#I DO NOT KNOW ANY TWENTY FOUR YEAR OLDS WHO EVEN WANT TO BE *SEEN* WITH A TEENAGER LET ALONE DATE OR PROTECT THEM???

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 06

Kinktober Masterlist coitus more ferarum - "fuck like animals" TF141 x f!reader Kinks > omegaverse, comeflation, hurt-comfort, fuck or die, medical discussions about dicks and puberty Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

An Omegaverse AU. You are a professional, one of the best. As a Guidance Omega, you are happy to lend your (well-paid) skills to any Alpha in need. However, when one of your regular clients asks you to help his friend through his very first rut, you wonder if there are some challenges that are beyond your expertise. 

You were no doctor, but that definitely did not look good. As you stood next to your long-time client, Captain John Price, the Apex Alpha of his pack, you studied his soldier’s condition. It was the man’s first rut, which was very odd indeed, but nothing about this situation was normal. Apparently, he’d been living as a Beta for years, thinking that he had just missed his parents’ genetic code. But, now that he had been exposed to some sort of Konni terrorist drug, his genes had mutated, awakening latent Alphic traits. 

“How old is he?” You asked. 

“Twenty-nine. Too bloody old to be going through a first rut,” Price sighed, crossing his arms over his wide chest, “Mine was painful when I was a lad, and my cock was half the size it was meant to be. To be stretched like this… We’re lookin’ to you, Omega. You ever seen anythin’ like it?”

You shook your head. You hadn’t ever seen this before. When Alphas went through their first puberty as younglings, their genitals swelled, growing three or four times their size, breaking the thin skin they had since their birth and replacing their reproductive system with functioning Alpha hormones and fully equipped physical traits. As they matured further, their genitals would still grow and change with them, but not nearly as much as the first time. The initial switch in puberty could be traumatizing for younglings that went through it in later years rather than earlier. 

“No,” you sighed with him, “If he were younger, we could obviously opt for the surgery, but this is his mature skin. It’s not the membrane. All those years as a Beta, and now for him to be going through this… The pain must be unbearable. Perhaps… no, no. I don’t think that’s possible.”

“What?” Johnny’s Alpha, Simon Riley, interrupted your thought, insisting, “Tell us. We’ll do anything. We need him to survive this.”

Any other time, you would say that this was a gross overreaction, but in this case, their new Alpha friend may lose his life if he failed to make the change. If his skin cut and bled, if his hormones failed to take over in his Alphic glands, he might not live to even have a rut at all. 

“And you’ve tried the warm baths? The ones with the numbing oil I sent you?” You clarified, wondering how he was responding to other treatments.

“Every four hours. They help him get through a few hours of sleep at night, but it’s not sustainable. He can’t even wear clothes for fuck’s sake,” Gaz, an old friend of yours who had known you before your work as a Guardian Omega, spoke up. He was curt, obviously stressed about his friend. 

You walked over to Johnny’s bedside and held his hand, 

“Hey, Johnny. I’m the Guardian Omega John told you about. I’m here to help you, okay?”

He writhed, sweat beading over his brow, and he glowered down at his naked body, fiercely glaring at his red, swollen prick,

“Serves me right for all the bloody wishin’ I did as a laddie for havin’ a bigger knob, aye?”

The fact that he managed a slight smile and a wry joke, even if it was said through clenched teeth, immediately won you over. This man was exactly your type; brave, funny, and built like a beast. You didn’t know if you could help him, but you wanted to try. 

“Johnny, we have to let your dick stretch to its true size. If it stays trapped behind your foreskin and the outer epidermis of your sheath, you could have internal bleeding, or worse.”

“I didnae ken the word epidermis could turn me on, bonnie, but the way you say it… proves me wrong.”

His soft blue eyes finally met yours, and you could tell he was just putting on a courageous face. He knew he was in trouble, and he was probably in more pain than you previously suspected. 

“What was your idea?” Simon pressed, coming to stand next to Johnny’s bedside, staring at you with some urgency. 

You looked down at Johnny, rubbing the back of his hand with your fingers, feeling the ridges of his knuckles,

“I could keep you in me. We could… soak the skin in the Omegan oils. It would be…” 

You stopped talking. It was ridiculous. And based on the look on all of the men’s faces, they couldn’t believe you were even suggesting it.

“You cannae do it, lass. It’d throw you into a wee heat, and I’m in no state to help you. Ah! Shite,” Johnny gasped, wincing in pain as his cock throbbed, obviously eager to be a part of a heat, hypothetical or not. 

“I’ll stay, love. You’re gonna need some help gettin’ yourself to that state and keepin’ it that way,” Price volunteered. 

“I can’t ask you to do that, John. You’d be in just as much pain as Johnny by the end of the heat.”

“Aye, but I’d be alive, and if it works, so would he.”

John was stubborn. But, he was right. If you were going to try to soak Johnny’s aching cock in you for hours, you needed to prepare. Gaz could see the gears turning in your head,

“You’re gonna need us in shifts, and you know it. This is gonna take a fuckin’ village.”

And so it did. You had John bring in supplies – food, hydration, lube, and every comfort item you could imagine needing – and you got to work. The first step was getting Johnny settled inside of you so that you could allow his skin to soften in the oils from your glands. But, you couldn’t produce those on your own. You needed to be worked up to it by an Alpha, preferably one who knew how to get your body to come hard and quick. Wash, rinse, and repeat. 

You wouldn’t be able to get any pleasure from Johnny’s straining cock while he was inside of you. Thrusting would be beyond painful for him, and it would be dangerous to his system. You would need to cockwarm him, and John and his men would need to make you come without fucking you. The only problem was, if you were made to stay in that deep, orgasmic state for long enough, your body would toss you into a heat, and that’s when the real fun would begin. 

In your heat, you would expose all of the Alphas in the room to your pheromones. They would rut, and they wouldn’t be able to rut into your cunt with it occupied, as it were. They had to endure the cycle without your soothing oils, sacrificing their own comfort so that you could help Johnny’s foreskin and swollen tissue endure the change. 

You thought it might work. It was the best idea you had, but the problem was staring you right in the face: Alphas in a rut physically needed to fuck for it to stop. If – and it was a big if – your plan worked for Soap and you could coax his prick to form a knot, you would then need to service the other three. They might fight each other to be first in line, they might hurt you. It was so risky, but it was a risk you were all willing to take in order for Johnny to get better. 

“Johnny,” you woke him from the nap he was taking while you were all gathering supplies, “We’re ready.”

“Mm,” he groaned, his eyes wrenched shut from the pain, “Alright, bonnie. I’m ready for you.”

“This will be the worst of it, I think. And,” you made sure he was looking into your face, “It will be very, very painful.”

He nodded,

“I ken it, lass. Dinnae fash yourself. Needs doin’, and I know you… Angh! Fuck,” he hissed, grabbing your hand tighter when a pang struck him, “You’ll be there for me.” 

“I will, Johnny. I won’t leave you. This is gonna work,” you leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, trying to be respectful of Simon’s claim, even if it was now – at least hormonally – invalid.

You stood on the bed, straddling his hips, and Simon and Gaz were there to help lower you into position. You wanted to be able to settle your hole on him as carefully as possible. No sudden movements. 

You poured copious amounts of lube down his shaft and used your fingers to spread it around the outside and inside of your entrance. You wanted him to feel as little resistance as possible. This was about comfort, not pleasure. 

“Alright, slow as you can,” you instructed, letting the two giants by your side lower you down into position. 

The moment your skin made contact with Johnny’s ruddy cockhead, he screamed out in agony,

“Creepin’ Jesus! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

“Hold him, John!” You called out to their captain for help. If Johnny jerked forward, he could rip his flesh and cause permanent damage. 

Price’s huge hands pinned his friend to the bed, and you could see tears streaming down Johnny’s cheeks. You wished you could take his pain away, but stopping now meant giving up on him, and you weren’t going to let it come to that. 

Another inch and you had half of his pulsing head inside of you. It was smooth and easy for you to take with all the lube, but if you hadn’t prepped yourself, Johnny’s giant phallus would be a challenge. If he lived, he would be quite a formidable Alpha. You couldn’t let him down. 

“A little further, Gaz,” you said in a low voice, not wanting to scare Johnny of more pain. 

Another inch and the crown popped into you, sealing itself within your warm, wet body. 

Johnny cried out, shouting for mercy, begging for them to just let him die. 

“You can’t fuckin’ die, Johnny,” Simon said, trying to comfort his mate, “C’mon, love. You can do this.”

“Si… please, I cannae…” Soap looked up at him, pleading. 

You dropped a little more, and each time you did, you felt your heart clench at Johnny’s groans of anguish, ready for it to end even though you had just begun. 

Finally, after more than thirty minutes of this terrible limbo, you reached his base and you settled your weight on his body, staying as still as possible to minimize his discomfort. 

“Fuck, bonnie. I cannae do it. I’m sorry, I’m… It hurts,” Johnny was sobbing, and Simon rushed to his side.

Price finally let him free, and he laid there beneath you, throbbing inside of you, aching in your warmth. 

“John,” you whispered, getting Price’s attention, “We should hurry.”

The captain took one last look at Soap and then came over to your side. He stripped off his clothes and tugged on his already-hard cock, drooling for you despite the drama. Your pheromones were strong even without a rut; it was why you had been so successful at your job. You just hoped it would be enough. 

Price sat on the bed next to where you were straddling Johnny’s cock, and he began to kiss you, making sure to take care not to move you too much, but still taking charge of your pleasure nonetheless. You felt his hand begin to rub your lubed folds, prepping your body for your first of many orgasms. 

“Mngh,” you gasped, “Your hands are always so damn good.”

“Love touchin’ you, sweetheart. Gonna make you come for me,” John purred. 

And he was right. It didn’t take much effort from him, and you were at the precipice of your first descent into the dark abyss of bliss, trying to come without accidentally humping forward, controlling your breathing, focusing on your core. 

“Motherfuck–” You let out a deep guttural groan, your belly twisting in on itself and punishing you for staying so still. 

“Good girl,” Price murmured, picking up the pace to chase another one down. 

Two, three, four more, and you were sobbing with pleasure. You couldn’t stop yourself from pulsing around Johnny, but he was trying to be brave. He hadn’t complained once during this part of the process, and as you felt your body produce its slick from high up in your cunt, you hoped his flesh would yield and allow his cock to grow. You weren’t sure exactly where your body was going to fit more of him, but that was a problem for later.

“There it is,” you told Price in a slurred voice.

“Your slick? Aye, I smell you, love. Smells like heaven.”

“Keep going,” Simon said over his shoulder, “Please.”

You nodded down at him, holding onto Price for stability, trying your best to stay in this submissive state without any overt movement. It was not easy. All you wanted to do was hump the life out of Johnny’s fat cock and make him drop his load inside of you, but you knew, logically, that couldn’t happen. So, you stayed as still as you could, holding your hips in place, trying to be as stationary as possible for him. 

The afternoon turned into evening and then into night, and Price had switched out with Gaz who was now buzzing your high-powered vibrator on you with a dark look in his eyes. 

“Babes, I think we have to stop.”

“No,” you gasped, sweat pouring off of your brow, “It’s working. I can feel him growing inside of me. It’ll work.”

“That’s not what I mean. You’re droppin’ into heat. Look at you, you’re burnin’ up.”

You knew he was right, and you also knew it was way too soon. If you fell into your heat now, the whole process would be even harder. The three Alphas who were helping you would have their own needs, soon. And you would be the only one able to solve their rut. 

Price was already not faring so well. He’d needed to step into the other room to cool off, and you could see his knot hanging heavy above his balls. He was producing so much of his own slick and come, and your body was feeding off of that knowledge. 

“Look, Kyle,” you nodded down at Soap, “He’s asleep, deeply, and he finally has some relief. This is working, and we can’t stop now.”

“Come again, then. Come for me right now,” Gaz used his voice to command you, and you were so weak to his Alpha's power that you did. He had forced you to come just then, and you had to clutch him around the neck to stop from sliding back and forth over Soap’s growing cock. 

“See?” Gaz glared at you, “You’re in the early stages now. Your fever isn’t the only bloody clue.”

He grabbed your hair at the nape of your neck and made you look down at his cock. It was huge, and the tip gleamed with an iridescent bead of his Alphic slick. That wasn’t his normal precome. It was a rut, and you were staring at the first drop of his breeding fluids, ready to be painted inside of you to eas the way for his seed to take root. 

“Yeah,” Simon sighed, showing you his rainbow-covered palm, “I’ve had it for a while, now. I was just hopin’ Johnny’d be better and we could stop the rut from setting in.”

“Johnny’s knot is just starting to form. If we stop, he’ll have to go through the rest without the oils, and he… mngh…” The vibrator teased your clit, making you feel another orgasm coming on. It was painful for you to come, but you could handle it. Overstimulation was not life-threatening. You gritted your teeth and continued, “He can’t do it alone.”

“Then, come again,” Gaz swiped a wet thumb across your tight asshole, pressing the vibrator even stronger to your body, making you tumble and struggle with another orgasm, “The faster he knots you, the sooner I can have this pretty fuckin’ cunt.”

“Sergeant,” Price snapped at Gaz, forcing his attention away from you, his voice full of a different kind of hunger. 

Gaz blinked, the dark look in his eyes giving way to his usual sweetness, and he started to apologize to you,

“Fuck, I’m sorry, babes. Just got a little carried away. You smell so fuckin’ intense in your heats. Your scent…”

“It’s okay, Kyle,” you kissed him on the mouth, “It’s not your fault. Just take a break. I can handle John.”

Gaz kissed you back and retreated, clothing himself and ducking outside on the patio for a smoke. As John came to your side, he helped you onto some pillows, placing them under your knees. 

Just when you were settling in again, trying to stay as comfortable as you could, you both heard Soap wake up with a start. Simon was making some tea, but he was right back at Johnny’s side. 

“Johnny, careful,” he helped him readjust, waiting for the cries of pain to begin again. 

But, the screams didn’t come. Sure, he didn’t look like he was having a particularly good time, but he was not crying out in agony. He seemed more surprised that you were,

“Oh, shite. Bonnie, that feels… better. Feels like I can breathe again. Fuck. The base though. It’s so fuckin’ swollen.”

“Your knot,” you panted, “Your knot finally has room to form. I can feel it stretching me.”

Price moved his hand to the edge of your puffy, aching lips, feeling around the place where your body met Johnny’s, checking to see how far he had knotted you. 

“Tha’s our good girl,” he smiled up at you, “Been givin’ him your come, love?”

You nodded, resting your head on Price’s neck, exhausted, but trying to push onward. Soap still needed your strength. 

“Let’s give him a little more, yeah?” The captain’s hand moved to your arse, dipping his finger into your tight hole, even tighter now that it was fighting Johnny’s raging erection for space. 

“Holy fuck,” Price moaned, “He’s got you so fuckin’ full.”

Between Soap’s spread legs, Price laid down on his belly on the bed and began to kiss and bite the meat of your ass, his warm, wet tongue heading straight for your hole. 

He began to lick the outside of your rim, lapping at you in big, long licks. His huge hands were holding your cheeks apart, squeezing their plumpness in his fingers indulgently. When the tip of his pink, writhing muscle reached just beyond the inside of your hole, you cried out, gasping from the sensation. John began to fuck you with his mouth, and you felt your whole body come alive with sparkling need. 

“Mngh! John, please!” You shuddered, your knees trembling on the pillows. 

John hummed, talking to you between decadent licks,

“You smell so bloody good, Omega. You’ve got me fuckin’ dripping down my cock. My knot is already so full for you. Ready for you.”

“Ngh! You’re comin’ on me, lass. I can feel you, and it actually feels bloody brilliant,” Johnny commented, moaning through gritted teeth. 

The man in your pussy was still so sensitive; it was hard for him to focus. But, Soap was growing. His knot was filling with his blood, hardening within you. You could feel it. He was becoming a true Alpha. 

“Are you okay, Johnny? Does it hurt?” You asked him, watching as Simon rubbed his hands all over his chest and belly, trying to sooth him. 

“In the best way, hen. It’s workin’. I know it is.”

Price’s mouth, and the relief you felt at Johnny’s progress, worked together in your nerves and allowed your muscles to relax. You melted into an orgasm over him, pouring your Omegan oils all over his skin. In that same moment, as your come surrounded Johnny’s immense knot, you felt it slip just that much further into you and plug your hole with its girth. He’d done it; he had knotted you without injury. 

“Unhgh! Fuck! Fuck, bonnie, that feels… oh, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You screamed in a wild shout, coming even harder now that you felt Johnny’s thick cream burst inside of your belly, hot and sticky and trapped within you. It made you feel so full of him, his knot and his come leaving little room for anything else. You dared to roll your hips on him, helping drain him dry, pulling more and more come from his heavy balls and letting it churn inside of you, swirling around his cock within your walls. 

Price came back up for air, and after you caught your breath, he helped Johnny slip himself out. His cock was red and bruised from his ordeal, but it was the prick of an Alpha. He’d lived through the change. 

Just when you were going to lean forward and congratulate him, Price’s hands clenched around your shoulders and yanked you from the bed. 

“John! Wait, it’s –”

“It’s my turn, love. You’re in a fuckin’ heat for me, and I’m ready for you,” his face turned dark and serious, just like Gaz had done, and there was no man in the room capable of saving you from John Price. 

“Just let me have a moment. I’m so sore, John. If you can wait for–nghah!!”

He threw you down on your hands and knees and thrust himself inside of you, his large shape too much for your body to ignore. You felt the glide of his slick, and you knew he needed to rut inside of you. He’d mate with you, and it would take, even through your pharmaceutical-grade blockers. He was an Apex Alpha, and there were no drugs on the planet to keep him from completing his birthright. You were about to be bred. 

“Waited long enough, pretty girl. Johnny’s got you so warm and soft. Shouldn’t be long before you’re taking my knot, too,” he growled in your ear, laying over your body as he tried to squeeze every last inch of his shaft inside your hole. 

You could feel his knot swelling at his root like a giant’s fist, bigger than you had ever felt it. But, you’d never serviced him during a heat. It wasn’t done. Guardian Omegas were there to help with ruts; they handled their heats on their own. But, goddamn it was nice to have a real cock for it this time. You’d been single for a long time, and you’d forgotten just how luxurious your body made it feel when you did the right thing and fed a true Alpha right inside your core. 

His thrusts were lewd and cruel. John banged himself into you, a hammer and its tack, dragging you under him and covering you with his hulking body. He was trying to knot you already, but you weren’t prepared to take him. Your whole body felt like it would burn up if you let it, and your skin flushed hot with need. 

“John… I can’t. You’re too much for me. I’m not… Oh, God, fuck!”

Price didn’t listen to your pleas for mercy. Or, he couldn’t. When you looked at him over your shoulder, you saw his eyes, unfocused and half-closed, glancing down every few thrusts to stare at his cock as it whet itself inside of your pussy. He was gone. 

He shoved himself forward, planting his hand in the middle of your back like a hawk with its talons, clutching at his soft prey as he devoured it. His knot pressed, and then retreated, only to press again, determined to get stuck inside your cunt so that his come could fill your womb. 

One more hard thrust, and he was in. 

You wailed out in high pleasure, and you felt your body begin to shudder and tremble from the mind-breaking lust of taking his enormous knot. It was so heavy inside of you that you felt like you were being pushed down by it. When you tried to lift your hips to roll them against him, you couldn’t move. He was too big. 

“Tha’s it, love. Tha’s it. This cunt belongs to me.”

John began to come, grunting and growling out nasty words to you as he spilled his seed inside of you. You felt it pool within you, mixing with Johnny’s, overwhelming it and soaking into your womb. He just kept filling you and filling you; you thought it would never stop. In fact, your belly began to feel tight against the floor, swollen with his milky white come. 

But, your legs were dry. He had knotted you so tightly that nothing escaped. When his hips tried to hump you, reflexes from his sex-fueled brain, he dragged you back across the floor with his dick, strong enough to yank your whole body back and forth with his knot. You felt like a ragdoll, tossed about, stuffed and cock-drunk.     

When he finally did pull out of you, you felt the gush of fluids burst out of your hole and cover the floor. It was a sickening, oozing sort of feeling, and you had to catch your breath from the way your belly clenched and spasmed from the stress.

Just when you thought your ordeal was over, you felt another set of hands take their place on your ass cheeks, holding you down again. 

You looked over your shoulder, and you realized that Gaz had come back inside, ready for his turn with you. 

You started to protest, but John’s callused hand grabbed your face, lifting you up and setting your mouth on his cock, breathing hard and groaning,

“Good little Omega. Be sweet for Garrick, love. You’ll have me again soon. Quite the fuckin’ rut you started. Had no idea this pussy could be so nice. Might have to send you into heat more often.”

idek what the hell this is. someone put me out to pasture holy hell what is wrong with me

[smileysuh]

comfort cuisine - TEASER

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, breast worship/massaging, big dick Johnny, fingering, pussy stretching prep, 'it's finger licking good,' praise, dirty talk, masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, cumming together, creampie, soft sex, longing, fluff, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.8k

🍭 aus. aged up/widower dad!John, best friends to lovers, Chef!John, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I'm so happy that people loved Line Chef Mark in my fic Real Talk, I received so many messages about giving Head Chef John his own love story, and this is what I came up with in the past four months :) it's a little different from what I normally do, but I wanted to continue with that 'slice of life' theme and venture into a plot line I've never tried before with widower/single dad John :)

“So two line chefs called in, huh?” you prompt, tucking your legs up and making room for the large man on the sofa.

“I expected it from Haechan, but Mark’s generally pretty reliable. His girlfriend was on shift today, so I know he wasn’t skipping to be with her- I’m guessing they got pretty messed up last night.”

“They’re young,” you point out, accepting a beer from him. “We used to be young.”

“Used to be,” Johnny laughs, taking a swig of his drink. 

Looking at this man- this father, you realize maybe he never really got the chance to be young. At twenty five, he had a six year old, he wasn't running around blacking out and getting hung over, he was working his way up the employment ladder, dreaming about a better future for his daughter.

“You mentioned Mark has a girlfriend, I think I’ve heard about her a few times now, it’s interesting that she was in and he wasn’t.”

“I’m going to be honest, I love Mark, he’s a great kid- but, he can sometimes be peer pressured into things. Haechan has a hold on Mark unlike any I’ve seen, they bring out… interesting sides of each other.”

You laugh at the description, and it’s clear there’s more on Johnny’s mind, so you wait for him to continue. 

“It’s nice that Mark is young and in love, I can understand that- but at the same time, I just hope he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. Not that Soonbok is a mistake, of course- I just mean that… life is fragile. You think you’re going to be with someone forever, and then you’re reminded of how frail things can be.”

You frown at his words. Even after all of these years, Johnny still holds so much pain about his lost wife. You want to do your best to help Johnny in every aspect of his life, especially emotional, but this is a topic you never know how to approach. He’s right for grieving, his ex was his first love, his true love- how is there anything you could ever say to make him feel better about her passing?

You open your mouth, only to close it, and Johnny watches you intently. Sometimes he looks at you, the way he’s looking at you right now, and you wonder if he feels the same level of connection with you that you feel with him. You wonder if he wants you to kiss him, if a kiss would make him feel better, if it would - if even for a moment - help him forget about the pains he’s faced in his life.

But it’s because of the pains he’s faced that neither of you can close the distance, you’d like to think about it that way at least. Even after all these years, it’s still too early, so you simply reach out and gently squeeze his hand.

Johnny offers you a smile, and you’re glad that in some small way, maybe you’ve helped him.

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[stayinlimbo]

Returned Call

wc: 765, genre: exes to lovers(?), warnings: cursing in beginning, slightly unedited

note: although i feel this could be read as a stand-alone, here is the sequel to Missed Call you guys were asking for. i hope you enjoy ♡

Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system: You know. Lee Minho. Not available. Voicemail. Speak. 

Fuck you, Lee Minho. No, seriously, fuck you. 

Tell me why I was contacted by not one but three of your dancing buddies within the past twenty-four hours about how you’ve been moping around and trudging through your routines for the past week. 

They were all essentially the same. You haven’t been the same since we broke up, is there any way we could reconnect, give you one more chance, blah blah blah. 

You must be doing really bad if one of them was Hyunjin, of all people. 

Two months too late, don’t you think?

As if any of this was my fault.

…

I was getting better before you called, you know?

I finally fixed my sleep schedule. I won’t lie, it took longer than I’d like to admit to break the habit of staying up late for you. At least I was already used to sleeping alone. 

I reconnected with some old friends since I couldn’t talk to Jisung as much without being reminded of you. They can still read me like a book, even after all these years.

I even went on a date. 

Granted, it was with myself, but I like to think it still counts.  

…

You know what I realized on my “date?” And while out with my friends? And on the sleepless nights I spent staring up at my childhood bedroom’s ceiling?

I had forgotten what it felt like to be seen. To be appreciated. To be loved. 

It seems like you’ve come to that conclusion as well, because you’re right. I deserved better. I deserve better. I may have ended our relationship, but I wasn’t the one who left first.

I remember our last kiss, paired with another one of your lies I foolishly kept believing in until I finished the movie night you promised you’d be home in time for. And I remember waking up on the couch with a sore neck to see your fatigued silhouette entering the front door, barely sparing me a glance as you dragged yourself towards the bedroom. 

You didn’t even look sorry. 

How could you, I guess, if you left everything back at the studio?

…

I used to admire your passion, Minho. I hate that I still do. You pour everything you have, everything you can possibly give, into what you love. So why couldn’t you do the same for us? For me?

You say you love me, but why does it feel like I lost something I'm not sure I ever had? 

…

Where did we go wrong? What did I do wrong? I gave everything to you. I gave you my heart, my body, my entire being. I gave you everything until there was nothing left to give.

I never asked for anything outlandish. I think it’s reasonable to want to talk with your partner, to share your lives with one another. I think it’s reasonable to ask about when you’ll be home for our anniversary without being yelled at in front of your friends. 

You want me to be proud of you? You want me to be happy about one of the very things that ripped us apart?

Yes, you’re selfish, but I’m no better. 

…

Maybe this is my fault. After all, no one should feel obligated to love someone. I just never thought it’d apply to us. 

…I wish I could hate you. I really do. 

But all I see is your stupid face smiling at me when I close my eyes. I hear your laugh ringing in my ears when I remember the ways you said or did something ridiculous to make me feel better after a stressful day. I still feel the warmth of your body wrapped around mine when we did wake up next to each other, our legs entwined together to where it was impossible to escape. Not that I ever wanted to. 

I want you to keep smiling at me. I want you to hold me. I want you to miss me. I want you to want me. 

Because I still want you. 

…

I want to give you a second chance, Minho. If things could be different this time, if we could be different. If we could share ourselves, wholeheartedly, as lovers, and not strangers.

I want to fall in love with you again, Lee Minho. 

…

Call me back, when you get the chance. You can keep the shirts for now.

Just please, don’t make me regret this.

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist: @linospuddin @linocz @spicyhyunn

ending note: I hope this didn't disappoint. I really tried my best to make it work with all the angst in here :D. I also tried incorporating parallels from Missed Call so hopefully that wasn't too annoying or anything <3

[vitzi9]

Pretty when you cry

Ethan Landry x GN!Reader

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

content warning: manipulative ethan; stalking; obsessive; maybe sub!Ethan; mention of murder; he's still ghostface; guilt trapping; worshiping; knife

English is not my first language sorry guys, if i did any grammatical mistakes lmk !

2924 words (7/05/2023)

"Hi" he said simply. As if we were speaking to each other for the first time, but in the same tone with which one greets an old friend. It was ironic how I wished for weeks for him to come and talk to me and when he finally did, all I thought about was running away. He hadn't changed. And so much the better. He was still so handsome. Today, he wore a white shirt and a kind of jeans in a shade between dark gray and black. After taking a brief tour of his outfit, I look up at his face: the most beautiful part of his person. His frizzy curls looked fresh, as if he had just washed them. This thought was confirmed by the smell of shampoo that came to me on a light breeze. His cheeks were tinged with a pale pink that highlighted the small and discreet freckles that sported his cheeks. His gaze escaped mine, watching the floor with a strange and sudden interest as he pressed his lips together in a thin line. He was embarrassed, no, dead of shame. After all, I still hadn't answered him. I've only watched him so far. And I surely would have continued if I hadn't noticed his shaking hands.

What am I supposed to say to him? I greet him too, I compliment him? I ask him directly why he came to talk to me? After all, the only times we had spoken was to get him to tutor me. Are we even friends? After he stood me up without any explanation, approximately two weeks ago now, we haven't spoken to each other since.

“Hi” I simply replied. Ethan scratches his cheek as he smiles nervously at me, his gaze flicking briefly above me to look behind me. The redness on his cheeks getting worse.

“You uh… Your classes, how are you doing ? I… Like, you're good ?”

To be honest, it wasn't. Which is the main reason as to why I was asking him for lessons, by the way. So he knows all about those four out of twenty that I love so much. (Wrong, I hate them, I just don't have the IQ to have more) How handsome he was. Earlier this year, I had this fantasy where Ethan, who I hadn't spoken to at the time, came up to me and asked me out. Later, having learned about his shyness, I dreamed of seeing him overcome his bashfulness to come and declare his love for me while stuttering.

"I manage. And you ? Are you able to follow the program?

Of course he did. We are talking about Ethan Landry, the best student in the whole establishment. He succeeds in everything. Except talking to people, it seems. For the umpteenth time now, he glances over my shoulder. His eyes alternated with bewildering speed between my face and what was behind my back. Finally, I turn to see the only person in the hallway besides us, Chad, watching us with a big smile on his face and thumbs up. He lowers his arms the second my eyes notice him and he puts his hands in his pockets, pretending to turn around.

"Isn't that Chad?" I knew it was him, Ethan's best friend. But I just wanted confirmation.

-N-no aha, it’s… I don’t know who… It’s not Chad.” His laugh was forced and it showed. He was staring at the ceiling, shrugging and laughing nervously. Too smiley to be true. If he weren't already incredibly uncomfortable and flushed, his friend's intervention would have caused him to be.

"Why did you come talk to me Ethan?"

Our last discussion was two weeks ago. We had seen each other on Tuesday for my private lessons and it had gone incredibly well. He had scheduled a session for Thursday, of which I was counting every second until D-Day. I was smiling just reading our messages over and over again. Then Thursday arrived after an endless wait. I headed for the library, as usual. My smile glued to my lips, impossible to remove. I was on cloud nine. But Ethan was late, yet he had never been with me. I waited and waited and waited but after an hour and a half I left. He hadn't sent a message, nothing. Since then, not a word has been exchanged. In the hallways, not even a single look had been shared. We walked ignoring each other, like strangers.

"I'm sorry.

-For what ?"

I had some idea why he was sorry but I didn't want to get my hopes up. His eyes water, he opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Ethan extends his hand towards me which I grab by reflex. To be honest, he was starting to worry me. Was he really going to cry? Was it because of me?

“Ethan, are you okay? I forgive you if this is what bothers you so much but please don't put yourself in such a state. Do you want me to walk you home? I'll tell the teacher that you are not feeling well.” As I said that, I adopted the softest voice I could muster.

The curly man holds my hand, he intertwines our fingers together. His tears finally running down his cheeks. A few tears escape him.

“No… he almost sighs.

-'no' what ? I ask, worried.

-I'm not feeling well…"

My concern increases considerably. Forget him which stood me up. His state is much more worrying. Without really thinking about it, my hand rests on his shoulder. I start guiding him to the exit but he seems to realize it. He plants his feet on the ground, shakes his head, then grabs my hand resting on his shoulder.

Ethan was keeping me here.

He raises his angel eyes to me. He was so handsome. His pupils were glowing. The boy opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Frustrated, his tears seem to intensify. He lowers his head, his beautiful curls falling in front of his eyes that I love so much.

"Ethan, you can tell me anything."

I was hoping he would open up to me a bit more. We were close, certainly not like best friends, but I considered myself loyal enough not to snitch his problems to everybody. Plus, I wasn't lying. He could tell me anything, I will help him as best I can. Ethan runs his thumbs over the backs of my hands, a slight smile on his lips. For a second, he seemed at peace.

“My love… he whispers and I almost thought I was dreaming.

But this peace does not last

-What ?

"I..." His lips quivered.

Did he really call me 'my love'? My heart was beating wildly. He sniffles and tries to swallow back his tears, to no avail. Finally, Ethan snaps.

“I…I can't sleep anymore, I can't do it anymore! he exclaims between two cries. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face. I miss you, I want to continue to give you private lessons, even my homework if necessary. I'lldo them for you. Everything, I'll do everything for you…” he had spoken so quickly that he was out of breath. His tears had not stopped, quite the contrary. He had let go.

His sudden outbusrt make me retreat for a split second. The curly man's hands squeeze mine tightly, as if to keep me from moving further away. I don't understand, my absence has affected him so much? Why didn't he come talk to me sooner, then? And since when does he feel that way about me? His words were excessive and I thought he was going a little too fast. He was so desperate that he saw my face all the time? That he was willing to do 'everything' for me? I thought that my crush was not reciprocated, worse, than he considered me as a simple classmate. If I expected that! But where does this outburst come from?

“Breathe Ethan, breathe.”

Like a child, Ethan nods. He tried to calm his breathing while I tried to slow my heartbeat. I knew Ethan hadn't had a lot of conquests in his life, but I never would have imagined him to be so dependent.

"I'm sorry, really sorry...

-Why are you apologizing?

-I left you alone, I swear I haven't forgotten you. I've been thinking about you all the while i was doing it...

So he was really apologizing for that. But why is he making a fuss about it? I had already imagined this scenario and honestly, I expected an apology, a justification and that was it. Why was he so affected? That guilty? His words got mixed up and in the end, I lost track.

- It's okay Ethan, it's not that important. Is that what stresses you out so much?

- What can I do to make you forgive me?

-Ethan, I already told you, I forgive you, it doesn't matter.

-No, he shakes his head, tell me.

Feeling that if I didn't take matters into my own hands the situation was never going to end, I decided to ask for a simple favor.

-Where were you that day? I ask, alluding to the day he stood me up.

-That's stupid." Despite his words, I give a nod encouraging him to continue. Promise me not to be afraid.

-Why would I be afraid of you Ethan? I ask, laughing softly. He's an angel, how can you be afraid of him?

-Promise me."

His fingers gripped my wrist tightly. It almost hurt me. For a moment, the thought that indeed Ethan could scare me crossed my mind. However, I thought of it too late.

-I was supposed to be only ten minutes late, and I apologize for that, but you had to be outside your room for me to get in it.

-What ? I ask laughing, not understanding where he was coming from.

-When I got in your room, there was a perfume that was not yours. But I had already felt it somewhere, on someone. And… I-I'm sorry that pissed me off and… I-I thought you were cheating on me and I was scared and… I cried but I kept smelling the perfume of that-

-Ethan, stop here, I don't understand anything. What are you talking about? I was no longer laughing, the strange details he gave me seemed too precise.

His tears flow, without warning, he takes me in his arms and presses me to his chest. He hugged me tightly, I almost couldn't breathe. His face plunges into my neck, which he was soaking with his tears. He kept saying he was sorry over and over while I tried to understand. Was he telling the truth?

-I felt so guilty for hurting them that I didn't dare come and talk to you. I was terrified that you would run away from me when you eventually find out. It was horrible. Never again. Never part from me again, I beg you. I'll die of it.

I felt his every word knock against the skin of my neck. He was whispering, as if telling me a secret. And maybe it was. I was praying that another student would come down the hall and see us but the odds were low, very low. Ethan had cornered me at the end of my class, everyone had left. The sun was already falling asleep outside the window. Panic quickly set in within me.

-Ethan you're crushing me! I wasn't even sure he heard me since buried in his chest, my voice was muffled.

-I thought you were cheating on me b-but… I’m sorry for thinking that, sorry sorry sorry sorry...

What did he do ? Who was he talking about when he said “having hurt them”? Where is the shy Ethan who softened my heart? Unconsciously, I start to shake. My arms try to tear themselves away from the grip he had on them but he was crushing me too hard; I couldn't move. His arms clung to mine along my body.

-I should never be mad at you again, ever again. Do you forgive me ?

That's when it comes back to me; the framework. Coming home the evening of the day Ethan and I ended our relationship, my frame was splintered to the ground. The shards of glass had been flying all over my room. The photo remained intact; a picture of me and my roommate, but the frame was dead. I hadn't given more importance than that to the situation itself, my window was open and then said roommate was at home during the day. I just thought that a draft had knocked it down or that my friend was clumsy: it happens after all.

No, it was him.

-Ethan, I speak in a shaky voice, please let me go.

-No ! he yells. You promised me ! You promised me you wouldn't be afraid of me!

-E-Ethan please….

- I'm sorry, i'm sorry !

Ethan, six feet tall, collapses to his knees in front of me. He buries his face in my stomach, his arms wrapping around my waist. He speaks in my skin, muttering countless excuses and promises. Immediately seizing the opportunity, I grab him by the shoulders and push him with all my might to the ground. Surprised, he let me go. His back hits the floor, he lets out a plaintive moan mixed with his cries. Without thinking, I turn my back to flee. But Ethan is strangely fast. He gives me a powerful kick in the shin which in turn makes me fall on my stomach.

Ethan is crying. His cheeks are drowned in tears and red. I don't find him as handsome as before when he slightly pulls up his t-shirt to pull a knife out of his pants.

"Why are you doing this to me ?" he growled, his face lowered to the ground. So far, he's let it go. But there, his energy had changed. He was a murderer.

I crawl on the ground, moving away from him, my eyes filled with terror. I'm gonna die. I'm going to die here, alone, killed by the boy I loved. Ethan towered over me, taking small steps towards me.

“I'm begging you…” I cried.

I was desperate, there were no more solutions. I thought, as I disappeared, maybe Chad would figure out who my killer was, since he was the last one to see me other than Ethan.

"You told me you wouldn't be scared..." he pouted as he crouched down on top of me. Afterwards, his actions keep surprising me as he sits on my pelvis. He had fun bringing his knife to my neck and caressing me with it. The coldness of the metal makes my hair stand on and shivers appear all over my body.

"Ethan, please take that away from me... yelling at him wouldn't get me anywhere, so I was begging.

- No, don't be afraid. You know very well that I would never hurt you.”

His promises, I wanted no more. I wanted him to leave me alone, forever. My hands were free, yet I no longer controlled them. They were completely flat on the ground. I couldn't lift a single finger.

“Do you want me to prove my devotion to you? the curly boy points the knife at him.

The sharp tip of the weapon is now to his throat. Ethan looks at me and smiles. His free hand lay comfortably flat on my chest, holding me firmly to the floor. The vision unfolding in front of me was horrific. I was praying that he wouldn't be able to take his own life in front of me, on top of me! I didn't want to see it though, my eyes refused to look away. I was terrified that he would plunge his knife in me without warning.

- You love me too, right? he asks, stroking my cheek with his thumb. Tell me that you love me. You love me so much, my love. You love me so much you're ready to die for it.

-Ethan listen…

-Answer." he orders.

The roles had switched. He had given me a position of superiority, adoring me, throwing himself at my feet for even a pardon, but he was sick of it. And now not even my pleas will reach him.

“Imagine how romantic that would be, huh? May the students meet us tomorrow morning, both dead and entwined. It would be wonderful.” His smile was that of a sick man. What more do you need, my death? You want me to stick this pretty little knife in my heart for you? That I tear it down and give it to you as an offering? Come on, tell me you love me. I know you do.”

Finally, I manage to close my eyes. His description had managed to repel me enough to allow my brain to kick in the survival instinct. Ethan laughs mischievously. I feel him move, all his weight crushing my body. His lips settle on my neck for a second.

“You want me to kill myself, huh? I'll kill myself because of you. All because you don't love me. How can you be so selfish? he kisses my cheek. Tell me you love me, my love. I need it. His thumb passes over my eyelid gently, making me open my eyes.

I knew I was stuck. He was one step ahead of me, physically and mentally speaking. He had me stuck. My eyes were red and swollen.

-I… I love you… I whisper, choked cries leaving my mouth at the same time.

-Where is my first name, pretty ?

And to think that I was dreaming of saying those words to him a few minutes earlier.

-I… I love you Ethan… The curly man's face lights up, a gaping smile erasing his crazed expression.

- There, it wasn't so complicated now, was it?"

That was my first story in english. please do not hesitate to gives me advices whatsoever, like if you think that the plot was too quick, ethan too out of character, not enough details, everything ! I hope you liked reading it anyways.

[thebroccolination]

KRIST, FAME, AND WHY "YOU SIGNED UP FOR THIS" DOESN'T EXONERATE THE BEHAVIOR OF THE PUBLIC

Lindsay Ellis uploaded this video to YouTube framed around the myth that Yoko Ono broke up the Beatles. It's phenomenal, as her work often is. I'll probably watch the whole thing multiple times in the near future.

Toward the end of the video, Lindsay expands on the morbid paradox of fame. Many of us see it as this aspirational thing that famous people should be grateful to have, and yet we're also aware that the circumstances of being famous often lead to tragic ends for celebrities, either by violence or by their own self-destruction.

Over the past week, I made this thread to explain the events that led to Krist putting his foot down after months of trying to placate the segment of KristSingto fans who are vocally opposed to Krist sharing any part of his continued close friendship with Gawin, Krist's costar from his 2023 BL series "Be My Favorite."

The day he started his break from social media, Krist addressed his fans about what he'd been dealing with very clearly and characteristically sincerely. He expressed his confusion, explained the impossible situation this unreasonable portion of his fanbase had put him in, and ultimately just gave the vibe of a very tired teacher. Coupled with the reality that Krist's fanbase is on average much older than he is, it's a little absurd that a twenty-eight-year-old had to tell a fair number of middle-aged, tax-paying adults that he's allowed to have friends.

Krist concluded his TikTok Live only to be tagged in even more abuse and complaints on Twitter. I saw some of it and didn't bother saving receipts, but you can imagine it. You're hurting your comeback with Singto by posting Gawin's photos, Krist. This comeback isn't going well, Krist, and it's your fault. You're supposed to be loyal to Singto, Krist. You abandoned Singto at the outing, Krist. If you hate it here so much then just go back to Gawin, then. Don't you feel guilty for ruining Gawin's career, too? He must be good in bed for you to come to his defense like this.

Oh, wait, I did save that one.

Presumably sensing that he had done everything he possibly could, Krist addressed fans one last time on his Instagram Broadcast channel.

Let no one misinterpret this: Krist left social media mainly and specifically because some Peraya were viscerally outraged that Krist didn't cast Gawin aside and spend 100% of his time adhered to Singto. Even though Krist is the one who wanted the comeback, a significant number of Peraya seem to think he's not trying hard enough.

"Not trying hard enough" even though he was so obsessed with getting Peraya Party right that he made himself sick.

This tweet was when he admitted himself for an IV to keep himself healthy, and then he ended up getting admitted anyway for almost a week. During which time he continued working on the concert from his iPad, messaging staff and Singto who continued with rehearsals.

"Not trying hard enough" isn't something Krist knows how to do. He's a self-professed perfectionist who identified so strongly with the character of Anxiety in "Inside Out 2" that he posted about her on his Facebook seven different times. He has an Anxiety plush. He even tweeted about the anxiety attack scene when he visited Beijing for work.

Krist has spoken about his experiences with depression. He moved back home in 2022 to be with his parents at the suggestion of his psychiatrist, the fourth he'd seen.

It's widely known that Krist hates being alone. Singto recently said it's something that concerns him, that Krist has someone or other at his house most of the time because he doesn't want to be on his own. Just last year Krist said his favorite thing about his four cats is that they're with him always, whereas people eventually have to go their own homes.

Rather than close himself off, however, Krist has remained a phenomenally open and affectionate person. He treats his fans like friends. (The ones who aren't trying to control his life.) He took the time to address fans twice in text and in video.

And yet, as soon as Krist stepped away from the helm of his own narrative, some fans were horrified by the idea that Krist might be mad at them. Others began to twist his words and intentions to suit a more palatable narrative. This wasn't about Gawin, no. He did it for Singto.

And while, yes, Krist did also make it clear that he won't tolerate people trash-talking one of his favorite people, this was about Krist.

It wasn't only about Singto or Gawin. This was Krist facing down fans who have relentlessly demanded more than he could have or even should have ever reasonably done for them.

It's a special kind of horrifying to me that fans are misrepresenting Krist when Krist clearly said as recently as last October that what hurts him most is being misrepresented.

I spoke with some Peraya in DMs about this whole mess.

A few said they have no issue with Gawin, they're only envious of the closeness he has with Krist. They're both musicians and singers, and they're both people-shaped emotions who went through hell together during all the "lol who asked for this pairing" and "ew I'm not watching the homophobe show" nonsense.

Others said Krist is behaving childishly and that he should just ignore everyone.

After all, all of this comes with the territory of being famous. It's normal. He shouldn't overreact. He's taken the wife role. He should be cute and soft and sweet at all times.

When I posted my thread about this, some were underwhelmed by the informational tone and had hoped it would be more of a call-out. Thing is, I'd already criticized that portion of the Peraya fandom:

It's frankly beyond my comprehension how Krist has made it this far as stable and as kind as he is. He was bashed by homophobes for starring in SOTUS in 2016, then stalked at his university by fans who disapproved of him having a girlfriend since he belonged to Singto, harassed about his sexuality until he snapped, vilified by international fans who showed up late to the party in 2020 and made everything a thousand times worse by not bothering to fact-check anything they were seeing, tormented off social media, put through four different psychiatrists, lost the partner he'd been through all of this with, found a new one, lost him, and gained his original partner back only for fans to demand more from him.

And the thing is, I don't want to say all of this on Twitter because it's becoming more and more of a noxious hellscape with every passing day, and the people who need to embrace this aren't going to read it. But I did want to say it somewhere.

Watching Lindsay's video, I felt such a bolt of fear. He's just been pushed so far, and fame isn't what destroys: it's people.

So I'm so proud of him for handling this with composure and strength. I'm proud of him for keeping the promise he made to Gawin in October last year at his solo concert, that nothing would change between them.

One of my Gawin fan friends said it best: Krist was the first person to see Gawin's potential and then show the world. He featured Gawin in his own solo concert, he mentored him through promotion, he opened up to Gawin about his life and his thoughts. He would never cast Gawin aside, and the fact that people are still trying to hand-wave how important Gawin is to him is maddening.

He loves Singto. He also loves Gawin. One doesn't cheapen the other. He loves a lot of people. That's who Krist is.

The idea that Krist should be cute and demure and ignore constant harassment he can't avoid because he needs to use social media for work is so unimaginably cruel I can't fathom how it could even transform from an idea to a real belief. Whether you like it or not, he's standing up for himself now.

Being famous eases some things and barbs others. You'll get free stuff and fans who admire you, but you may also get a deterioration of your mental health and fans who feel entitled to your body, soul, and mind.

You tell 'em, sweetie.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Home. - Fluffy Ending (not canon) || cbf!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: M Words: 2.8K Pairing: cbf!Simonxafab!reader / teen!Simonxteen!Reader Summary: Teen Simon and his best friend often spend their nights away from their respective houses because they found a home in each other… CW: none. Tags: you/your pronouns, reconnecting with family, wedding guests, second chance romance, time skip. a/n: not proofread. I didn't like the way I wrote this ending but I figured I should share it either way. It's too fluffy/forced for my taste. The actual alt ending will be better. ALSO: Was listening to Chemical by Post Malone on repeat while writing this. Idk if you wanna do that too while reading...

[MASTERLIST]

You're twenty-eight, he's twenty-nine.

You swore to yourself you wouldn’t step a foot back in Manc, not even if cows flew!

You swore to yourself you wouldn’t keep in contact with anyone, not even if someone died!

(Which your father did. Thank fuck.)

You broke those promises so many times.

You were unable to keep away, though you tried…

It’s your own fault, really.

You stalk your old friends and family on Facebook sometimes.

Other times you check the local news.

Others you check the obituary and marriage sections on the news.

You beat yourself over it every time. Even though seeing the lack of changes through your cyberstalking and the news made you feel immense relief, you still ended up closing the pages on your browser with more aggression than you should and sulking in your bed.

And yet, you still go and do it again a few weeks later.

And then another few weeks later.

It’s pathetic, really, but maybe it provides you some comfort. Maybe helps you sleep at night.

You should’ve figured out that someone would have made you eventually. 

I mean, naming your blank Facebook profile after the one mean neighbor you had, who called the police on you and your mates once for being too loud while hanging out in the street, and died years ago? Yeah, they’d make you eventually.

Luckily for you, it was Olly who did.

All things considered, it could’ve gone much worse.

Maybe… Maybe you should follow his advice.

It’s been a decade.

Your mum deserves at least a letter to let her know you’re still alive, that you’re healthy, happy, and safe. She’s owed that much…

-

It was very strange to be inside your childhood home after almost eleven years.

Four days ago, your mum had openly sobbed as she threw her arms around you, and you had found yourself sobbed with her, both of you falling to your knees at the front door.

She held your face so gingerly and kissed your forehead so many times, her face severely more aged than the last time you had seen her.

The letter you had sent her 8 months before was 23 pages long, a bulk so large you sent them unfolded and stapled together inside a manila envelope rather than folded neatly into a standard one, and had detailed everything you figured she should learn about your life. 

Where you went.

What you did.

Who you did it with.

How you felt.

What you learned.

How you changed.

You apologized for running away, for worrying her.

You assured her you loved her and missed her.

You asked, tentatively, if she could find a way to let you be a bit more present.

You reiterated you wanted to remain living where you were in Scotland… but that you could allow yourself to be her daughter again if she so wanted it.

You know she cried reading it. Hell, you cried writing it…

You didn’t expect anything, you didn’t want to cause her any more grief by coming barrelling back into her life. She’s your mother, you didn’t want to manipulate her. You weren’t surprised when she didn’t answer for a few weeks…

But then her letter came. A simple half-a-page response that said, in no uncertain terms, that she missed you, that you were always welcome in her home and her heart, and she wanted to have her little girl back.

It all culminated in today.

Adjusting your red gown with one hand, you walk up the aisle, the other holding your 10-month-old daughter who’s clad in a pale yellow tulle dress. She’s kept flush to your chest, her chubby legs wrapped around your hip.

You and your mum find a spot near the middle and sit down, though you scoot yourself as far on the pew as you can, making sure that you can step off to the side just in case Evelyn starts fussing. Though you doubt she will. 

The ceremony is being held in the middle of the afternoon and she has been calm and sleepy this whole time, softly dozing off in your arms, her little face nuzzling to your neck, since it’s close to her nap time.

You sit Evie down on your lap and place a hand on the back of her head while you and your mum speak softly, still waiting for the wedding ceremony to start.

You still can’t believe that you’re here…

Wythenshawe still looks as crappy as ever, you still know the streets like the back of your hand, though a lot of it has changed, shops went out and into business, and people moved away.

You met up with your old mates at your local just a couple of nights ago, and after a lot of tears and some drinking, you gossiped all night about your lives and everyone else’s.

In a way, it feels like you never left…

You were so afraid that they would hold a grudge at you for leaving, for not staying in touch… But they never did. You were welcomed with open arms…

It’s… nice.

The ceremony doesn’t take long to start. 

You nearly cry at the sight of Emily in her wedding dress, having deemed her a close friend for the better time of your formative years. And Olly, as emotionally detached as he tries to pretend himself to be, cries at the sight of his bride.

The ceremony is long and a bit tedious, as most weddings tend to be, but you’re still happy to be there… Happy to be back.

It’s nearly 45 minutes into the ceremony when Evie starts fussing a bit. You’re quick to take the nappy bag onto your shoulder and rush out of the church while shooting some apologetic looks to the guests around.

Once outside, you find shade under a tree and begin to bounce Evie a bit, knowing she isn’t fussing because of her diaper or hunger, but rather from the fact she’s teething.

One hand balances the infant, the other sets down the nappy bag on a low wall and you begin rummaging for the teething ring toy amidst the pockets. When you find it, you give it to her, which she gladly takes, though it doesn’t do much for her pain, only quieting her down a bit by allowing her to bite all over it.

“Shhh… it’s alright, pet…” You whisper to her as you kiss her smooth forehead and nuzzle your nose against the crown of her head.

You keep softly swaying and bouncing with her in your hip, moving about, side to side, while she drools all over the toy, her hands, and your dress as she softly headbutts your chest while chewing.

You’re lucky your dress is a dark enough shade of red and made from a fabric as forgiving as chiffon, so that the wetness will dry quickly and discreetly.

It’s in the midst of your pacing and bouncing the infant on your hip that you spot him.

His pale jawline peppered with a well-trimmed stubble, his blonde hair cut short and hidden under the beige beret, his strong build wrapped in full military dress…

You almost didn’t recognize him…

You leave your bag right where it is and beeline for him before you can stop yourself. 

And he makes no motion to move from his resting spot, leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette, and looking right at you like you’re sure he has been doing for the past 15 minutes or so (you wouldn’t put it past him).

“Fuckin’ hell…” You hear yourself saying as you come to stand in front of Simon.

He tosses his cigarette down on the floor and puts it out with his brown boot, blowing the smoke away from your daughter on your hip.

“That how you greet people now?” He retorts while looking down at you through his fluttering eyelashes. 

His voice is so much deeper, rough and strong than it used to be… You don’t know how to respond at first, your mouth has gone dry and your brain has blue-screened.

You’ve had dreams about this before… Nightmares too.

You’ve imagined that one day you’d cross paths with him on the street and you’d stumble all over yourself. That he’d ask you how you’ve been or what you’ve done with your life and you’d have nothing to show for it…

You thought you’ve healed from your past, but here comes Simon Riley to indirectly tell you “HA! Think again, dumbass!”.

“You surprised me is all.” You end up saying, your voice carrying a maturity and a strength you didn’t know it could. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Didn’t think I would either. Got lucky this coincided with my leave.” He remarks. “Could say the same to you, though.” He adds.

You can’t tell if he meant to offend with that comment. Olly had told you through Facebook that he told Simon about you vanishing off the face of the Earth and that Simon didn’t take it well. You knew he, rightfully so, expected you to stay gone.

“Got back in touch with Olly and the rest of my family.” You remark simply and shrug.

He keeps looking at you with those brown eyes of his, with a certain coldness behind you that forcefully reminds you that this is not the same person you used to know. The boy he was and the man he is are forcefully different people.

“Cute kid.” He adds after a beat of silence as his eyes flit to your daughter who’s still very much in her own world with her teething toy.

“Thanks.” You reply.

This feels awkward. You’re finally standing face to face (more like face-to-chest, goddamn is the man tall) after a whole ten years. Are you even friends? No. But are you acquaintances? Also no. And you have too much of a history to be strangers. 

So what are you?

“What’s her name?” He asks as he looks back at you.

“Evie.” You answer. “Evelyn.” You correct yourself before adding. “Evie for short.”

“Hm.” He remarks unemotionally. His eyes flit over you up and down, taking in… everything about you.

You are a confident person, you’d say. You feel good in your own skin. You like your reflection when you see yourself in the mirror. And you feel like a million bucks in this dress, which wraps around your body beautifully, the fabric making you look delicate and soft.

But under his scrutinizing gaze, you feel anything but confident.

So, you take a breath and return the same scrutinizing gaze, up and down, taking in every inch of him, your eyes just as strong and confident as his own. He notices, because of course he does, and he puffs out his chest and raises his chin, to allow you to keep looking at him, showing himself off a bit proudly.

He’s wearing a khaki formal uniform, or full dress as you remember it being called, and although it's been ten years, you still remember some things about all the stuff you investigated about the British Army, so you could keep up with him, impress him with your knowledge.

A brown waist belt with a sash across the right soldier means he’s an Officer… The buttons are gold and shaped like winged parachutes, and he wears a beret instead of a cap. A beige beret to be exact, which means he’s no longer in the Parachute Regiments, who wear maroon ones. There’s a cap badge on the beret and the Excalibur on it tells you one thing: he’s special forces. You don’t remember which one… but you know he’s something big, bad, and important.

“Special Forces.” You muse out loud, showing off what you noticed.

His eyebrows raise, impressed by you, and then he nods. “Somethin’ like that.” He adds.

“Done well for yourself, then.” You add and he nods again and blinks while smirking, as if trying to humbly pat himself on the back for it.

“She have a dad?” Simon asks while shooting Evelyn a look. The words escape his mouth quicker than he wanted and sound a lot more judgemental than he meant for them to.

The way your eyebrows raised at him, the same way they used to when he’d say something bloody stupid as a teen, told him you weren’t pleased and that he had put his foot in his mouth.

“Sorry.” He says though it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. “Came out wrong.” He tells you.

You might have gone ten years apart but you knew Simon like the back of your hand at one point… And you knew sometimes he’d say things aloud when he meant to keep them as thoughts. It’s clearly that’s a habit he still has.

“I know what you meant.” You reply bluntly as you fix your grip on the infant, swiveling her a bit to sit on your other side.

“What’s the answer then? She got a dad?” He probes as he dips his head a bit to the side, his arms hanging by his side as he looks you up and down.

“Aye.” You end up replying, the Scottish word slipping past your lips then you meant for it to. You still speak English with a Manc accent, just like him, but there are little quirks like this one that you’ve adopted after living in Dundee for ten years.

Simon’s eyebrows cock up as well at the sound of Scottish word, and you can tell he finds it odd, but he doesn’t comment. “Where’s he, then?” He retorts. “No ring on your finger.” He adds.

Your eyes drift down to your left hand which is wrapped around your daughter now, the splayed fingers showing a distinct lack of a wedding ring. He sounds just as judgemental. But you don’t let it ruffle your feathers.

“Separated.” You reply maturely. “No ring on yours.” You say and nod toward his own left hand which also lacks a ring.

“Married to the job.” He replies and you can’t help but let out a snort of a chuckle, which makes him chuckle dryly too.

“‘f course you are.” You add in reply.

“Could’ve been married to you.” He retorts with the same casualty of someone saying ‘Nice weather today’.

You scoff and shake your head. “Really?” You add.

“Ye.” He adds. “Had a ring and everythin’.” He quips. “Then Olly told me you ran off into the night.”

You scoff again, mostly out of disbelief, and look away from him, your eyes flittering over the courtyard in front of the church.

The ceremony should be finishing soon enough.

“Dodged a bullet then.” You remark dryly, smiling a bit in amusement.

“You or me?” He retorts and you find your eyes drifting upwards to him again.

For a moment you just both stare at each other in silence… 

Your eyes are locked in the same way they used to whenever the two of you were about to throw themselves at one another as teens… 

Then, he breaks into a grin, and so do you, the both of you looking away for a moment. His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. You’re both amused at the cheekiness of your comment.

“How long are you stayin'?” He asks you once you both glance at each other again.

“Goin’ home on the 26th.” You tell him. “How long’ve you got leave for?” 

“‘Till the 27th.” He replies and dips his head to the side a bit.

This is definitely crazy.

You secretly wonder if you’ve gone mad.

A decade has gone by… But there’s no mistaking the electricity in the air.

That light buzzing of goosebumps that prickle at your skin, making the hair in the back of your neck stand… Like lightning is about to strike…

“Take me out to dinner.” You demand abruptly and narrow your eyes at him.

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek again in amusement. “Are you askin’ me on a date?” He retorts.

“No. I’m tellin’ you.” You add, watching how his brown eyes swiftly light ablaze with a certain fire you never expected to see after so many years apart.

“Tomorrow?” He suggests.

“Tomorrow.” You add.

“I’ll pick you up at 9.” He adds.

You know damn well that 9 P.M. is too damn late for dinner… But you also know that in reality, your ‘dinner’ will be grabbing Nando’s and cheap beer, and eating in the backseat of his car in that one side road you always used to go to… talking into the night… and probably definitely fucking each other’s brains out.

“Like the good ol’ days.” You remark.

“Mhm.” He adds.

Then, the church doors open and the guests come pouring out, forcing the two of you to separate.

But you can still see the smirk on his lips from afar as you walk off to grab your nappy bag, find your mum, and get ready for the rice toss.

[MASTERLIST]

taglist: @iite-cool , @spicyspicyliving

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (25) Intuition

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 25)

Summary: Rosie's protective foursome are visiting her in Paris, Mycroft shows off his poshness, and they all meet Timothy and his parents at a well-chosen location.

Twenty-Five Years Old

The years in Paris went by too fast, and suddenly I had turned twenty-five and was graduating from uni. Sadly, both mine and Timothy’s graduation ceremonies were on the same evening, but we all had plans to meet the next day. I’ll admit that I had mixed emotions about that. My parents and uncles were to meet Timothy and his parents, and I couldn’t help thinking of all the different directions that meeting could go.

“It’ll be fine, love,” Timothy assured me. “Mum and Dad are over the moon to meet your celeb family, and I’m sure The Fab Four will behave for a few hours.”

“Ha! My intuition tells me otherwise. I wouldn’t put it past Papa to give some snarky remarks if he’s annoyed with your mother’s lipstick or your dad’s shoelaces,” I sighed.

“You know John won’t allow that, Ro,” Timothy laughed. “And your uncles are less inclined to cause any damage, I think. Relax.”

***

I had only met the Browns once before. Marie was a secondary school teacher, loved the royal family passionately, royals in general actually, and she was also a decent tennis player. Daniel was a business solicitor, loved his singing, and was quite a wine connoisseur.

“They’re both perfect conversation partners for Mycroft,” Papa informed me after I’d met them. He can share gossip from the palace with her and show off his wine cellar to Brown senior.”

Dad tried to shush him, but his efforts were nonsensical, and I was inclined to agree. 

***

Whenever uncle Myc visited Paris, he stayed at the Four Seasons Hotel George V, and for my graduation dinner, we ate at one of the hotel’s restaurants, Le Cinq. His Poshness, as Papa called him, moved through the restaurant after the maître d’ like he owned the place. Uncle’s three-piece suit had never been more appropriate. The rest of us were dressed up as well. Papa even wore a tie, which I hadn’t seen on him since my uncles’ wedding. 

The food was arranged like tiny artworks, and I felt like a vandal ruining them with the cutlery. Once the first bite reached my taste buds however, all regrets were forgotten. Each dish surpassed the other visually, and with different textures and surprising combinations of flavours. Every wine was perfectly matched with the food, and even uncle Greg, who was more of a beer lover, admitted that it was quite good, which earned him an exasperated sigh from his husband.

“How’s the job search going?” Dad asked after the third course was devoured.

“I’m expecting a few answers over the next weeks. Hopefully, something turns up,” I said.

I actually had high hopes, having already been summoned to an interview when I was returning to London the following week. Papa gave me a thoughtful look and shifted his gaze towards his brother who lifted an eyebrow just the tiniest bit, which made me sigh and swallow my remark with some excellent chardonnay.

***

To Marie’s delight, we were meeting at Versailles the next day. Neither of us wanted to take the guided tour but preferred to walk in the gigantic garden. 

“Much easier to escape if the conversation gets tedious,” Papa teased.

“Brother mine,” uncle Myc warned, more out of habit than an actual rebuke.

We had agreed to meet on the balustrade where it would be easier to spot each other. I could see that Marie was fidgety and excited, while Daniel seemed quite composed.

“Better at hiding it,” Dad remarked, which earned him an incredulous look from me and a fond chuckle from Papa.

“Is this mind reading business contagious?” I sighed and walked towards Timothy and his parents.

***

“The Fab Four are behaving,” Timothy stated. “A bit disappointing really.”

“Try refreshing,” I retorted dryly.

“Do you think Sherlock would mind if I asked him to deduce some of the people here?” Marie asked in a hushed voice, which Papa had no problem hearing.

“I don’t mind at all, Marie,” Papa interrupted with a bow. “Anyone in particular?”

And with that, Marie and Papa stuck their heads together to conspire. Daniel and Timothy looked amused, while the rest of us rolled our eyes, though I must admit it was the perfect ice breaker, and I was relieved that my intuition about Papa’s behaviour had been wrong.

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

More tags in the replies

[apocalypseornaw]

Wanna be Yours (Pt 1/5)

Sam Winchester x Reader

After years of hunting with Dean you finally meet his younger brother

@lacilou s genius idea

Every hunter had one thing in common, tragic backstory. The one event that fucked their lives up bad enough that they not only discovered that the things that went bump in the night were very real but they decided to not sit on the sidelines and to actually do something about it.

Your event? You'd gone camping with your family, your parents along with your aunt and uncle and a couple cousins. No one had heard anything about the so called animal attacks neither did anyone know how the hell to defend themselves when the wendigo attacked.

The initial bloodbath had been hell. Your dad and uncle were first gone, going at the beast straight in an attempt to save their families. Next came your mom and aunt, a last ditch effort to distract it while you and your cousins ran. The three of you barely made it half a mile before the beast caught you.

--------------

You'd assumed that was it, you'd die just like your family had. The beast had kept the three of you for days in a cavern. You'd seen it kill your older cousin, Derek was fourteen and had fought like hell so you begged it to spare to your younger cousin, Allie his little sister who was only four not knowing if it even understood you.

The begging seemed to lure it to you. It raised its clawed hand and you prepared for a slash that never came. Instead you heard someone yell "KIDS GET DOWN!"

--------------

You nodded to Allie and you both tucked down in as small of a ball as possible. The heat that filled the cavern was unbearable mixed with the scent of burning flesh along with the sounds of the creature as it died.

When it was over you untucked and was met with a woman, she was probably around your aunts age. Her brown hair braided back, wearing jeans and a red flannel of all things. A flamethrower was in her hands "You girls ok?" You nodded numbly "Help Allie first"

That was how you met Hayley Lynols. She was a second generation hunter. When it was discovered you had no legal guardian (Allie had gone to a relative of her dad's) Hayley had stepped in to offer you a place to stay.

She'd given you three options. One was a normal life, one was the life of a hunter and the third option was what she wanted you to take "I'll train you just like my dad trained me but you go to school and get a ged at least. Any kid of mine isn't going to be dumb in any way. If you want to hunt on your own some after you're eighteen that's you but just know I'll always be here to help"

You'd taken the third option. You'd buckled down on school and studied hard. You'd gotten a ged by the time you turned fifteen and started hunting with Hayley.

That was how you met Dean. You were nineteen, on the very first solo hunt Hayley had allowed you. She deemed it simple enough, a haunting case that seemed like it'd be a simple salt and burn.

---------------

She hadn't realized another hunter was already on the case. You stood across from the guy that had to be around your age, both of you carrying a duffle and a shovel.

Neither of you blinked so you decided to go out on a limb "Anthony Rowen?" He sort of laughed "You a hunter?" You nodded then motioned towards the grave that was about three feet from where the two of you stood "I say we work this together and it goes a lot faster" he nodded "I like that idea" then offered his hand "Dean" you shook his hand "Y/N, let's get to it"

---------------

Since the two of you weren't old enough for a bar you ended up at a diner, coffee and pie in front of you both as you talked about your lives. He told you about his father and brother and you told him about Hayley. Before you went your separate way you exchanged numbers and swore to keep in touch.

You'd see Dean off and on but when you were about twenty six he fell off the map for a while until he resurfaced about a year later with a simple phone call of "Y/N, I need some help"

------------

You pulled your challenger to a stop next to Dean's impala and grabbed your phone to check the text as to what room he was in but before you could the door to room one fifteen opened and Dean walked out, shadowed by another guy. He looked a little younger than Dean with hair that borderlined shaggy but it was clear they were related. Could that be Sam?

You climbed out your car with a smile "Winchester!" Dean grinned and met you halfway pulling you into a hug "Y/N! It's good to see you" when the two of you separated he motioned to the other guy "This is my little brother Sam"

You turned your eyes towards Sam with a smile and offered your hand "I've heard about you for years, weird we're just now meeting but good to meet you" he grinned as he shook your hand "Good to meet you too" you had to admit, he was cute. Broad smile and dimples along with green hazel eyes that followed your every movement. You cut your eyes at Dean "Also, little brother? He's taller than you"

Sam laughed at your words, the sound was enough to pull a smile to your face "Oh I like her already" you winked at him "Stick around cutie, I'm a very likeable person" Dean shook his head "Let's get to work"

After that day you and the Winchesters started keeping in touch every few days. You hadn't known they lost John so you weren't able to be there for them but when you lost Hayley they'd driven straight across two states to get to your side.

--------‐--

You stood between them both, staring at the flames as they engulfed her body. You felt a shiver run through you and weren't sure if it was from the cold night air or losing the only parental figure you had left. "I'll go grab your jacket" Dean offered and headed for your challenger.

You and Sam stood silent for a few moments before he said "When dad died Dean wouldn't talk to anyone, let anyone in until he finally broke one day. Y/N I know we're not as close as you and Dean but you're my friend and if you need anything I'm here" you nodded, eyes never leaving the flames "Thanks Sam"

About that time Dean walked back over with your jacket and draped it over your shoulders "You know Y/N, I was thinking" you cut your eyes at Sam with a weak smile "Should we run?" A small smile slipped onto his face "Let's hear him out then we'll see if we need to"

"Ha ha very funny" Dean replied before continuing "Hayley always said she didn't like you hunting alone, you can always throw your hat in with me and Sam. We don't mind the company" you nodded "Maybe I will" a silence fell back over the three of you as the flames began to burn down to just embers.

@nelachu2423

@lacilou

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

A Rite Of Passage: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: A case brings you to a small town in Texas that is close to Mexico's border. Someone is killing people who illegally cross the border, and he's a lot closer than you think.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

"A lion's work hours are only when he's hungry; once he's satisfied, the predator and prey live peacefully together." - Chuck Jones

"Hey, where's Hotch?" Emily asks when she walks into the briefing room.

"Budget meeting."

"Maybe he'll give us a raise," Derek jokes.

"They're cutting, not raising. I just hope they don't take the coffee."

"I'd quit," Spencer says.

"Oh, yeah. That'll save 'em like fifty bucks a week."

"Hotch will meet us on the plane," JJ says when she walks in.

"Where are we going?"

"Last night, three decapitated heads were found in front of a sheriff's station in the small border town of Terlingua, Texas."

She passes out the file on the victims which includes pictures of their crime scenes.

"Three victims at once?"

"Actually, they appear to be in different stages of decomposition."

"The ME confirmed that one of the heads is a day or so old. The other two appear to have died a few months ago, but the wound edges suggest that they were decapitated recently," JJ explains.

"There is dirt in their mouth, ears, and nose. At some point, these two heads were buried and then dug up."

"Okay, so why the sudden need to display them?" Emily asks.

"The need may not be so sudden. In Mexico, in 2009 alone, ten heads were in coolers and the people belonging to these heads were killed just hours before they were found. It's the result of a battle between feuding drug cartels."

"The DEA isn't interested?" you ask.

You'd think the Drug Enforcement Association would want a crack at this.

"They asked us to take a look at it. Considering the different decomposition, this might not even be about drugs."

"Alright, what do we have?"

"Well, the victims are two males and one female so there isn't a gender preference. Staging the heads in front of a sheriff's station is aggressive. All three victims are Hispanic and unidentified. Terlingua has a large illegal population. It's made IDing the victims that much harder."

"He might be trying to make some type of political statement. Volunteer border patrols do a lot of personal policing down there. Groups like the Minutemen prize law and order above everything else, and those patrols serve their political agenda. Murder would be bad for their image," Spencer explains.

"Staging the heads in front of a police station suggests that the unsub might be local. He'd have to have knowledge about how to do something like that without being seen. So, what we have is hundreds of miles of unincorporated desert and an endless supply of anonymous victims crossing the border every day."

"It's a serial killer's perfect storm," you sigh.

As JJ said, Hotch met you at the plane when he was done with his meeting.

"Explain this to me. The unsub hunts along the US-Mexico border. How big is that area?"

"Over five thousand square miles of desert," Spencer answers at the same time as you do.

The entire team stares at you two and you look away with heated cheeks.

"He could have gone undetected for years," Hotch says eventually.

"Why announce himself now?"

"What do we know about crime in Terlingua?" Rossi asks.

"It's a stop-over town. Immigrants stay only twenty-four hours before moving on, but that also makes them narco-trafficking hubs. Outside of immigration violations, most of the arrests are drug-related."

"That, my pretties, is an understatement." You look to your left and see Penelope's face on the screen. "Anyone familiar with the Lugo Cartel out of Baja, California? Their greatest hits include multiple brutal murders along with importing and distributing nearly two tons of cocaine and copious amounts of heroin between 1990 and 2009. Now, if we get in our BAU time machine, flash forward to now, a super cheap, highly addictive, and totally impure form of black tar heroin just showed up on the streets of Terlingua, and the DEA thinks the Lugo Cartel is directly responsible."

"They're expanding their operation which is often announced by a wave of violence. The Lugo Cartel killed two DEA agents last year. We're going to need to watch our backs. To Cartels, the Feds are fair game. There's even usually a bounty, so we're going to bring in the toys," Derek talks about the big weapons.

"Be careful with those. I don't need broken MP-5s on our budget," Hotch says.

"Guys, here's the thing. I don't think I technically have authorization to carry a weapon like that," Spencer says.

"You don't," Derek and Hotch say at the same time.

You reach over and put your hand on his arm. You want to grab his hand but he still has a gross ick when it comes to germs. Yes, he held your hand when you were going through it with prison but that was because he decided to. You don't want him to feel like his choice is being taken away when it comes to germs. Instead, you touch something much safer like his arm.

"You know, we're going to have a victim pool that is extremely hesitant to talk to us."

"Prentiss, you and Morgan start with the migrant community, see what inroads you can make. Stress that we're only there to catch a killer. Rossi, Y/N, and Reid, the ME is waiting to show you the heads."

"Maybe they can tell us something," you say.

The entire department only consists of five people including the sheriff. When Hotch and JJ got to the station, eight men were posted outside of it. The fact that they had eight despite there only being five officers inside shows that they outnumber them, asserting their dominance. Deputy Ronald Boyd isn't too worried about it only because those eight men are just a handful of men who work for Omar Morales, the head of the narco-trafficking ring. They picked him up this morning outside of town where he was heading to the airport.

Deputy Boyd would have talked to him only Sheriff Eva Ruiz wouldn't let her men talk to him. Hotch is worried about the men outside but she plans on ignoring them thinking they'll get hot and tired and go away on their own. The reason why she won't let her men talk to Omar is because she doesn't agree that they arrested the right man. The heads at the police station, in her opinion, are a message that demands for her to butt out. Just in the six months she's been Sheriff, there are more than twenty missing immigrants; that's more than three a month or one victim a week.

There hasn't been an official investigation because no one wants to be the snitch. However, she believes that someone has been killing for a lot longer than they let on. The Lugo Cartel kills to send a message, it's how they communicate but Eva seems to think otherwise.

You walk into the ME's office where there are heads in jars so that they can be preserved. You touch the side of the glass and allow the energy to paint you a picture. Fear. Desperation. The victims are running through the open desert as someone wearing a mask is chasing them on a quad made for the terrain. The victims are terrified for their lives but the unsub doesn't show any mercy.

"You know, contrary to popular belief, decapitation is not that easy," Spencer says, bringing you back.

"You don't often hear popular and decapitation In the same sentence," Rossi says.

"You'd need to strike on the weakest point of the spine. It's normally between the C3 and C7 vertebrae. There are multiple strikes but they don't show any hesitation."

"I realize you didn't have much to work with here but outside of the obvious, was there anything unusual about these victims?" Rossi asks the Me.

"The second victim appeared to have been blind, if not completely, then he had cataracts bad enough that it was difficult for him to get around."

"What about the other two?" you ask.

"No."

"I only had their teeth to go by but the most recent victim is older as well as the first one, the woman. It'll take some time to get an accurate age but I'm confident that they were older.'

"We're looking for something that we call a signature. Something that all the victims shared like a physical mark or something postmortem."

"I don't know if this is what you mean," she grabs the reports on them, "but they all had sand residue in their noses and throats."

"Could that be from being buried?" Spencer asks.

"Possibly, but the trachea and the nasal passage were kind of torn up. If I had the lungs here, I'd guess that they were full of sand as well like they breathed in the sand enough to lacerate the passages."

"They were running," you say. "The unsub chased them on quads through the desert. Trust me when I say he didn't show any mercy."

Hotch is able to talk to Omar who isn't too happy to talk to a Fed. Omar is cocky and arrogant only because he knows he or his crew didn't do these murders. If Omar had, he'd gut the victim from crotch to chin then leave the intestines open for the animals to eat. He'd send his hand to his wife, his eyes to his mother, and his tongue to his kids with a note saying their Daddy had died wetting himself. Omar doesn't believe that these murders are a message, none that he recognizes.

Hotch asks him about what he thought of the recent murders only because Omar likes to be a man in control. He has an army standing guard outside the station who will protect him because Omar has somehow convinced them that they need him, and Hotch expects to believe Omar doesn't know what's going on in his town? What Hotch is looking for, according to Omar, is Santa Muerte, the Saint of Death.

The Saint of Death is a drug dealer's version of a doctor's Raphael the Archangel or a cop's Saint Jude--someone they pray to. Omar has learned that someone loses track of the ways they can die when they cross the desert from Mexico. Sometimes, it's easier to blame a superstitious figure than someone real. Santa Muerte has been coming up more and more with the illegals Eva sends back, the coyotes she arrests, and the drug traffickers around town. All of them are afraid.

Evan once handled a homicide where her only witness was a four-year-old girl. She told Eva that her mom and dad were killed by a dragon. It turned out that the bad guy wore a green rainsuit with a pointy hood. To the little girl, it looked like a dragon. So, when hundreds of people are talking about the same monster, it's a sure bet that something is going on. They don't know what to call it so they settle on Santa Muerte.

With a town like this, you're not surprised that by the next morning, another murder has surfaced. This time, there is a head on a post right outside the Sheriff's house. The team heads over there along with some of her own men. You get there before her men do and you approach the head that hasn't been moved. You slide some gloves on and touch the side of his face delicately. This man was trying to cross the border last night with his family. He fell to the ground after not being able to continue either because he couldn't physically or he was sick. It doesn't matter. He was the only one left behind so the unsub targeted him until he killed him.

"I told you we should have kept that bastard locked up."

Eva let Omar go because there was nothing she could charge him with. The officers only had assumptions that he was involved with no evidence. You turn to look at Deputy Boyd and freeze in your steps. He walks past you without so much as a glance in your direction but he doesn't need you. The energy surrounding the head is the same as Deputy Boyd's. He either killed the man or he knew about it to move it to Eva's house. Your first instinct is to shout to the rooftops that Boyd is the unsub but you have to think about this through Hotch's eyes. He'll want evidence so you keep your mouth shut for now.

"I'm telling you for the last time, Boyd, go back on patrol," Eva says.

Boyd rolls his eyes but does as he's told.

"There isn't any decomposition. It's a new victim," Spencer says.

"He's becoming more focused on you, Sheriff. May I have a word?" Hotch asks. He and Eva step off to the side but you can still hear them. "It's clear that this is personal."

"It always was."

"How's that?"

"Look, I have no idea how many of these people have gone missing over the years, but one thing is clear. I'm the only one who seems to give a damn. That's as personal as it gets for me."

"We're here because we care."

"All I've got is a bunch of stories and superstitions. What if it isn't even happening?"

"Sheriff, I can't tell you how long this has been going on but something's definitely happening now. From the way the unsub is acting, it's obvious that you've touched a nerve. Whoever he is, I think you've probably talked to him."

Damn right, she has. He's right under her nose and she doesn't even know. You don't want to talk to her about this now because you don't want to freak her out when you don't have to.

"I've talked to anyone who will listen—drug dealers, immigrants, and even business owners."

"Well, one of them is your Santa Muerte and he's feeling the pressure. When we get back to the station, I want to go over every single interview you've done."

"How? Who are we even looking for?"

"We have a profile to give you and your deputies."

"Hotch, a word?" you butt in. He steps away from the Sheriff and joins your side. "I know I need evidence but you want to know what I saw when Deputy Boyd showed up? His energy matches the one on his head. I didn't see anything else but that can only mean one of two things—he's the one who killed him or he knew about it."

"Pay attention to his behavior during the profile. After, get your evidence."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[angel-kyo]

Untitled

Warnings: This started as something sweet, but turned into pain at the end. No proof-reading.

Also, in my mind, Shibuya and such? Did not happen.

-----

Twelve...

Meeting you hurt him, quite literally. You were running at full speed, probably with no destination in mind and pushed him with enough strength to make you both end up on the ground. Your mother apologized profusely to his caretaker. Both of you were only five.

And you decided to befriend him. That must have been the beginning of it.

Eleven...

"I don't want to be your friend anymore!", you were running away again because he had spilled orange juice over your new dress, the one you father had brought from abroad for your seventh birthday. "Apologize!", you cried.

"You're a crybaby, [name]."

Unlike other afternoons, you left his home early that day. He never told you, but he cried after you left.

He apologized the next day.

Ten...

You were moving to the other side of the country and he was going to turn ten years old in a couple days, so you gave him a ring, both as a birthday and a goodbye gift.

"Don't lose it, okay?"

It was too big for any of his fingers, so he enclosed it in his hand and saw you get in the car.

Nine...

His letters had made you think he hadn't changed much, but his voiced sounded a bit different now and you wondered if it was just because some people sounded different on the phone.

"Satoru, you should come for Christmas. It will be fun. My aunt is okay with it too."

You had invited him every year since you had left, three in a row now, but he had never been able to go, not even once.

"Next year, I promise."

Eight...

"[Name]?"

He splashed water on your face when you turned to him and you pushed him away.

"You are the worst. It's cold!"

It was New Year's Eve and he had fulfilled his promise. You had gone to the shore with your new friends and him, who had come all the way from Tokyo to visit for the holidays.

The sun was setting down when you suddenly spoke. "Satoru?"

"What?"

"I will go back to Tokyo next year. I... I want to go to Jujutsu Tech."

He did not say anything. Maybe he had assumed you would prefer living a normal life. It looked like he was wrong.

"Then we will go together", he smiled widely and you returned his smile. That settled it.

Seven...

"You were my friend first, you should agree with me!", he was almost pouting.

"I just think Geto is right. What is the point of being strong if you cannot protect the weak?", you looked at him and added smirking , "Stop pouting. You are a crybaby, Satoru."

He rolled his eyes. His friends were too righteous.

Six...

He heard your steps but could not bring himself to lift his head and just said "Please don't ask me why too."

"I was not going to", You sat next to him. "I know why", you placed a hand on his shoulder, "and I would have let him go too."

Satoru's eyes were closed. If he had opened them, maybe you would have seen they were full of tears.

Five...

You sat down in front of him and sighed. "He's finally asleep."

He looked at you. "How did you do it?"

"It was just a stomachache. He should be fine after taking some medicine."

It was his turn to sigh this time. "Thanks for coming over. When Tsumiki called, I didn't know what to do..."

"I checked the fridge and there wasn't much in there anyway. If you are going to take care of them, you should make sure they have some actual food around."

"Let's go grocery shopping tomorrow, hm?" He smiled.

You were not twenty yet and knew very little about kids, but still you returned his smile and agreed.

"I knew you would find a way to drag me into this."

Four...

"Here you are", Satoru looked down at where you were siting. You were cross legged, resting your back against a tree.

"He liked this cherry tree, it made him hopeful," you said, "'When the seasons change and all is nice to have something that stays', that's what he said."

"Do you want some company?"

You gave him an almost invisible nod and he sat down.

"Do you think Nanami is thinking of him too?"

Truth was he had not heard of Nanami in a while, but he nodded. It was impossible he wasn't thinking of him on the anniversary of his friend's death.

Three...

"[Name], I...", he was at a loss for words, but his expression must have told you something else.

You shook your head. "Don't. Just forget it, okay? I don't know why I said that. I don't expect you to feel the same," you forced a laugh and turned around, "I'm sorry..."

He suddenly felt too conscious of the ring on his pinky finger, the same you had given him for his tenth birthday.

He should have said something.

Two...

You rushed to him as soon as the news reached you. He was leaning against the wall right outside of the infirmary.

"Satoru...", you were panting. He knew you had run there.

His eyes were the saddest you had seen them.

When he told you he did not want to dispose of the body of his best friend, you only embraced him.

One...

It was Shoko the one who called him.

"Her wounds... I can't do more for her, Gojo. I thought you would want to see her in case she..."

He did not let her finish that sentence. "I'll be right there."

He made it just on time. Just on time to take it all back, to tell you he felt the same way, that he had not said anything because he needed you to wait for him to reset the world, but there was no point in waiting anymore, and if you wanted to curse him with love, he would be happy to let you do so.

Happy new year!

He was back on the shore where you had spent the New Year over a decade ago.

He had slipped his ring on your finger before you whispered your last words and he accepted them as a vow, but Shoko had returned it to him, and he now carried it around his neck.

Loving you had hurt him, but he would accept the end of it.

"We will meet in the new world."

[itsyoung8]

The age of the students at Bullworth Academy (part II)

Hello! Today in this second part I'm going to talk about the age of preppies. Happy reading!

Details:

-> I'm going to assume that Bullworth Academy is a high school

-> Since it is a high school located in the United States, four years ago and not three as in Europe (ex: France). That's why I'm going to make the following cut:

1st year: 14-15 years old - Freshman

2nd year: 15-16 years old - Sophomore

3rd year: 16-17 years old - Junior

4th year: 17-18 years old - Senior

Preppies:

Derby Harrington:

When Derby speaks when he walks alone, he can be heard saying this: "Why won't my father let me cash in my trust fund? It's like he doesn't understand: I need a yacht too!" After doing a lot of research, it turns out that, in most New England states, you have to be at least 16 years old to be able to drive a boat alone without the assistance of an adult. Derby's line of dialogue suggests that he can drive his own yacht himself. We can then deduce that Derby is either a 16-17 year old junior or a 17-18 year old senior

Bif Taylor:

Two lines of dialogue from Bif can guide us on an age. The first: "She'd totally dig me if I had a car". As seen with Russell, the minimum legal age to drive a car is 16 years and a few months (for some New England states) but with restrictions, otherwise you have to be 18 to drive without restrictions. We can already say that Bif is at least 16 years old or older.

The second line of dialogue reads as follows: "Does my trust fund kick in at eighteen or twenty-one?" The majority in all New England states is 18 years old and this line of dialogue makes me think that Bif is very close to reaching the majority. I came to think that Bif must be a 17-18 year old senior

Pinky Gauthier:

Pinky in conversation: "Daddy says he'll buy me an Italian convertible when I turn sixteen!" This line of dialogue allows us to rule out the possibility that Pinky is a junior or a senior. In addition, "I heard we'll be allowed to bring our own servants next year!" This suggests that Pinky was already at Bullworth Academy last year as if this year and last year, servants were not allowed. I conclude that Pinky is a 15-16 year old sophomore.

Tad Spencer:

"They'll have a hard time topping last year's carnival." We know from this line of dialogue that Tad is not a freshman otherwise he wouldn't use the words "last year". Also, in The Eggs, Tad explains to Jimmy that he's not an old rich guy like all the other Peppies but a new one. This suggests that Tad probably arrived at Bullworth Academy a year before Jimmy, otherwise the new term wouldn't make sense if he had been in school longer than that. I've come to think that Tad is probably a 15-16 year old sophomore.

Gord Vendôme:

What I'm saying for Gord is not certain.

During a mission, he can be seen talking with Parker. If we listen to their conversation, Gord says he's going to work in his father's office this summer. In the United States, the minimum age required to work is 14 years old with constraints, otherwise it is 18 years old without constraints. So all years of high school are possible for Gord. However, the fact that he talks quite often about law school and how much he is looking forward to it may make us think that he may be a 17-18 year old senior.

Parker Ogilvie:

"Dr. Crabblesnitch is making Hopkins a Prefect, even though it's his first year." We can see that Parker is probably not in his first year at Bullworth Academy, so not a freshman. When he gets hit by a bicycle, he can be heard saying: "I should have daddy drive me." This sentence may make us think that Parker is not yet old enough to drive a car. So, we can deduce that Parker is a 15-16 year old sophomore.

Chad Morris:

Chad is the one who gives me the most trouble because there are hardly any clues that could tell us how old he is. The only thing I found is: "want to ride on my scooter, jimmy, next weekend sounds good?" As seen earlier, the minimum legal age in New England to drive a vehicle is 16 years and a few months or so. He is then either a 16-17 year old junior or a 17-18 year old senior.

Justin Vandervelde:

Another one that I can't give a specific age range on lol. Well, I can say that Justin is not in his first year because during a free conversation with another preppie, one of those lines of dialogue is: " My dad arranged for me to get perfect marks this year." This clearly means that he is not a freshman. Then, with this line of dialogue: "I think I'll skip university and go straight to my father's business." I figured that by saying that, he must be close to going to college. I've come to assume that he may be a 17-18 year old senior but nothing is certain.

Bryce Montrose:

Bryce is not in his first year as he has been working at Golf & Yacht to pay for his studies and has been for several years (starting in the 1st year). In addition, he uses the word "kid" in several lines of dialogue. Suggesting that he's older than Jimmy, in which case he wouldn't call him that if he was the same age as him. Finally "I'm making valuable contacts at the Golf & Yacht club. One guy offered me a VP job when I finish at Bullworth". This line of dialogue leads us to believe that he is very close to completing his studies at Bullworth Academy. I'm starting to think maybe he's a 17-18 year old senior

Here is the end of this second part. In the next part, I'll talk about Greasers. A la prochaine!

[sachermorte]

hi roland

i noticed you use a forearm crutch and i wanted to ask for some advice, if that’s okay with you

i just got my very first forearm crutch (and mobility aid in general) today and um. it’s very scary to use it in public :’)) i just wanted to ask if you have any advice on how to give less of a fuck about people staring and judging, and how to feel more confident with using it in public

thank you :’)))

Servus, Anon, you caught me just coming back from the gym. I'm happy to talk about this before I go jump in the shower and pretend I don't exist for twenty minutes.

I've been using some flavor of mobility aid since I was around eighteen years old, so let's just round it up and call it a full decade. I started with a cane, had to upgrade to two forearm crutches three years in, and knocked myself back down to just one crutch around three or four years ago. I've been carrying around a giant metal pole for so long I don't really remember what it felt like to go without it, so I suppose I really am the best person to ask.

This is long. Table of contents provided here, cut to follow.

On Judgment

On Theater

On Discrimination

1. On Judgment

The first point I want to impress upon you is that people really, earnestly, don't give nearly as much of a fuck about you as you think they do. People are inherently self-centered. This isn't the same thing as selfish, mind you. People can be good and generous and kind while still being fundamentally self-centered. That's the price of admission for being an individual. People live in their own bodies and deal with their own problems and primarily concern themselves with their own affairs. They might look at you, but that's because the way that the human brain works is that it wants to take in new pieces of information. A young person with a mobility aid is "unusual", so they're just filing it away in their endless filing cabinet of Things That Exist On Planet Earth. It's no huge drama.

To continue on a slightly different angle, the therapist-esque "no one's judging you I promise!!! do YOU go out on the street and judge people on what they look like?" never worked on me because yes, actually, I do. I think people are out here dressed tragically and with bad haircuts and with the most hideous shoes I've ever seen, and I think it very often. But here's the thing: I see someone, I judge wholeheartedly, and then immediately move on. Any given person occupies less than two full seconds in my consciousness before I go back to what I was doing and forget about them literally forever. This is how random, shitty, petty judgments happen. These people are irrelevant to your life and your story. You will almost certainly never speak to them on the subject*. If people think about you at all, it won't even be unkind. It'll be "Oh, I wonder what's going on there. Anyway." I promise. Kerry Weaver used a forearm crutch on nine seasons of ER before it was explained, and people dealt with it just fine.

I suppose I'm lucky in that I live in Vienna. You would be hard-pressed in Vienna to get anyone to give a shit about you and what you're doing if you were shot in the street. I consider this one of the best things about the city. I've known people who only very delicately broached the subject of my crutch after knowing me for over two years. And it was when I was already complaining about my hip joint. "Ah, that's why you have the crutch, I suppose." "How very right you are." "Anyway, you were saying?" I've had multiple people mention that they forget I even have it. It just melds into their map of what Roland looks like. Doesn't even warrant thinking about. The one time I had a stranger ask me about it was three years ago, and it was a little kid. I told him it was because I never ate my vegetables. I laughed. His dad laughed. Everyone moved on. Aside from that, it only comes up if someone asks me if I might like to take their seat on public transportation (I might, indeed), or someone offering to let me use the staff elevator or waving me through a priority queue. Nobody cares.

*If you live in America, the last paragraph is unfortunately not applicable. I've experienced the height of rudeness in America. People grabbing me to ask me questions, people literally laying hands on me to pray without permission. I once had someone pull out one of my earbuds to ask me what was wrong with me. You are allowed to shout at these people. The best way to get rid of them is to make an absolute scene. I wholeheartedly advocate for tactically losing your shit. Also, your crutch was practically formulated in a lab to be good at hitting people. Consider thoroughly.

2. On Theater

Even taking all of this into account, though, having a mobility aid is new for you, and new things are frequently scary. This brings me to my very favorite tactic for navigating the world: delusion. When I have to do something I'm not used to doing, or go somewhere I'm unaccustomed to, my first thought is always "what character am I playing while I'm there?" I recently started going to the gym and always dress as Favoriten-chic as I can get with my present wardrobe. When I have to file an important piece of paperwork, I dress very respectably in gray and black. When I was at my job in the garderobe last year around a bunch of ÖVP-Wähler, I dressed mostly in vintage menswear.

What kind of characters exist in the greater public consciousness that often use canes or staves? Aristocracy is and always has been my mask of choice. You, however, might choose a swashbuckler. A Tolkien-esque wizard or someone living in The Shire. A knight. A monk. An outdoorsman. Partaker of organized crime. Jay Gatsby roaring 20s billionaire. Whatever you choose is going to be your cover until you feel like your crutch is an extension of your body and you don't need the pretense anymore. You're cosplaying. It might take a few months. A few years. You might decide you like your persona so much you never take it off. That's also fine.

Again, I live in Vienna, and people stare at you here. It's just a thing. It's culturally accepted. Half the time we're not even staring at you. We're staring through you. Einfach nur ins Narrenkastl schaun. But because I dress the way I do and move the way I do through the world, if people are staring at me, the last reason I'm going to even think about is the crutch. It's usually the outfit.

Also, that point earlier about people being fundamentally self-centered? I'm so absurdly self-absorbed it's a miracle I can even see where I'm going. I've had friends, multiple times, go "those people were STARING at you" and I honest to God did not even notice. Not even a little bit. When I have company I'm too wrapped up in saying outrageous shit. When I'm alone I always have headphones in. My leitmotiv is inescapable. Which really only helps to reinforce the vibe I'm pushing out all the time.

3. On Discrimination

If you wanted me to write that no one would treat you any differently, I'm sorry to say that that's not the case. Don't get me wrong, there are many benefits, both physical and social. Your pain will go down significantly, that's for sure. You'll be able to walk faster. You'll be able to be out longer, and experience more things. I personally get to use Cripple Privilege to get out of anything I don't want to do. I almost always get a seat on public transportation, even during rush hour. I can press-gang friends into carting shit around for me. Just yesterday I had help carting two vintage hardwood and leather dining chairs from the third to the tenth. I did not carry either of the chairs. I just trotted along and chattered everyone's ear off.

But people do tend to make assumptions about what you are and aren't capable of. The extreme praise when I started going to the gym didn't really sit right with me, and I'm not going to bother saying anything about it because what's the point? In the minds of other people, they're being supportive, not condescending. Your dating pool will shrink significantly, because again, people make assumptions about what you are and aren't capable of, and often just don't want to date a disabled person. If your partner is okay with it, their family likely won't be. My ex's family said some HORRIBLE things to and about me about how I was "dragging him down" and "forcing him to take care of me". He didn't defend me. This was the least of many, many problems with that entire relationship, but I still found it incredibly unpleasant. My issues in my love life aren't solely due to my condition, so don't fall into despair prematurely, but I can't pretend that it isn't a contributing factor.

After that relationship ended, I wound up cutting out most of our former mutual friends, not only because of their lack of support, but due to them constantly posting those pastel uwu "you're so valid!!!" positivity and (mis)information posts surrounding disabilities, which felt incredibly infantilizing and condescending. Again, I'm sure they would insist they were being supportive. If I ever see another one of those posts again it'll be too soon.

In any case. You will live a long, meaningful, fruitful life. And the crutch will be a part of you. For now. For a while. Maybe forever. That's okay. That's fine. Maybe in ten years you'll be just as jaded and nonchalant about the whole business like I am now. That doesn't make your apprehension about the situation any less real. But I'm telling you now that the life you want always lies on the other side of a massive pain in the ass.

You'll muddle through somehow, with alternating bouts of clumsiness and grace. We all do, after all.

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING

HELLO! The lack of Haymitch content makes me wanna cry so I decided to step in. English is not my first language so please have mercy ✌️

Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

MASTERLIST

*gif not mine*

1. Bad feeling

Life in District 12 is nowhere to be great, but there are few aspects that make life easier. You can grow plants in the garden, if you have it. People are nice, mostly they threat you with kindness, even Peacekeepers. You are always nice to everyone, and nobody has been a problem. Your adoptive mother, Holly, taught you to stay out of problems and riots and focus to become a great part of the community instead. You are so grateful towards her that you would do anything to make her happy, not to mention it isn’t hard to act kind.

You are quite happy with your life. A part from the fact that you are always hungry - quite a habit, but at the age of twenty four you are strong and ready to work a lot. 

You are a great babysitter for the children of the district, when the mothers have to work after the pregnancy you step in line and take care of their babies. You clean the houses of the Major, of the Peacekeepers and the Victors - which is one, by the way, but always pay in time. You want to become a teacher, but you have to wait a year or so to try the test again. You failed. Yes, big time, big tears, but you got back to work and have faith for the future. 

At the age of 24 you look nice, you think. Raven hair, hazel eyes, not really tall, you are content with your physical aspect. You aren't married, though. You never had any suitors, your family being miners and you being… busy. You are gentle, but never open. To boyfriends, to new possibilities. 

Oh, and you are utterly in love with the kinda-old-man you are working for. But that is just a little detail.

Life in the District is a routine, and you like it.

Yes, you are happy. The kind of happiness who leads you to sing while you are cleaning, at least until your surly boss yells at you to stop.

You were happy. Until you watched the television.

After the 74th edition of the Hunger Games everything changed in the district and, I think, in the Capitol too. For the first time in ages a girl and a boy from our home won, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. And for the first time ever, two kids. They managed to stay alive declaring their love for each other. You were really happy at first, because you have known Katniss and Peeta since they were kids. And for the food they provided with the victory too, you have to be honest. After several months, though, you can sense something is wrong. Everybody, including your boss, is nervous. Well, more nervous and skittish - and drunk -  than usual. Katniss and Peeta are always around Haymitch’s house, never together - which is weird since they are supposed to be a couple - and they talk with a low voice, usually in the garden where the geese are. You stay out of the way, not wanting any of that business. You are here to clean the mess, tidy up the rowdyness he calls home and settle a way of living that’s tolerable. One time you opened the door and Capitol men were there, looking for Haymitch (who was in bed, drunk as hell). They were terrifying, and you practically hide until they were gone. 

It happens in a brief moment. You are cleaning Haymitch’s house, the biggest house you’ve ever seen, and the television is on. It’s almost mandatory to watch the television during programs like these, because Snow wants every citizen to know the news. You expect to see the same statement, like every year. “And so it was decreed that, each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice.”

Not this time, tho. President Snow, seated in his white luxurious chair with his devious blue eyes and white hair, pronounces these words: “This edition of the Hunger Games is the 75th Quarter Quell, a glorified year. For the 75th Hunger Games it is therefore decreed that this year the various districts of Panem will offer up, in tribute, a man and a woman from the age of eighteen to the age of thirty to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol.” 

From 18 to 30. And you are twenty-four. 

You can barely register what you’ve seen that you feel your legs abandoning you, and you faint.

You wake up in someone's arms, confused and horrified.

«Let's get you on the couch, sweetheart.»

Haymitch. You are surprised he is sober enough to acknowledge you are there, even if not enough to catch you before the fall.

You feel so stupid. You fainted. But then again, you were sure you escaped the torture of the Hunger Games the minute you turned nineteen.

He trembles to the couch and you are so grateful for him.

Haymitch Abernathy. The man who pays you to keep his house - his life - in order and clean. The old grumpy man who sometimes makes you laugh, but most of the times shut his door because he’s too drunk to be seen by anyone, let alone a young girl. He’s never violent towards you, but you can see he is very scared of the possibility. 

Six months before you were struggling with your job, wanting something more to feed your family. You were just have been rejected from the teacher test, and very sadly began to ask anyone for work. After two or three men who mentioned in hilarious tones the kind of jobs you definitely didn't want, Haymitch stepped up and just looked at you.

«How do you feel about geese?» Was the only, very odd question.

«They are fine.» You lied. You hated geese, they were filthy animals who liked to bite. But you needed a job that didn't require a lack of clothes.

And it was Haymitch, everybody knew him from the district and even if he wasn’t so beloved he was respected. A victor at fifteen, now forty one, despite his drinking problem made him look older, dark circles under his grey eyes and a weird long haircut for his dirty blonde hair. Still pretty handsome in a rough way, in a very rough way, in a “I need a shower for days and maybe a new shirt” way. 

«Here's the deal: you clean my home, I'll give you money. You stay out of my way, and never wake me when I'm drunk. Understood?And I say that for you. Deal?»

«Yes sir.»

«Deal.»

Six months later you are on his couch, as pale as a ghost.

«Your geese.» you mumble. It doesn't really make sense, but the first thought is that if you are on Capitol and Haymitch is your mentor nobody will feed the birds from hell, as you lovingly call them.

«My what? I'm the one who's drunk, right?» He seems worried, in spite of his inebriation.

«Right.» You agree. You have to adjust a little. Not to mention, he is the one who can give you money, and it’s for the best if you don’t act like you lost your mind. «I was just thinking… I better go. I’ll come back later for the bottles.»

«Darling.» He stops me, just for a brief moment, without smiling. «They won’t pick you.»

You smile right back at him, but you can’t help to have a bad feeling about that.

The day of the reaping you are standing over your bad, unable to put your dress on. You clearly remember the fear of the Games, of the names, of the voice of frickin’ Effie Trinket. You were never paralysed, tho, not like this. Maybe because you were younger and reckless, maybe because something in your head always told you the name wasn’t gonna be you.

Daisy Pinecone. It wasn’t even your real name, Holly just picked it when you were little because it reminded her of a fairytale, and adoptive parents can decide their children’s names. 

“You sound stupid, Daisy. There are a lot of young people in the district, it’s not gonna be you”. You immediately feel guilty about the thought, because even if it’s not you, it’s going to be your friend, colleague or school mate. 

These games are so fucked up. You could never say that out loud, but this is the reality everybody thinks. If only someone could gather them together, maybe… the districts are more than the Capitol City. They provide food, minerals, Panem would starve in a week. 

You shake your head, it’s nonsense. They already tried, and this is the whole point of the Hunger Games, a punishment. But it’s not unfair. 

Holly helps you with the hair, making a simple braid with daisies in it, that you think it’s nearly too in brand for someone who won’t be picked, but you can’t bet against the odds, and in the worst possibility it’s great for publicity. 

Holly is a wreck, but it’s always sad at this time of the year. She’s the midwife of District 12, she knows every child in this place, and every year she watches someone she loves who’s going to get murdered. Something like this led Haymitch to perpetual drunkenness. 

You wish you could say a word to comfort her, but nothing comes out from your mouth. You can’t make promises. You have to thank her for everything, she literally saw you being born and then, when your mother died, she decided to adopt you. 

She pats your shoulder, and you give her a brief smile. 

The street to the place is full of people with nice dresses and a scared expression of their faces. You take your seat, as you realise you have weird thoughts, like that you are grateful because you don’t have a dog that could miss you, or worse, a child. 

Effie Trinket is approaching in a bright pink dress, pink skin and a violet wig, and you almost feel bad for the names you called her during the previous nights. You begin to like Effie, she always smiles at you when she visits Haymitch, unlike the other people from Capitol. And right now you could swear that she’s shaking despite the smile she puts on her face. You saw her with Katniss and Peeta, the way she pats their head and caresses their cheek it’s not faking, she actually cares about them. She may be a brainwashed Capitol starlet, but she is a kind hearted one.

Haymitch arrives, drunker than usual - every year is worse, but this year it’s different, after the awards at Capitol everybody thought he would’ve act presentable - and so Katniss and Peeta. 

Your heart skips a beat. “Your name is there only once”, you keep repeating to yourself.

Effie stays five minutes with her hand in the bowl, reluctant to pick a string of paper. After what it feels to be an eternity, she says a name.

No - not a name. 

Your name.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

The Night We Met | Guest Check

A chance encounter with his superior's wife at a local pub sends a young John Price down a path of heartbreak

cw: angst, abusive relationships, cheating

He still remembers how she looked that night, almost twenty seven years later. She was only twenty four, curled up in a corner, book in one hand, pint in the other. Her dirty blonde hair framed her cherub face. He was twenty one, barely a man, not yet grown into his bones.

An August night, English summer in full swing. A cold pint was all he wanted that evening, gathering around a table with his mates, talking about football scores. There she was on the other side of the room.

He was drunk but not sloppily. He kept having to tear his gaze away. He'd always thought she was pretty. Slapped some sense into himself plenty of times about her.

He'd looked before. Captain Irons' wife was hard to miss. They lived on base, she didn't work so she used any excuse to get out of the house. He'd seen her at the commissary and around town on his off days or helping one of the other wives with their babies.

There was the usual gossip. She was ten years his junior and they'd already been married for several years. It hadn't gone unnoticed, a May-December marriage. Irons was from a wealthy family so he understood. A recruit had recently been made to run 10 klicks for accidentally calling him Captain December (A name John had actually come up with one drunken night). Irons was a great solider but a pretty shite man once you got to know him.

"How's your book?" He found himself standing awkwardly in front of her table, a boyish smile on his face.

"It's okay," she shrugged, setting it down open face on the table. "Got it from a charity shop. Some cheesy mystery."

"Sorry to pull you away. John Price." He offered his hand. He cursed himself on the inside. They'd met before. She knew who he was.

"Poppy Irons." She shook his hand, chuckling. He didn't like her last name, too cold compared to her first. Though it was fitting for a Poppy to marry a solider he supposed. "Do you want to sit?"

Yes

"No, it's alright. I've already bothered you enough." He was so stupid. "Have a nice night, Poppy."

"Thank you, John. You too."

He gave her a nod and returned to his table.

"The fuck was that?" His mate, Michael Garrick asked. "You taking the piss? That's the captain's wife."

"I was just saying hello." He defended. Michael shook his head and took another sip of beer.

He saw her again a couple weeks later. Michael had bailed last minute so he was alone at the bar. She was in the same corner with a new book. This Charming Man played on the shitty old speakers. He was never a huge The Smiths fan. He could see her mouth the words to herself.

"Hope you're enjoying this one more." He said, standing again at the edge of her table.

"Barely." She smiled, dropping it haphazardly on the table. She nodded her head towards the empty seat. He sat down this time. "Do you read at all?"

"Haven't had time recently but I always liked Lord of the Rings." He felt embarrassed. He should have lied. Said something like Philip Roth or Hemingway. Something mature

"I love those books," she said, eyes bright. "I read in some magazine that they're trying to make new films based on them."

"That'd be wicked."

They spent the evening talking. He offered to walk her home.

"I appreciate it but William can be a bit weird about other men and I don't to get you in trouble." She laid a hand on his chest. "Thank you, though."

He made sure she got into a cab and when he got on base, he took the long way back to his barracks, passing the Irons' house, hoping to get a glimpse of her inside. The curtains were drawn close

It continued on like this. He'd see her in that same corner with a book, he'd interrupt and they'd talk and drink. She was an artist, grew up in a small town in the midlands. She did watercolors. Went to school for it, fancy scholarship. Irons had met her at some art gallery and they were married within the year. She didn't like talking about him.

"I fear you might never finish another book again." John chuckled.

"Believe me. I have time. I like talking to you." Her cheeks were flushed pink. It was becoming his favorite color.

They'd stay till close, end up in his car, still talking. He could recreate the first night she cried to him so perfectly in his head.

"I feel like I made a mistake. William wants kids and I...I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"He can't force you." He said, laying a hand over her's. She nodded but it wasn't believable to either of them.

She kissed him a week later. Too many drinks, tucked away some dark side street. Her lips on his, tasting like cherries. She could take him into her mouth and tie him into a knot with a mouth like that.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, John." She took off before he could say anything else. When he walked past her house later that night she was looking down from the upstairs window.

It didn't stop them from meeting again, the same dark side street. He hid her from any curious gaze, caught between him the brick. She tasted sweet.

The next time, her husband out of town, he drove them down a near abandoned country road, turned all the lights out and flipped over the back seats.

They were like teenagers, sneaking about. She cried a lot once they finished. He'd hold her against his chest.

"Does he hurt you, Poppy?"

"No. Never... I just made a really big mistake."

"We can stop whenever you want."

"It's not you."

She wasn't happy in her marriage. It was obvious to anyone now. Any event she trailed along behind her husband like a kicked dog. He kept talking about having a son soon, maybe by the end of next year. John watched her pick at the skin around her nails whenever the topic came up.

They kept meeting in dark parking lots, driving down dark roads. They'd fuck, she'd cry.

"You should leave him."

"I can't."

"You're not happy, Pip. It kills me to see you like this." He cupped her cheek, thumb rubbing away tears.

"I don't have any savings. I don't have a job. I don't have money or even family to fall back on. John, I'm alone."

"You got me. I'll pay for your solicitor."

"If they find out... you could lose everything too."

"I love you, Pip. You're worth it to me."

He'd break his back to support her. Get her out of this marriage that dragged her down like this. Cut the chain, maybe put a ring of his own on her finger.

Michael got married that Spring. Her name was Ella. John was his best man. The captain and Poppy attended of course. Ella and Poppy seemed to hit it off. John fantasied about raising their kids together in a couple years.

Poppy bumped into him during the reception. A sly smile on her face. Her voice was low and excited.

"I'm going to leave him this Summer. I'm going to sell some paintings to pay for a solicitor. Do you promise you'll wait for me?" Her eyes were hopeful, brimming with joyful tears.

"I'll wait twenty years if I have to." He assured.

They started talking about the future. Their future.

"Do you want kids?" She asked.

"One day. Whenever we're ready."

"I want a daughter. I know you're not supposed to say that but that's what I want. A little girl."

"You have a name picked out?"

"Nina. It's simple but pretty. I read it in a book years ago and i just fell in love with it."

"I like Nina."

"Do you like any names?"

"Grace. My grandma's name. Both my parents worked and I spent most of my time with her. Good woman, kind woman."

"Nina Grace. I like it."

"Me too."

It was June. If he was lucky they could spend their one year anniversary together. Seemed wrong to celebrate an affair but he'd long gotten over the guilt of infidelity. He was putting away any cash he could. A deposit on a flat, court fees, money to tide them over till they both got new jobs, anything they needed. He'd do it all.

The night was cool. Summer was brimming at the edge of the month. He liked June. It felt like change and freedom.

She got into his car, eyes red.

"Pip, what's wrong?" Had Irons found out? He'd take her away right now. He'd give it all up right now. She shuddered, a fresh wave of tears dripping from those big brown eyes he loved so much.

"We have to stop."

"Pip... what happened?" If he hurt her, he'd kill him. Fuck it all to hell.

"Nothing happened, John. We just can't do this anymore. We never should have done this."

"You're not staying with him. Pip, tell me you're not. Baby, he makes you miserable. You can leave me but fuck leave him too. Don't do this to yourself." He took one of her hands between his two, squeezing it. "I just want to see you happy."

She sighed and cried into her other hand.

"I'm pregnant..."

He leaned back in his chair.

"You don't have to keep it, Pip. I know you don't-"

"I do! He already knows. I have to keep it. I am keeping it."

"Is it mine?" They'd gotten sloppy in recent months, rarely wearing a condom. He never asked if she was on the pill. Didn't matter if she was now.

"It's his. It just has to be his."

He felt a pain in his chest, twisting about down to his stomach.

"Poppy... do you kno-"

"I just need it to be. I need to have this baby. I need them to go to a good school and to not have to worry about their parents keeping the heat on. I need William to be the father because that's what best for him."

"Him?"

"William wants a son."

"What a cunt," he scoffed.

"John!"

"What am I supposed to say Poppy? Congratulations? You're telling me you're taking my child away!"

"He's not yours!" She slammed her hand on the dashboard.

"Four years fucking him and you couldn't pop one out but ten months with me and you're expecting."

"Fuck you!"

"You already have." He snapped. Her lip quivered before breaking down into sobs again.

"I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry. If I leave now and its his, I will never see this baby again. I don't have the money to fight for custody. I might get a year." She laid her hands over her stomach protectively. "I'm not ready for this but its my baby. Mine. I can't risk losing them."

"I love you. I love that baby. I know I'm not rich like him. I don't have the family name or an estate. I'll work however much I need to make sure you keep them. Break my fucking back doing it. I'll do it, Pip. I'll do it for you. Don't shake your head. You know I will. I love you."

She cupped his cheek. He let his first tears rolling down to her fingers.

"You've got your whole life ahead of you, John. Don't wait for me. I'm sorry I've fucked this all up."

"You've got your whole life too, Pip."

"And I've fucked it all up already." She kissed him. "I love you and I'm sorry."

She got out of his car and ran off.

He got deployed the next month. Six months extended to eight then ten.

It was February. He and Michael Garrick were sharing a room on base. Room was a kind word for shipping container.

"Ella called today. Captain's wife had her baby."

John quirked an eyebrow. He forced the bile back down.

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl. Nina, I think."

"Good for them."

He wouldn't meet her for almost a year. A Christmas party at the Irons new house off base.

They had her in a little frilly pink dress and she kept taking off her shoes. She walked right up to him and clung to his leg. Poppy gave him a worried look as he picked her up.

"You're lucky, Captain. Two beautiful girls." He forced a smile.

"Suppose I am." William was not as good of an actor as John was. John almost refused to hand her back to them.

He saw Poppy sporadically for the next two decades. He watched Nina grow from a distance, saw that she had the same unhappy expression her mum always had.

He stole a toothbrush from their house once. Sent it off to be tested for DNA. It wasn't a strong sample but he still got the results. He was too much of a coward to look at them. He'd already failed them. He should have fought harder, come back for them. It was too late now.

A test wouldn't change anything. Nina wasn't his, no matter how much he wished she was. He never got to teach her to tie her shoes, how to ride a bike, how to fish, how to drive.

She still grew up with the Garrick's kids. Kyle and Jasmine. She grew up looking so much like her mother. Her and her little brother. On rough nights he lulled himself to sleep at the idea of being their father. Having the Captain's family.

In some cruel twist of fate, he got what he wanted. He sat in the waiting room of a small hospital near the little beach town they always holidayed at.

They were dead. Poppy, Sebastian and Captain Irons. Nina was too far in a state to identify them. It had to be him. Michael offered to go down with him. Poppy was Ella's best friend. He asked him to watch over Nina. Make sure Kyle took good care of her.

"It was quick, if that offers any comfort," the medical examiner said.

The Captain was first. Broken neck when the car rolled. An accident he caused driving too fast on a wet road.

Sebastian was next. Just sixteen, same age he was when he joined the service. Just a baby. John brushed the hair out of his face like his mum always did him. His head hit the window so hard it broke, he didn't even know he was dying. John hoped it felt like sleep.

Poppy was last. He sank to his knees when the sheet was pulled back. He hadn't seen her in years. She looked like Nina. She'd started to grey a little. She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. If she'd walked into his restaurant just the day before and asked for him to take her back he would have done it. He waited for her.

John kissed her forehead.

"I'll take care of her, Pip. I'll take care of your baby. Your little girl. I'll take care of her. I promise you."

He sorted out the funerals. Let Nina wallow in her grief. He assured her that he would handle it all.

Had a solicitor go through the wills and estates. He gathered up all the papers needed. Among the birth certificates, he found Nina's.

Nina Grace Irons

He clutched that paper to his chest and sank to the floor of the Captain's office. He cried like a child.

Tag List: @queen-ilmaree @macravishedbymactavish @gogh-with-the-flow @water-bearz @pvssytrux

[preet-01]

Lewis wasn’t unhappy per se. No, he had no reason to be unhappy. Everything was perfect.

He had the handsome husband with a title. He had four beautiful children, each one perfect and wonderful. He was the Viscountess Wolff and a respected member of society.

Everything was perfect.

His family adored Toto and the children, their friends envied them, the people in the village loved them.

He should be happy, overjoyed, ecstatic. But he wasn’t happy or overjoyed, and he certainly wasn’t ecstatic. But he also wasn’t unhappy. No, he fell somewhere between happy and unhappy. Perhaps content, but even that felt like the wrong word for it.

“Will you be going back to London?” Lewis questions as he puts his nightgown back on. Had it been a few years earlier, he would have never thought to dress himself so quickly after he and Toto enjoyed their marriage bed. His bare body would’ve been pressed to Toto’s bare body as they talked about everything and nothing. Alas it wasn’t like that anymore and it hadn’t been like that for quite some time — not that anyone else would know. No, they kept the picture perfect facade up for the rest of English noble society.

“Yes, there is business in London,” Toto replies, making no move to pull Lewis back into their marriage bed and ravish him like Toto used to do during their early years of marriage.

“Business, of course,” Lewis mumbles. Business was, of course, a twenty some year old opera singer named Georgie that Toto put up in a nice apartment in London where none of their noble friends would go for any good reason. Lewis wasn’t meant to know, or at least he hoped that Toto never intended for him to find out. It would have been wholly unkind if Toto had purposefully orchestrated Lewis finding out about the whore he kept on the side. Toto was many things, but unkind was not one of those.

“I want to see you before I leave tomorrow,” Toto says.

“Hmm?” Lewis hums in question. It was an odd request in recent years. Gone were the days of Lewis pressed up against some piece of furniture because they couldn’t keep their hands off of one another and Toto needed to feel his wife before he had to leave for work in the House of Lords.

“The new footman is arriving tomorrow,” Toto explains.

—————

Servants are notorious gossips. John had learnt that when he was a wee little boy clutching his mother’s skirts.

“The Viscountess and children are the only ones who stay in the house for prolonged periods,” the butler, Marcus, had told him. The Viscount supposedly spends his time in the family’s London townhome and has a whore in the city.

John didn’t believe that someone would stray from their marriage when they had someone like the Viscountess. How could anyone compare, he wondered.

There were not enough words to describe the Viscountess’ beauty. Enchanting brown eyes and dark brown skin wrapped in the finest fabrics that John had seen — all shades of white and silver that John had never thought possible to make clothing out of with the tiniest hints of teal needlework. Diamonds and pearls adorned the Viscountess, glimmering brightly and juxtaposing beautifully against the Viscountess’ skin and dresses.

The Viscountess was ethereal, yes, but also sad. Not always, no, the Viscountess seemed to light up when in the company of his children. Deep brown eyes would sparkle with specks of gold in them when the Viscountess was with his children. But outside of that? There was an ever present emptiness.

He didn’t realize the cause of it fully until he saw the Viscount and Viscountess together. They were a beautiful couple, there was no denying that, but beneath all that beauty was a chasm much too wide.

John is doing his daily tasks when he finds the Viscountess crying in the garden. “Are you okay, my lady?” John asks. The Viscount had left moments ago for London once more and before then, and well everyone had heard the Viscount and Viscountess fighting in the library about missing the little lord’s upcoming birthday.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” The Viscountess asks with a sad smile and tear stains on his cheeks.

John doesn’t dare answer. He’s seen enough to know that one should never contradict the nobility. Instead, he offers his handkerchief to the Viscountess. “Thank you, Sir John,” the Viscountess replies, delicately dabbing at his tear stained cheeks. “Have you been to the village yet?” He inquires.

John doesn’t realize when the Viscountess becomes my lady or when my lady becomes Lewis. But it does happen — though only when the Viscount is off in London for business. But during those moments when the Viscount is away, there are specks of glimmering gold in Lewis’ deep brown eyes and an ever present smile to grace his lips.

What John forgets is that servants are notorious gossips.

—————

Lewis hasn’t been pressed up against a piece of furniture in years. And a man hasn’t been between his legs in even longer.

John is… great, wonderful, perfect and any other number of words that he can’t think of at the moment because John is burrowed between his legs.

Lewis’ dress — one that he’d bought with Toto in mind — is hitched up as the bookcase digs into Lewis’ back. It’s far from uncomfortable. Even when Lewis throws his head back and hits it on the wooden bookshelf that some long dead Viscount Wolff had commissioned decades ago.

“John,” he’s breathless as he says his lover’s name, “I need you. Please.”

“As you wish,” John replies. His face is covered in Lewis’ slick as he stands up and kisses Lewis. His moan turns into a gasp as John thrusts into him with a practiced ease after spending so much time in one another’s company.

What Lewis and John remain unaware to is that there are servants outside of the library who can hear every moan that John elicits from Lewis — their lady, their Viscountess. They can hear every thrust as the bookcases hits the wall. They can hear how their Viscountess moans the name of a man who is not his husband. There is nothing left to the imagination about what goes on in the library.

If the servants hear about it, so does Toto when he finally returns from London to the country estate. The servants don’t explicitly say it to him — most of them do love their Viscountess and had seen how his shine dimmed over the years of marriage — but it does reach his ears.

“How was London?” Lewis asks him when they have dinner together that first night.

“As good as it could be,” Toto replies. “I wish to see you tonight. I have missed you, wife,” he adds, wondering if the ambitious footman had defiled his wife on the table they dine at. Regardless, he’ll have it burned by morning.

“Of course, husband,” Lewis replies.

When Lewis comes to his bedchamber, Toto doesn’t bother gently taking Lewis’ nightgown off. No, he rips it into shreds. “Your courses, they have been regular, yes?” Toto questions as he lays out his wife on their marriage bed — the same bed where he had taken Lewis’ innocence almost 15 years ago. That had been a lovely night by all accounts.

“Of course, why wouldn’t they be?” Lewis answers, not giving any hint of the fact that he had spent the past few months getting fucked by one of their servants like a common whore.

Toto doesn’t say anything about that, instead he presses a kiss to Lewis’ flat belly. “Matilda is almost four years old now, it is time that we start trying for our next child,” he says. “Additionally, my business in London is over and with the exception of the House of Lords meetings, I intend to stay home with you and the children. Until we need to present the girls, of course,” he continues on, watching as realization flickers in Lewis’ eyes. He’d known from their first meeting, that Lewis was smart. It’s why he’d married him after years of avoiding the marriage mart. Smart and beautiful was a rare commodity in high society and, well, Toto always wanted the best — something that no one else could have. Back then, that had been Lewis.

But Lewis won’t say anything of it. No, Lewis had been raised to be a good wife and lady. Instead, Lewis just says, “of course,” and opens his legs wide for Toto.

However, since his wife wants to act like a common whore whilst Toto isn’t home, he’ll treat him like one. “No, no, on your hands and knees, wife,” he orders, flipping Lewis into his desired position.

As the Viscount reminds the Viscountess whose wife he is, the Viscountess’ lover is forced to leave the estate in the dead of the night. Sir John Elkann, a former soldier in the British Royal Army, is sent to the continent as part of a regiment headed to Italy. Uprisings fill the Italian peninsula and threaten peace on the continent. It is a place where no one questions where a bullet originated from or how.

Almost eight months since that night, as the Viscountess gives birth to his fifth child, the letter of Sir John Elkann’s death arrives to the country estate.

Lewis is far from happy in his marriage. But when with his children, he finds joy. His four eldest, all perfect and wonderful. And now his fifth child, with her light brown hair that none of the others had, nor any to come after her will have, is perfect and delightful and beautiful.

His sweet Joanna who Toto couldn’t take away from him like John had been taken away. Toto’s ego and ideals of manhood wouldn’t allow for it to happen. Taking Joanna away from Lewis meant admitting that another man had slept with the perfect Viscountess that Toto loved to parade around as his greatest victory. It meant admitting that he’d been made a cuckold by a servant.

Nothing was perfect, nor would it ever be.

—————

So this definitely took a turn that I wasn’t originally expecting. The ending was much happier before tumblr decided to glitch and not save my draft

The original was loosely inspired by two of the Bridgerton books: To Sir Phillip, With Love and When He Was Wicked. But when I started writing again after the glitch, inspiration took me down a different path

[agi-ppangx]

Hi!

So, I'm not much of words, that's why I prefer giving ideas rather writing, sooooo...

Can you do something like: meeting 14 year old Jeongin (while reader is 14 as well) while reader was in a holiday with her family (younger brother included that is reader's partner in crime). They meet on the beach while both of them are in holiday and they find out they're soulmates (y'know those tiktok vids of finding who your soulmate is..? Something like that happened as well, maybe, just maybe, they have a soulmate sign that colors when the two soulmates make eye contact?). First kiss with him, as well as first love, but they drift off because reader was going back home, however he gives reader something for reader to remember him.

If you will do this, I also have an idea for a pt.2 bcs imagination is something I am full of. :)

Anyway, thanks!❤️

💭i could never forget you

pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader

an: hii omg im so sorry you had to wait for so long !! i was struggling a little with this one, because i actually haven't really seen those tiktoks and i had to do lots of research so i apologise in advance if this is not what you had in mind :(( but!! i really hope you enjoy it<3 please let me know what do you think about it and thank you for this idea, it was a challenge but a very pleasant one<3 also please don't mind any grammar mistakes and typos

“ynnnn!” your brother whined right into your ear. you closed your book with a dramatic thud and looked up at him. his hair was wet - he must’ve just come out of the ocean - and he was staring at you with a huge pout on his face. “i’m bored,” he mumbled when he finally had your attention. you raised your eyebrows. “okay? what am i supposed to do about it?” you teased him, though you exactly knew he wanted you to just do something with him. your attempt to mess with him was met with yet another whine and you giggled at that, but proceeded to get up. “fine, what do you wanna do?” you asked, looking at your parents who were sunbathing right next to you, but didn’t seem to care too much about your plans. “let’s dig a hole here,” your brother pointed to a free part of the beach. you stared at him - you could’ve expected something like this. “and then let’s fill it with water.” you blinked, a bit confused. you were pretty sure you saw something like this on the internet a while ago and it didn’t end up positively. you thought about it a little and decided that, in fact, it's not a good idea. “okay, let’s do it then,” you picked up a plastic shovel and stuck it in the sand. 

an hour later and at least four reprimands from your parents the size of the hole was satisfying for both your brother and you. “now - you’re gonna stay here and keep an eye on the hole. i’m gonna go for some water,” your brother ordered and you saluted him jokingly, but obeyed nonetheless. you sat on the sand right next to the hole, breathing in the salty air and letting the wind mess your hair a bit. you observed people around you - an old couple feeding each other pieces of watermelon, the lady holding a tissue under her husband’s chin, and a younger couple, swimming together and splashing the water on each other, their laughter echoed all over the beach. you smiled to yourself slightly, deep inside wishing for a life like this in the future. you were young, so you still had time to find your soulmate. after all, your parents met when they were way over twenty years old and your aunt found her soulmate in her thirties. on the other hand, your friend from school accidentally met her soulmate when she was ten and the way she was bragging about the “beauty of the world in colours” was making you so incredibly jealous that you had no choice but to wonder when it was your turn. 

you were brought back to reality when you noticed a boy running towards the deep hole you dug. he was chasing a frisbee, his eyes so fixated on it that he didn’t even notice that something’s wrong and he kept running. you quickly got up and jumped into the hole to catch the boy before he could hurt himself. he let out a loud yelp when he slipped but you wrapped your arms around his torso. you helped him to get out of the hole and when he did, he turned around and reached out to you to help you get out of the hole, but as you were about to stretch your arm your eyes crossed and you swore the whole world stopped. you dreamt of this moment since you can’t remember when. you often wondered - did it hurt? was it overwhelming? you had so many questions, but were too scared to voice them. but now you knew. it was almost magical, you were now drowning in the boy’s brown eyes, his black hair was tousled by the wind. you took his hand in your and let him help you, never breaking eye contact. when you were finally out of the hole, you just stood there, hand in hand with the boy, both of you too astonished to even say a word. you didn’t know how much time passed, you were too focused on your soulmate standing right in front of you. 

your mother’s voice made you finally snap from this whole trance. you dropped the boy’s hand and looked at her. she looked mad. “yn, that’s enough, i told you to stop this whole digging! someone could’ve gotten hurt. apologise to this young man right now and fill the hole with sand. and for god’s sake, find your brother before he does something silly again,” she exclaimed, sounding more and more defeated with each word. she rubbed her eyes and went back to lay on the blanket. your attention was brought once again to the boy. “where are you staying?” you asked him in a hushed tone. he pointed a finger at one of the hotels by the beach. the same as you. “let’s meet at the reception at 7, okay? i think we have to talk about… this,” you added, doing a weird gesture with your hand. he nodded, still in shock. “i’m jeongin,” he stuttered finally. “i’m yn,” you introduced yourself and hesitantly started walking towards the shore to look for your brother, leaving jeongin alone. 

your friend was right - the world in colour is breathtaking. you’d spent your whole day just looking around, taking in the beauty of everything you could lay your eyes on. you finally could see why your mom always complimented you when you wore your yellow dress, the colour of your dress accentuating your eyes, and why she liked red roses so much. you thought to yourself that you might start liking them too. 

“yn? hi.” jeongin’s voice snapped you out of your reverie. he approached you, coming out from the elevator. you looked up at him, he was wearing a green t-shirt and he was smiling shyly at you. “hi,” you replied, getting up from the chair. you didn’t really know what to do - should you hug him? take his hand? it was so hard to figure this whole soulmate thing out, but you knew one thing - you felt comfortable around him. earlier, when you were holding hands at the beach, it all felt strangely right, considering that you always avoided contact with boys at your school. 

“so um…” you started awkwardly, slowly making your way to the hotel’s garden and making sure jeongin was following you. “how are you feeling?” good, you thought to yourself, it’s a good start. “confused, i guess? i mean, don’t get me wrong, i just didn’t expect to meet my soulmate here,” jeongin answered, his shoulders relaxing a little. you hummed in response, opening the door and breathing in the fresh air. you sat on a bench, looking up at the setting sun. the sky was stunning - you could spend an eternity just admiring the colour of it at sunset. “is it too soon to ask for your favourite colour?” jeongin was first to break the silence. you took a moment to process the question, though deep down you already knew the answer. “blue. it’s the rarest colour in nature and i’ve always wanted to appreciate it even before i knew what it looked like. and now that i know, it only convinced me that blue, in fact, is a very pretty colour,” you explained, playing with the hem of your dress. “you’re pretty…” jeongin whispered dreamily and your eyes widened. you were sure your cheeks were red, but maybe not as red as jeongin’s. “did i just say it out loud?” he mumbled, hiding his face in his hands to save himself from the embarrassment. you just laughed at that, placing your hand on his back and patting it a few times. “it’s okay. i guess it’s just a soulmate thing,” you added joyfully, realising that it was real life and not a dream. jeongin placed his head on your shoulder and you sat there for a long time, talking about everything and nothing, as if you knew each other for your whole lives. 

jeongin and you became inseparable. every morning after breakfast you rushed with him to the beach, swimming together and eating fruit from a local market. your parents were happy that you found a friend on your trip and even though you spent less time with them, they didn’t mind since you were having fun with jeongin. they even let you go with him to explore the town, eating local snacks and wandering in the narrow streets that resembled a labyrinth. you were glad you could get lost in this labyrinth with jeongin. you sat on a pavement in one of those streets, eating ice cream and admiring the world in colours. jeongin held your hand - it was gentle and innocent, but you felt as if your heart was about to burst out of your chest. you stole a glance at him, taking in all the details of his face. “oh, i think you have a little bit of ice cream here,” you pointed a finger on a corner of his lips. he tried to wipe it off but he missed the spot. “no, wait. here,” you exclaimed, wiping the ice cream yourself. when you did, you looked jeongin in the eyes, realising the proximity between you two. you backed off a bit, suddenly too shy to acknowledge the simple gesture, but jeongin placed a hand on your cheek and caressed it with his thumb. you loudly gulped but decided to close the distance between you and pecked him on the lips. it was short, some might not even consider it a “real kiss”, but it left both jeongin and you a blushing mess. you dropped your eyes to the ground but decided to lay your head on jeongin’s shoulder. you didn’t say anything after that, deciding to just relish in each other’s company instead.

the day of your departure came faster than you wanted and it was time to bid your goodbye with jeongin. you tried to keep your composure when you met him in the garden, but as soon as you saw his sad, faint smile, you broke down and tears started to stream down your face. jeongin hugged you tightly, letting you cry into his chest. “i got a little gift for you,” you heard his voice after a while. you looked up and jeongin cooed at the sight of your puffy eyes. his hand dove into the pocket of his jeans and he pulled out a little bag. “it’s not a lot, but i thought it might be cool if you had something to remember me,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. you took the bag from his hand and looked inside. it was a silver necklace with a rock in it. a blue rock. you felt the tears wail in your eyes again and you didn’t stop them from falling down your cheeks. “could you put it on my neck, please?” you uttered between sobs, sniffing loudly. he nodded and did as you told him, gently taking your hair out of the way. “done. now you’ll remember me forever,” jeongin chuckled, trying to lighten the mood a little. you made eye contact with him and placed a feather like peck on his cheek. “i could never forget you, jeongin.”

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