occurs to him what a strange situation this is. For him to just take her away, without informing anyone, authority or not, and for her to just accept it like this. She's awake, maybe a little dazed, but conscious enough that a normal girl would stir more, talk more, fuss and strain against his touches, maybe even try to flee or do anything to ensure her own safety.

But she is just sitting there, arms folded behind her back, watching him. She doesn't seem real. Like a robot. A brainless toy... And it occurs to him, that might just be what she is, what she has been. A body to use, handed around between vulgar men, an object to utilize in their sick fantasies turned reality. Of course he's no stranger to the news, especially the darker ones, those about trafficking and forced sex work, even if those stories barely make it past the usual political drama. It's another one of those morbid fascinations he can't seem to break.

He might just be as sick as those actually partaking in these illegal little sex gatherings, he's watched those videos, even though he's handled them like any other porn he's come across. As fake, a scene played out, a fantasy made as real as movie magic can make it, but to find this girl in this room, discarded and abandoned like a broken doll, left behind after everyone else was done and satisfied in their twisted, primal needs, shows him that those were not scenes, not fake, but brutal reality. It makes him angry.

“Can you stand?” he asks her quietly, tilting his head as he towers over her, and she nods, looking up at him, before straining her bruised body when she tries to move. His hands find her elbows, and she flinches, but lets him pull her onto her feet. “Oh fuck, your arms, I forgot,” he presses out, and quickly leans back to grab a pair of scissors off the counter behind him, then carefully moves around her to cut through the ropes holding her wrists and forearms together. When he's done, he lets her go, and she sways, arms flailing a little, her hands twitching as if she wants to hold onto him. He guides her into the shower, then steps back. She turns around immediately, eyes wide. “Do you need help?”

She bites her swollen lip. “Please,” she croaks, and the hoarse sound of her voice breaks his heart (but also thickens his cock). He nods, swallows hard, trying to fight the strange warmth pooling in his stomach, before he toes off his boots, strips off his hoodie and jeans, then steps behind her in just his boxers. He wants to show her he's not a predator, but he also doesn't want to get his only good pair of jeans wet and dirty. One day he'll be able to afford another one.

He grabs the shower head and turns the knobs on the wall, waiting for the water to heat up. She's shivering, her frail little body so tiny in front of him, one hand rubbing up and down the other arm, a mindless gesture, trying to ease her nerves probably. Her eyes, however, stay on him and his every move, very attentive, almost eager. It should feel a little bit more bizarre to share a shower with a girl he's just met (or rather found), but it's as if he's running on instincts, feeling the need to help her, make her feel better, ease her pain.

The steam fills his nostrils, and when he puts the water jet to her shoulder, she winces, flinches away, lets out a little whine, but ultimately returns under the spray and lets him clean the grime and sweat and other substances off her skin. He's careful not to put too much pressure on her bruises and the welts, and is glad they didn't break her skin, even though they look horrible, shining in a bright red as if the blood is pulsing just beneath her pale skin.

When he lowers the shower head to point it between her thighs, he hesitates, looks at her, but all she does is take a little side step and spreads her legs a bit more to allow him to do so. So fucking obedient, it's almost scary. The grime on her inner thighs is so persistent that he has to move his hand over her skin before he realizes he should probably use a wash cloth. Stepping back, he leans around the open door and grabs a small towel, wets it and then proceeds to rub the dirt (and cum and other things he doesn't want to think more about) off her thighs. She whines quietly when he moves the soft cloth over her folds, and he holds his breath, trying to be as gentle as he can be.

When he touches her clit though, she shudders and gasps, legs trembling, and her hand is on his arm then, holding on tightly, with a strength he wouldn't have expected from her. He watches how her eyes roll back, how her lips part and a little moan escapes her, and he just freezes, wash cloth pressed to her sensitive nub, unintentionally drawing a strange little orgasm out of her. Was she trained to be this sensitive, so responsive? To come on touch alone? He didn't even rub that hard.

He takes the cloth away slowly, and she calms down a little, breathing just a bit harder, but when her eyes meet his, she furrows her brows, bites her lip, mumbles a croaked “Sorry” as she lowers her head. He frowns at that, tilting his head.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he says quietly. “I... uh, didn't mean to do that either...”

Is she one of those poor girls who was bound to their master's (or whatever the man called himself who had her) will, to only do as he told her, to come on command, and to feel bad if she does so without permission? What a horrible fate... He would never ask her to hold her orgasm, he would want to see that reaction over and over again, allowing her all the pleasure she can get. Not that he'll ever want to do anything to her, but... in theory, of course.

He keeps cleaning her then, lets the warm water soak her bruised skin, and she just stands there, chin tilted up, eyes closed, wet hair cascading down her back, hanging over her shoulders, one side shorter than the other (how cruel to take away something from her, even as benign as part of her braid, but it's definitely crueler to treat her like a soulless body, and he's glad she's not missing any fingers or limbs instead).

Considering, her state could be worse. She's standing on her own, breathing just fine, she's probably very sore and aching, but the pain will fade and she could have a normal life after this, more or less, not counting the psychological trauma that seems to still hold her hostage. Well, it's not ideal, and maybe death would have been a relief after the torment, but she's young, she can work through this, it's possible. And maybe he can help her cope...

Looking at her petite frame, he feels his stomach tensing. It's wrong to feel like this, he knows it, he shouldn't even allow the smallest little thought into that direction, but he is just a man after all, standing with a naked young woman in his shower, and it's blatantly obvious what his cock thinks about this whole situation. He hopes she doesn't notice the tent in his boxers.

But he shouldn't worry, she doesn't seem to notice much, standing still under the spray of the water, and when he turns it off eventually, deeming her clean enough, she inhales deeply and opens her eyes, blinking away stray water drops. She remains immobile, and while he turns to grab a towel, she doesn't move an inch. When he starts drying her off, rougher than he intends, but his hands feel like they are shaking from the tension growing inside him, she winces a couple of times, but then presses her lips together and endures.

He's watching her like a hawk, apologizes for accidentally hurting her, tries to be as gentle as possible, and her eyes are glued to his face, not completely focused yet, still glazed and hazy, pupils blown for some reason, her gaze almost curious. What a strange little creature. He'd expected a victim of whatever type of rape she's experienced to be more... hysterical?

When he finally wraps the towel around her small body and another one around her damp hair, she seems to relax even more. Then she opens her mouth.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispers, looking up at him before bowing her head.

He stares at her, blinking in confusion. “Uh, you're welcome,” he says. “But, uh, you can call me Sam, okay? I'm Sam. No need for... honorifics or whatever, you know?”

There's a frown on her face when she looks back up, her lips moving as if she's repeating his name in her mind.

“What's your name?” he then asks, leaning against the sink as he watches her.

The frown deepens, her eyes moving away from him, flickering here and there as if she tries to find the answer somewhere in his bathroom. “I...” she starts, eyebrows furrowed before she exhales deeply, her shoulders sagging. “It doesn't matter,” she then replies.

“Huh?” he makes, staring at her. “What do you mean it doesn't matter? I'm sure you have a name. Did you forget?” He kicks himself mentally for assuming as much and for his harsh tone, but it's ridiculous.

She shakes her head, not to say no, but to clear her mind maybe? It's a frantic gesture. “It doesn't matter. I don't matter. I am... I am yours to... to use,” she mutters under her breath, hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“What now?” He gapes at her.

And then she is suddenly on her knees in front of him, the towel falling away, her small body folded with her hands lying neatly on her lap, her chin tilted up, looking at him with big eyes. “Please use me,” she says quietly.

He takes a step back, bumping into the cupboard next to the sink, staring down at the girl. Is she serious? He shakes his head, then walks back and grabs her elbows. “Come on, get up, no need to kneel before me, okay? Get up!”

His harsher, also slightly agitated tone makes her wince, but she's on her feet immediately, letting him pull her up, then stands stock-still before him, head lowered, a soft little whine escaping her. “I'm sorry...”

“Stop apologizing!” He lets go of her and runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “I mean, ugh, wow. I'm sorry, too. You must be... well, you've been through so much, I don't mean to scare you or anything, I just...”

“Please,” she mumbles, breathing a little harder. She's shivering without the towel, the one on her head coming undone as well the more she shimmies on the spot. He stares at her, she has her hands clasped in front of her sex and squeezes her thighs together, small breasts squished, nipples erect, a deep blush almost hiding the red welts on her skin. “Please use me,” she then says again.

“No!” he blurts out, and she flinches, another sob escaping her. He groans. “I mean, come on! I will not just use you, I just met you, I found you! In that freaky sex room after you've been...” He stops when he suddenly meets her gaze. Her pupils are fully dilated, her already dark eyes shining entirely black. “You're in no condition to do anything but relax now, okay? Take it easy. Come on, I'll show you the bed.”

He's about to grab her hand when she turns her shoulder, avoiding his touch. He freezes, frowns. “In... no condition? Am I... not good... anymore?” Her voice is that feeble little hum, a desperate song sending shivers down his spine.

“What? No! You are good, you are perfect, you are so beautiful!” he croaks out, unable to stop the words. She tilts her head, blinking. “I mean, yeah, uh, you are, but that's not what I mean. You are... Look, whoever treated you like this, whoever hurt you, just left you there. And I couldn't not take you, you know? I want to help you, do you understand that? I want you to feel good again after –”

“Then use me,” she whispers, breathing harder, hands falling away from the obedient pose as she rubs them up and down her thighs, still squirming on the spot. “Please, it hurts...”

“Of course it hurts, they hit you with a fucking cane! They raped you!” he shouts, a little too loud, his emotions getting the better of him.

She flinches back, gasping with her lips parting, her eyes wide. “No... no, they were... they had to punish me because I... I was bad... I deserved it... and they... they used me like they should use me...”

Her words are mumbled, but he can still hear them, even though he wishes he couldn't. What a sick way of seeing things. What a fucked-up world where a pretty girl like her has these thoughts planted into her head.

Anger makes him clench his hands into fists. “They shouldn't have done that. You are a human being, a young woman, a beautiful girl, not a doll to play with, not a toy to use!”

She stares at him, eyelids fluttering, chest rising and falling faster, small breasts bouncing. Really not the time to notice that, mate!

“But,” she whispers, wincing slightly as she starts chewing on her lips. “But that... that's my purpose... I am... I am yours to use,” she repeats these last five words like something she had to learn without knowing the meaning behind it.

He approaches her slowly, carefully, his big hands find her small shoulders, and the touch makes her look up at him. “You are your own person. You have a name, even if you can't remember it right now, you had a mother and a father, maybe even siblings. You went to school, you had a job, maybe. You had dreams, everyone has dreams, for the future, things you wanted to have, places you wanted to see. You are not just a body for strange men to use. Not like that. Not without consent! You were not made to be punished, to be hurt because some random sicko gets off on it. Your body is so much more than just... holes to fill... and a canvas to soil with bruises and welts and... cum...”

His voice has become calmer, like a mantra, new thoughts to plant into her muddled brain, so he hopes, and she listens with her lips parted, eyes directly looking at him. Sometimes she frowns, sometimes she blinks, and when he finishes she licks her lips.

“But I want this,” she says quietly. “I want to be used...”

He sighs deeply and lowers his head, then shakes it in frustration. “No, somebody told you you should think like that! Nobody in their right mind wants to be raped and mutilated like that!”

A single sob makes him look up, and he lets go of her, straightening up. Her lips are trembling and her eyes watering before tears stream down her face. He lets out a groan.

“I'm sorry,” he grunts. “I didn't mean it like that! You are valid, whatever you want, of course, but... but you gotta agree it's a little strange?” She only cries harder, her small frame shaking. “Okay, look, no kink shaming or whatever, I just... I assumed, the way you were lying in that room, the state you were in, I thought you needed help! You looked horrible! I was about to call the police!”

She freezes at that, staring up at him. “No,” she gasps. “Don't do that! Please! I... I don't want any trouble... I... I'll do anything, but... please... not the police!”

He raises an eyebrow at that. This reaction surprises him. “Why not?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. She averts her eyes, breathing harder. He isn't very fond of them either, but why wouldn't she? Why would she prefer being gang raped and beaten and strangled over calling for help?

She presses her lips together, doesn't say a thing. For a moment they are both silent, standing in the bathroom, the naked girl and the guy with his tented boxers. Even now his cock doesn't agree with him. But he doesn't care about it anymore. This is a mystery he wants to unravel.

“Tell me,” he says, tone harsher, pointedly. She seems to reply better to commands.

And it seems to work. “He said he'd kill me if I talked to them,” comes her quiet answer, spoken to the tiled floor.

“He? He who?” he asks, his arms falling to his sides.

“Sir,” she replies, her shoulders shaking.

“Sir? Who calls himself Sir? Who is that? The man who did this to you?”

She shakes her head. “No. He... he found me, he took me in, and then... he... he sent me away because I was... a bad girl and he... he... they...” A series of sobs escapes her before her hands fly up to cover her face. Her cries pierce his heart. “Why did he send me away? What did I do?” she wails softly, muffled from behind her hands. “I was a good girl... always a good girl... did everything he said...”

He can't watch it anymore. While his rage for this unknown man grips his insides, he steps forward and pulls her against him, arms wrapped around her shuddering form, but she keeps crying, lets it all out, desperate and heartbreaking. He scoops her up and carries her to the bedroom, her tears hot on his skin, her whines loud in his ears.

Putting her down carefully, he pulls the blanket over her naked body and tucks her in, gently rubbing her side as she curls in on herself, continuing to cry miserably.

“Please stop crying,” he whispers, sitting down on the edge of the bed, hand still on her hip. “I'm sorry he treated you like that. But he let you go, you said so, so why don't you use that as a chance to move on, look ahead, find a new Sir? Or live your life without any man for a while? I'm sure that's nice too...”

She stares at him from under her clumped lashes, momentarily paused in her sobbing, only to cry out again when he suggests moving on. He sighs, letting her wail and whine until hiccups shake her form. She's not calming down, but she gets quieter, and he stands up then, walking down the stairs into the kitchen to get some water and a snack. When he returns, she's lying on her side, staring blankly ahead, eyes reddened, face flushed and wet, but she's stopped crying for the moment.

He sits back down on the edge and holds the water glass to her face. “Come on, drink something. Please.” She doesn't even look at him. He exhales loudly and puts the glass on the bedside table. “Fine. Well, it's there if you want it. I also brought some crackers, maybe you're hungry. I can get more later. Or just sleep, you definitely need that. Rest, get better, and tomorrow we'll figure something out, okay?”

She doesn't give a reply, and he shakes his head and leaves again, settling on the lumpy couch under the stairs, his eyes drifting back up to the loft area every now and then. He falls asleep thinking it was probably a bad idea taking this girl with him. For his sake. What if she is so sick in the head she'll stand over him with a knife in the middle of the night? Great thought to slumber over, really.

1 🟢 2 🟢 3

End notes: *And this was the plot part of our story, stay tuned for the sex frenzy to begin in the next chapter!

There will be three chapters in total, I'll upload every Wednesday.

Thank you for joining me on another little original story I needed to get out of my system.

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[catiuskaa]

Yeah, Flowers Follow.

You have always been committed to your duty at your mom's flower shop since she got hurt carrying bags of dirt over a month ago. It was mostly just you and the flowers, until he barged in one day, slapped 20 bucks on the countertop and with a passive-aggressive tone, asked: "How do I say fuck you in flower?"

because seo changbin + fluff will always have me in a chokehold. And a flower au? fuck yea, bring it on, babe.

inspired by this pin which I'll link here

edit: omg guys you loved this so much I just couldn't resist making a part two, still, this can be read as a stand-alone, although I hope you guy's like this one as much as its 'second part', which I'll link here

Word count: 5k. Binnie isn't mean, ok? He's just emo and tough-looking. And kinda introverted. fluff fluff fluff. swearing. kinda horny towards the end, but no spice added. Lol

You wiped your sweat from your forehead, rolling your sleeves up with a huff as you took back in your hands a big old water can. You watered the lilies and small ivies that remained outside of the flower shop, quickly waddling back inside for more water.

Your mother was usually the one who took care of Lilac, the flower shop. At first, it had been her and your aunties, but it all flew away after your grandma's passing. You had been young, so much that your memories of the time were mostly made of blurry faces that were not present in your life to this day. Your mom had been okay taking care of the small flowery world she built, but an accident with a heavy bag of dirt over a month ago made you complain. She reluctantly let you handle the store until her back got better, which was coming along slowly.

After watering the plants, sweeping the floor, pruning the bonsais, and preparing the several bouquet orders you had for the day, you ran out of things to do, settling to play some jazzy music while you reviewed your class’ notes as you waited for clients.

Your evening was quite calming. Clients came in like droplets, so the shop never felt too crowded. Most of them asked for flowers for their loved ones, some even speaking about their partners, how they had met, or the dates they were excited to have.

It was cute. You had always been fond of the small flower shop and shared the interest with your mom, reason why you didn't care about taking the lead for a while or doing your homework there. You loved the way the flowers brought people together, and the stories and meanings that they had behind them.

Just as you figured out the answer to that one question you had been stuck on, the bell rang, indicating someone's presence inside. Someone that approached you in a rather passive-aggressive manner.

"How can I say 'fuck you' in flower?"

Words that you had never imagined coming out of someone's mouth —which was something, considering the wide range that your imagination could reach sometimes—.

You carefully observed the man's gestures, who didn't stop scanning the place. Years spent helping out at the flower shop had given you a kind of sixth sense, one that allowed you to easily see through people's appearances.

"Do you have anything in mind, or do you not care as long as it is full of loathing?" You inquired with a sweet smile.

Changbin found himself suddenly falling into the harmony of your eyes without realizing it. You quickly left the books on the shelf under the counter, lowered the music and turned to him. Your eyes rested on his, brown and limpid, to which he adopted a belligerent posture in response, an action that —to his surprise— did not unsettle you. He quickly shook his head, focusing on the anger that remained inside of him.

"Make it striking. Something so colourful that can even hurt to look at." You giggled.

"Intense." He held back a smile, his lips twitching. "One second."

He stared at your figure as you went to the small workshop behind the counter. The feeling that Changbin had at first had nothing to do with what he was perceiving at that time. A pleasant floral smell, mixed with mint and lavender essence filled the building. It wasn't only the exquisite aroma that captivated the man, but the beautiful colourful landscape that that small establishment hid. The white wood decoration made any bouquet or flower pot stand out as if it were the icing on a cake. The large windows allowed a large amount of light to enter, and they gave amplitude to the small place.

It was a beautiful place, but strange. Peculiar, for sure, and it was due to the chromatic order of its flowers. Sorted by colour scale, regardless of the species. The red roses were with the poppies, the tulips with the clivias and the orange jasmines. The ferns, aloe vera and fittonias were also together, despite having nothing to do with each other. The coves, cherry blossoms and hydrangeas shared a common space that at first glance, they should not have. It was a beautiful chaos, but it was still a floral hustle and bustle.

"Do you like it?" You asked sweetly when you came back.

"It's not bad." He replied vaguely. "It's..." Ravishing "...small."

From his attitude and the way he studied the place, almost as if he expected some kind of danger to appear among the pots and leaves, some would say he was not to be messed with, but to you, he looked like someone rather shy and quite sceptical, nothing to do with what he might seem as, considering that tattooed bad-guy build and the killer stare that he carried around. A thought occurred that his somewhat murderous look did not allow him to say what he really thought.

Nevertheless, you could agree with him. Not only was it a small store, but it was a disarray of varieties. Nevertheless, to Changbin, above all, feeling watched all the time was something he was used to, yet your stare felt different, making him feel more goosebumps the longer he was under your eager gaze. He couldn't help it, but when you looked at him so kindly, he felt strange.

He wanted you to stop looking at him.

"Orders arrive on Wednesdays," you mentioned, already arranged behind the counter. "Shop opens at nine, so feel free to arrive whenever. I will need more flowers for your bouquet, so until then, I'm afraid I can't have it. Either that or..."

Changbin interrupted you. He couldn't stand to have those deep-coloured eyes immersing in his own.

"Wednesday is fine." He said in a huff.

You smiled, dimples on display. "Okay! Then as long as you stop by on Wednesday, we can arrange the bouquet. I'll be here, spraying water to the chrysanthemums, alliums and hydrangeas."

Changbin felt his chest tighten, his eyes wandering around your features, your dimples, your lips. He stopped himself, took back his cash almost in a hurry, and left almost as quickly as he had arrived.

"See you then, and thanks for shopping in Lilac!"

[☆ ☆ 💐 ☆ ☆]

Wednesday. The delivery truck was parked on the street facing the back of the store to unload the flowers you had ordered for the week.

To your surprise, Mystery —the nickname you had chosen for him, that sounded way better than 'fuck you flower boy'— came back precisely at nine am, and again, surprisingly enough, he wasn't alone.

He looked way more relaxed with his friend, the anger that almost shocked you looking long gone as his features didn't remain tense.

The bell rang as you were preparing the workshop for the arrival of the many flowers.

"Wow, this place is lit." His friend had good taste, judging by what you could hear.

"Thank you!" You mentioned with a cheeky smile, startling both men when you came out of nowhere. "Sorry, the truck’s outside, but I’ll be here in a minute."

You approached the delivery guy, who was opening the truck and setting the ramp so lowering the different flowers wouldn’t be too hard.

“Hey, Jerry!”

A comfortable chat took place between the two, who had met each other several times ever since your mom got hurt.

Inside, another conversation was happening. “Remind me, what are we waiting for, buddy?” Han asked as he wandered about in the colourful building.

Changbin sighed, frustrated at the reminder.

“The boss said something the other day I didn’t like. As a matter of fact, I despised it,” he grunted. “He looked at my desk and saw the bouquet I kept there, the one we got for that other show, you know?” Han hummed, paying attention. Weirdly enough, Seo’s eyes never left the backdoor you had gone through, not even when he continued. “So he mentioned how untidy my desk looked, how disgusting it would look when the flowers died, and hinted that flowers would look way better in his studio. It made me fucking angry. I don’t care if no one likes you that much to give you pretty flowers.” Han cleared his throat, allowing Changbin to return from his hating cloud. “Yeah. Uh. So we’re here to plan his bouquet.”

“Sheesh, I get that. The boss can be such an asshole sometimes.” Jisung mentioned vaguely. “But why nine am?”

Because I needed the excuse to see her. “I want to get this over with. If I’m lucky, he’ll even brag about the flowers.” He smirked, hiding his true intentions.

He suddenly heard some giggles through the door you had crossed. Han arched his brows.

“So you offered to pay for coffee and takeaway tonight for me just so I’d come with you here only to get flowers for the big man? Really?” He said, faking innocence as he settled his elbows on the counter, holding his cheeks in his hands, almost like a toddler.

He gave Han a side-eye. He shrugged. “Give me one more sign, and I might start thinking that…”

Bin covered his mouth. “Don’t. And that also goes to don’t lick it, or I’ll make sure Minho air fries you.”

Jisung lifted his hands, giving up. “I wonder what’s going on back there.” He smirked, teasing.

Changbin didn't want to flutter around you two, but he knew that putting the flowers in the store wasn’t that hard. He clenched his jaw unconsciously.

"If I had known that you were looking for an employee, I would have come running," said the boy, putting his cap back. “If you are looking for more staff, you know where I am.”

"It's very kind of you, but I never looked for anyone in the first place. Mom wouldn’t even dare to accept it,” you laughed. “Also, I wouldn't bother you knowing that you have your own trade. In addition, I get to put my skills to the test, but I can get quite moody sometimes. I bite, you know.”

He arched an eyebrow. "Don't worry about any of that. Working with you would be a thousand times better than distributing flowers throughout the city.”

Maybe it had been how you laughed or the snarky reply he had just heard, but Changbin needed that man to leave. Now.

Your eyes landed on that buff silhouette who entered the inside of the truck. Seo continued to unload the flowers. You tried to finish the conversation, but the guy wouldn’t stop talking while there was a client of yours doing your fucking job. You grew tired of Jerry, and you got up inside the trunk, willing for the man to take a hint and leave already.

Han couldn’t believe his eyes.

"Oh, please don't," Jerry went up too. "I'll take care of moving the plants.”

"Don't worry, it's the last one.” You tiredly smiled at him.

You took the remaining bouquet and got out of the truck behind Seo while the delivery guy wondered when the flowers had been unloaded. You quickly said your goodbyes before you returned to the counter.

"Thank you for lowering the flowers, it was not your job yet you did it anyways,” you smiled shyly as you started preparing the table in front of you with different sorts of labels plus the diferent tools you needed. “Sorry for the wait.”

“You’re fine. Don’t worry.”

Han stared blankly at the man who scolded him singlehandedly every day he was late to the studio just by a minute. He then stared back at you, then at his friend.

No bloody way. Holy shit.

"For your order, I found something the other day I though you might enjoy," your smile widened, your eyes like crescent moons as you handed him a small book.

“Oh.”

It was an old copy of a book that read “The Language of Flowers.”

“Maybe you could search up in the insults chapter if you see any meaning that you think could suit.”

He looked at you and quickly back to the book so he wouldn’t drift away in your eyes like days ago.

“Yeah, fine.”

Changbin was not very talkative, but the bitter tone with which he spoke was unusual. Han could tell, years of knowing the man allowed him to feel a bad mood in the way he communicated. His gaze was more frivolous than usual, and he squeezed his lips as if he didn't want to say anything. Shockingly to him, you noticed and were unable to let it go.

"Is something wrong?" You questioned softly. “Are you upset?”

Changbin hesitated. Han gave him a soft kick where he knew you wouldn’t see it.

“Yes.”

You started slowly writing in the labels before you as he, at the same pace, passed the pages.

"May I know why?"

Changbin cleared his throat. Shit, why was he so nervous?

"That guy was just talking, and that's why I had to do his job,” he grunted.

"I... I'm sorry." You looked down, sounding sincere. “If I hadn't given him a conversation, he would have started unloading the flowers.”

It wasn't true, and Changbin wasn't an idiot. That guy wouldn't have taken his eyes away from you unless he didn't have enough time to finish his shift.

But that didn't matter to him. What mattered was that your voice didn’t sound the same when you talked about this guy. It didn’t sound right.

"What type of flower is a Forget-Me-Not?" Han interrupted, looking at the book, reading past Changbin's shoulder. If he continued like that, Seo may not scold him anymore. For a short time, at least. Maybe a week.

"Oh." You recovered your kind smile, and the knot that had formed on Changbin’s chest untangled as soon as he heard your excited tone as you showed Han the small blue flowers. “They actually import them, from Mexico! Did you know?” You asked no one in particular, the two men in the shop suddenly interested in the topic as you continued to blabber about flowers.

To Changbin, only when you talked about them, your voice seemed less annoying. Even pretty, he could admit —not out loud, obviously—. But he liked it, mentally classifying your sweet tone of voice into “I-would-listen-to-it-to-fall-asleep”.

No one would notice.

[☆ ☆ 💐 ☆ ☆]

“Dude. You are like, I don’t know, totally in love with her?” Han said as he took a sip from his takeaway coffee as he entered the recording studio and sat on the sofa.

In his mind, just because he hadn’t paid for it, it tasted ten times better, even though if it was the same he chose every day.

The accusation almost made Changbin spit his own drink. He stared at it, wondering if there could be something in it that could’ve explained why his face felt so hot all of a sudden.

Fuck, was it that noticeable?

“Yeah man, it is really noticeable.” Han smiled, surprised at his silent victory. “You look at her like Minho Hyung looks at his cats. It’s sickening, really.”

Changbin frowned. “I do not.” Jisung deadpanned.

“Says the man that made me third wheel in a fucking flower shop.”

“What are you guys bickering about?” Chan asked with a small smile as he got inside.

“Changbin is in love with the flower girl two blocks away.” Han teased in a sing-song voice.

“Fuck that.” Chan’s eyes grew big with emotion.

“Shit, he is.”

“Actually, Hyung,” Jisung mentioned as he handed Chan the other coffee he had bought, “I think she might like him back.”

Changbin coughed violently. The others smiled.

“Why the fuck would she?” He frowned again, his eyes not leaving his phone. “I literally met her last week and behaved like a piece of shit.”

Both Chan and Han smiled, knowing that by not refusing the allegation, Changbin was actually interested in Miss Flower Girl.

“Remember the analogy I made with Minho and his cats? Same shit goes for her. I’ve never seen anyone staring so intensely at someone’s eyes.” Han trembled, exaggerating. “Chills. Literal chills.”

Small hope was planted in Changbin’s heart, but he tried to shove it deep inside him. “Either way, after I go and get the flowers from her, whatever this is, is over. There’s no chance,” he shrugged.

Chan and Jisung shared worried looks. Despite what Changbin could show to people, he was a loving, sensible person. They both knew that if he had silently admitted the existence of a crush on this girl, it was because he meant it. And for a guy like him, who was often viewed as mean and rude or even dangerous, he usually chose to approach new people the less, so whatever was going through his mind meant a big deal.

Chan tsked. “Maybe it’s none of my business, bro, but after Hari, I’ve-.”

“Spare me the trip, Hyung,” Changbin interrupted in a low voice. “She’s been stalking me for months since I broke up with her. I really don’t want to hear it.”

Chan patted his back, a sad smile on his features as he looked at his friend.

“S’good, man. No hard feelings.”

After working on some tracks for a while, the topic was thoroughly avoided by the members, until Changbin sighed.

“Okay. You guys can stop your mind games.”

The others gave him a puzzled look.

“Whaddya mean?” The Australian wondered.

Seo let a small smile show as he passed his hands through his face.

“I really want to see her again.”

[☆ ☆ 💐 ☆ ☆]

So thanks to Chris, the bell in the flower shop rang once again. You were humming a popular song, one that Changbin knew, so instead of approaching you, he wandered through the isles filled with flowers, listening to you as you continued the melody.

His heart beat like crazy when after a while, he opened and closed the door again, pretending he hadn’t been there listening to you.

“Oh, hey, Mystery.”

Your smile made his heart skip a beat. The sundress you were wearing, along with the short brown apron, made him swallow dry.

“Flower girl,” he greeted. You lifted your eyebrows.

“That’s a change of attitude. What can I do for you today?”

Do me. “I was wondering if you could deliver the flower bouquet. Is that possible?” He asked politely.

Your dimples showed when you smiled at him, looking for a notebook in the mess that your study guides made.

“College?” He wondered, staring at your eyes daringly as he pointed to your books.

“Music major, final year,” you grinned. “For your delivery, write the address here, and I’ll deliver it myself,” you played with a strand of hair, quickly moving it behind your ear.

Chanbin’s hands tickled. He wanted to do that too.

“I wouldn’t do it usually, but I figured you wouldn’t enjoy seeing Jerry again.”

He scoffed as he scribbled in the notebook. You cackled.

Suddenly, a loud noise from the workshop startled both of you, who were kind of lost in the other’s eyes.

“Girl, are you still here?” Your mother asked loudly.

You facepalmed, mouthing ‘sorry’ to Changbin, to which he quickly gestured that it was fine.

“You ok, mom?” You replied.

“I’m fine! God, you spend your days here. If it were me, I’d be outside kissing boys!”

Your face turned red in the blink of an eye. “Mom?!” Changbin held back his laughter, covering his mouth with his hand.

She never answered, just chuckled teasingly.

Changbin quickly closed the notebook and gave it to you, his cheeks suddenly almost as red as yours.

“See you soon, I guess?” He smiled, still holding back a loud cackle.

“Stop laughing.” You snickered. “But yeah. See ya… eh…”

“Changbin. Seo Changbin.” He left, smilling like an idiot.

You opened the notebook as you raised the music’s volume again, blushing furiously at your discovery.

Along with the address of what you recognised as some well-known company and the name of who the flowers where for, he had left a note below it.

In case you want to go kiss boys.

Was that… his phone number?

[☆ ☆ 💐 ☆ ☆]

After closing the shop for the day, you stared at the flower bouquet as you were walking down the street, headed to where Changbin had written down. After figuring your way out with the maps app on your phone, you decided that taking your bike would be stupid, as it only was two blocks away.

The mix of colours was striking. At least, it had that. You hoped the person who would receive it would like it, meanings aside, considering you put effort into it.

The company was bigger than you expected. Before you could allow yourself to enter and look around, a security guard stopped you.

“Excuse me, miss, no one is allowed inside without a pass,” he explained.

You smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of your neck. “I was just here to deliver this…? I wasn’t told about this restriction, my client just said that I should deliver it in person.” Yeah, that was a lie, but he didn’t know that. “Would it be ok if I went inside? It’ll be only for a minute.”

He sighed, then shrugged. “I don’t think I’m allowed to let you pass…”

“Oi, Hyung!”

A somewhat tall man —at least taller than you— approached you two.

“You’re Flower Girl, right?” He said, sounding excited, failing to hide it. “She’s with me, don’t worry.”

You entered the company with him, but after that, you stopped and turned to him.

“I appreciate the help, but who are you?”

He smiled. “Yikes. Forgot about that. My name is Chris, it’s nice to meet you. I am close friends with Changbin.”

Your eyes softened, and you smiled. “Oh, I see.” You then looked back at the notebook you carried, the one Changbin had written down in. “Do you know where could I find Park Jin Young’s office?”

Chan looked at you weirdly. “Changbin paid for flowers for the big man? Damn.”

You giggled. “It’s not what it looks like. These flowers all have different meanings, and none of those is a good one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! For example, the orange carnations?” You pointed out one of the flowers. “Those mean ‘I hate you.’”

Chan snorted and laughed at every meaning of every flower you gave him.

“Chan!”

He turned around to face whoever had called him, seeing Changbin approaching him, looking anxious.

“Chan, she’s fucking downstairs.”

Chris’ stare turned darker. Your heart tightened in your chest.

“Stay with her. I’ll go see if I can talk to security.” Chris managed to say before he rushed downstairs.

“Bin, is everything good?”

He noticed your presence, to which he froze for a second. Time started to feel slow. His spine locked up, and his shoulders stiffened. He even felt his shirt stretch in a sudden motion.

“Flower Girl.” You could feel the sudden state of relaxation he arrived, his figure visibly less tense.

You hesitated on what to do but then chose to act by instinct. Hugging him.

He tensed up again, the sudden act taking him by surprise. You tried stepping back, feeling like you had made him awkward, but he then pulled you in a bear hug.

“Thanks, pretty.” He whispered in your ear. “I needed that.”

“S’ok.” You smiled, a fluttering feeling settling in your stomach

He stepped away, shyness all over him. You smiled at him, but something changed as he looked at someone behind you.

Before you could turn around to see what had been the issue, he got way closer than a second ago, a hand travelling to your cheek, directing your face to meet his.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Seo whispered, just before he pressed his lips against yours.

Your confused self couldn’t manage the sudden emotions that ran through your body. You felt his tongue brush your lips, and you had to make an effort not to drop the flower bouquet when you started matching his pace, feeling him smile in between the kiss.

Concentrated on the man that had a hand on your face and an arm around your waist, you were too into it that you didn’t hear a woman gasp at the end of the corridor, leaving in a rush, crying fake tears.

Don’t get Changbin wrong. Seeing the girl that had tried to manipulate and gaslight him out of his music career just so he could spend his time doing stuff for her, things she took for granted, he figured the only way of making her leave should be a harsh one.

And okaaaay, he might have been dying to kiss you for a while now.

After texting Chan that she was gone, you both eventually arrived in front of the office.

He stayed behind as you entered, approaching a somewhat 50-year-old man with clothes as striking as the bouquet you had in your hands.

“Who sends these?” He questioned, his features suddenly looking younger when he smiled.

“Seo Changbin, sir," you bowed. "Have a good day!”

You couldn’t help but snicker when you closed the door. You found the three known men standing in front of you.

“So? Did he like them?” Han inquired.

“Pfft. I made that bouquet. Of course, he loved them.” You bragged jokingly.

The three of them offered to give you a quick tour, as it wasn’t common to have the opportunity to see the JYP building from the inside. Before you realised, it started pouring outside, heavy rain that looked like it wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

You cursed under your breath. If you even dared to walk under that rain, you would end up swimming your way home, your skirt and your blouse ruined.

3RACHA stood behind you, noticing that you were still at the entrance after a bit. Both Jisung and Chan ushered and pushed Seo to where you were.

“Is everything ok?” He asked, in a tone softer than what you expected.

“It’s just… ugh.” You looked at him, then tsked.

He froze when you got even closer, passing your hands above his shoulders. He had to hold back a shiver when your hands brushed his neck.

“Got no one to do this for you, I guess?” you gently fixed his collar, hands lingering on him more than they should have.

He couldn’t hold back a smile, looking at you differently, in a more intense way.

“I’ll take that as a no.” You ended the topic quickly, your eyes wandering from his eyes, then his lips, and back to his eyes again. You swallowed dry. “I can’t go back home with this rain, but my phone died, so I can't call for a cab or an Uber.”

He looked at you up and down. “Are you in a hurry?”

You stared at him, trying to match the intensity from before. “Not really. I just don’t have anything better to do. Why?”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

Neither Chan nor Han could say that Changbin was the messiest of the three, but he still was messy a generous amount. So when he got into the studio and picked up everything in less than five minutes, they gave him a look.

“Use protection, you bitch.” Jisung teased. Bin ruffled his hair.

“Fuck off," he chuckled. "See you tomorrow, guys.”

He guided you to the parking lot, and you both started driving.

Changbin’s grip on the steering wheel tightened when he noticed how your skirt rode up your knees when you sat down.

“Wait, I didn’t give you my address.” You realised, confused as to where was he going.

“I know.”

You looked around when he entered an underground parking lot, then parked and quickly got up to open your door.

He got really close, unbuckling your seat belt.

“You don’t need to be home tonight, right?” His eyes didn’t leave your lips when he asked.

“No.” You answered, almost in a whisper.

He took your hand as you got out of his car. Changbin walked with you to where the elevators were, hands still linked.

“Where are we?”

He pressed the elevator button and looked at you, even more intensely than later at the studio.

“My place.” He kept looking down at your lips. “I’ll take you home tomorrow.”

[☆ ☆ 💐 ☆ ☆]

You woke up the following morning with a warm body next to you, the feeling making you snuggle closer to Changbin, passing his arm and setting it on your waist.

The sound of a notification made you groan in a low voice, reaching for your clothes and grabbing your phone from your jacket’s pocket. It was your mom.

You didn’t arrive last night. Where are you?

You smiled and replied.

I went to kiss a boy, like you said.

You went back to bed, looking fondly at the man next to you.

A buzz from your phone made you wake up from your daydreaming.

Cheeky girl. Flowers follow?

You laughed. As a florist, your mom had made up the expression one day. When saying “flowers follow”, it meant that there would be a positive outcome of whatever you had on your hands.

You knew that to your mom, in this context, 'flowers follow' meant just one thing.

Yeah, flowers follow.

Yeah. You might have fallen in love with him.

Don’t you dare come back home without that boy. I’ll cook something!

“What’s got you all smiley?” A sleepy Changbin made you giggle even more.

He, on the other side, could definitely get used to a morning like that.

You left your phone on the bedside table, and then got close to him again, tangling your legs in between his. He poked your dimples, and you chuckled.

“You, silly flower boy.”

~Kats, who has the urge to put lil’ details in every fic, like how the flower shop is named Lilac, which means ‘first love’ in flower, or how the flower that Han asks about means 'true love'.

(if you ask me, she was humming Come Inside of My Heart, bc I fucking love that song)

[heartthumpnovel]

Heart Thump: Chapter 8

“It Came From Outer Space”

Word count: 10434

Buckle up folks, this is gonna be a long one. Just in time for October too! By the way the tag-list is at the end and if you want to be notified of new chapters coming out just let me know!

cw: Cursing/Swears, Blood, Violence, Absolute Jerks

Last Chapter: Growing Pains

Next Chapter: Kill the Director ---

Days off are the best, paid or not. If Natasha has a few more hours to decompress from the chaos at work, she’ll take it. Not only did it mean she didn’t have to put up with office bureaucracy, it also meant that she can run away from all of her conflicted feelings that haunt her daily though the most escapist artistic medium she knows; video games. 

Natasha adjusted her chic pastel sunglasses in the right-hand side mirror of her venom motorcycle to make absolutely sure they would not fall off and cause an accident. Though she asked herself if the sun hat and trendy trench coat were absolutely necessary. Then again, she couldn’t be too careful in this imperative operation and it was crucial that no one from work would recognize her. A perfect picture of the worst-case scenario made Natasha clutch the bismuth that hung from her necklace. If one of her peers or, god forbid, the higher-ups found out she was buying violent, gruesome video games, then she would be getting a severely negative performance review. That could lead back to her mother finding out. 

While it might have been more time efficient and socially safe to order her games online, she really needed to get some sunlight and despite the risk she was taking, going to browse the shops was a pass time she missed. Oh, to be a young baby goth that ate burrito bowls in the food court, and ran away from security for disturbing a Hot Topic. Those truly were the glory days, gone by too soon.

Enough reminiscing and making sure her fool-proof disguise didn’t fall apart, blood and glory called to her. Natasha locked up her bike and made her way to one of America’s dying ecosystems; the mall.

Right before she could enter the front doors of a preppy clothing shop that led into the interior halls, she had to awkwardly scoot around a mother trying to calm down her hysterical kid crying about a monster in the bushes. Avoiding that, she managed to get inside and make a beeline towards the doors that had led to the actual store fronts within the building. Disregarding the entirety of the early-winter selection, she was already fashionable enough, thank you very much. 

The weekend had brought in a decent crowd, though considering this mall was in a bustling city it wasn’t hurting for customers even on slow days. Natasha braced herself for the oncoming noise by putting in her earphones and stared upwards at the five stories from the bottom floor. She could barely make out the people in the sea of colorful brands and the cacophony of voices. It was a wonder, for Natasha, that the employees can stand this much commotion every single day. Perhaps she should be happy she gets to work her life away behind a desk.

In any case, that video game wasn’t going to buy itself. Natasha strode onto the crowded escalator. She tried to not bump into the group of rambunctious youths in front of her and held onto the rail with a tight grip. Trying to focus on the electronic beats that played in her ears, her fingers tapped down on the volume button to dial her music up to cover up the loud conversation between two older women behind her.

The trial of getting to the third floor was, for the most part, grueling. Stepping off the escalator almost felt like flying. With a skip in her step, she quickly made her way along the balcony, pulling her hat down to cover her eyes. Eye contact with others was not mandatory on her day off. Her attention was laser focused on trying to spot the store front she was so keen on finding. She was so dead set on getting to the game store that she-

“OOF! Hey, watch it!” scolded the teenager she accidentally bumped her shoulder into.

Natasha’s attention snapped back into place as she backed up with her hands raised. “Oh damn, sorry!” Natasha faltered apologetically, “You okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?” Her guts were already twisting in embarrassment as the glare the youth was giving her made her feel like she was the size of a mouse. 

After what felt like forever, the tension broke as the teen rolled his eyes and put his ear phone back into his head. “Nah I’m fine,” he said while brushing off his shoulder, “It’s all good, see ya’ miss.” As if Natasha didn’t just hurt him, he shrugged it off and moved on with his day. 

As he walked away, Natasha hung around for a moment to ponder, wondering why he didn’t tell her off for shoving him. She should have been paying attention to where she was going and not turn on autopilot like an idiot. Pain from her forearm snapped her out of it, she hadn’t noticed her own fingernails were gripping tightly into her flesh.

One enormous sigh later, she watched the carefree boy just stroll further away from her, and turned away when he stopped, seemingly preoccupied with something on the ground floor.

Oh, to be able to just let things go. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Natasha continued her journey to the game store, which wasn’t too far from that spot. This time, she kept her guard up, and made it to the storefront of her usual place. While it was more hole-in-the-wall than the franchised game store in the mall, it had much older games for sale. Plus, the prices were much more reasonable than more recent titles.

Her expectant grin dropped when she realized that the employee who usually was manning the store wasn’t there. This time, it was a guy she hadn’t seen before, who was just staring at his phone, leaning apathetically on the counter. She surmised it was probably his first day and thought to give him a kind impression. While she never had to work retail in her life, the horror stories she had heard gave her empathy for those working on the front lines in society. 

“Hello!” Natasha cheerfully said in a chipper demeanor as she strolled into the store, smiling at the employee who barely raised his head. When their eyes met, a chill went down her spine as she not only saw indifference, but annoyance. She couldn’t understand his grumble before looking back down at his phone.

Brushing off that warm welcome, Natasha just assumed he was already having a bad day, though she wondered to herself if she had laid on the introduction too thick. She made her way to the previous-gen console games and focused less on the employee’s coldness towards her. She had actual business to attend to. 

Picking though nostalgic titles was a walk in the park for her. Natasha simply just had to pick out something that wasn’t already in her collection, maybe even a duplicate copy with an alternate cover she hadn’t seen yet. Her pink push on nails hooked onto a few survival horror classics and pulled them into her hands as if she was an excited pre-teen again. She was having a great time sitting there on her knees, she hardly even noticed the sourpuss employee behind her making passive aggressive sighs. 

Once she had a good stack of games in her forearm, Natasha turned to see the employee still glued to his phone. It turned out that the hard part of her trip wasn’t just getting to the store, but checking out.

“Hello!” Natasha said as she approached the counter, though her excitement dimmed as she noticed the employee didn’t even notice her greeting. He had to have heard her, he wasn’t even wearing any earphones. After one awkward silence, she cleared her throat and spoke up again. “Excuse me,” Natasha said with a more firm tone in her voice, though she didn’t want to cause a scene, “I’d like to buy these please.”

The death glare the employee gave nearly made her jump, unfortunately she knew this look and the knots in her stomach twisted. She didn’t like where this conversation was heading. This guy looked down at her hands and rolled his eyes in disgust as he shoved his phone into his pocket. 

“Fine,” the cashier grumbled as he nearly tore the games out of Natasha’s hands. While she was taken aback from how rude this employee was being, she had hoped he’d do the bare minimum and just do his job without a fuss. Unfortunately, her hopes dropped when the cashier stared at the cover of each game she bought as he scanned them. He shook his head and just had to open his rotten mouth.

“Your boyfriend ain’t giving you enough attention huh?” the cashier said bluntly with a sick smirk on his face, “Does he even like these games?”

Wow. That’s how it’s going to be then?

Luckily, being in countless upper management roles had given her the skill of keeping a lid on striking out to offense. Though she gave the cashier an unbothered smile, a furious rage burned in her chest. He couldn’t have been serious. “Nah,” Natasha responded, “These are for me.”

“Suuree they are,” Cashier said, stopping mid-button press as he was ringing up the items, “These are outdated garbage, nobody plays shit like th-”

“Cool, are you going to just yap or do your job?” Natasha interrupted him, not even giving him the reaction he wanted as she calmly just searched through her purse for her wallet. That made the ostensible incel shut his mouth, his ballooning red face looked like it wanted to explode. To his credit, it looked like he had some idea that if he were to escalate, he would lose his paychecks indefinitely. He shoved the games into the cheap plastic bag and basically threw the bag onto the counter.

“Twenty four fifty,” he grunted with spittle hitting the register. He scowled, seeing Natasha smiling smugly as she tapped her card on the reader. Natasha couldn’t have been more happy when she got the receipt and shoved the bag into her purse. While it looked like she walked away completely unbothered by the cashier’s behavior, her knuckles paled as they gripped the purse’s strap. 

The words he said just replayed on a loop in her mind, almost driving her to tears. Why the hell did she have to be punished for just buying video games on the only time she could let loose? Her heartbeat pulsed loudly in her ears as her firm sense of justice became too raw to bear. Without realizing, one of her hands pulled harshly on the waist of her dress. A meltdown was approaching upon the horizon, however, she had to push the wave down. If she were to shed even a single tear, she could be in bigger trouble than that disgusting pig. It was all becoming all too much, Natasha needed an outlet before she- 

Ping!

Halfway out of the store, her phone notification went off. Natasha didn’t know why she did, but in the middle of storming out of her ruined sanctuary she checked her phone. It looked like someone left a message in the personal friend group chat. Upon opening it, her eyes lit up as she saw who it was from.

Atlas Gang Group ChatNovember 23rd @  1:00 pm

Jason: Hello! Sorry I have gone quiet for the past two weeks. Recovery has been a bit more rough than I expected. Good news though, I’m coming back to work monday! :)

Her grip loosened with a sigh of relief. It was about time, she really needed an ear to listen to her right then. Natasha lost contact with the reality happening around her as she tapped her nails onto the phone’s keyboard. 

Natasha: HEEEEYYY! :D Omg i’m so happy to hear! MAN you wouldn’t BELIEVE what just happened at the 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” screeched the pig’s voice.

Natasha’s head nearly spun off of her shoulders at the yelling, expecting to see an angry cashier confronting her. However, he seemed to stare in absolute horror at something beyond her shoulder. A rattling sound right behind her became apparent with an unnatural chill that made the hair on the back of her neck stand. She held her breath as she hesitantly turned her head to face… it.

Natasha’s day-off just got a whole lot worse. 

[Image Description: Natasha is face-to-face with a large monster that resembles an anthropomorphic  dinosaur that is made out of stone and glowing crystal. It is “drooling” and staring her down.] ---

Natasha: HEEEEYYY! :D Omg i’m so happy to hear! MAN you wouldn’t BELIEVE what just happened at the 

Jason: ??? Nat?

Jason had been staring down at the cut off message for about a minute, wondering why she didn’t finish what she was saying. Though he couldn’t ponder for long as a grating voice snapped him out of it.

“Yo what about LONDON TOWER?? EHHHHHH?” Motor gleefully suggested as he was flipping through the clearance costumes in the back of the clothing store.

Jason just gave him a tired stare and pressed the side button on his phone in order to put it to sleep. “You realize I’ve been an American citizen for six years now, right?” Jason said, “And for the last time, I will not be a masked vigilante, it’s literally illegal.” While it might have been too late, Jason had concluded that it was an absolute blunder to reach out to Motor for help. 

The original deal was to just go shopping for plaster to fix his ceiling and get used to controlling that pesky curse in public. Jason had to go back to work at some point as rent would not pay itself. At first it seemed nice to go out shopping after a whole two weeks inside, however, it quickly became apparent that the goal of their trip had changed from getting his life back together to picking out tacky Halloween costumes. Long after October.

“Oh come on Jason,” Motor said, “Don’t you know that great power comes with great responsibility?” He quoted that as if he was some professional historian, finger raised and all. 

“I am being responsible,” Jason answered as he folded his arms, “By keeping this thing under wraps and not breaking the law.” His gaze turned to the ultra cheap costumes around them, feeling a sense of embarrassment from the mere thought of wearing tight leggings and a wonky mask.

“Bro what the hell is the point of having a superpower and not usin’ it?” Motor asked as he held up a black jumpsuit towards Jason to compare sizes. The office worker shifted his glare to the jumpsuit and shoved it away. 

“It’s not a- ugh,” Jason grumbled as his palm hit his forehead, “I just need to learn to be normal again, nothing more.” He turned away from Motor with his arms crossed, his ears red with boiling fury. 

“Being normal sucks,” Motor retorted as he turned his back to throw the jumpsuit improperly onto the hangers, “Besides, it ain’t gonna kill ya to have a disguise for when you get a growth spurt.” Motor continued to clank through more clearance costumes on the hangers while pouting. Jason on the other hand, wasn’t going to bother to humor the nerd with his bizarre fantasies. Though if Jason had to concede anything to Motor, he had a point about needing to hide his identity in case it happens. All it could take was one escaping thought to cause a terrible scene and a call to the United States military. 

Perhaps, he could hide somewhere when he felt the butterflies coming on, or maybe just drop that silly crush on Natasha. Though the former was easier said than done. Suddenly Jason shook his head vigorously, realizing that he was treading dangerous waters if he were to dwell on his feelings for her any further. Looking for a distraction, Jason glanced over at the clearance table with all sorts of Halloween masks that weren’t lucky enough to be sold during the holiday they were made for. He reached out and picked up a bright white ski mask with wiring connected to it. Seeing the wires attached to the mouthpiece and the small battery pack on the other end made him realize it had a voice changer.

With his curiosity satiated, Jason was about to place it back down onto the table to check out the other masks in the meantime. Before he could get the chance to, both of the men heard a loud screech from the shopping mall entrance. They looked at each other confused, though did not say a single word as a crowd of mall shoppers ran into the clothing store and sprinted to the building’s exit. 

Grimly, Jason assumed that they had ended up in a situation that Americans are unfortunately too familiar with. Just as Jason was going to join the crowd to run from the apparent threat, a large hand that grabbed his shoulder stopped him. 

“Motor what the bloody hell are you doing!?” Jason shouted before he was dragged down to hide behind the hangers with the janitor. Motor promptly shushed him and Jason stared at him, wondering what was going through Motor’s head now.

“I didn’t hear a gunshot,” Motor whispered as they huddled behind the costumes, “Did you?” Now that he thought about it, a gun surely would have been fired by now if it caused this much of a panic. “I didn’t,” Jason confirmed, attempting to peek through the costumes to watch more people run, “But whatever it is, we shouldn’t be standing around to find out.”

In order to figure out exactly what the panic was about, Jason focused his new hearing towards the groups of people hustling to get to safety. Though what he heard cleared nothing up at all.

“Run for your lives!”

“WHAT WAS THAT THING!?”

“Lucy, come on baby! We’re almost outside!”

“I’m not making it up!! It’s HUGE guys!”

“Think I saw it chasing some lady, this is our chance!!”

It had left him with more questions than answers. They couldn’t have been talking about him as he was nowhere near the scene of the crime and the last he checked was his normal height. But, if the involuntary giant was with Motor, then what the hell else could they be referring to? Motor himself seemed to tune in the best he could. With his curly bangs covering his eyes, Jason found it hard to decipher if Motor had come to his senses yet. Nevertheless, someone had to use their common sense at that moment, and it sure would not be Motor. 

“L-let’s get out of here,” Jason shuddered as he turned to Motor, and witnessed one of the most horrifying things imaginable to him. A dark brown eye pierced through Motor’s bangs had its full attention completely focused on the little office rat. That sizzling stare burned into Jason’s mind as it was the telling sign of a reckless idea being born with full immunity to doubt.

“Jason,” Motor said, “Someone is in deep shit right now and needs your help.”

Hearing the unexpected serious tone Jason had thought Motor could never possibly possess, his face turned completely pale as he began to involuntarily shiver. Shaking his head, Jason tried to mutter out excuses though his disbelief. “Wh-what?!” Jason squealed, “I-I can’t do anything about this, we should get somewhere safe-”

A harsh, jamming finger into his sternum which took Jason’s breath away. “You have the power,” Motor argued, “Are you just gonna run away to do the safe thing, or the right thing?” 

This was one of those rare times where Jason could peek behind Motor’s bangs and saw those judgemental eyes stare deep into his soul. His resolve crumbled, unsure what the correct answer had to be in this situation. Never in his life he was depended on like this and merely asking something like this crushed Jason. “I… I can’t-” Jason sputtered, unable to give a simple reply as his scared eyes stared back at Motor. 

His fingers gripped into the plastic of the mask he had been holding onto.

“...Oh- oh bugger.”

---

Natasha’s shoes skidded as she sprinted around the corner, not bothering to look behind her as she heard a storefront’s windows shatter. Unfortunately, this didn’t buy the time that Natasha wanted. In the matter of seconds, the pursuit continued as if the thing didn’t just tumble through a wall of glass. 

The unnatural footfalls of the towering thing grew louder as it rapidly gained ground towards Natasha, who had burst into a full on sprint for her life. Her mind still held the glimpse of that living art school project and the unidentifiable wet substance that dripped from its claws. Out of everyone else in the mall, it had its eyes dead set on the prey it picked to give chase. Natasha wasn’t sure why, but this wasn’t the time to stop to ask questions. 

Her feet hit the laminated floors as her chest burned with every quick breath. 

She thanked herself for not going with the low-heels today instead choosing her casual white tennis shoes. It had done her a favor in running away from the ghastly creature behind her. 

Natasha’s skin raised goosebumps from the frigid breath tracing the back of her neck.

To her horror, she found they were heading towards the end of the floor that had nothing but a white plastered wall that had spelled out a grim fate for her. Natasha only had a couple of seconds to look around for a way out, as death trailed at her heels. At that moment, she saw the escalator which was devoid of people. Suddenly, the inner urge of her rebellious days long past called to her.

She acted upon it.

In one swift skip, she jumped onto the escalator railing and had dodged a swing from the beast, her backside landed on the rail. Swiftly, she slid down the railing, freedom blowing through her pink curls. Pure glee rushed through her heart, however it was brief as she attempted to hop off of the rail. 

Natasha was rudely reminded that she wasn’t fifteen anymore as she tumbled a few feet and didn’t make the graceful landing as planned. With a yelp, she fell onto her side and ended up rolling on to her back. Her trendy glasses broke in half on the floor and her hat floated into the mall’s koi fish pond.

Just before she could even think about getting up, its claws slammed right along her shoulders. The crackle of laminate filled her ears and the chilled breathing sunk into her spine. Before she could even register it, she had been caught.

“No no NO NO NO!!” Natasha croaked, “Not like this!” Pleading seemed to just bounce off the beast as it drew closer to her face, making no noise other than its scrapes on the tile floor. She tried to get up, push it away or anything, but her limbs were tired from running. Everything shut down as the end grew closer. The adrenaline pumping through her veins had blinded her to the mascara dripping off her face and how her throat had become hoarse from screaming.

Regrets sprouted from the depression her mind had cultivated. She should have stuck with her musical passions instead of safe corporate work. Maybe even sucked it up and just tried to ask Jason out on a date. Man, calling her ma first from time to time wouldn’t have hurt. Did she really need to pick up these video games today?

The blinding maw was open wide, and she would soon find her fate to be a cruel one. Her eyes closed shut, ready for the end.

“H-h-hey, y-you there!”

The icy grasp of death suddenly released, and Natasha heard a deep voice give a frightened screech. “Leave her al-AAAH!” Yelled the voice, “Bloody h-hell what are you!?” 

Natasha felt the overbearing presence above her shuffle away and she felt safe enough to open her eyes to see what brave idiot was dumb enough to get its attention. Turning her head she saw a guy, who began to slowly retreat. He looked like he ran out of ideas for a Halloween costume; dressed in all black clothing that covered just about everything except his face, which was covered by a knock-off slasher hockey mask.

Natasha could tell right away that he bit off more than he could chew, especially since he wasn’t even holding anything to defend himself with. She could only push herself up as she witnessed the stranger take shaky steps away from the approaching monstrosity.

“U-Uhm, sorry that was rude of me wasn’t it?” The stuttering stranger spoke, his voice became hoarse with fear, “See, you’re causing a huge ruckus and hurting people, d-do you understand what you’re doing?”

It towered over the skinny man. The full height of this thing had to have been almost twice as big as him. Even if the creature didn’t have long crystalline claws and a mouth a dentist would faint at, the idiot had no chance. While it was hard to gauge from where Natasha was prone, she could tell the pleads from behind the guy’s mask had not gotten through to that thing at all. An attempt to peacefully negotiate had been done in vain.

Natasha pulled herself up off of the ground and leaned forward to get a better look as she debated if she should make a run for it. While it would have been the safer option, she thought it cruel to leave this guy alone with that B-movie abomination. One glance was all it took for her to notice that they were the only ones in the mall, and she didn’t hear sirens. Worst of all, she saw the monster slowly lower its arms and bend its legs, just as if it was about to pounce on the shivering man who obviously froze in fear.

“Hey!” Natasha shouted, “Watch out!!”

The masked figure’s head jerked towards her direction, followed by a surprised gasp as he visibly was taken aback by her presence. Natasha could not even comprehend what happened next. She had to have been trapped in a nightmare conjured by her anxieties and caffeine overdose. In one blink, the masked stranger’s height lurched upwards, and he had gained an unexpected height advantage over the monster. Visibly cold vapor hissed through its ‘skin’ as it backed away, if only for a moment. From what Natasha could tell, the stranger didn’t expect this change either as he looked down to investigate his hands with a shaking head. Though the match up changed quite a bit, the monster had already lowered itself, disregarding the change entirely.

Unfortunately, the now-giant man didn’t notice it pouncing on top of him until it was already too late. The only thing he could do was to flinch backwards to stop the thing from slicing his head off, but alas, the glowing, blade-like claws scraped down his arm. A pained shriek rang out before a slam in the chest interrupted the man as the creature barged into him. Blood dripped onto the laminate floor as he shoved the beast aside with both arms. The stoney creature fell under its own momentum into an abandoned hot dog stand. Natasha stood up onto her feet, still trying to process the scene unfolding in front of her. This seemed to be a chance to get away from the insanity she’d had been thrown into, through her wet eyes locked on to the wounded giant. He had looked back at her, she could see his dilated pupils as he held his trembling arm. The stranger then dashed towards her direction.

Natasha backed away, preparing to make a run for but found herself cemented to the floor. To her horror she spotted the creature getting up from the greasy remains from the stand as if it was nothing. The fear upon her face caused the giant to look over his shoulder to see what she was gawking at.

That is, until he tripped over the edge of the koi pond and fell right into it.

Water splashed about and turned red from the blood seeping out of the masked giant’s wound. He had a rather difficult time getting out of the water, unfortunately, the creature had seen this and made a slow stride to collect his head. Tiles cracked under its weight as it approached the fountain, looking down at the incapacitated giant who was struggling with his pain. 

However, before it could leap onto the masked man, one of its feet landed on a stray puddle. Immediately it yanked itself back with a loud hiss as vapor rose from the affected foot. From where Natasha was standing, she could see the obsidian-like skin under its foot dull into an ugly gray and the light leave the pulsing blue crystals. Within the pond, the masked giant scrambled, not realizing the creature had halted its pursuit and wobbled back up to his feet. He leaped from the pond clumsily and tried to run past Natasha as if she wasn’t even there. As it didn’t want its prey to get away that easily, it readied itself and leaped across the pond as if it was nothing. The beast slammed down onto the other side despite it limping on its poor foot and made a bloodthirsty dash towards the wounded giant. Natasha took a step away from the scene, nearly slipping on ice. “WOA- huh!?” Natasha yelped as she saw that the spots where the monster had been had been frozen completely with the puddles becoming black ice. Remembering some parts of her highschool chemistry class, an idea sprouted from her mind. Her attention went back to the fight as she heard a loud clash.

The masked giant had grabbed a plushie stand and rammed it into the beast to stop its chase. While that idea might have worked out, the creature knew better as it grabbed the stand by the sides of it. Large bright teeth emerged from its gaping maw and it snapped its mouth in the middle of the stand, including an unlucky teddy bear. The stand had been torn in half to the giant’s horror and it didn’t take long for the beast to leap from the remains of the stand. A loud thump echoed across the empty mall’s lobby upon impact. Natasha saw the beast’s arms slam down against the giant man and pin him to the floor. She shivered, knowing that what that brave moron was seeing was that eldritch gullet. His screams then snapped her out of her inaction. She couldn’t just stand there and let an innocent… man? Die. Not because of her.

Quickly, her eyes darted around the mall, trying to see anything she could use to save his life. Her desperate mind then spotted the fire hose box across from where she was standing. Natasha made a bolt for it as the beating continued.

“AA- St-AH! Get-” The giant stammered as claws slashed into his chest, though an unexpected roar came from him. “GET THE FUCK OFF!!” He yelled as his good arm swung from the side and plowed into the predator’s head. It reeled back in agony, its growls sound less like an animal and more like crumbling glass. No longer was it holding him down as it held the side of its face, though it still was in grabbing distance from the giant man. The time to intervene was now, or more regrets would follow her.

The door to the fire hose box slammed open, and she tugged the end of the hose out of its roll. The beast made a deep rumbling noise as it glared down at its exhausted opponent with its blazing blue sockets. Before it could lash out at him once more, a daring human caught it off guard by jumping in between them.

“HEY UGLY!” Natasha yelled, hose ready in her hands, “WHERE’S YOUR RAINCOAT?!”

[Image Description: From the point of view of the monster, Natasha is spraying a fire hose at it while yelling. The quote “Random guy” on the floor is staring at her in amazement/fear for her safety.]

The water spouted from the nozzle and drenched its face completely. Vapor poured from the graying skin from the beast as it writhed in agony from the water pouring into every crack along the surface. It scattered away from the onslaught but it was already too late for it to run, as its feet twitched for the last time before they froze completely. Pieces of its arms withered and crashed onto the floor. To what Natasha could guess was a scream, it had made a loud engine like roar before the light from its eye sockets dimmed. 

From a creature made of crystal, it stayed a mere frail stone statue for only a couple of seconds as the pieces of it cracked onto the tiles, and what remained was a pile of rocks with its vapors dissipating into the air.

Nothing but quiet running water filled the mall lobby.

A clatter of a fallen hose's nozzle followed the moment of silence that was shared between the two of them in the lobby. If she wasn’t on high alert from the impossibly giant man behind her, Natasha felt like she could collapse onto the floor into her favorite fetal position for a mental breakdown. Her dim wine eyes held a haunting staring contest with the frozen remains of the thing that almost ended both of their lives. However, it was cut short as her shoulder jumped from the loud groan behind her. The winds of movement brushed against her back, causing her to turn around to face him.

Now that she didn’t have to worry about meeting her maker early, Natasha had a better look at her terrifying rescuer. It was as if he was a slasher villain that escaped his own B-movie. He had just about everything; The black clothing, emotionless hockey mask, incredibly imposing height and what she could see, his squinting eyes staring daggers at her. Despite his appearance however, the giant could only barely sit himself up and was clutching his chest, hissing in pain from the beating he took. Too many questions ran through her mind to pick which one she should ask first. Since she couldn’t find the words, the giant used his own. 

“Uhm.. you alright?” he asked softly, his hands trembling.

“I-I guess,” Natasha finally answered with a dry mouth, “Should be asking you that.” She pointed at his chest, however her eyes gazed over the torn sleeve that revealed a rather nasty wound. 

The giant’s head followed her finger and he slowly unclenched his hands, shaking and definitely had his blood on them. Even with a deep voice, he uttered a squeal upon seeing the deep scratch on his forearm and pulled it close to his chest. Natasha attempted to lean a little to get a better look, however he pulled it away from her view. 

“O-oh that?” he spoke, chuckling nervously through his strained voice, “It’s just a scratch, no big deal haha…” Even with his eyes hiding behind the black mesh within the mask, Natasha could tell that he was looking away from her desperately. Dude looked like a serial killer, but he acted like a puppy who’s paw got accidentally stepped on.

“You sure?” Natasha insisted as she reached her hand out timidly to him, “We should get that wrapped up atle-”

Before she could finish, wind knocked Natasha back as the giant jumped back up to his feet. Thankfully, she managed to not fall over, though her heart rate multiplied seeing him reach his full height. Even while he was hunching over his obvious wound, her stomach dropped as he was tall enough to punt her like a football if he wanted to. 

“That won’t be necessary!” he said, “I’ll just go and clean it… out…” The giant paused in his spiel, unintentionally looming over the shivering woman. Standing within his shadow, that survival instinct re-gained the hold of her heart. A tiny voice in her mind tried to remind her he had just saved her life, however she did not like the way he was staring her down.

“You’re adorable,” he finally spoke. 

“E-excuse me!?” Natasha yelled, unsure if she had misheard him.

“AH- I mean,” the giant clumsily backpedaled as he waved his hands, “Sorry! You’re just so small now.” 

Dread crawled up her spine as it felt like his examination was piercing through her. Natasha shuffled away from him as tears welled up in her eyes. “Y-you’re goddamn huge,” Natasha whimpered as she grabbed the sides of her fizzled hair, “Ain’t no way this is actually happening to me right now...”

As if a switch flipped, the giant perked up and put hands down gently, backing up to give her space. “Oh, bugger!” the giant pleaded, “I forgot I’m… this.” His sigh flickered through the audio processor in the mask, looking away from her and drifting his eyes to the ruined pond.

He began talking again, though Natasha couldn’t exactly hear what he was saying over the loud thoughts crashing into her head. Ringing in her ears deafened her as everything about this situation had just seeped in. This wasn’t normal. Her fingers became numb and suddenly it became harder to breathe. She almost died. She could have died. 

Natasha was staring into her muddled reflection of the cracked laminate floor, not even hearing anything rather than the noise popping in her ears and her own sobbing.

Why did life have to be so cruel?

A droopy hat pushed her out of her spiral as it suddenly filled her vision. Natasha blinked and realized it wasn’t just any hat, it was her hat that fell into the pond. Though soaked through and tinted red on some of the edges. Her shaking hands reached up to grab the sides of it and looked up. The giant had been holding her hat in one of his hands while kneeling to her as if he was some dashing knight. Their eyes met for the first time, yet it felt so familiar.

“You deserve better than this Natasha.” He spoke with as much warmth as he could with an artificially deepened voice. While this gesture would have been sweet, charming even given the circumstances, the calm Natasha felt flickered out as his hand suddenly doubled in size. She couldn’t help screaming loudly from the sudden growth spurt as his entire being grew bigger right in front of her. He’d let go of the hat at this point, startled by her outburst and stood up in order to give her space. There wasn’t much clearing he could give, considering his back had bumped into the balcony of the second floor. The hot dog stand’s remains also had to get a word in as one of his shoes slipped on spilled grease, which caused him to fall back down onto the mall’s tiles. The sound of the cracking floor followed as Natasha backed herself into a pillar opposite of the walking disaster.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry I didn’t mean to-” the giant tried to plead to the sobbing woman who had already been through enough that day. However, his attempt at smoothing things over was interrupted by a yell that came from down further into the lobby.

“Yo, did you show that thing who’s boss-” Motor shouted as he ran towards the scene, though his jog turned into a full on sprint as he saw who had become a sobbing mess, “NATASHA! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

Light returned to Natasha’s eyes, and didn’t waste any time running towards her best friend. Upon impact with Motor’s large frame, she squeezed him in a tight hug as she wept. Of course Motor returned the favor with a hug, though spiked a glare at the disruptive man taking up a quarter of the mall’s first floor.

“Man, I have never been happier to see you!” Natasha wailed as she pulled away from him with her hands on his arms, “This gotta be a nightmare right!?”

“Uuhhh,” Motor said, his eyes quickly checking Natasha for any signs of injuries, “You alright?”

“NO I’M NOT ALRIGHT!” Natasha shouted, her hyperventilating returning as she gripped the sides of her frizzled pink hair. Though Motor put a stop to that with a chapped hand on her shoulder.

“Breathe sis,” Motor said, herding Natasha to follow him out, “Let’s get you out of here.” Natasha kept her head down as she gripped the brim of her hat. She didn’t want to look at the chaotic scene around her anymore and just wanted to wake up in her bedsheets . However, their walk outside was halted as Motor looked over his shoulder at the quiet giant. 

“Hey big guy!” he yelled, “You might want to get out of here, I saw the feds getting ready to raid the place, the back entrance is clear!” Natasha couldn’t see it, but she heard a loud grumble behind them and felt the vibrations through the floor.

“Thanks… kind stranger,” the giant retorted, moving towards the other direction on his hands and knees. She heard him mumble ‘ows’ and sounds of struggle against concrete.

Curiosity got the better of her and she turned her head to look back at the giant. Her large rescuer was attempting to shove himself underneath a balcony and into the alcove that had the mall’s back exit. Though he wasn’t having much luck trying to crawl into it on the account of the fact that he was basically two stories tall. He sighed, turning back, and their gazes had once again met. His eyes were hazel. That flame of similarity was still there, despite everything. The only thing Natasha could muster was a small flap of her hand before being shown the door.

What a terrible day off this was.

---

“You people are worthless,” Blaire slammed the police car’s door shut as she was reprimanding a small group of quivering officers. One of the piglets, the one who gave the news to the government operative, stuttered in his words as he fiddled with his belt.

“Ma’am, you need to understand that the claims made about the situation were not believable,” he said, sweating bullets from the stare down he was receiving from Blaire, “How were we supposed to realize that the reports of an actual monster rampaging at the mall were credible calls?” The soul nearly left his body when a finger jabbed into his chest, nearly stabbing through his bullet-proof vest.

“Prank or not you should have sent SOMEONE to the scene!” Blaire shouted, her gaze burning up the officer’s will to protest, “Lives could’ve been lost for Christ's sake!” The officer only nodded his head like a dog as she removed her finger with the world’s heaviest eye roll. As it seemed like the day would not get any better from there, Blaire shoved a hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out her sliver lighter. “You’re all lucky my people arrived in Seattle before this shit show,” Blaire said as she was fishing out a cigarette, “Keep away the press and uninvolved civilians, tell them nothing, and let us handle the rest.”

Blaire didn’t waste the rest of her breath and carried herself with purpose into the frantic parking lot. Ambulance sirens backdropped the chaotic parking lot, as her agents attempted to keep the witnesses from asking too many questions to prevent the situation from boiling over. Knowing today was going to be a long one, Blaire lit her cigarette and took a deep puff while surveying the scene unfolding before her. It didn’t take long for her to hear fast paced footsteps trail behind and an unconfident voice spoke up.

“Uhm- Ms. Witch?” A woman dressed as if it was her first day at a clerk job said, fumbling a tablet to her chest, “I have the diagnostics ready for you.” Blaire didn’t bother to look back at her and kept on walking closer to the mall’s building. “Walk with me,” Blaire ordered. The girl picked up her pace and started going through the notes she had written on the tablet while trying to not make direct eye contact with her superior. 

“Sweep is already almost done collecting all the samples from the entity within a mile radius, and there have been no reported casualties from the initial incident,” stated the informant as she struggled to keep up, “They’re currently trying to figure out how to handle transporting the samples without them merging.”

That confirmed what Blaire had been suspecting when she read that light-weight documentation. The few experiments that had been conducted so far concluded that the alien mineral is strongly magnetic to many common metals, but especially magnetic to itself; the separate chunks seemed to fuse together on contact. She wasn’t even sure if ‘magnetic’ described this peculiar attraction appropriately.

Blair’s eyes landed on the torn open doors of the front entrance. “I’m assuming it’s been terminated,” Blaire said as she took another drag.

The new hire’s fingers tapped on her tablet as she bit her lip, “Yes?” she hesitantly answered, “Though Sweep have just found out water can completely neutralize the lifeform.” Blaire stopped in her tracks, causing a collision between her and the clumsy young woman as she smacked into her back. The informant stepped away quickly and sputtered out an apology. “Oh, my gosh I-I’m so sorry-” 

“Nevermind that,” Blaire said as she turned around to face her with raised eyebrows, “What do you mean they just found out that water kills it? Why wasn’t this anywhere on the documents?”

“Well uh, I-I guess no one bothered to try? I don’t know ma’am,” the informant continued, “It’s been confirmed that the entire structure of the entity has a terminal reaction upon coming into contact with water.”

“Huh, well I’ll be,” Blaire responded as she tapped the burnt bit of her cigarette, “The bastards are invading the wrong planet, huh?”

“Actually, ma’am we can’t confirm sapience or intent at the moment,” the informant flipped through the reports, “Witnesses stated it was mindlessly rampaging during the entire event.”

“Same could be said of the military to be honest,” Blaire bluntly said as she watched a small crowd of teenagers being rounded up for questioning, “So, which group was able to terminate the thing? Sweep? Police? Or God forbid, Mall security?”

“About that…” the Informant said hesitantly with her eyes traveling to her feet, “It had been neutralized… by a civilian, ma’am.”

“Is that so?” Blaire asked, now giving full eye contact to the informant as the cigarette in her hand was gripped, “Who is it?”

The informant’s hand pointed towards an ambulance several meters away with a small team of EMTs tending to a pink-haired woman curled in a foil blanket. Nearby there was a tall shaggy man loudly arguing with a couple of her agents. “Those two were the only ones who know what happened to it,” the Informant clarified, “Though there is also-”

Before the informant could say anything else, Blaire dropped her cigarette onto the ground and dug in her heel to snuff it out. “Begin a Hamilton stratagem,” Blaire ordered as she strode towards the ambulance, “There was a severe gas leak that caused mass hysteria, delete any evidence to the contrary and administer amnestics if witnesses prove uncooperative.”

“But- but ma’am there’s something else you need to-” The informant didn’t get to finish as her higher up was already pushing her way through the crowd to get to that woman. 

Upon the EMTs and agents realizing who had the audacity to interfere, they let the Witch through to the back of the ambulance where the lady in pink was sitting. At first glance, she did not seem to be the type to get into any sort of fight. She was hunched over as her knuckles were death gripping the blanket. One could only imagine what she saw with her petrified gaze that was staring into the parking lot asphalt.

Reality had been torn apart for this poor girl, soon enough Blaire will sew it right back up like nothing happened. Before that though, she needed that first hand information before it was lost. “Excuse me,” Blaire spoke up, pulling out her FBI badge from her pocket. The woman didn’t seem to hear her the first time, so she tried again. 

“Excuse me,” Blaire restated, “Miss?”

“Those eyes…” The woman mumbled under her breath, still unresponsive to anything Blaire was saying. That was until a pair of fingers snapping right in front of her face yanked her back to the present. “HUH- Oh!” she yelped, finally realizing that someone was trying to talk to her, “Sorry! Uh, can I help you?”

“Yes actually,” Blaire said, flashing one of her trusty badges, “Agent Mansley, I'm with the FBI and I’m here to confirm a few things with you if I may?” That scared doe-look upon the woman’s face melted into an icy stare as she looked away from Blaire. “I already talked to the cops,” she grumbled, “Why do you gotta talk to me? Not like you’ll take it seriously either.”

Of course, the local police force seemed to once again muddle her investigation with their less than lackluster civilian relations.

“Because I want to hear it coming from a reputable source,” Blaire said as she crossed her arms, “It will only be a few questions and after that we’ll take care of you, miss…?”

The woman looked back at Blaire with full eye contact, keeping her walls up with skepticism. Despite having come out of Hell completely frazzled, she pulled out a mask of confidence with a deadpan expression. “Maryham,” she answered as she pushed some of her pink hair strands behind her ear, “Natasha Maryham.”

Filling that name in the back of her mind for later, Blaire lent out a hand to Natasha. As if on instinct, she had reciprocated with a very firm handshake only a corporate rung manager could give. “A pleasure to meet you Natasha,” Blaire said, “Promise this won’t take too much of your time, I’m sure you are very busy today.”

“Actually, this was my day off,” Natasha responded as her hands traveled onto her lap and fiddled with her sundress, “Wished I was working, in hindsight.”

“I can only imagine,” Blaire lied, pulling out her trusty pen and flipbook, “What happened?”

The mask slipped as it took Natasha more than a minute to gather her thoughts coherently just as expected. Having a few false starts with mumbling, Though when the witness could warm up to recount her terrible day, Blaire was surprised at the details this shaken person was able to give of the entire ordeal.

“I-I was in one of the stores shopping, ya know, as you do,” Natasha explained as her eyes drifted back to the asphalt, “And all of a sudden this… thing jumped out of nowhere, I guess it had a problem because it tried to kill me!”

“What did ‘that thing’ look like?” Blaire asked, her eyes taking a knowing glance at the bismuth dangling from her neck.  

Natasha gripped the side of her head, fingers twirling through her curls. “I-I don’t even know how to put it,” she said, “You know claymation? Animated clay figures and stuff?” 

“I’ve seen Wallace and Gromit before,” Blaire answered with a smirk, attempting to make eye contact with her. Though no matter how much she tried, this one seemed to evade her gaze. Not on purpose however.

“Sort of like that but,” she said, “It-it was like someone messed up making a dinosaur or something- and… uhm. Teeth. Lots of teeth.” Through her recounting of its appearance, her breath became staggered, and she heaved every breath. The woman coiled her hair around her fists, tighter and tighter, threatening to tear the hair out at the root. Blaire took it upon herself to hover a comforting hand over Natasha’s shoulder, not quite touching her.

It took only a moment for Natasha, who was just about to break into more tears, to look over at the offered hand and shake her head silently. The hand retracted, letting the woman’s tears shed for a long minute. Sniffling, Natasha wiped her eyes, the ruined mascara smearing upon her arm before she turned to the agent once again. 

“That ain’t even the craziest part,” Natasha mumbled, her eyes traveling to find the words to explain, “When it… cornered me, some guy in a hockey mask got its attention.”

Blaire raised an eyebrow at this. She glanced back over to the large man that started to have a rather loud debate with one of her agents, noting the lack of a mask. Sure, it was rare that someone would play hero in situations like this, though it wasn’t impossible. Certainly wouldn’t be unwelcome. However, why didn’t the informant mention another witness at the scene? “This masked man saved you?” Blaire asked as she turned back to her interviewee, Natasha nodded.

Just as Natasha opened her mouth to continue explaining, Blaire asked another unprompted question. “Can you give me a description of him?” Blaire questioned as she actually wrote in her notepad, “I want to get information from him as well.”

“That’s the thing,” Natasha said, fingers fumbling, “He’s gone and, I-I don’t know how to put this but, he uh, wasn’t normal.”

Blaire looked up from her writing, staring at Natasha who seemed to be completely cognisant and stared right back at her. “Care to elaborate Ms. Maryham?” Blaire asked.

“If I told you that the guy grew ten feet tall, would you think I’m seeing things too?” Natasha responded, this time giving the agent full eye contact. Perhaps to see how Blaire was going to react, as if she expected the same brush off response the cops had given her. During her years of working for FAIRA, she’d become accustomed to finding the difference between people making stuff up for attention, figments of their imagination and the people that have actually seen something they shouldn’t have.

Just by the look in Natasha’s eyes, she definitely fell into the latter and that was a problem.

The EMT, who was standing by the two chatting, covertly waved a small vial of blood at Blaire’s direction. Question time was coming to an end and while there were a few more loose ends she’d like to tie up, she had a job to do. Closing the notebook, Blaire feigned confusion and asked, “Are you positive that’s what you saw?”

What light that was left in Natasha’s eyes dissipated, turning back to watch the pavement. “Knew you weren’t gonna believe me.” Natasha muttered, disappointed but not surprised. Keeping up with the act, Blaire gave a quick nod to the EMT and let him get Natasha’s attention.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the EMT said, “Ma’am we’re gonna need to get you on oxygen, we’ve detected carbon monoxide in your bloodstream.”

Natasha spun her head at him, worry plastered on her face. “Wh-what? ” Natasha asked, raising her voice, “Am I going to be okay?!”

The medical professional put a hand upon her shoulder and shook it gently, speaking in a soft voice as he administered his lies. “Oh, you should be just fine Natasha,” the EMT said, “We’re gonna put you on oxygen for about an hour and you should be okay to head on home.” He pushed the oxygen mask into Natasha’s hands, “Put the mask on, and breathe in, take the mask off, breathe out,” he instructed. Since she didn’t want to die, Natasha did as she was told. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” The EMT spoke as he grabbed a full syringe, “I’ll need to take blood work of your… expressive friend there.” And with that, he went to take care of the man shouting obscenities at the agents, thus leaving the two of them to chat.

“Carbon monoxide poisoning can cause hallucinations you know, ” Blaire off-handedly commented, “Think that’s what you saw in there.” Most people, when presented with a situation that challenges their reality, head straight into denial and try to come up with a normal explanation for it. However, sometimes they will dig deeper and become an issue that only an amnestic could solve. Even then, termination wasn’t out of the question either. It all depends on what reality the witness is willing to accept, and if they value their lives over the truth.

Blaire saw that thought spin in Natasha’s mind, when they are conflicted about which reality to accept to be true. “But- but it all felt so real,” Natasha sputtered as she took off the mask, “That thing literally tore apart the mall! How could I have made that up?!” She shook, holding both of her arms and had trouble catching her breath.

“Breathe,” Blaire spoke, forcing the mask back into Natasha’s mouth, “There was no monster, there was a gas leak. The monoxide’s gotten into your blood, convincing your brain you’ve seen something that wasn’t there. Hell, any crashing you felt was probably just a thousand feet, all stamping to get out of there. There’s no monster, you’re perfectly safe.”

Scared eyes stared at Blaire, though slowly, they dimmed as Natasha nodded along. Breathing in oxygen, and out of the mask just as she was told. Thankfully, this witness was not going to ask anymore questions, and they would not have to do this the hard way.

“Have a pleasant rest of your day ma’am,” Blaire said, “Feel better soon.” With that, Blaire left the ambulance and walked past the commotion of her agents corralling a rather frazzled brute of a man to an ambulance for a ‘blood test’. Right then it wasn’t a concern as they had a bigger problem on their hands.

Searching around the scene, she found her Informant tapping away at that damn tablet. “Informant,” Blaire hissed, causing the poor girl to nearly jump out of her skin. She spun around to attention.

“Y-yes ma’am?” whimpered the Informant.

“Why didn’t you inform me that there was a second anomaly?” Blaire asked as she loomed over her.

“With all due respect ma’am,” the Informant said, pushing up her glasses, “I tried to tell you earlier, but you told me to initiate the Hamilton stratagem.”

“That’s important information that should have been relayed immediately,” Blaire said, shoving the Informant’s shoulder, “Grow a damn backbone, and tell me what I need to know.”

On cue, the Informant looked back to her tablet and pulled up a video file. “Just as the incident occurred, this humanoid had appeared to fight the creature and inexplicably doubled his size during the confrontation,” the Informant told her superior, “We can’t gather information on where this man came from as it seems most of the cameras in the mall had been compromised right before he showed up, All we have is this security footage of the lobby to confirm his presence.”

Once the tablet was in Blaire’s hand, her eyes became glued to the screen. While the camera angle wasn't the best, being that it was on the third floor and pointed towards the lobby. She could still make out the last of the crowd storming out of the mall and not a moment later, Natasha slid and fell onto the lobby’s tiles. Knots tied in her gut, watching the initial anomaly pinning her to the floor. That poor girl indeed. 

Then came the other anomaly, stumbling in from the corner of the video reluctantly. As he was covered from head to toe, it was obvious that he was hiding his identity for a reason. That reason quickly became apparent, watching the anomaly outgrow his opponent and somehow still got his backside handed to him. It was a pathetic attempt at vigilantism, there was no plan and his flailing around could barely count as a fighting stance. The woman he was attempting to save had to be the one to figure out to save both of them from it. Despite the dangerous negligence the giant shifter displayed, what truly made Blaire’s stomach drop happened after the creature was turned into rubble. Trembling fingers fumbled through her coat pocket to fish out another cigarette, placing the butt onto her lips as she focused on the giant’s movements when he attempted to hand the hat back to the lady.

She didn’t pick up on it at first, but the sudden twitch in his hands and what she could make out behind the eye holes of the mask, they were wide every time the giant grew. Clumsy footsteps backing away from the woman and having to painstakingly shove his body out of the lobby in order to leave the premises. He wasn’t in combat anymore, so why would he need to increase his size again if he wanted a simple escape? There was only one conclusion to be drawn; he didn’t have control over his growth.

“Informant, wrap up the cover up here as fast as you can,” Blaire ordered as she shoved the tablet under one of her arms, “I’ll meet with sweep in order to collect any DNA samples of this new anomaly immediately.” Just before she could storm off to the mall, a tug on her elbow caused her to glare back at the Informant stopping her.

“Yes Ma’am but,” the Informant said as she instantly let go of her superior, “Wh-what about the aliens? What should we do about them?”

“We can put aside a task force for that,” Blaire answered as she brushed off her arm, “A basic patrol protocol and water can take care of them.” Blaire lit the cigarette hanging from her mouth as she gave the order. “There’s a moron roaming the streets of Seattle that could bring humanity to its knees,” Blaire directed the informant as she blew a puff of smoke into the air, “and we need to track him down, do you understand?”

“I-I suppose so ma’am-” She didn’t get to finish raising her concerns as Blaire stormed towards the mall. There was no time to dawdle and second guess her judgment. Lives were going to be at risk and there was no telling when the giant was going to make himself known.

Exhaling smoke from her lungs, Blaire stared back down at the paused security footage. The frame where the giant’s eyes were briefly caught stared right back at her. Despite the good intentions he might have, a threat is still a threat at the end of the day.

She had to track this anomaly down. It was Blaire’s duty after all.

[Image Description: Blaire staring down at the tablet with a lit cigarette, the video is paused at the anomaly's face that looks forlorn. There is text on the picture stating “End of Act 1”] ------ Taglist: @satethesatelite @me-be-lurking @smolcomfycat

[violettduchess]

A/N: This is my gift for the wonderful @claviscollections as part of the @flash-exchange💜

Clavis x Reader, my prompt was "Affection 101". Here are eight little ways I think Clavis would show his dearest one affection.

WC: exactly 700

You’re standing in front of the floor-length mirror, taking a moment to admire the amethyst necklace Clavis gave you for your first anniversary. It’s breathtaking. It’s delicate. It’s….a pain in the arse to get on. You fumble, brows knitting with ever-growing annoyance as you try to close the clasp at your neck. And then he’s there, gently admonishing you, dear one, for not calling him to help you with such a tricky task. His gaze holds yours in the mirror as he effortlessly closes it, his fingers trailing away from the thin chain to rest on your shoulders. A soft kiss at the base of your neck is his final touch before stepping away.

Yves has really outdone himself. The table is set with so many delicious confections, you hardly know where to look. Clavis is engaged in telling a story, entertaining the others, his words winding through the air like music notes. You carefully select a golden puff pastry filled with rich pink cream and……ahhh you sigh with pure delight as the taste of sweet strawberries hits your tongue. You’re contemplating taking another when Clavis, without missing a beat, reaches for one of the delightful cream puffs and places it on your plate.

You leave your meeting with the king, heading to your office while perusing the long list of books he has asked you to procure for the royal library. When you get to your desk, you stop. Waiting for you is a warm cup of rose tea and a decorative sprig of lavender. Setting down your notebook, you pick up the note that lays beside the tea cup, written in the loopy handwriting you’ve become fluent in: After a meeting with him, my dear wife deserves a treat from her devoted husband.

You’re heading down the staircase, pulling your cloak around your shoulders as you silently review your market shopping list. Clavis turns the corner, in conversation with Cyran. When your eyes meet, he breaks into a sunny smile, his eyes practically glowing at the unexpected encounter. “Just a moment, Cyran, I must greet my wife in the manner she deserves.” And instantly you’re in his arms and he’s kissing you in a way that leaves you utterly breathless. “And as this is also goodbye…” Another kiss as his arm supports your back, his hand tenderly cradles the back of your head. You’re released with a glowing smile before he continues up the stairs, motioning for a beleaguered Cyran to hurry up and follow him. 

The meeting is running oh so long as the visiting nobles make sure to use their audience with the king to the fullest. Your hand aches from writing, trying to capture all the essentials of what is said. When it’s finally over, Clavis instantly reaches for you, taking your hand in his and gently but firmly begins massaging your palm, the sore spaces between your fingers, his expert touch trailing down to your wrist. The pain ebbs away under his care and he smiles at your sigh of relief. 

You step out of the steaming rose-scented bath and into the oversized, fluffy towel Clavis is holding for you. He wraps it lovingly around your body and pulls you close, kissing the tip of your nose. “Mine,” he murmurs with a grin. “All mine.”

You stare down at the plate of food provided by your hosts. It’s fish. The kind you really, really can’t stomach eating. Politeness has you taking a small bite, forcing it down. A shudder rolls through you from your protesting stomach. And then in one fluid movement, your plate is now in front of Clavis and his plate, minus the fish but with all the salad, is now yours. 

The sun takes a bow, leaving the stage to evening. A long day has your head falling into your soft pillow, heavy with exhaustion. A moment later, you’re being pulled back against Clavis as he curls himself around you. His arm protectively encircles you, his lips press a kiss to the back of your neck. “Good night, beautiful wife of mine. May you sleep well and dream of me.” You smile softly because you always do.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @namine-somebodies-nobody @greatstarlightstarfish @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly

[omg-snakes]

Do you know if there are ways to know if a snake from a pet shop has been properly taken care of or not? Asking since i've been visiting some and i saw one with a boa that had some kind of sinking or deformity on his tail, so i'm kinda wary now.

Hello, friend! I'm sorry to tell you that there is not.

I've worked in multiple areas of the pet industry and I've met the full gamut of types of shop owners, and while I don't consider all of them wicked people, some certainly are. Even the best of them have a bottom line to consider. This means that they won't divulge where their animals are coming from so that you can look into a breeder before making a choice, and they're likely buying animals from backyard breeders or bulk importers. This also means that it's unlikely that the animals they're selling will have established health histories.

Having worked at one of if not The biggest reptile chain in Northern California, I saw some horrors that scarred me for life. Among the lesser sins that took place there:

Folks who bred reptiles but didn't have incubators set up could bring their eggs in for incubation services, the price of which was half of the clutch, and the store owner would then sell the resulting babies as "born on-site," which was technically true! But we didn't know the parentage or health potential of any of these animals. We didn't sell incubators in the store for this specific reason.

Surrenders came in regularly from owners who didn't have the time or resources to care for their pets any longer. They went on the sales floor with a price tag the second the previous owner walked out the door. No veterinary care, no health evaluation, no observation period, nothing. If they looked okay they were priced at regular retail price and we were explicitly told to never admit that they had been surrendered. 100% profit.

Any animal that was injured or sickly, no matter where it came from or how it got injured, was tagged as a "surrender" that we would claim was dropped off by a bad former owner and we'd had them cleared by a vet so that we could rehome them. This was a lie. None of them ever got veterinary care, ever.

Enclosures were cleaned regularly but were never properly sterilized between animals. We sold veterinary-grade cleaner in the store but we were not allowed to use it because it was too expensive. We used diluted Lysol!

Again, this is a large reptile chain with multiple stores and mostly positive online reviews* and I wouldn't trust them with a pet rock, let alone anything breathing.

You're much better off getting a snake from a reputable breeder, or at least someone who can answer reasonable questions about feeding, parentage, genetics, any possible health issues, etc.

*the owner actually reported negative reviews and would have employees write good ones while I was there.

[vclvetfleur]

Obedient Chapter 4

roman roy x fem! reader

Summary: After Roman insulted and berated you, you still showed up to work today. Romans plan of ruining Kendalls business idea completely backfired, in your eyes. You help Roman to try to win the love of his dad back.

Warnings: degrading, verbal abuse, Logan Roy

Word Count : 4.3K

Notes: There's a little bit of fluff in this one. But I really want to say thank you for all the kind words I got today on my story. I am really enjoying writing for this series. I already have an idea of what the next chapter will be. I also have an idea of how certain conflicts and all of that stuff will play out. So get ready. It's gonna be an emotional mess.

Chapter 4: Patrick Bateman

You had gotten up in the morning and were heading to work. If only you knew you had to buy a new wardrobe, you would’ve done so. But you were now just waiting for your first check to finally be able to go shopping. You had probably worn the same white blouse about 3 times already. You tried to hide it with the blazer you had on, but you were pretty sure people knew.

You got a text earlier from Roman but chose to ignore them. You weren’t interested in anything he had to say to you. Your phone buzzed again and again. At least you knew he was awake for work. He had no excuse not to be on time.

You scanned your brand new key card and made it through the building without having to have another awkward interaction with the cold receptionist again. You walked through the floor, checking to see if Roman was here yet. He hadn’t been in his office from what you can tell. You wandered around, fixing your notes for today, checking Romans emails for him and creating his schedule for the day; you did most of it on the ride here, but you were double checking. You looked up often to see if you could even spot him.

Finally, you spotted him. He was in his dad’s office with Kendall and Jess. You weren’t sure if you should intrude, Logan didn’t look too friendly. You just stood outside and reviewed your notes before hearing a banging on the window wall. Your glance removed itself from your iPad to Roman standing behind the wall, telling you to come in. You put the iPad away and walked right in. “Hello Mr. Roy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You wanted to leave a good impression. He had never met you yet but was apparently mentioning you. You thought it would at least make him rethink what he had said if he knew how nice you were.

“Hello.” He tried to be cordial. But he viewed you as beneath him. He didn’t care about how you felt or if you thought he was kind. Frankly, he didn’t care about anything other than himself.

Before you knew it, Logan continued to berate his two sons in front of you. You were taken aback by it. You thought he was tough sure, but you didn’t expect him to so freely scream at the two of them. Or anyone, this publicly. Does he not know people had phones and could record this? But then you remembered the NDA you had to sign.

“How could you two fucking morons ruin this so fucking quickly? You had 6 hours and you both FUCKED it. But what did I expect from a junkie who just went to a rehab place just to get a fucking massage and drink green fucking smoothies all day.” Logan insulted. Nothing could stop his mouth from saying whatever his brain was thinking of. “And you, what a fucking moron? You haven’t even been COO yet and you’re already fucking this up. This is why no one takes you seriously Roman. You’re a massive fuck up. The bane of my fucking existence and the companies. I could hand you a plastic cup and you would still manage to find a way to shatter it!”

Harsh. You looked over at Roman as he just stood there and took it. He tried to reason with him earlier. God there was that look again. The same one from last night; except more desperate and sadder. His arms were cross over his chest, but more in a way to make himself smaller than to make him look tougher. His shoulders were raised while his head remained low enough. He tried to make himself less of a target for his father. He was in the mentality if he made himself smaller, his dad wouldn’t see him clear enough to hurt him. “Well-uh-Dad-just-look I think if I get a chance; maybe I could get him to-fucking uhh- you know reconsider” He stumbled, trying to find the works to make his dad happy. What a mess. You felt pity for him. No wonder he was such a fucking asshole.

“Ooooh yes, my idiot son, you’ll be able to make him reconsider. The one who wouldn’t even get through with management training. I could give a chimp to do a better job than you. At least they’d make less of a fucking mess than you do.” Logan continued to berate him.

He barely even moved an inch and they both cowered under him, especially Roman. He just laid back in his fancy leather desk chair and moved his hands quick enough to emphasis his points. But despite that, he even scared you. “Go, go fucking fix this before I fucking decide you send you to a circus, fucking freak. Fuck off.” He sent them both on their way. Kendall rushed out, not before shoving Roman a bit to knock him against the door frame. He didn’t even try to fight back. You just tried to leave as quick as they did. “Come on.” You whispered, putting a hand on Romans back as you led him out of the room and down the hall.

“Are you done being fucking mad at me?” He asked in a desperate tone. You wanted to stay mad, but after watching him start his morning off like that made you feel too sorry for him. “Uhh- I haven’t decided yet.” You answered honestly. You got him to his office, shutting the blinds to make sure no one was looking at him right now. He didn’t need to see all those looks right now. Not now. Everyone essentially watched him and Kendall get berated and then him getting shoved and even further pushed down by his brother.

“Are you gonna fuck me or something? What’s with the blinds? Did you bring a ball gag? Is this your way of punishing me after the party?” He used humor to distract you from the clear pity you felt for him. He didn’t enjoy this kind of attention so much. Probably cause he got it so often. It was the most attention would give him other than complete disgust.

“No, I just don’t think you need a whole floor of people looking at you like a sad damaged puppy.” You were honest about it.

And Roman appreciated it. He knew he paid you, but you didn’t really need to do all of that. You didn't need to act like you gave a fuck. You did it cause you were just a good person. You cared enough. It kind of warmed up his cold iced heart a bit. You finished closing all the blinds before pulling your iPad out. “Now I’m going to help you fix the situation.” You stated.

“I don’t fucking need help.”  He let out a breathe. “Just get Castello on the phone for me. I have this all planned already.” He revealed. “What? Planned?” You could almost take back the pity you felt for him.

He knew what the morning would be like. He inserted himself in this just so he could talk to Castello later again and earn their trust and be able to squeeze more from them. Kendall might’ve gotten the deal from them, but they only agreed to 50% of their company. Logan wanted all of it. If Roman can at least convince them for more than half, he’d be daddy’s favorite again. He just needed the validation from Logan. To be told he was at least good at something. Some kind of recognition.

“Yeah, I’m an evil fucking mastermind. Just call him. Tell him I wanna get lunch.” He gave you an alibi. You just nodded and made the call. And right in front of your eyes you just watched as Roman did all of his dirty work. He just knew the right words to say to sweet talk them into lunch. You were almost impressed. You looked down at your notes and decided to move a few things around so he could have lunch with Castello at 1 today at some kind of restaurant that you couldn’t even pronounce.

He shut the phone line before looking up at you amused. He felt accomplished. “Do I get a congratulatory fuck or do I get one after I land this deal?” He assumed you’d be ready to just joke around with him again. But you just didn’t have it in you.

His face dropped realizing you were ignoring him. He felt a panic set in. He never liked when people didn’t laugh with or at him or just tease him or bully him back because it made him think they were less mad. But completely shutting down or not speaking made him feel like he lost them. As if they were never going to speak again. He knew it was irrational, but it’s just something he picked up from Caroline. She would shut down whenever she didn’t care enough to deal with them. Logan didn’t help either.

“Do you really need an apology that badly?” he groaned as if it was saying one simple word would be the end of him. It was a burden to him. If he said sorry, he acted as though he would lose a limb. “Jesus fucking Christ, I’m sorry, okay? You fucking happy now? I am sorry I called you a fucking peasant or whatever the fuck I said.” He tried to make it quick. It was almost like hearing a 5 year old apologizing about breaking their sibling’s truck.

You took a deep breath and just began to read your notes. Your patience ran thin. That was not an apology. And you were going to just take the bare minimum from him. Not after last night. “God fucking damn it. You’re fucking impossible.” He felt his frustration nearing the end.

“Roman, stop. I’m not forgiving you. You’ve been selfish and rude, and you embarrassed me yesterday. I can’t forgive you when you’re acting like you don’t even want to.”

“I do. I just usually pay people off and they forget it. Fine. How much do you want on top of your already ridiculous paycheck?” He asked. He couldn’t be serious. But he was. He pulled his checking book out and was ready to sign a check for you. “Help me write this. Someone usually does this for me.”

“Roman stop. I don’t want money. I don’t know what I want from you anymore.” You said bluntly. If an apology out of him was going to be so hard, you didn’t want it. It wasn’t going to feel authentic. You knew he wasn’t sorry. He was incapable of it. “Just let it go, we’ll be fine.” You finally decided. You’ll forgive. Just won’t forget. You were going to play it a bit more cautious with him. He nodded quickly like a child who just got reprimanded.

“So uh, what’s first for today?” He asked before you started reading your notes once again. He was trying to act professional enough with you. Either way, he needs to be in a good head space for the deal. You didn’t want to add any unnecessary stress to him. “Do you need anything? Coffee? Breakfast?” You asked. His eyes softened looking over at you from his computer screen. He quietly nodded. “Uh-just a coffee.” You nodded, opening the blinds again before stepping out. You grabbed him a coffee and set it back on his desk quick enough.

“So, when did you have time to ruin Kendall’s deal?” You asked. You hadn’t spent the whole day with him, but you knew his schedule. When did he even have the time to make them back out?

“Well, if you really need to know my master plan, I called him before the party, we talked and I just told him what a dipshit Ken was, then at the party, he saw Ken after doing a speedball in the bathroom. He practically ruined it himself.” He revealed. You were stunned by how casually he was speaking about it. He had no remorse. Not one ounce of it. He said it as if it was just any other day. You were kind of impressed though, despite your intense hate for capitalism.

“Should I replace your name in my phone as Dr Evil?” You smiled before pulling your phone out.

“I’m not a fucking doctor moron.” He insulted.

“It’s a movie from the 90’s Roman.” You informed him. But he seemed to not get the reference of it.

“Insulting to think I wasn’t born in the 2000’s.” He giggled to himself. His body finally seemed to relax. His smile seemed to come back. He needed this. This comfort.

“Your skin care routine isn’t working that well. I don’t know if you can call cumming in your own face a skin care routine though.”

“Why not? Worked great for you back in college, didn’t it? Looks like you had the whole football team bukkake after every game.” All you could do was shake your head at his comments in complete horror, but also just in complete entertainment.

For the rest of the day, you both just went back and forth until it was time to finally get ready to leave for Lunch. You had made the reservation earlier and made sure you were going to get a table that Roman said was “pleasing enough to let Castello get bent over and sodomized”.

You rode in the limo as Roman went over his game plan with you. You nodded as you tried to take notes and see if he needed any adjustment to his strategy. All he needed was your pity to make everything feel good with him again as most of his relationships were.

He walked in with you following before he had left you behind. You weren’t really allowed to sit in a private meeting like this because it wasn’t an official one. He didn’t want to spook them by getting too professional. Just casual enough to make them dumb enough to give their company away. He was better at casual than all the official and professional stuff. Kendall was better at that but sucked at casual meetings.

You didn’t mind though; you were able to at least sit in the restaurant and just have some time to yourself. You went through your own phone rather than worrying about Roman and his life. You sipped on a mimosa that you were sure was gonna be paid for by Roman. You felt a tap on your shoulder, looking up at a very happy Roman. He got them to sell. You got up, trying not to show too much excitement for him in front of the clients. You moved along with him before getting in his car. Once the doors shut, you wrapped your arms around him tightly, basically pouncing on him. “Congratulations Roman!” You squealed.

His body scrunched up and his hands didn’t really know what to do. His mind couldn’t work fast enough to comprehend what was happening. His hand laid on the small of your back, his body still tense. He breathed in, holding his breath before taking in your own scent. You smelled sweet. Floral but sweet. It seemed to make his body less tense. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy your touch, he did. It just wasn’t something he knew how to deal with. He never got hugs. Not from his siblings. Or his dad. Or mum. He never knew what to do. But your touch was soft, but rough at the same time. Not even rough in the sense of toughness, but security. You held him so tight that it was like being protected. You wanted to hold all of the happiest emotions you both shared between the two of you, hoping it didn’t evaporate when you let go. Your hands, that laid on the back of his neck, were soft. Delicate. They gripped onto him, but not rough enough to even leave a mark. But before he could officially react, you pulled away.

“We should celebrate.” You proposed. He just stared at you as if you were crazy. He shook his head, letting out a nervous laugh.

“It’s fine, I’ll invite my orgy buddies for a celebration.” He cleared his throat.

“You seem to hang out with them a lot. Come on. It doesn’t have to be so formal. It could be me and you and something to drink. It’ll be fun. I’ll even show you who Dr. Evil is.” You pushed. You thought it was important for him to feel celebrated about his accomplishments. His dad didn’t seem to ever acknowledge anything good he did. From the 5 minutes you spent in a room with them, you wanted to show Roman his dad wasn’t completely right. “So, what happened? What deal did you land?” You asked.

Roman filled you in on the boring details, but he ended with them selling their entire company for 85 million. They were some film studios that had a few hit classics. They were an indie brand that had at least 4 movies become classics that art and film students now talk about in their dorm room while getting high all day. They nearly didn’t have enough of a budge to make something they even wanted though. Hence why they were willing to give up half or even all of it to start a new studio to make even bigger budget films.

“That’s great Roman!” You clapped.

“Yeah Yeah, why don’t you stroke my dick even harder?” He said before feeling you shove him hard enough for his head to hit the window of the car.  “Jesus.” He cried, holding his head. You hid your mouth with your hand, muffled giggles trying to hide the giant smile you had on your face. They left your mouth as Roman smacked your arm hard enough for them to move out of the way. Soon enough you both ended up pushing and shoving one enough in the back before finally breaking it up.

“You hit like a fucking girl.” He mumbled.

“And you hit like you have a limp wrist.” You mocked.

“Okay wow. And you hit like you wrestle bums on the street.” Roman hit back, not knowing if making poor jokes at you were okay yet.

“Really? Didn’t you just learn to stop saying that stupid shit?” You warned. You weren’t too serious though. It was a clever enough joke. “Fuck you’re like that one weird fucker from American Psycho.”

“If you’re saying I’m as sexy as Patrick Bateman than thank you. He happens to be my idol” He smirked.

“Oh really?” You scoffed.

He nodded, while you both couldn’t help yourself from laughing in the back seat of the car. And all the feelings you felt from yesterday afternoon flooded back. You were doing everything you can to hear his laugh again. It made you feel good. But not like how it did when anyone laughed at your jokes. It was flutterier. It felt warmer. You found yourself gazing at him even more. You ignored all the sights to be see on the road, just cause you were scared to miss a moment of his face. And now you felt humiliated to even be feeling this in the first place. It felt extremely wrong. Like you were committing some kind of crime. If anyone knew, you’d probably hide away forever from embarrassment. It was Roman Roy. He was the most self-centered, pretentious, disgusting, backstabbing, manipulative person you have ever met. But you saw another side of him. You saw some kind of good in him that made you ignore all of those character flaws.

You both headed back to the office together before Roman seemed to be heading to Logans office to give him the news. You halted a bit before following. You were nervous to be stepping in his office again. Logan was unpredictable.

“Hey, so you remember when you were screaming at Ken for fucking up the deal. Well, your favorite son, just bought the entire company.” He tried to keep himself from smiling to big.

“How much?” He asked, he wasn’t ready to celebrate Roman yet.

“Well-uh just – about 30 more than we talked about.” He tried to be cautious not to upset Logan any further. Logan let out a huff, shaking his head. “But- uh I can maybe convince them to go down to 75, or 70. We didn’t sign or make anything official yet.” Roman tried to quickly save it. You just stood there and stared at him with pity.

“You both are fucking morons. I could’ve finished this deal over a 5 minute phone call, but I’m having you two fucking idiots jumping around playing card tricks with malnourished art kids.” His voice felt like it could make the entire room shake. Roman just leaned on the back of his dads’ couch, head lowers again and just nodded along. He was too scared to upset him any further.

“Uh got it. I’ll have her just tell them to come by and I’ll just uh- “He tried to find words to say. He didn’t even have a joke in this moment. He had his ego raised way too high by you before going to his dad. He let his guard down. He always expected disappointment from Logan. But you really made him think that Logan might be proud.

“I’m pretty sure Roman could do it. I mean he got them to even come back to sell after- “You tried to reason. You didn’t know why you did that. You shouldn’t of. You just couldn’t help it.

“You. What’s your name?” Logan asked. You raised your eyebrows as if to ask ‘me?’. “Yes, you. There’s only the three of us here and I think I know my sons fucking name well enough.”

“Uh sorry. Y/n. I was just trying to say that Kendall really scared them off last night. I was at the party and Kendall was basically just acting like a complete lunatic. Roman was actually super focused.” You continued to make your case for Roman. He looked at you, not knowing to feel scared for you or just glad he had someone at his corner of the fight.

“You don’t think I don’t know what a fuck up those two are? Huh?” Logans anger was leaking throughout the room and whoever was within a mile radius had to deal with it, including you.

“I think she just was referring to the horse tranquilizer Kendall shoved up his ass that party.” Roman tried to save you from any more scrutiny from his own father.

“I don’t give a rats ass what Kendall did...” Logan finally took a pause. He seemed to be thinking of what his next move could possibly be. “Get them here now and if they don’t agree to anything below 60, they can fuck off.”  This was our cue to leave the room. Logan had a way of dismissing people. He just went cold and silent. Once he did, you had about 30 seconds to leave before he erupted again. Roman nodded before standing up straight and leaving. “Got it.” You followed. 

“I’ll get them on the phone right now.” You quietly spoke before giving them another call. Once you reached them, you handed the phone off to Roman. You managed to get them right before Logan was going to leave for work, which could be a relief if Roman was able to make the deal.

Once they got there, it was your time to be the little assistant that did whatever they asked and stayed quiet. You brought drinks to the table and sat behind Roman, take notes and drafting a contract up.

“Look, my dad’s upset. He originally meant to pay you guys 40. And he doesn’t appreciate getting a dick shoved up his ass. He’s especially pissed that you even backed out in the first place.” He tried to reason. He tried to make it sound as if they lost their deal, which would be a blow on them.  They needed to sell something. If they didn’t, they would just end up going to another company, which they maybe planned to. After backing out, they went into talk with Pierce. But Pierce didn’t know movies and have the advertising Waystar had. “I can maybe get my dad to convince me to pay for it for 50.” He sighed. They went back in forth in negotiating before finally landing onto 52.

You printed out a contract, Roman leaving you with them as you made them sign away the rights to their business. This felt so scummy to you. Again, you practically work for the devil. Except the devil had an even worse and scarier father. You grabbed the papers when they finished and cleaned up the room before seeing them out of the door.

Roman never saw these small companies as anything big, but you made him feel like he had just bought his dads arch nemesis’s company. As if it was an important deal. In reality Waystar could’ve done or done without the company, but the fact he even got it and you were proud of him for it, made all of it worth it. He proudly went to tell his dad. His dad just looked up at him and nodded before going back to his work. That was the only kind of attention Logan would even give in this situation. But it was enough for Roman. And more important to Roman was to see Kendall watch Castello walk out.

“What was that? Why are they here?” Kendall asked.

“I bought them out.” Roman smiled, gloating in his brothers’ face. “Ya, they said something about me being the hotter and funnier one. Oh, and dad said you’re fired. And you’re adopted.” He was so proud. And it was all thanks to you.

Note: i apologize for adding Logan into this so soon. and with this apology, i'm going to be whipping out my ukulele and singing about it.

Chapter 5

[blkmxrvel]

Haven’t Forgotten My Way Home (30) - [CONVERTED]

Pairing: Kara Zor-El x Female!Reader

Summary: In the D/s society of National City, men and women abandoned by their Dom/mes or otherwise deemed unfit for life “outside” end up at the Mount Overland House for Orphaned Submissives. It is here that Kara Zor-El finds Y/N Hastings, broken and fearful from mistreatment at the hands of her former Dom. Can Kara coax Y/N back into the world that once so terrified her, and show her the true meaning of care and submission?

Warnings: Domestic Violence (Flashbacks, Mentions and Descriptions), Misogyny, Domination/Submission.

[previous] | [masterlist]

Little Y/N/N,

Good to hear you and the loud one (I’m kidding don’t kill me) are settled in. Ma’am says she “finds the pictures acceptable, but please tell Kara we need to talk about the color scheme in the living room.” (Actually had to give her the laptop.)

Back to me now. Sam’s good, her and Lena are just spending their time spoiling the monkey face. I finally have babysitting privileges. Brainy took the Paternity  test. It would’ve been nice for him to be a dad, but Lana’s looks are scary so I’m glad it came back negative. And Ma’am and I got some brochures from an adoption agency yesterday; we’re going to see about maybe a kid of our own.

Don’t worry about Kara finding a role. Ma’am says it’s a tough business but if anybody can break into it Kara can. Oh, thought you’d like to know that Schott got arrested for taking bribes from Willis. So now all his cases are being reviewed. Dunno what that means for yours, but Ma’am says not to worry, she’ll let you know. And Sam and Lucy are on top of it too.

I gotta go cause it’s roleplaying ni grefsrersl  cause Ma’am says so, but I’ll write again soon.

Miss you, Little Y/N/N. Love ya.

Maggie

Y/N closed her laptop with a smile; she’d answer Maggie later. She sipped the last of her tea and glanced out of the shop, seeing the sun beginning to slip down. It had been a good day, her first at the bookstore. Her boss was nice, a sweet little submissive who was pleased that Y/N knew so much about art and Broadway, and Y/N got a 20% discount on books. Mistress was limiting her to two books a month though – “Just for now,” she had said – because they were just starting out and she knew Y/N would buy out the store if she could.

Today was also Mistress’s first day, at an off-off-Broadway workshop, and Y/N couldn’t wait to ask her how it had gone. She knew Mistress was in a hurry to win a good role, because she wanted success for herself and Y/N, and to get them both out of the small apartment in a moderately good but still not the best neighborhood. But it would come in time, Y/N had reassured her, and after all, they’d only been in New York a month.

She was on her way, and so was Mistress.

And the apartment might be small, but it was theirs. It was on the 4th floor but thankfully there was an elevator, and Mistress had been glad that there was a doorman for a little added sense of security. They had decorated it together, though apparently Alex didn’t agree with the shade of green they’d chosen for the living room. Y/N could only imagine what Mistress would say to that, and she laughed softly.

As if on cue, she felt someone slip in next to her and clear their throat expectantly, and that’s when Y/N realized.

The sun was going down.

Oops.

“I was supposed to be home an hour ago.”

“That you were,” Mistress said, but she wasn’t angry, and she rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder. This was Y/N’s favorite shop besides the bookstore, and Mistress knew that if Y/N wasn’t to be found, she’d usually be here, just two blocks from their apartment.

“I’m sorry, Mistress.” Y/N tilted her face to kiss her forehead.

“Mmhm,” Mistress hummed. “When we get back to the apartment, for an hour you’ll spend 3 minutes of every 10 in the corner. Perhaps that will help you remember the importance of time.”

“Yes, Mistress,’ Y/N answered, and smiled as she began running her fingers through Y/N’s hair.

“Are you sure you like it?”

“I told you I did,” Mistress said, toying with the cropped pink strands. “It’s a good look for you. And very, very hot.”

“Mm, good to know,” Y/N said, kissing her. “I think I’ll keep it this way for a while, then.”

“Let’s get home now,” Mistress said. “Theo missed you.”

“Just Theo?” Y/N teased, standing up and shouldering her bag as Mistress circled her hand around her wrist, holding her protectively.

“No, not just Theo, you little brat,” Mistress said with a roll of her eyes.  “I missed you too. And I was worried. I thought you’d forgotten your way home.”

Y/N shook her head and stopped in the middle of a busy New York evening to hug her Mistress, and kiss her with as much love as she possibly could.

“I could never forget my way to you.”

FIN

[starillusion13]

FRIENDS!? Chapter 22

🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳🔳

Series ML

Pairing: poly!ateez × f!reader (An ATEEZ Office AU)

Genre: Mature, Angst, Yandere

Warning: mention of memories (nothing much just go with the flow).

W.C: 3.4k Network: @k-vanity

[Reblogs and Reviews are always appreciated. Thank you for reading and have a nice day ahead. Please always take care of yourself everyone.]

Hello, Can we be friends please?

It was a late Saturday afternoon when Hongjoong, with that familiar mischievous grin, told you to get dressed. "Wear something nice," he said, his voice full of playful mystery, making your heart skip a beat. You stood in his cabin for a moment, unsure whether to press him for more details, but the glint in his eyes stopped you. He loved surprises, and his excitement was contagious. The twinkle in his eyes as he watched you try to guess what he had planned made it clear that today would be something special.

You hurried to your floor, meeting Seonghwa and Mingi in your way to the elevator.

"Where is the pretty lady hurrying to?" Mingi playfully raised a brow at you. Three of you exchanged smiles and seeing no one was around, you sighed.

"Joong wants me to get dressed nicely and he told me to hurry up. I don't know what's the reason." You said and looked expectantly at them, if they know something.

Mingi nodded his head in understanding but something clicked inside Seonghwa's mind when he smirked and patted your head.

"Then do accordingly. He doesn't want you to be late."

You narrowed your eyes at him, "do you know why is this demand suddenly?"

He raised his hands in defense, "of course not. Neither Mingi."

Mingi nodded his head in agreement, "yeah. How will we know? Also, we are getting late. Let's go, Hwa."

Ignoring their laugh when you hurried inside the elevator k, you waited for your floor to arrive.

rummaging through your closet, finally settling on a soft, flowy dress. As you stood in front of the mirror, you tried to keep your imagination in check. You have called Star earlier and she guided you how to get ready pretty and here all done with her telling you that he might be taking you on a date.

Where could he be taking me? A romantic dinner? A gallery? A stroll in the park? His surprises always left you guessing.

Once you were ready, Hongjoong drove through the bustling city streets, and you could feel the anticipation building. Every time you tried to sneak a peek at the route or ask another question, he'd just smirk and shake his head. The buildings blurred by as it moved deeper into the city center, past familiar landmarks and busy intersections, until you pulled up in front of one of the most luxurious shopping malls you've ever seen.

The towering glass facade of the mall shimmered in the evening light, reflecting the soft glow of the setting sun. Marble columns framed the grand entrance, and inside, you could see high-end boutiques, each one radiating wealth and exclusivity. Your eyes widened as you stepped out of the car, your gaze wandering over the elegant architecture and the sleek, polished displays of designer brands in the windows. The kind of stores you had only admired from afar but never dared to step inside.

"Wait," you said, laughing a little nervously as you turned to him. "Are we... shopping?"

Hongjoong's grin widened as he slipped his hand into yours, pulling you gently toward the entrance. "Something like that," he said, his tone teasing but full of affection. You followed him, still confused but intrigued. The cool air of the mall greeted you as the two walked in, the scent of expensive perfumes and polished leather filling the space. Everywhere you looked, there were glittering displays of luxury — from designer handbags and dresses to elegant jewelry sparkling under the lights.

You walked slowly, hand in hand, passing by brands you had only ever seen on billboards or in glossy magazines. Dior, Chanel, Louis Vuitton — names that spoke of an unattainable world, a world that felt foreign to me. You glanced at the price tags as you passed, your stomach flipping when you realized how wildly out of reach everything was. Even the simplest pieces were priced higher than anything you could imagine spending.

Eventually, he led you into a Chanel boutique, the interior sleek and minimal, designed to highlight the elegance of the products. You felt a mix of excitement and unease as you wandered through the store. Everything was beautiful, but the price tags — they were astronomical. You hesitated in front of a shelf, your fingers gently brushing the leather of a bag you've seen in fashion editorials, one you'd admired but never dreamed of owning. It was soft, buttery under your touch, and you couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to carry something so luxurious.

But then reality hit, and you quickly placed it back on the shelf, laughing softly at yourself. "I don't think this is really my scene," you said, trying to hide the discomfort in your voice. "It's all a bit... much."

Hongjoong turned to you, his expression suddenly serious but gentle, his eyes full of that unwavering affection. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing yours as he softly spoke. "You don't have to worry about the price today," he said firmly, his voice both kind and insistent. "Whatever you like, it's yours. I'll take care of everything."

You blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. "What? No, no, that's too much," you stammered, feeling a flush creep up your neck. "I can't let you spend this kind of money on me. It's crazy—"

But before you could continue, he gently pressed a finger to your lips, his touch soft but stopping me mid-sentence. "Shh," he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours. "You deserve this. I brought you here because I want to spoil you. I want you to have whatever you want, no matter the price. Let me do this for you."

Your heart raced at his words. His gaze was so tender, so full of love and certainty, that for a moment, you didn't know how to respond. He wasn't just offering to buy you something; he was offering to make you feel like you're worth the luxury, worth the indulgence. And in that moment, the overwhelming kindness of it all nearly brought tears to my eyes.

You wanted to scream and jump in excitement but to keep your cool, you cleared throat before facing him.

"But... it's so much," you whispered, still trying to process the generosity behind his gesture.

Hongjoong smiled, that soft, knowing smile, and gently took your hands in his. "It's not about the money. It's about making you happy. I want to see you smile, to watch you light up when you find something you love. That's what matters to me."

There was a long pause as you let his words sink in. Your heart felt full, and you realized that this wasn't just about the things he wanted to buy you. It was about what they represented — the way he saw you, the way he wanted to make you feel cherished, even if you sometimes found it hard to accept.

Finally, you nodded, a shy smile breaking through. "Okay," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "If you're sure..."

"I'm more than sure," Hongjoong said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grinned. He gave your hand a squeeze. "Now come on, let's find something you love."

With his encouragement, you allowed yourself to let go of the hesitation and enjoy the experience. moving from store to store, and with every step, you felt a little lighter, a little more comfortable.

In Dior, you tried on a stunning dress — sleek, elegant, with a classic cut that made you feel like you had stepped straight out of a Hollywood movie. As you stepped out of the dressing room, his eyes lit up, and you could see the admiration in his gaze.

Yes. He wanted to see you all smiley and shining in elegance and luxury like this. He always wanted you like this. The past should not haunt you anymore, he will do everything possible to make you experience that you deserve and haven't. 

"You look incredible," Hongjoong said, his voice soft but full of awe. You blushed under his intense gaze, feeling like the most beautiful woman in the world.

you picked out a few other pieces, each one making you feel a little more confident, a little more willing to embrace the luxury of the day. A pair of delicate heels that fit like a glove, a simple but exquisite gold necklace that caught the light just right, and a soft leather bag that you had been dreaming about for years. Each time you hesitated, glancing nervously at the price tag, he would smile and remind you that today was about more than money — it was about joy. 

and his love for you.

Hours later, you found ourselves at a cozy little café tucked into the corner of the mall, surrounded by shopping bags filled with beautiful things you never imagined you would own. The café was quiet, the gentle hum of conversations in the background blending with the clinking of cups and silverware. Outside, the sky had begun to turn a soft shade of pink and gold, the last light of the day filtering through the large windows and casting a warm glow across the table.

you took a sip of my iced latte, glancing over at him as he leaned back in his chair, watching you with that same, patient smile. you felt a mix of gratitude, disbelief, and something deeper, something more intense that had been building all day.

"You really didn't have to do all this," you said softly, my fingers tracing the rim of the cup as you looked down, overwhelmed by everything he'd done. "I don't even know how to thank you."

He leaned forward, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, his touch warm and grounding. "You don't need to thank me," he said, his voice gentle but full of emotion. "I did it because I wanted to. Because you mean the world to me. I just wanted to make you feel special — the way you make me feel every day."

and to say sorry.

His words hit you like a wave, and you felt your heart swell in your chest. There was a lump forming in your throat, the kind that comes when you're so overwhelmed with emotion that you can barely speak. you looked into his eyes, and in that moment, you knew. you knew that what you felt for him was something deeper than anything you had ever experienced.

"I... I love you, Joong" you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They hung in the air, raw, real, and honest.

Hongjoong's heart stopped for a moment. you confessed to him. he wanted to hear this from you and he waited for so long and finally you said it. he can't express just how over the moon he is.

 For him, everything went quiet. The world around him seemed to fade, and all you could see was him, his eyes softening, his smile widening, like he had been waiting for those words. He stood up slowly, coming around to your side of the table. Kneeling beside you, he took your hand in both of his, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand as he looked up at you with that same, unwavering gaze.

"I love you too,y/n" he said, his voice steady, filled with so much warmth and certainty that it felt like your heart might burst. "I've loved you for a long time. And I'm so glad I finally get to tell you it this way."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but they weren't sad tears. They were the kind of tears that come when something beautiful happens, something that you've been waiting for without even realizing it. He leaned in, his lips brushing gently against your forehead, and then, as you closed your eyes, he kissed you softly on the lips.

In that kiss, you felt everything — the love, the gratitude, the sense of belonging that had always been there, just waiting to be spoken out loud. It was as if the entire world had been leading up to this moment, this quiet confession in the corner of a luxury mall café, surrounded by the fading light of the day and the glow of your happiness.

When you finally pulled away, he stayed close, resting his forehead against yours, his hands still holding yours tightly. "Thank you," you whispered, voice thick with emotion. "For everything. For making me feel like... like I'm enough."

no, y/n...thanks to you for staying with me...atleast as a friend for this long.

He smiled, brushing a tear from your cheek. "You've always been enough," he said softly. "You're more than enough."

And in that moment, surrounded by shopping bags, the soft murmur of the café, and the fading glow of the evening, you knew that this was more than just a surprise date. It was the beginning of something real, something deep and lasting — a love that was yours, and yours alone.

>>>><<<<

when you thought, the days are getting better. you didn't thought that you would be enjoying a day with bright smile with Yeosang in the rooftop of the building.

It was a warm late summer evening, one of those nights where the sky melts into shades of lavender and peach, the city skyline bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. Yeosang had been acting strange all day—quiet, contemplative, but with a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. He told you he had something special planned, but no matter how much you probed, he wouldn't give you a clue. you could feel a knot of curiosity and anticipation twisting in your stomach as you climbed the stairs to the rooftop of his apartment building.

he had asked others not to give you any work for the day so that you could dress up all pretty in a skirt and a plain top under the surveillance of Star.

"Where are we going?" you asked for what felt like the hundredth time, your voice half-laughing, half-impatient.

"You'll see," he replied, his voice soft but filled with emotion. He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. you could feel the slight tremor in his grip, which only heightened your curiosity.

As you reached the top of the stairs, Yeosang stopped in front of the door to the rooftop, turning to face you with a small, nervous smile. He let out a breath and said, "Close your eyes." His voice was tender, yet there was an underlying tension, as if this moment meant everything.

you raised an eyebrow but complied, closing your eyes and trusting him to guide you. He led you carefully up the last few steps, his hands gentle but sure as he positioned you in place. your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of excitement and nerves. 

What was he up to?

"Okay," he whispered close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Open them."

When you opened your eyes, you were greeted by a sight that stole your breath. The rooftop had been transformed into an intimate, magical world, like something out of a dream. Fairy lights were strung in a canopy overhead, casting a soft, golden glow over the entire space. Lanterns of all shapes and sizes lined the perimeter, flickering gently in the evening breeze. The ground was scattered with rose petals, and there were candles—hundreds of them—glimmering in every corner, their warm flames dancing in the twilight.

In the center of it all was a small table set for two, draped in a white linen tablecloth. A delicate bouquet of your favorite flowers, lilies and roses, sat in the middle, their fragrance gently carried by the breeze. On the table, perfectly arranged, were all your favorite dishes—an assortment of comfort foods that made your heart swell with affection. To one side, a vintage record player played one of your favorite songs softly in the background, the gentle melody weaving through the night air.

you stood there, stunned, unable to move or speak. your heart was pounding in your chest, overwhelmed by the sheer thoughtfulness and beauty of it all. The lights, the flowers, the music—it was perfect, almost too perfect to believe.

"You... you did all of this?" you finally managed to whisper, your voice shaky with emotion. I turned to face him, and the look in his eyes—so tender, so full of love—made your breath catch in your throat.

Yeosang nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile, but there was a flicker of nervousness behind it. "I did," he said, stepping closer to you. "I wanted to do something special for you. Something that shows you how much you mean to me."

you smiled to yourself. he is still guilty for what he said that day.

you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, not wanting to cry just yet. you reached out, taking his hand, which felt warm and steady in yours. "It's beautiful," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft music. "I can't believe you did all this... for me."

He smiled, but you could sense something deeper, something unspoken behind his eyes. He pulled you toward the small table, guiding you to sit. As you lowered yourself into the chair, he sat across from you, his hands resting on the table, his fingers fidgeting slightly. It was as if he was building up to something, something important.

For a while, you both sat there, enjoying the food, talking softly, but you could feel the weight of something unsaid hanging in the air between you two. The evening was beautiful—perfect, even—but there was a tension that you couldn't quite place. Yeosang kept looking at you, his gaze lingering, like he was trying to work up the courage to say what was on his mind.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he let out a slow breath and reached across the table to take your hand. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. "There's something I need to tell you," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes met yours, and you could see the raw emotion there—the vulnerability, the fear, the love.

your heart skipped a beat. "What is it?" you asked softly, searching his face.

Yeosang hesitated for a moment, his fingers tightening around yours as if he was afraid to let go. Then he spoke, his voice trembling slightly. "I've been thinking a lot about this... about everything I told you. And I realized that I need to apologize."

you blinked, confused. "Apologize? For what?"

"For the past," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "For all the times I hurt you. I didn't always handle things the way I should have. I let my fears get in the way, and I hurt you when I should have been honest with you and knew it was not your fault. I made mistakes—mistakes that I've been carrying with me, and I can't move forward without telling you how sorry I am."

His words hit you like a wave, and suddenly, the memories of your past—both the good and the blurred—came rushing back. There had been moments of pain, moments where you didn't know how to communicate, moments where you both felt lost. But standing here now, hearing him admit it, made all those moments feel distant, like they were being healed in real-time.

"I should have told you sooner," Yeosang continued, his voice breaking slightly. "I should have been better at showing you how much I care, instead of letting my own insecurities get in the way. I was scared of losing you, scared of not being good enough for you, and sometimes... I took it out on you. And for that, I'm so, so sorry."

Tears welled up in my eyes, but you didn't try to stop them this time. His words were so honest, so raw, and they struck a chord deep within you. you could see how much this apology meant to him, how hard it was for him to admit his mistakes. But at the same time, you could feel the weight lifting between you both, the unspoken pain of the past finally being released.

"You don't have to apologize," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "We must have made mistakes. But I've never stopped loving you. I will never stop. I promise."

you should hate me, y/n.

Yeosang let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I love you," he said, his voice filled with so much emotion that it made your heart ache. "I've loved you for so long, and I was too scared to admit it. But I can't keep it inside anymore. You're the most important person in my life, and I need you to know that. I love you, and I'm ready to do whatever it takes to show you that."

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you let out a small, breathless laugh, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. you stood up from the table, and he did the same, meeting you halfway as you threw your arms around him. He held you tightly, his arms wrapping around you as if he never wanted to let go.

"I love you too," I whispered into his chest, your voice trembling with emotion. "I've always loved you."

Yeosang pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face as he brushed away your tears with his thumbs. "You don't know how much that means to me," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I promise, I'll spend every day showing you how much I love you, how much you mean to me. I never want to hurt you again."

you smiled through your tears, your heart swelling with love for him. "You already have," you whispered.

Yeosang leaned in slowly, his forehead resting against yours as your breaths mingled in the cool evening air. And then, with the soft glow of the fairy lights around you both and the music playing quietly in the background, he kissed you—gently, tenderly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

In that moment, all the pain of the past melted away. All that mattered was him and you—here, now, in this perfect, intimate space he had created. It felt like a new beginning, a fresh start filled with love and hope.

As you stood there on the rooftop, wrapped in each other's arms, surrounded by the soft glow of the candles and the twinkling lights, you knew that this was the love you had both been waiting for—the kind of love that was real, deep, and unshakable.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly at peace.

which is soon to be shattered in pieces....

NEXT

—————————————————————————

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[milkiematcha]

"do you have a student discount?"

your voice is completely monotone. it's too close to the end of your shift for you to pretend to care about a customer who comes in 3 minutes before close. honestly, you were tempted to tell them to serve themselves, but your manager would kill you if you got another negative review.

"no- maybe?"

he has got to be kidding.

he barely looks older than you, his dark hair dripping water all over your freshly swept floors. no umbrella, just a hoodie so soaked that it probably weighed 50 times its normal weight. everyone at university knows about the student discounts provided by every shop in the area, including the one you were currently standing in.

"we don't offer a maybe discount, but i can search your name if it would help." you offer, a forced smile finding it's way onto your lips. his jaw drops in a barely noticable expression of shock at the sarcasm in your voice, but he fishes out his student ID anyway, pressing it onto the counter in front of you.

you glance down at it, taking in the low resolution image of the boy standing in front of you, this time with an unreadable expression that was probably concealing annoyance at how long the lines are.

"name. not ID."

"jeno lee." he responds, eyeing you with a weird expression, almost like he can't tell if he should be reporting you or not. "it's spelled j-e-"

"i can spell just fine." you retort, plugging his name into the system.

no matching results

you retry the name, again receiving the slanted text instead of a student profile. he's staring intently, and you match his gaze, meeting his eyes with annoyance.

"sir, do you go here."

"try jaemin na." he responds, pushing himself half-way over the counter and way to far into your personal space. "j-a-e-"

"i'm not putting in some frat guy so you can get 50% off coffee." you his, jabbing his hands of the counter with a sharp movement. "try somewhere else, they might fall for it."

he raises an eyebrow, stepping back and finally relents, sliding his card against the screen of the card reader. "fine."

you slide his drink across the counter, shooting him a tight-lipped smile. "have a nice day."

the look he gives you as he walks out the door is nothing short of distainful.

the next day, cather flashes you an instagram post off of na jaemin's account, giggling about a cute new frat boy in a way that makes you want to throw up. but the face catches your attention- the same face you had so blatantly disregarded just last night.

the tagged account?

jeno. fucking. lee.

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Wednesday Fandom. We’ve reached THE episode. Sorry little later than usual. Life didn't understand I had a review to do ha I remember not knowing what this ep would quite be. When it was done I had to pick my jaw off the floor. I was in utter shock and felt like a fever dream I was watching. Like did that really just happen? Was that real life? It’s was so exciting to have the payoff.

Even if it felt like it wasn’t real LOL Did my damn best to get everything in. I feel like I’ve become really good at this gif puzzle but eps like this really pushes me to the limit ha. God bless the gif website I found or I would be screwed haha Let’s get this started :)

5x08 The Collar

Aaron wants to shadow Angela and Harper today. He is looking into being a detective someday. So Grey re-assigns him to them and Lucy to Tim. Telling her she’s back on gopher duty. They could not be MORE suspicious or obvious if they tried my god. You know Grey knows his question about riding together is making them more uncomfortable. It's hilarious really. Trying to get them to out themselves. Instead they’re just little awko tacos staring at each other bumbling around.

He knows they’re lying with their 'No's' But he also doesn’t care. LOL They’re riding together whether they like it or not. It's amazing with their lives on the line with UC their ability to lie is amazing. Flawless really. Having to deal with their still weirdness and not show it? Abysmal. Such bad liars in this scene holy hell. The amount of awkward in this 30 seconds floors me.

From the minute Grey suggests they ride together they’re awkward dorks. Ones who don’t know complete sentences or words. This scene says so much with saying so little at the same time . There’s a reason they’ve stayed away from each other. This moment right here. They’re so very aware if they are back in a shop together everything they’ve been avoiding will come rushing back. Such a strong start to the ep for them though. Enjoyed their discomfort so much ha

We start out with them in the shop being awkward af. I loved the shots in this one and their opening one is great. With the cams coming to life and their day starting. Lucy of course is the first the break the silence. Asking him how single life is? He tells her really nice. How he didn’t have to deal with anyone complaining about him watching football all day.

Lucy giving him crap of course about never leaving the house. Things maybe weird between them but their comfortable banter hasn’t suffered. They fall right back into it with this scene. That married energy they have coming right back into play here. Gah they just balance each other out so well it’s insane. Haven’t had a couple this in-sync since Caskett on Castle.

I love him being a hermit though. He earned it after Ashley. He did whatever she damn well pleased for months. You stay home and watch your football babe. You earned it after that disaster of a relationship. Tim does defend himself a little saying he took Kojo out LOL I consider that going out too when I’m needing a hermit day. I'm with you on this Tim.

I love the affectionate way Lucy says he’s hopeless. That’s the beautiful thing about Lucy for Tim. Yeah she gives him crap but she fully loves that man for who he is. She would spend a day being a hermit with him just because it made him happy. D just wrote an amazing fic on that concept actually. (You should read it so so good) Lucy loving and accepting him for who he is and not condemning him for it. Yeah she’s teasing him for being ‘hopeless’ when really she is so fond of who he is as a person. Loves that man inside and out. You can see the adoration on her face when she delivers that line.

Just love the idea of them having lazy Sundays together now. Lucy indulging his hermit ways when he needs it. No doubt Tim indulges when she wants to be out. Because their partnership is a balanced one. Gah I love them. Chris FaceTimes her and Tim looks over and makes a face LOL god damn I love this man. Chris asks her if she’s busy? She says no…but seems not at ease with this phone call. Lucy asks where he is? He tells her an open house…They could not be more opposites in this moment. They spoke earlier about moving in and Chris jumped the gun to houses. Sprinting toward a future she doesn't want.

Lucy wasn't even on board for moving in...She is looking so very panicked. He’s going on about how it needs work but is 3 bedrooms. Tim’s interest now has been piqued and it’s stressing Lucy out for a couple reasons. She is no where near ready for this step and he’s gunning to a house. Second Tim can overhear this adding another level of stress. She doesn’t want Tim to think they are there. Because well they aren’t….Lucy cuts the phone call off abruptly. Asks if they can talk later? Chris being the clueless oaf he is doesn’t pick up on her stress at all. He says 'love you' and she says nothing in reply just ends the damn call LOL

Tim asks if they’re moving together? Lucy looks even more distressed after the phone call. Her body language screaming she’s being dragged into this situation. Kicking and screaming really. Lucy tells him no…Tim follows up with ‘He seems to think you are…’ Lucy is having a panic attack right now when he says that. The way she puts her hand on her chest. Trying to relieve the building pressure of this whole thing. Now there’s a girl ready to move in with her BF…. She seems so rattled the entire conversation with Tim.

Lucy continues on that he kind of sprang it on her this morning. He can read her discomfort like a book. So he continues his line of questioning. Which is unreal because you know the shop is a personal life free zone right Timothy? The fact that he’s the one pursuing this conversation. Being the one to ask the questions. My god how far we’ve come it’s crazy. He can tell how unsettled she is. The way he’s analyzing her and looking at her tells him everything he needs to know.

Yet he asks her ‘You guys are happy right?’ Lucy does a very unenthusiastic ‘Yeah we’re happy…’ Tim presses on like a devils advocate that is making her panic worse. Saying if that's true this is 'The next obvious steps for them then.' Lucy continuing her fake streak saying they’re “super happy.” Ok love sure you are…As she says this she is rubbing the crap out of her tattoo. Just being a lying liar who lies right now. They get a call before the convo continues on.

Everyone gets involved in a stop Nolan and Celina have. She has a bomb collar around her neck and she becomes the focal point for everything. The tension and writing leading up to them getting her to that parking lot in immense. Even though I've seen this episode many many times that portion always gets me. It’s so sad how afraid she is and her re-evaluating her life cause of it. How empty it feels now.

Pam and John talking was heartbreaking. How all she wanted was for her mom to know she loved her ugh. Sadly she ends up dying and that’s where this scene begins for them. I truly think this SL was a motivator for Tim. One of the reasons for where we head in this one. Because it’s so easy to get bogged down with life. To fall into the going through the motions. To have regrets with having a comfort zone. Tim taking a shot based off that.

Lucy expressing how she is feeling. It was upsetting to watch as a viewer. I can’t imagine being there watching that unfold. Tim being her sounding board. Knowing how upset she is right now. Giving her feedback on what he thought was the killers motive. Talking this out because he know it'll ease her mind. Then stupid Chris calls. Blind as a bat couldn’t read Lucy if his life depended on it.

He’s not calling to see if she’s ok or how she’s doing. No he’s calling about a f*cking house. She could not be more distraught right now. What does this tool bag do? Bring up listings. I love how Tim’s eyes pan over to her. Checking in on her emotional state. Seeing she is so distraught. It’s very obvious she is upset and this is the last thing she wants to be talking about. This moment is opening her eyes to who Chris is as a person. She isn’t liking what she sees.

Her ‘wow’ sounds like she is trying to stop herself from going off on him. So ignorant and oblivious to her and what she needs right now. Lucy already wasn’t on board with this which he didn’t see. Now she’s rattled from their current case and this mofo is sending her house stuff. Lucy can’t even process this right now. Tim being her absolute hero and hearing her silent screaming bails her out. “Yelling” at her to get off the phone. Hate his line ‘He’s in a mood.’

No you’re a clueless insensitive idiot. Who he is currently saving her from. He presses about that damn listing one more time before she hangs up. Haven’t wanted to sucker punch him this badly since 4x17. Lucy can finally breathe when they hang up. She looks to her rock and says ‘Thanks.’ A very loaded and grateful one. Tim giving her the sweetest look. Fierce protector reporting for duty. Putting her first in this moment and saving her from that convo going further.

I LOVE how Tim is constantly watching and checking in on her in this episode. He handles this whole thing so well. He’s not a dick telling her to dump Chris. He’s so so god damn attuned to her emotionally. It shows so very much in this episode. Lucy loves to talk things out and yet she keeps avoiding it in this episode. Avoiding truly getting to the root of why she’s feeling the way she is.

Which is fascinating considering that’s her jam. Analyzing and breaking something down. Digging deep to see why something is the way it is. Yet on this one she is avoiding it and Tim gets her to face it. He even gives her an out if she needs it. Telling her if she doesn’t want to move in with Chris she doesn’t have to. Tim just got out of a ‘moving through the motions.’ relationship. His POV on this is excellent.

He doesn’t want to see her settle or be forced into anything she doesn’t want. Just because Chris is ready and wants it. Lucy finally starts to talk about it. Saying why doesn’t she want to move in with him? Telling Tim they never fight. Thats a huge red flag if you ask me Lucy. That’s not healthy at all. Tim telling her maybe that’s the problem here….

It’s this next line above that really gets Lucy’s thoughts in motion. Tim just did a mind f*ck when he asked her this. You can see the realization washing over her in that second gif. Because he’s not wrong. You fight because it is worth fighting for. Chris has always been this blah middle of the road nothing for her. Was a BF? Yes. Was he decent? That’s debatable…

Chris was just there as a safety net for loneliness. Now that he’s becoming more than that it’s becoming a serious issue. One she can't ignore anymore. All their glaring problems coming to light in this moment in her mind. Tim is talking her through this (which I can't get over.) With the most perfect mixture of empathy and logic. She’s slowly realizing he is NOT worth the bother.

Tim is not only pointing this out but with massive heart eyes. Telling her she deserves someone who’s worth the effort. Pre-laying all his cards on the table in this moment. She can’t break the eye contact with him after he says this. Knowing what he means by this statement. This entire episode is him being Tim ‘I’m worth the effort’ Bradford for her. The more she looks at Chris the less she likes it.

The more she looks at Tim the more she knows he’s the one. And that scares her to death. God I love him stepping up and guiding her like this. Not only that but talking her though this whole thing. Something that he avoided like the plague in 3x09. Shaking closure and talking off and saying it was useless. Here he is talking her through this crisis she is having. He’s crushing it too btw. Such an iconic line for them for so many reasons. This makes me squee still rewatching it.

Before their convo goes any further they spot a second person with a collar. This guy is way more aggressive about saving his life. Pulls off and finds some sheers. Saying he’s not waiting around to die. Tim immediately grabs Lucy and heads for cover. It’s the way he holds her and shields her at the same time.

That’s his whole world right there. He would take the heat of a thousand bombs to protect her. Tim has a one track mind in this moment. He’s not thinking Lucy can handle herself. Or she is capable of getting to cover on her own. No he’s thinking that’s the woman he loves in front of a bomb.

It changes his entire perspective. So he full on grabs her and places his body between her and the bomb. Thats his first instinct to throw himself between her and harm. Gah it’s so good and just feels like more in this ep. Proving to Lucy over and over in this one she is worth the effort to him. Fierce protector front and center.

We catch them back in the shop trying to figure out next moves about this next bomb. Chris texts her another listing... In an area she CLEARLY doesn’t want to live in. Tim can’t stand to watch her suffer any longer. He is as straight forward with her in this moment as I’ve ever seen him. He knows she has been on edge all day. From the case alone.

Now she has Chris making matters worse with each interaction. She looks so upset when Tim asks her if she loves him? Noting that 'He clearly loves her.' His growth I talk about a lot and it’s episodes like this that truly show it. Look at this man pressing her to talk about this. He knows she’s in her head and talking it out always makes it better. Tim knows this about her and is pursuing it for that reason.

Lucy has been running from her feelings for Tim for quite some time. She low key knew about them in s4. Then 4x21 happened and they imploded on her. Hitting her like ton of bricks. This moment is her ‘Come to Jesus’ moment about Chris. Also about her feelings for Tim. Saying out loud she SHOULD love him. That he’s great in so many different ways and yet…

It’s hitting her in this very moment she can’t love Chris because she loves Tim. Because that man is and NEVER will be Tim Bradford. He will forever pale in comparison to the man sitting to her left. Tim is the most important person in her life. It’s just hitting her like a freight train what’s happening. I love how she trails off as she comes to this conclusion. The way she looks at him when she comes to this realization.

Doesn't take much for Tim to see what she almost said to him. Lucy says enough that Tim knows what she is saying in this moment. The way he looks at her after her almost confession. my heart. I think this scene is another catalyst to their ending scene. I remember watching this scene and saying ‘You’ for her and squeeing my head off. Because she just basically admitted to not only herself but to Tim. That Chris is not Tim. He never will be…They both know it at this point. He is not 'You' is where she was headed and they both are aware of this.

We’ve reached THE scene. The scene that changed all of our shipper lives. heh Lucy coming up saying she needs to talk to him. Her rubbing that tattoo of hers before she sits down. Tim making a crack about Chris wanting to live in some remote place. I don’t know anything about CA but I imagine that city he listed isn’t great ha

Lucy says ‘No…’ Tim goes right at it telling she just doesn’t want to admit it’s not working. He asks her why she is doing this? When she is clearly so VERY unhappy about this development. This entire episode she spent stressed and on edge about Chris. Asking her if it's the guilt about Rosalind?

Lucy tries to pull a Tim and deflect. Bringing up Ashley and staying in a relationship too long. Tim does not let that fly for one damn second. Continues his assertive comments with her. He gets so worked up when he cuts her off about it above. That this isn't about him. Telling her she’s just hiding in this relationship because she’s scared.

It’s here Lucy blows his damn mind with her reply. Airing her fears of losing the the most important person in her life. Now I think Tim knew there was an attraction on Lucy’s end no doubt. She invited him in for gods sake in 5x01. He knew there was an attraction. What he didn’t know was the level of importance he held her life. It’s written all over his face. He is shocked legit shocked she feels this way about him. Now anyone with eyes could see Tim is exactly what she said. The most important relationship in her life.

The thing is Tim is so very damaged in that way. I get that so very much. Where you don’t expect those around you to love or care as much as you love and care for them. The sucky life of an insanely loyal person who has been burned which I can relate to. My friend just other day told me how much he missed me while I was away in TN visiting my sister. Him and my other friend missed me. I made a joke like oh did you not think I would come back?

Would you miss me or something? He looked at me and was like yes. We love you don’t you know that? I would be devastated if you didn’t come back. We’ve been friends for almost 5 years. It still shocks me I have people who love me and would miss me. So I can deeply relate to Tim being shocked he holds that place of importance in Lucy’s life. He’s NEVER been put first. Not till Lucy Chen entered his orbit.

She panics when she sees his reaction not reading him like she usually does. Thinking she’s overshared. When really Tim is just smitten af with her reply. He is beside himself with shock that he is HER #1 person. He doesn’t feel worthy. Thats not what Lucy reads at first when she sees his reaction. She thinks she’s over shared or over stepped in some way. Tim stops that train of thought right away. Telling her 'No she’s right.' Lucy once again misreads him and thinks they should just back off this then. Better to keep them as is. ‘It’s not worth the risk...’

Then we see our boy do the biggest leap of faith I’m sure he’s ever done and combat her reply with our next iconic OTP line. ‘Unless it is.’ Looks how cute he is when he says this. His precious upside down smirk. Reminds me of his cute smirk from 4x22 after their peck. He looks so excited about this idea. Just look at this puppy of a man. Going for it and telling her I think we are worth this. Wanting to give them a shot. Basically saying we are worth risking what we currently have for what could be.

This next part is where his courage really shines through. I love how he takes this deep shaky breath in the first gif. So nervous to ask her this question. Tim Bradford is NERVOUS everyone. So nervous to ask the woman he loves to take a chance on him. To go out to dinner and give this a shot. He finally finds the courage to ask her. Lucy’s answer is immediate and adorable.

If she could go to dinner right then and there she would. Jumping out of her skin with excitement at his proposal of going out. Tim is so elated and his smile so damn wide when he says ‘Yeah?’ He can’t believe his luck. Looks like the smile of a man who just got everything he's ever wanted. Months of longing over in this moment of courage. He’s so happy she’s said yes. The man is beaming proudly displaying that Lucy smile he reserves for her and ONLY her. Lucy mirrors his elation with her 'Yeah' *heart clutch*

Lucy then back tracks and we watch our boy deflate instantly. He looks so very upset when she takes it back. Her excitement got the better of her and she retracts. I saw a hilariously accurate depiction of Tim in this scene. Said he had golden retriever energy in this moment. All excited and giddy for getting what he wants. Body wiggling with absolute joy. Then is told no and is all sad and deflated. Then he doesn’t perk back up until she says she needs to end things with Chris first.

The analogy cracked me up because it was accurate. He looks so very gutted when she says no after. Has that 'This was too good to be true I guess.' energy coming off him in waves. Lucy tries to rectify the situation with her reason why. Doesn't want to see that sad look on his face. The man looks devastated. He just went from an absolute high only to come crashing down seconds later. The way he nods like he understands but is really hurt about it. My poor puppy of a man.

I love how he lights backs up when she tells him to ask her again. Later. After she’s rid herself of the dead weight that is Chris. Making sure Tim knows she wants this just as much as he does. She just needs to end things first. Make it right. No one gets doing things honorably more than Tim Bradford. His cute smile after he tells Lucy 'Deal.' His hope returning. Their body language above in the last gif is everything. Their bodies are pointed towards each other. They couldn’t be happier right now. Leaning in toward one another finally giving into that magnetic pull of their's. Both grinning like idiots in love. Gah I can not. I am a puddle. I remember rewinding that scene to make sure I saw and heard everything correctly.

I was expecting their pining era to last longer tbh. I was delightfully surprised when Tim of all people took the leap. Helped Lucy take it with him. For him to be the one without doubts and to go for it was so important. Lucy for the most part has been the catalyst in their relationship. Tim has has his moments. More so in the last season or so. But Lucy has mainly been in the drivers seat. To watch this man overcome his fear of rejection and go for it with her. my damn heart. This man isn’t scared to ruin what they have because he KNOWS. This is it for him. She is it. I can’t get over how much he’s grown to get to this place.

To be the one to say hey we’re worth the risk. Would you like to go out with me? Showing her she’s worth the effort of leaving his comfort zone. This moment right here is why I’m so glad they did the slow burn. Why I was ultimately happy they didn’t hook up in 5x01. This was the right way to do it. I wouldn’t trade a moment of their journey to get to this point. Not one and that’s is a rarity I’ve only had with one other ship. Castle and Beckett and that is a high honor if you know that ship. This was another daunting one to tackle but so fun to write about. I was buzzing for days after this episode. Mostly just happy this is where our slow burn ended up. Wouldn’t change a damn thing.

~~~

Side notes-non Chenford

The whole bomb SL with Pam makes me cry every time. It’s so tragic. Will say John was great with her rarely give him props but he does so good with her. Celina having to do the death notice kills me this ep is very emotional.

Bailey messing with John with the clowns is pretty funny LOL but idk how Bailey could think a coyote was a dog lmao ‘how did you get him In the crate?’ 😂

[halfpintpeach]

Professor Neil (sneak peek)

I missed the guy and WIP Wednesday this week brought him back up so here's a lil gift for @jtl-fics for being amazing and closing on a condo today!!

(Snippet includes part of the WIP Wednesday piece in the beginning)

September 16, 2008 (Tuesday)

Tuesday was probably Neil’s favorite day of the week. He only had two classes in the morning and both were lectures that he didn’t mind sitting in. After his lectures, he always went to the small coffee shop that didn’t even serve good coffee, but it was cheap and it was routine. Routines helped and kept him focused. Besides, the coffee shop was the only one that hadn’t tried to demand proof of papers for his service dog. One would think that the prosthetic leg would be proof enough but Neil clearly overestimated the mental capacity of most people. 

Armed with subpar coffee and a warm bagel, Neil made his way to the library. The main floor was a communal hub, with no volume limits and plenty of chairs and couches for people to sit on. Tucked on the left side was an open room full of tables, the tutoring center. The woman behind the desk smiled as Neil walked up and wrote down his arrival in a notebook. Neil liked tutoring oddly enough, he didn’t care much for the people, but he enjoyed the subjects and the feeling of someone understanding a difficult concept was hard to beat. 

A good chunk of the people who frequented the tutoring center were those who were on big time scholarships and unwilling to risk a dropping a point in the GPA. Hyped up on coffee, Neil often had to fight them away from his preferred table. The largest portion however, were the athletes. All required to maintain a minimum of a 2.3 to play for the NCAA Division 1 league. Neil tutored football players, soccer stars, and dancers every day. For most, as long as they went to their classes and didn’t fail any exams, it was an easy gig. Five hours a week in the tutoring center was a easy gig.

The Exy team was no exception.

Neil had started tutoring Matt Boyd last year, the tall man hopeless with his French courses. His pronunciation was leaps and bounds better, and the backliner was steadily maintaining a passing grade in the class. Languages were difficult for athletes who traveled almost weekly for games. 

Thankfully, there was no one at the table Neil had claimed as his own. Despite the years of therapy he still took a table in the back of the room. There were other reasons, which his therapist had been good to point out, the fact that being further back in the room kept his dog focused on the task. Babe Ruth was a large golden retriever who seemed to forget that he had an additional appendage attached to his rump. The dogs tail was a weapon, thumbing hard enough against a leg to leave bruises. It was a disappointing scenario, considering Babe Ruth walk to the right side of Neil—tail smacking against his good leg. At the table, Neil took care to sit with his back to the side wall rather than the back. It was the little things, his reminded himself mentally. By now, his voice in the tutoring center was easily ignored as he commanded Babe Ruth to lay at his feet. The dog wasted no time, flopping onto the hard carpet and splaying out his limbs. 

Neil checked his watch, Matt would be arriving in a few minutes. He always came right after his French class. Neil had managed to arrive a little early, so he went ahead and pulled out the workbook and folder that they’ve been using over the semester. This was their fourth meeting and already Neil liked how they were able to review the French that had just been covered in Matt’s class. He made a mental reminder to email his thanks to the French Professor, she’d been helpful in sending Neil her presentations for the classes.