#I do this ear thing from family abuse for years now. hate hearing the footsteps and no one’s there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

house-of-slayterr · 3 years ago

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Waking from a Nightmare:

Hannibal Family pt. 8: @charliedawn @iloveslasher

Tw: Abuse

Newt’s POV:

I awoke in Peter’s bed again. He was nowhere to be seen. The sheets were cold. He must have gotten up early, or perhaps he never went to bed. Memories of last night came flooding back to me. Emotions bubbling to the surface, I let out a scream. A primal scream, tears of pent up rage and anger and hurt fleeing my body in an instant. It shook me violently and I fell to the floor.

I held my head in my hands, trying to calm myself. My skin felt hot and sticky and I hated it. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t i just forget about everything and be normal? I’d pushed away the bad thoughts before, so why now we’re they sticking? Clinging to me like a desperate child. Thinking of everything that man did to me made me sick. My writs still ached from all the times he’d chained me up.

I could feel the marks on my back sting as I had flashbacks to the whippings. The skin on my left hand burned as I remembered the time he held it over the stove. To teach me a lesson when I accidentally burned dinner. My feet ached from the countless miles he made me run when I was in trouble. Every single thing he’d done to me was ripe in my mind, years of repression and denial coming to the surface. It stung unimaginably so, like a branding iron searing into my brain.

My nails being to claw at the marks around my wrist absentmindedly, causing them to bleed. I didn’t notice the tears, or the door cracking open. Peter was by my side in an instant. I didn’t even hear the other footsteps enter the room. I flinched back as he tried to touch me. I scooted back across the floor, beginning to hyperventilate.

I could hear them, I could see them, but it felt like they were far away. The room was spinning violently, and it felt like I was floating. I couldn’t ground myself.

“Hannibal, what do I do?” Peter’s voice grazed my ears.

“Make it stop!” I cried.

I didnt wait for a réponse.

“Please just make it stop. Everything hurts and I don’t want to feel anymore!” I begged.

Peter came toward me again. He squatted beside me and slowly held out his hand, attempting to remove my hands. He tilted my chin up to make me look at him.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He plead.

“I can feel everything he’s done to me and it’s disgusting. Peter I’m disgusting!” I cried.

I screamed again, pulling my knees into my chest. It’s like I couldn’t control my emotions, they felt too big. Years worth of pushing them down, all bubbling to the surface in a chaotic display. It was utterly pathetic and I felt stupid, especially with an audience. Which was only making me feel worse.

“What kind of a person stabs their own father?” I asked, just loud enough for Peter to hear.

I felt awful, I could hear him begin to sniffle. I was stressing him out, making my best friend cry. Why did he even hang out with me? Why would he let himself cry for me? It didn’t make any sense to me. I began pulling at my hair.

“Uncle perhaps we should sedate the girl?” I heard Morgan finally speak up.

My head shot up, looking directly at him. He turned his head to make eye contact with me. My eyes widened. I was trembling and I couldn’t tell if it was fear or anger at this point. I couldn’t read his expression. His voice was flat and devoid of emotion, I expected to see him smirking. Chelsey he enjoyed my distress last night. But it wasn’t like that now, he seemed almost, disappointed.

I couldn’t even come up with a viable sentence. I wanted to beg them not to, but the only thing that came out of my mouth was useless.

“I’m not a girl.” I mumbled.

Hannibal took a step toward me, and I pressed myself further into the wall.

“You need to breath my dear. Can you do that for me?” He asked softly.

I shook my head no, finally looking at Peter and seeing the tears stringing at his eyes. It broke my heart and just sent me spiriting further. My breath picked up and my lungs burned.

“Morgan, please remove Peter from the room.” Hannibal instructed.

Morgan didn’t hesitate to follow his uncles request and came toward the both of us. It was obvious from his size he could easily remove Peter. But Peter didn’t seem to want to go. He reached his hand out to me and I grabbed it tightly. Morgan tugged at him, but I refused to let go.

“Peter, don’t make this difficult. We’re going to take care of them.” Morgan tried to soothe him.

“They need to be ok!” Peter cried. “Make them better!” He plead with Hannibal.

I could feel my grip slipping. Everything felt too much, I could barely see from how dizzy I’d become.

“Don’t leave me!” I begged.

And it was the last thing I said before everything went numb. I couldn’t feel his hand in mine anymore. I couldn’t feel the cold floor under my legs. I couldn’t feel Hannibal’s arms hook under my legs as he picked me up.

Hannibal’s POV:

The boys and I were discussing what to do about Newt, and Peter seemed to grow increasingly agitated. Morgan didn’t trust them, and Kevin was totally indifferent. But they saw us kill, it would be dangerous or give them any freedom now. We’d come to far to get caught over something so careless. Not that I regretted my decision for a second.

They were a child. They didn’t deserve anything that man did to them. He wasn’t even good enough to eat. I had Kevin dispose of the body last night. After the man bleed to death from his wounds. I had to admit, I never expected the teen to stab her father. I should have anticipated that reaction. Peter saw something in them for a reason. I was brought out of my inner headspace when I heard Peter raise his voice uncharacteristically.

“We are not killing them Kevin! God, could you be any more insensitive! You’re the worst cousin ever!” He seethed.

I know he didn’t mean his words, but I had to remind him that that sort of talk wasn’t allowed in this house.

“Peter.” I said in a warning tone.

“He’s being unreasonable Hannibal. They haven’t done anything wrong! They won’t harm us!” He said, must softer now.

“I know. Please calm down. We will handle this situation properly. Kevin, you are not to try and harm them unless they become a serious threat, do you understand me?”

Kevin scoffed, rolling his eyes. I grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at me.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes, uncle.” He said.

I dropped his chin. Satisfied with his response. They seemed to forget I was in charge while Hannibal Sr was trapped in prison.

“I don’t think they’re run, but I doubt they’ll want to talk to any of us.” Morgan added. “I did trick then into seeing their father die.”

I was still upset at him for that. Morgan would be properly punished for his childish behaviour later. But I knew he understood what he did was wrong.

“Perhaps you can work on them Uncle? Wear them down like you did with Agent Graham.”

I tensed at the mention of William. He had helped me kidnap the man. I suppose he’d want an update on the situation. I would have to call him in for a session later. Suddenly a scream tore its way through the house. It sounded pained, like the howl of a feral wolf. Peter cringed, covering his ears quickly.

“Seems they’re awake.” Kevin said smuggly.

I glared at him.

“Get the room ready Incase we need it Kevin.”

He nodded and walked off into the far reaches of the house. He was insensitive at the best of times, it wouldn’t be wise to let him see them like this. But I couldn’t convince Peter to stay down stairs. We opened the door to his room, him getting there first. The sight before me was genuinely heartbreaking. This was one of the more intense panic attacks I’d ever witnessed in a patient.

I was the first to notice the blood. My nose more keen than that of the younger ones. Self injury wasn’t incredibly common during panic attacks, but it wasn’t unheard of. It was however more common in those who were neurodivergent, something I’d come to suspect of the teen. They didn’t respond normally to most things, it didn’t shock me that their parents never got them tested for anything. I was glad their father was gone, but their mother would have to pay next.

I couldn’t stop Peter before he ran to them, attempting to comfort his best friend. I could tell it hurt him when the flinched away, scurrying across the floor away from him. Morgan was watching intently. He wasn’t a man of much words, he preferred to observe things thoroughly. Newt cried out about being disgusting, and I suddenly understood what was happening to them.

They were finally processing years of torment. A post traumatic stress response. And a quite brutal one from the looks of it. The first one was always the worst. It caught the person off guard, and made them feel insane. PTSD is something that can get easier with help and understanding. But they were just a confused man’s hurt child right now, nothing more. Understanding wouldn’t come in this state.

“Uncle, perhaps we should sedate the girl?” Morgan said calmly.

I thought about it for a moment. It would be a wise decision, but this seemed to get a reaction out of Newt. They looked at us for the first time since we entered the room. Their eyes were red and bloodshot, but pleaded with me silently. They mumbled to Morgan about not being a girl. I don’t think he meant to misgender them, he just wasn’t thinking over the whole situation.

I took a step forward and they tried to press themself into the wall. As if it would somehow offer them shelter. Peter had began crying, it wasn’t entirely uncommon for the young boy. He was more sensitive than that rest of us. But it was never a fun sight. Not like when others cried and begged for their lives. Peter was family. It was different. I could sense he would slip into a panic attack soon as well if I didn’t deescalate the situation. Peter’s panic attacks left him quite destructive as well. It was more clear than ever that he cared deeply for this kid.

Things would be much easier if we could just kill them. Or perhaps give an impromptu lobotomy and lock them in the house. But it would be unfair of me to ask that from the boy. And besides, Newt had done nothing wrong. They’d already suffered quite enough for one person. More than anyone their age should be made to. I asked them to breath but it didn’t seem to work. Peter was my first priority, if I couldn’t calm them quickly, things would go bad quickly. I instructed Morgan to remove his cousin.

Peculiarly, they clung to each other. Previously they wouldn’t allow Peter’s touch, but now it seemed they were desperate not to let him go. It was obvious they cared as much for him, as he did for them. Which gave me hope that they could be reformed, shaped how we needed them. It might take a little effort, but in that moment, I understood they would do almost anything for Peter. I felt bad as Morgan dragged him out of the room, but he needed to calm himself, and Morgan was more than capable of controlling him. When I looked back at Newt, they were practically gone.

Their breaths were still jagged and shallow, but their eyes had rolled back. They were beginning to lose consciousness. Not totally uncommon for a PTSD related panic episode, but still not a good sign. I sighed, watching as their breath slowed slightly. Their body would go into autopilot soon, returning to a normal state. I put one hand under their knees, and the other around their shoulder, picking them up with ease. I passed Kevin on my way to my office.

“Geese, they look rough.” He laughed.

They’re was a thick layer of sweat covering their body. And their hair was a total mess, a few clumps missing from where they pulled them out. And their wrist were still red, but it seemed the bleeding had stopped on it’s own. Their nails hadn’t nicked anything important.

“The rooms ready.” He said simply.

“Thank you Kevin, but I don’t think we’ll be needing it quite yet.” I said.

I Saw the boy frown. He followed me into the office as a I set Newt down on the couch.

“You’re starting to care for that thing.” He said.

“They aren’t a thing, Kevin. Don’t be facetious.”

I knew it was reference to their odd choice in names. And the fact that Peter saw humans in a worse light than the rest of us. They were nothing more than play things to the boy. Much like his father, who found no need for friendships or meaningful relationships. The boys themselves hadn’t really been born out of love. At least not for their mothers. Hannibal simply wanted a family, the women were but a means to an end.

And Kevin took after his father in more ways that one. He was also more volatile than the others. Jumping to anger and violence without thought. Something Morgan and I tried to train him out of.

“Peter cares deeply for them. If I discover you tried to hurt them in any way; I will lock you in that room instead.”

I’d done it before. Not many other punishments worked for the young boy. He needed dramatic measures to be taken to understand when he’s wrong. Of course I loved him like my own, but children needed to be taught. He couldn’t just go around damaging innocent humans. It would get us caught. And his father and I have worked too Damn hard to keep this family safe.

“What’s so special about them anyways?” He asked.

I sighed.

“They’re the first person Peter cares for. And they’ll be easy to manipulate like William was. Except they’re younger and more naive. They could take the fall if any of you peek the interest of the authorities.” I stated simply.

Kevin seemed to understand my plan now. My motives were made abundantly clear.

“You did save the icepick, correct?”

“Yes, I used gloves when cleaning up the scene. And I put it in a bag. Is you plan to use that to frame them if something goes wrong?”

I nodded. He smiled contently. I watched as Kevin walked closer to the couch. I wasn’t quite sure what he planned to do. He sat down on the edge of the couch and looked down at Newt. Gentle moving some hair out of their face.

“I suppose they aren’t so bad.” He admitted. “I prefer them much more when they’re unconscious.”

He looked up at more for a reaction. I gave him none. I was used to his antics, I was going to reward him for his boyish behaviour.

“Did you sedate them?” He asked, curious.

“No, they passed out on their own accord. They should have woken by now, I’m the slightest bit concerned.” I stated.

“They’re weak.” He stated.

More as an observation than an insult.

“Then we make them stronger.”

His smile grew even wider. He hopped off the side of the couch and exited the office.

“Kevin if you’re going to go pick on Peter, I would suggest against it. Now is not the time to play games with him.”

“Don’t worry Uncle, I’ll be civilised.” He said, before disappearing into the hall.

I sighed once more, rubbing the bridge of my nose before sitting down at my desk. I began to work on paperwork, until I hear Newt stir. I watched as they slowly woke up. They rubbed their eyes and sat up slowly. Almost as if it hurt them. And looked around the room, before their eyes finally landed on me. I cleared my throat.

“How are you feeling?”

They scrunched their face.

“My head hurts.”

I nodded.

“I meant mentally, but that is good to know. I can get you some pain medication if you wish.”

They frowned.

“I’m fine, why?”

“Do you not remember what happened?” I rose my brow.

“Are you asking if I remembered that you kidnapped and tortured my father? Yes. Why am I in your office Hannibal?”

Interesting.

“You had an episode this morning, it was quite violent. You tried yourself out, so I brought you down here where you could rest, and I could keep an eye on you.”

“An episode?”

“You honestly have no memory of it? How are your wrists?”

“My wrists?”

They looked down to see the scratch marks on them.

“Oh.”

They seemed to be deep in thought. I didn’t want to interrupt.

“I was upset?” They asked.

“Very much so, yes. Do you get upset like that often?”

“I try not to, I don’t like the way it make mes feel. Hannibal-“

“Yes?” I asked.

“My head really hurts.”

I stood up from my desk and walked around it to the couch, crouching in front of them.

“Look at me.” I instructed.

The slowly lifted their head. They fidgeted heavily with their hands. Their pupils were blown. I moved their head from side to side, checking their reaction. I slowly stood up and turned off the light before digging through my desk for some Tylenol. I handed it to them, as well as grabbing a water from the fridge I kept in the corner.

“Here, take these”

They took it without question. Good to know they still trusted me.

“Your body still seems to be coursing with adrenaline. We’ll need to lower it if you’re going to start feeling better. It doesn’t look like you can think much in this state.” I said.

“How would I do that?”

“Could you calm yourself down?”

“I am calm”

“Consciously, maybe, if you’re panicking in your subconscious, that will be much harder to address. Would you allow me to try something?”

“Will you answer a question for me first?”

“Of course, whatever you wish?”

“Are you going to kill me?”

It sounded defeated, like they expected it as a fact already. I paused, trying to figure out the best way to answer. I knew they appreciated honesty.

“No. I do not plan on doing anything like that.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Tears stung at their eyes as their voice got weaker.

“Your father was a bad man, he deserved punishment.”

“Am- am I not bad as well? Neither of my parents loved me, that doesn’t exactly bode well on the goodness scale.”

“Of course not. You are a child, you’ve done nothing wrong. It was not your fault that your parents are incompetent. Their lack of love for you, is their own fault. I wish it was different, you dont deserve parents like that.”

“And my mother? What are you going to do with her?”

“She is a coward. We can send her away if you wish.”

They thought for a moment.

“You won’t kill her?”

“Her sins aren’t as heavy as that of your father.”

“I don’t wish to see her Hannibal.”

“As you wish. Now, was that all your questions?”

They nodded. I gave them a gentle smile.

“I’m going to hypnotise you.” I began.

I saw them tense.

“Don’t worry, there’s a fail safe, you can ask me to stop if you’re uncomfortable. But I believe it’s in your best interest. You’re blocking out massive amounts of trauma. You need to deal with them if you wish or feel better. Your mind is sick, and I want to help.”

“I’m sick?” The rubbed their arm. “But I try so hard to be well. I don’t give in to the negative emotions.” They said.

They were worse off than I thought. At first, I assumed their positive, bubbly attitude was just a show. But it seems they’ve convinced themselves that that’s how they really are.

“That isn’t healthy to do, negative emotions are a necessity. You have to allow yourself to feel everything, if you wish to have some sort of control. People who aren’t sick, can remember when they’re sad, or angry. But you build it up so long, that your brain cannot handle your outburst and it makes you forget.”

“Could I- could I hurt someone?” The asked sadly.

“Yes, that is possible. But I know you do not want to. Which is why I’m going to help you. Will you allow me to?”

They nodded.

“Very good. Please, lay down, get comfortable. I’ve cleared my schedule, so we have the entire day.”

I gave them a stress ball I kept on my desk for patients.

“If at any point you want to stop, just squeeze this really hard. I’ll be watching for it.”

“Ok.”

They laid on the couch, holding the ball in their left hand.

“Just take some deep breaths, alright?”

It took nearly half an hour of me instructing them, for their body to relax. I had expected it to take longer, but again, they surprised me with their amount of trust. I sat at the edge of my desk, reading their body language intently. A few more minutes and I’d have them in the suggestible phase. I could implant anything I needed.

“Newt?” I asked.

They hummed, lackadaisically. Their pupils were still quite large and their eyes were glazed over. They’re mind was far away, just were I needed it to be.

“You won’t leave Peter, will you?” I asked.

“Of course not.”

“And you’d do anything for him.”

“Yes, of course.”

“If the FBI come searching for your father, what will you tell them?” I asked.

“My parents left me, no note. I have no idea where they are, or what they’ve done. I’ve been with the Lecter the entire time.”

I smirked. This was much easier than I thought. A few more sessions and this will become a solid memory. I could get them into this state quicker with each passing test.

“Why don’t you rest now? You’re quite tired. When you wake, you won’t remember anything about this session, other than the fact that the hypnosis helped you feel better.”

“I am tired. Goodnight Doctor Lecter.”

The slowly closed their eyes, adjusting themselves on the couch. I grabbed a blanket from the trunk across the room and put it across them. Desperate people were easy to manipulate, and they were desperate for love. They wanted us to like them, because we’re important to Peter.

As if on que, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to see Peter standing there. I stepped aside to let him enter. His eyes instantly fell on their sleeping form. He didn’t turn to look at me.

“How are they?”

“Better. I believe my methods are helping.”

“Are you going to break them?”

“Not if I don’t have to. They seem perfectly capable on their own Peter. They just need a little persuasion. Which I’m sure you’ll help with. You do want them to stay, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then convince them. Morgan and I will take care of their Mother, no one will come looking for them. They gave me permission.”

“They did?”

“Yes. I don’t think they want to leave Peter. You picked a good one.”

He smiled down at them, stoking their hair.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“I’m sure Hannibal Sr would want to meet them eventually. He’d love to know about the newest member of our family. Once I take care of their mom, I’ll let will know they’ve been legally abandoned. As they are still a minor, they will need a gardian.”

“You’d be willing to do that?”

“They’ve been nothing but pleasant, I cannot blame them for their trauma Peter. They aren’t rude, and they make you happy. We’ll discuss it with them when they wake.”

“May I stay?”

“As long as you wish.”

I exited my office, leaving the two teens alone. I suppose this is one of the better outcomes. Morgan and Kevin would certainly not be excited, but they would get over it. Newt had no where to go, and they were too deep in now too be trusted on their own.

An: I love this chapter so much! Peter and Newt won’t be separated now! They’ll have their favorite person and be able to keep him safe! 🥰

#hannibal family #Hannibal lecter #Morgan lecter #Peter lecter #kevin #Kevin lecter #Hannibal Jr #newt

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justcallmenikki7 · 4 years ago

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BTS Reaction To: Them Breaking You Out of Jail

Mafia!Au & Maknae Line

Summary: the boys are not happy when they find out that you, their girlfriend, was arrested and put into jail.

Warnings: mafia related stuff: guns, killing, mature themes (torture), split!jungkook that is basically a given with his insane personality, okay jungkook is insane in this mainly because of his love for you, ACAB is mentioned in this on all of the parts mainly in tae’s part but the term ‘acab’ is not said directly, a heated kissing scene in kook’s part, THE RELATIONSHIPS WITH THE BOYS IS A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP!!!.

W.C.:

Notes: I went overboard with jungook’s part that I feel like I kind of do all of the time with his part in these kinds of reactions. But, I hope you enjoooooyyyy!!

Hyung Line’s Part

Park Jimin:

You were sat twiddling your thumbs on the cold concrete floor of the jail cell that you were for unnecessary and unfair reason. Being the mafia leaders girlfriend who is hated by the law enforcement is not really the best thing in the world. The cops who hate Park Jimin are the ones who know that they are crooked and unfair, so they very stupidly try to make his life a living hell. Sometimes, you wonder if they know what exactly your can and will do to them, especially if they mess with you.

They thought it would be okay for them to make a scene at your work by arresting you for being a suspect for a shooting that had nothing to do with you or even your boyfriends gang. Shrugging your shoulders, you let out a heavy sigh, now deciding to retie both of your already tied shoes from boredom. What you did not know is that on the other side of the jail, your boyfriend has stormed into the jail, shooting the cops that were in his way, Jungkook behind him as an extra eye. Walking up to the front desk lady who was secretly a spy for his gang, he gave a smile as she threw him a key that was specifically for your cell.

“Thanks, Jisoo,” Jimin thanked before making his way to you, sighing at the armed men that were at a stand off with his gang. “Why can’t things ever be easy for once?” He groaned before signaling Jungkook was a nod of his head.

You did not hear any commotion or even footsteps that were making their way towards you. A familiar chuckle was what got your attention, looking up so quickly which cause you to get dizzy for a split second. “Jiminie!” You squealed excitedly, running towards the bars, grabbing onto them.

Pouting, “Did you not think that I was going to come for you? My heart,” he pressed his right hand to his heart in a dramatic manner.

Rolling your eyes, you smiled, “well, you took an hour too long to come and get me,” you teased which earned you an adorable laugh from your boyfriend.

“Well, my bad, princess. Namjoon was taking a shit as I got the call from Jackson that you had been arrested, and so Namjoon delayed us.” Your boyfriend spoke honestly, unlocking the cell door to let you out.

You tackled him into a deep kiss, heart fluttering like it always does when he wraps his arms around your waist to bring you in closer to him. “I know that you’ll always come for me, my knight in shining armor,” you said once you pulled away from the kiss.

“NOONA AND HYUNG SITTING IN A TREE, K-I-S-S,” You jumped from the loud yelling of the two youngest. “On a serious note, Noona Jisoo said that the SWAT is on their way and will be here in like, I don’t know, .5 seconds,” Jungkook noted casually. A loud crashing noise was heard with a few cusses from Jimin’s hyung’s. “Looks like they are now here,” he said calmly, “I suggest we should get going, don’t you think?”

Kim Taehyung:

Kim Taehyung has always been a person who does not tolerate bullshit and people who have the train of thought of abusing their power just because they believe that they can. He knows that the law enforcement hates him because he basically does their job for them by getting rid of pests and keeps the streets clean. The hate that they have for him is from jealousy and pride. He knows that a few law enforcement people are actually grateful for him because of how Taehyung and his gang can actually figure out some cold cases and criminals that the law enforcement are trying to catch. Some cops and FBI members actually turn to Taehyung and his gang, mainly Min Yoongi the IT of the gang, for help when they cannot figure out a case even though their bosses are against it.

Anyways, the call that Taehyung had gotten from one of the officers that turns to Taehyung informing him that you had been arrested for going ‘over the speed limit’ with a suspension of you carrying marijuana on you really did not make his day. The officer, Yu Jong, gave details of which cell and area of the jail you were at that really went against his protocol, which Taehyung thanked him for, informing him that Jong and the other three officers who are for Taehyung that they needed get out of there as soon as possible because it will turn into a slaughter house. Dressing in his designer ripped jeans, a black shirt and his Gucci jacket, he grabbed his pistol and got the gang together, making their way to the jail.

You are having a glaring contest with the officer who arrested you, the distaste that you both have for one another is strong. “You’re honestly a piece of shit, you know that?” You commented calmly, knowing that your boyfriend could be showing up any minute now, so you are going to make the best of it.

“Don’t test me, bitch. I could make your life—”

“Make her life what?” Your boyfriend’s baritone voice boomed in the hallway, comforting you but mainly scaring the officer.

Smirking, you stood up cuffed hands resting against your lower stomach as you walked towards the bars, a calm look on your face. “Go on, don’t be shy now, say what you were going to say,” you said calmly, too calm for the officer.

Not saying anything due to being frozen in shock at the thought that Kim Taehyung is standing right behind him with his pistol aimed at his head with the safety off. Sighing, Taehyung rolled his eyes out of boredom, “You guys are literally all talk but cannot for the life of you actually say anything to my face, it’s pathetic really. Now, hand me the keys so I can take my innocent girlfriend home.”

Doing as he was told, you were out of the cell and in your boyfriend’s arms in no time. You knew that this was the cop who has been tormenting both you and Taehyung for years now, and you knew that Taehyung has had enough of it. So, wanting to spice things up, you whispered into your boyfriend’s ear, “He also called me a bitch, Tae.”

Smirking darkly at you, “oh did he now? What a shame,” Taehyung looked at the officer who was looking back at him with fear in his eyes, “what a real shame.”

Jeon Jungkook:

You love your boyfriend with all of your heart – you really do – but sometimes you get nervous with how … sadistic he can get with his job. You know that he loves the thrill he gets when he sees the fear in his victim’s eyes, you can tell that he gets off from it sometimes. Knowing him since you both were in diapers and been together exclusively since the age of fifteen, you are confident with confirming that you know your boyfriend like the back of your hand, and as he did you. But having been in the job since the age of seventeen, taking over his dads position when he was murdered, Jungkook, you can now say that you do not know his business side like his gang. Namjoon once said that Jungkook turns into a completely different person, someone more sinister – and you do not want to know that side; not because of the fear of him hurting (something you know that would never happen) but because of wanting to stay out of whatever business he is in.

Jungkook has made it a mission of making sure that you would never get tied into his business, and made a promise to yourself that you somehow you did, he would make sure that whoever found out about you and dragged you in would never see the light of day ever again. So, receiving a phone call from Seokjin, telling him that the cops in Busan had arrested you as a pay back for ‘scaring them into submission’ and wanting to show that they will not back down, Jungkook automatically saw red. He knew that this would happen once the Sheriff, Kim Jung, stepped down, a good friend of his dads, actually. But Jungkook dreaded the thought of the son of the Jung, Kim Mark, would screw everything up, always having something against Jungkook since the two were kids without any reason. Jungkook had told Mr. Jung that even though they were almost like family, Jungkook will do whatever he would to a person that he ran into on the street – in short, killing them – and Jung sadly accepted that possible fate of his son.

And as you sat in jail cell that was being watched over by Mark himself, both of you hearing the gun shots and screaming of the officers in the room above. There was a feeling of relief of safety that you felt, but there was also a feeling of nervousness, almost fear, that you felt that came of the knowledge of seeing your Jungkookie in action – the side that you will meet. You came to accept that this may change your relationship dynamic, something that both you and Jungkook will have a very long talk and acceptance of whatever that means. To make things clear, you will never leave Jungkook over this, but you know that this is the beginning of being involved in his second life style – the lifestyle that Jungkook was trying to prevent you from of being involved in.

So, as you heard the deep, sadistic laugh that came from your boyfriend, you braced yourself. You watched his intimidating form walk in, his long black hair in a half up bun while the lower half of his hair touched his shoulders. His signature outfit which consisted of his black ripped skinny jeans, timberlands, and an oversized white shirt and his black leather jacket – you would be a liar if you said that he did not look hot as fuck. But the one thing that you did notice about him was the deranged look in his eyes that looked you straight in the eyes – noting the fear you felt.

“Now look at what you did, Marky, you scared my girlfriend, my Y/N. Now that is another thing that you will have to pay for.” He snarled, moving to the side so that Taehyung and Jimin restricted him, kicking the pointing gun out of his hands. Walking over to the cell door, Jungkook unlocked it, pulling you into him for a heated kiss. You allowed him to dominate you for that small moment, letting out a shaky breath as he pulled away. You knew that right now the man standing in front of you is not your Jungkook, it is someone different. Brushing the hairs that fell in front of your face, Jungkook smiled down at you lovingly, “There’s my beautiful princess. I’m sorry that Marky over there caused this mess, but I’ll make sure to clean it up for you, don’t want my princess to get into anymore messes now,” he chuckled a spine chilling laugh, one that shook you to the core. But what made you even more nervous for Marks life was when you were walking up the stairs to the main floor was the scream that came from Mark and the laughter of your boyfriend that soon followed after.

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maatryoshkaa · 5 years ago

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young god | chapter 16

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 14.3k

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, domestic & child abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, descriptions of mental illness, death, dark themes and foul language. once again, all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a grain of salt.

description: Han Jisung wrestles with the demons of his past as Kim Seungmin faces his own dilemma in the present, with one last chilling threat from Prosecutor Kang forcing Seungmin to make a final, crucial decision. The clock is counting down as your last chance wears thin, and one unexpected declaration is all it takes for things to change—forever.

watch the trailer here!

16| the prisoner’s dilemma.

Jisung was still frozen in place long after the heavy doors had swung shut and erased your face from his sight. His own hand felt foreign as he held it against his stinging cheek, the dull throbbing drowned out by the words still ringing in his ears.

Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive.

I need you to stay alive.

Bang Chan was watching him from the side, the detective’s eyes filled with equal parts amusement and wariness. Finally, he spoke. “You deserved that, you know.”

Jisung was silent, but his mind was already replaying the scene over and over again. Your anxious eyes, your voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. The slap couldn’t compare to the pain that had etched itself into your features every time he had spoken harshly, trying again and again to push you away. I know I did.

Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”

A soft laugh escaped from Jisung’s dry mouth. “Dizzy,” he deadpanned honestly. The adrenaline was beginning to die down, but instead of leaving him sick in the stomach and with a pounding headache like usual, Jisung felt almost...lightheaded with relief. “Like...like a kid that just got told off?”

The detective chuckled, letting out his low, signature whistle. “What’d I tell you? That’s love, mate.”

Jisung looked at him now, incredulous. “Getting slapped in the face?”

“No,” Chan smiled, but for once, his eyes were serious. “Someone who cares about you enough to call you out when you’re wrong.”

Not knowing what to say, Jisung turned away, letting the ticking of the clock on the wall fill the strained silence. He could still feel Chan’s gaze on him, but it was no longer the look of a detective trying to dissect a case file. Instead, it held the same strange softness it had when Chan had pulled Jisung aside at the Third Eye, and asked if he was okay.

“I told you once,” Chan began slowly, “that everyone deserves to be loved, and that you’re no different. Of course, things have...changed,” he continued, and Jisung looked down, throat tight as he waited for Chan to finish. “But I still stand by what I said.”

Before Jisung could reply, the intercom crackled overhead. “The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants in the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Detective, you should get going,” a security guard spoke lowly to Chan, who sighed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet. As he passed where Jisung was standing, he stopped briefly.

“You’re a good kid, Han Jisung. Even if you don’t believe it yourself...you had better start to.”

“Chan—”

The detective had reached the door when he looked over his shoulder at Jisung. He had the same old mischievous smile on his face again, but his eyes were sad.

“I hope we can grab another coffee together some time, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━

Seungmin’s head was spinning as he pushed through rooms packed with spectators and reporters until he finally stumbled into an emptier hallway. His eyes gleaned the plaques on the doors, searching for the room number the court clerks had given him after Seungmin had overheard their frantic conversation.

“We can’t just end the case here — the media and people’ll riot.”

“But we’ve lost a witness and the lead prosecutor of the case in one day — how the hell is the trial supposed to continue?”

The clerk wringed his hands. “We need to find out if there were any other prosecutors working with Kang on the case — call them in ASAP—”

And so, here Seungmin was — heart threatening to leap out of his throat, charging headfirst into a case that had been ripped out of his hands months ago. He had stepped into their conversation impulsively, and now a thousand warning bells were going off in his mind.

Kim Seungmin was not impulsive. Kim Seungmin always calculated his plans perfectly, meticulously. It was one of the reasons why he had always been at the top of his class, graduating a year early with honours. Always praised for being levelheaded and thorough.

Still, he thought, there had been one person that had seen right through him.

“You’re stressed,” you blurted bluntly, and Seungmin’s coffee cup froze midway to his lips. You were in his office, one of the many meetings you two had arranged in order to keep each other updated with information regarding Jisung’s case.

“We’re all stressed,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, unsure where you were going with this, but you shook your head.

“But you try the hardest out of all of us to hide it. Tell me if I’m crossing a line here, but—” you looked at him, tilting your head. “You seem like the type who’s calm and collected on the outside to...hide the fact that you’re still wrestling with nerves, and insecurities, on the inside. Like a defense mechanism.”

Seungmin fell silent. Instinctively, he felt the urge to laugh it off, but in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered to his coworkers— their condescending gazes at who they thought was just a lucky amateur, a young imposter infringing upon a field with people twice his age. Since his first day at the law firm, Seungmin had felt an unbearable desire to prove himself worthy in their eyes, and the anxious feeling ate away at him every time he touched a case.

Sensing the sudden change in mood, you quickly stammered, “I-I’m sorry, that was so unnecessary—what I’m trying to say is— it’s okay to be nervous. Don’t psyche yourself out with your own expectations for yourself. U-um—”

You trailed off, mortified, but Seungmin let out a small laugh, shaking his head lightly when your eyes widened in confusion. “No, no, it’s just…” You were smart and capable — anyone could see that — but always seemed to second-guess your own abilities. He found it almost endearing. “You really are a psychology major, Miss l/n.”

Seungmin rounded a corner and nearly slammed into someone that had just walked out of the men’s washrooms. Before he could apologise, Seungmin looked up into the man’s face and his gut twisted unpleasantly.

Prosecutor Kang seized Seungmin by the collar before he could walk away, his face livid. The younger man’s eyes darted down either side of the empty hallway, then back at his former senior. He had heard Kang was to be kept at the courthouse until the end of the trial, in case they needed anything from him. There were guards flanking every entrance and exit, so Kang couldn’t exactly escape, but seeing him walk around unsupervised still made Seungmin uneasy.

“S-sir, you can’t—”

“Do you remember what you said? What you promised?” Kang seethed, eyes wild as they raked Seungmin up and down. “‘I can handle it. I’ll find the culprit, and I’ll convict him. Death penalty, no less.’”

Hearing his own words coming out of Kang’s mouth made Seungmin wince and shrink back. Kang caught his discomfort, grinning savagely before jerking his head in the direction of the holding cells, where Jisung was. “You’re taking over the case, aren’t you? Your culprit’s right there. Everything’s been laid out for you, it couldn’t be simpler.”

Seungmin let out a shaky breath, fists clenched by his sides. Before he could open his mouth, Kang pulled him in closer, voice dangerously low.

“I always thought it was fishy, you know — someone your age, already entering the field? So I did my research.” Kang paused, smirking. “You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you? I didn’t know your parents were renowned lawyers, too.”

At that, Seungmin froze, shocked eyes darting up to meet Kang’s. It was true — born into a family of influential law enforcement officials, Seungmin had practically grown up reading about legal matters and judicial affairs. Despite his efforts to keep his parentage discreet as he grew older — hating the way their reputations always preceded his own — the expectations to follow in their footsteps had always remained suffocating. He loved law with all his heart, but his own family had become yet another reason why Seungmin had so much to live up to, and even more to lose.

The older prosecutor chuckled — Seungmin must have looked like a deer in headlights. “You can’t disappoint them, yes? You need to do everything you can to uphold the big family name.” Kang’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a blade. “My career might be over, little prosecutor, but I have far more power than you think. I can make sure you never step foot into this profession ever again. You want to prove yourself? To me, to your fellow prosecutors, to your parents? Here’s your chance.”

There was a snakelike glint in Kang’s eyes when he finally let Seungmin go, his words seeping through Seungmin’s mind like poison.

Prove yourself. Prove yourself. A security guard had appeared at the end of the hallway, and without another word, Kang calmly turned on his heel, letting the guard escort him away. Seungmin watched his silhouette grow fainter, feeling sick to his stomach.

Just how many cases...no, how many prosecutors had Kang manipulated for his own benefit?

He took a shuddering breath. Time was running out. Forcing his feet to move, Seungmin finally found the room, barely listening when the clerk quickly explained that the rights to the case were being transferred to him last minute.

“Ten minutes, Prosecutor Kim. You have approximately ten minutes to prepare your case.”

The roomful of law officials were watching him with doubtful eyes — the same doubtful, scornful gazes that had followed him his entire life. Ten minutes. Picking up where Kang had left off would be the smoothest, most reasonable route. Preparing an entirely different argument, however, was suicide.

Seungmin glanced up at the clock, and his heart sank.

━━━━━━━━

The commotion in the courtroom sounded like the buzzing of an agitated beehive, the constant thrumming of hushed conversations and your own erratic heartbeat fueling the tense atmosphere.

Hyunjin, Felix, Woojin, and you had sprinted straight to the courtroom after a rapid search for Seungmin had turned up futile — the prosecutor was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the murmurs you overheard around you, the case had been transferred into his hands with mere minutes to spare. You bit your lip nervously. This should have been good news, but you all knew that the odds — and time — were still against you. Looking the weariest you’d ever seen him, Bang Chan collapsed into the seat next to you. He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but as he turned away, eyes glued to the scene about to unfold, you saw that his features were strained and pale.

With a creak that send a hush rippling through the courtroom, the doors swung open to reveal more familiar faces — the judge, the prosecution, the jury. Your eyes instinctively flickered to Jisung, whose expression was as guarded as ever, and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the room, however, had fallen silent before the judge had even spoken. All their gazes were trained on the new prosecutor that had entered the room.

Seungmin felt the stares on him before he even looked up, dozens of eyes weighing down on him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a specimen table. He should have gotten used to the stares by now — this was far from his first court hearing — but when he looked out into the faces of the audience, he still felt the same squeamish anxiety he had always tried so desperately to ignore. Their expressions were dubious, condescending, unconvinced — as if all to say, is this a joke? This kid is the new lead prosecutor?

The judge cleared her throat, pushing her half-moon spectacles back onto her nose. “Thank you for your patience. The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases is now back in session. You may be seated.” She turned to Seungmin, eyes narrowed. “What is the case the prosecution will be presenting?”

Seungmin’s mind was racing as he turned over the envelope in his hands — the envelope containing Kang’s case file — and slid out the papers with numb fingertips. As he did so, familiar words echoed in his mind — words he had been told since he had first chosen to study law, and words he had forced himself to live by ever since.

“You have a big heart, Kim Seungmin — too big. Learn to control your emotions if you want to make it in this field.”

“You have to be cold, quick, and rational. Kindness is a weakness.”

“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution.”

He had always taken the words like bitter medicine, beyond determined to prove to his older coworkers that he wasn’t just the incompetent young prosecutor they always made him out to be. Desperate to prove to his family that he was capable, that he wouldn’t tarnish their names. Every step he had taken had been careful, calculated, all so that Seungmin could win their approval, finally escape their suffocating scrutiny.

“Your Honour,” Seungmin began, “as a prosecutor, I was taught that my duty is to defend the rule of law to ensure justice is served, no matter how harsh it may be.”

You watched the young prosecutor speak carefully, his grave expression making your gut twist. Kim Seungmin, Chan had told you once in passing, came from a family of established lawyers — a child prodigy with big shoes to fill, and everything to lose. And now, you realised with dread, his words seemed to be an exact echo of Prosecutor Kang’s.

Seungmin’s stomach was fluttering as if it were his first trial again, heart palpitating with each passing moment as he was seized with the sudden urge to run. Taking a deep breath, his gaze flickered up to meet yours in the audience — your blazing eyes, charged with emotion, your heart always written so clearly across your adamant features. You, who stopped at nothing in order to protect what you believed was right.

Prove yourself. Prove to everyone you’re good enough, strong enough.

He closed his eyes, knowing that he would regret what he was about to say.

“But I was also taught that a good prosecutor is one that uses the law to protect the people.” Seungmin swallowed hard, sliding Kang’s papers back into the envelope and dropping it onto the desk behind him. “Thus, the case I am presenting today is not one that intends to prove Han Jisung guilty of first degree murder.”

The entire room erupted in frantic murmurs, the judge hurriedly banging the gavel to maintain order. Seungmin caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expression — the boy was still looking down, but his face had paled in surprise at the prosecutor’s sudden declaration. Just then, the doors burst open, a red-faced clerk with a handful of padded envelopes ducking in and hurrying to Seungmin’s side.

“What you requested, sir,” the clerk explained quietly, handing him the envelopes, and Seungmin recalled the conversation they had had in the conference rooms, just before the trial had recommenced.

“There are ten minutes remaining until we have to begin,” the clerk informed Seungmin worriedly, seeing the young prosecutor’s tense face. “Is there anything you need from the former prosecution? Since these are special circumstances, I can have them brought to you as soon as possible during the trial.”

Either ten minutes to gather the evidence he needed, Seungmin thought dismally, or ten minutes to build a strong argument from what he—no, Kang—already had.

“Listen carefully.” Screwing his eyes shut, Seungmin continued, “Please fetch me Han Jisung’s camcorder footage — the memory cards — and Yang Jeongin’s Walkman tapes from Prosecutor Kang’s archives. All of them, immediately.”

The knot of anxiety in Seungmin’s chest finally began to unclench, the envelopes’ contents anchoring him in place with a reassuring weight. He turned to the judge, surprised at the newfound authority in his own voice. “The prosecution maintains that Han Jisung is not guilty of first degree murder. We will be presenting all the evidence Prosecutor Kang excluded, and examining the case from all angles so that the jury may form an accurate judgement and verdict.”

“That’s—an entirely new argument,” Hyunjin whispered incredulously beside you. “How did he come up with a case in ten minutes?”

“He didn’t. He’s building his case on the spot,” Chan realised out loud, a small smile spreading on his lips. He leaned forward with a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now that’s the Kim Seungmin I know.”

You watched as Seungmin called up his first witness, who was none other than Kang’s psychiatric expert. “You introduced yourself as the psychiatrist involved with this case — responsible for analysing the defendant’s mental condition, correct?”

The red-nosed man coughed nervously. “Y-yes, uh, well — the defendant was unwilling to speak during the evaluation, so we were unable to gain much personal testimony—”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Seungmin picked up one the envelopes, handing it to the court clerk and motioning for him to project the contents. “The following is recovered footage from a camcorder the defendant was gifted when he was six years old, and developed a habit of carrying around.” He turned towards the psychiatrist. “It’s raw, untampered footage containing experiences from the defendant’s childhood. I want you to watch it and answer a few questions. There is, however, graphic content, and I advise the spectators to view it with caution.”

You saw Seungmin cast a worried look towards Jisung, and you knew how the prosecutor was feeling. After nearly thirteen years of Jisung hiding his past from even his closest friends, it was all suddenly being thrust under the harsh light — in front of a roomful of people who wanted to sentence him to death, no less — but you both knew that this was your last chance.

The projector whirred as the clerk inserted the first memory cards into the computer. The memory cards had been confiscated by Kang before you had gotten the chance to watch them yourself — what you did know about the footage came from the bits Chan had recounted for you after several insistent phone calls, and what Jisung himself had told you that fateful night. Uneasiness stirring in your chest, you watched as the screen came to life, blurry colours and pixelated outlines taking shape.

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first — short clips of chipped action figures on dusty windowsills, or toy cars rolling idly across wooden floors. The footage was shaky, as if the person holding the camcorder could barely support its weight. Jisung had barely been six years old, you remembered, feeling a strange feeling of sadness wash over you. It was as if you were watching a movie you already knew the ending to, and all that was left in your gut was a sinking dread at what was about to come.

As the clerk flipped through the footage, a faint sound pricked at your ears, and you jerked your head up, listening to make sure you had heard right — and sure enough, there it was. Muffled shouting, like it was coming from another room in the house, something heavy shattering on the floor — and judging from the murmurs and faces of the spectators around you, they heard it as well. The camcorder was still pointed at the action figurines, but had frozen stiffly — as if the child holding it was listening, too.

More scenes began to unfold, one after another. A birthday, six lopsided candles glowing on a small white cake. Jisung humming a familiar tune with a woman you assumed was his mother. And clip after clip where the camcorder was pointed at the ceiling of a dark room — Jisung’s childhood bedroom — as the sounds of arguing and yelling echoed through the walls. Slowly but surely, the scenes began to grow familiar.

“February 22nd, 2005.”

The day Jisung had stumbled across another woman in his parents’ bed, and his father had terrorized him until he promised not to tell anyone.

“June 3rd, 2006.”

His face-to-face encounter with his father’s mistress, one that left scars in the form of cigarette burns, red-lipped smiles, and tainted touches.

“December 31st, 2009.”

The day everything had gone wrong.

Stomach lurching, you watched as everything Jisung had told you — his rough voice shaking in your darkened apartment, dark eyes holding nightmares of years long past — took the form of grainy camera footage. His father crashing through the doorframe, hands choking the life from the woman beneath him. Even though the camera quality was poor, the woman’s pleading eyes, rolled up towards the tiny crack in the closet where Jisung had been hidden, seemed to pierce directly through you.

It all seemed to happen in a flash — in the blink of an eye, there were flames licking bloodstained floors clean, the camcorder out of focus as Jisung limped through thick white snow and finally collapsed on top of his mother’s cold body. The gritty screams of anguish and pain seemed to ring in your ears long after Seungmin stopped the footage, and you lifted a shaking gaze to Jisung’s face. His eyes had been cast downwards the entire time, but even from across the room, you could see his violently trembling jaw, the ragged heave of his chest. How many times had he lived through this footage himself — in his nightmares, through half-delirious flashbacks, every time he closed his eyes?

“Thirteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of Miroh Heights. The Han house was burned to the ground and left a single boy alive, without any relatives to take custody. Unable to fathom what exactly happened, police filed it away as a gas explosion, and the boy was tossed around foster homes and orphanages until it was eventually forgotten,” Seungmin informed them. He thanked Woojin internally as he spoke — after mentioning several times that Jisung’s past sounded strangely familiar, the police captain had been the one to finally connect the dots between the two cold cases, thirteen years apart.

“There were initial speculations of domestic abuse, but they were never investigated thoroughly. The case was neglected, left cold, and when the statute of limitations expired, it was simply dismissed as another tragedy.” Seungmin nodded at the clerk again, who slid the next memory card in.

This card was filled with what sounded like endless psychological evaluations — disembodied voices introducing themselves as social workers, child psychiatrists, and the like, all mercilessly bombarding Jisung with personal questions. The first half was either entirely black or out of focus, as if Jisung had been holding the camcorder down and clutching it close to his body. They had all given up when the young boy could barely get his answers out, the lingering fear and untreated trauma having locked his voice in his throat.

“He’s a lost cause.”

“Problem kid.”

“Impossible to treat.”

You clenched your fists every time a social worker left the room, muttering under their breath in annoyance. Then, as the clips grew clearer, a child with round, catlike eyes and a pale expression beginning to appear in several of the frames.

Lee Minho.

“At the beginning of this decade, we all know that Miroh Heights went through an economic rift — workers were laid off, young children abandoned on the streets. During these times, child abuse and child trafficking cases also skyrocketed.” Seungmin spoke as the screen flashed, the scene now showing what looked like a filthy, unfinished basement floor.

“We witnessed a rise of ‘suicide killers’ — namely, perpetrators who would kidnap and murder their own family members or vulnerable strangers before ending their own lives. Many were acting on their anger and grief through violence; others saw it as a form of revenge.”

With a wince, you remembered what Minho had told you on the rooftop of the hospital that evening — when he and Jisung had been lured into a man’s home by their own hunger, and woke up to him trying to kill them. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the speakers, the camcorder pointed at an awkward angle and shaking uncontrollably before it clattered to the ground, and the footage cut out.

When the next clip began, it was pointed down at wide-eyed, twelve-year-old Jisung.

“Ah, now this is jus’ perfect. The cops’ll love this, yes they will.” You shivered at the man’s hoarse voice behind the camcorder, flinching as the barrel of a gun was pressed to Jisung’s forehead. “Now, boy — I want you to beg for your life — go on.”

Frozen in your seat, you watched as all hell broke loose — the man pressing the trigger just as Jisung managed to cut the cords free, the camcorder smashing into concrete as Jisung fought for his life. When the lens finally focused again, what you saw made your blood run cold. A twelve-year-old boy kneeling before the mangled corpse of a grown man, cherub-like face drenched with crimson. You heard Minho’s shallow, terrified breathing behind the camcorder as Jisung turned towards him, the look in his eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. It was the exact same look he had given you when you had found him at the diner, screaming out his name as if trying to wake him from a nightmare.

Emptiness.

Even through the grainy film, you could catch the moment Jisung’s consciousness returned to him, soft brown eyes shifting and focusing into a childlike, dazed expression once again.

“Minho, can we go home?”

The footage sputtered to a stop. The visceral scene had been exactly as the coroner had described to you on the hospital rooftop, and yet nothing could have prepared you for it. You only realised how badly you had been shaking when Felix gently nudged you, peering at your face worriedly. When you forced yourself to unclench your fists, you winced at the red half-moon weals your nails had left in your palms.

“Both the defendant and coroner Lee Minho were involved in a kidnapping case, and subjected to extreme violence at the ages of twelve and thirteen. The perpetrator died in the incident. There was no culprit to catch. Once again, the case was buried, under the economic turmoil Miroh Heights was experiencing, by neglectful law enforcement.”

Seungmin turned back to look at the psychiatrist. “Now, I’m no expert in analysing family matters, but I think we can confirm several cases of domestic abuse from this footage alone. Parental neglect. Repeated exposure to violence. Years of sexual harassment. How would you psychoanalyse a patient who has gone through these events?”

The red-faced man was evidently shaken, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stuttered out, “This — this is more than enough to cause severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes darted around the courtroom nervously, as if the words were refusing to come out of his mouth.

“He looks like he’s scared,” you murmured. “Like he’s still unwilling to talk.”

“Kang must have made some sort of a deal with him,” Woojin replied under his breath, shaking his head. “But it’s all over now — he’s got nothing more to lose.”

“You swore an oath before the trial began,” Seungmin pressed sternly, not taking his gaze off the nervous man. “‘I do solemnly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Tell me the truth, sir.”

Cowering under Seungmin’s hard gaze, the psychiatrist finally caved. “The...the fact that these events took place during the defendant’s childhood is even more significant. Children’s minds are—are molded from a very young age. The majority of your adult behaviour is shaped by what you’ve experienced as a child, you see.”

“Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of sociopathy. You reached this conclusion because of the defendant’s criminal records, and reported behaviour such as —” Seungmin pulled out Kang’s papers, quickly flipping through. “Theft. Pyromanic, destructive, and self-destructive tendencies.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys from the diner attack. “Bordering on multiple personas.”

“U-uh, well — using the information given during the previous trial, those symptoms did correlate strongly with antisocial personality disorder. But with this newfound context —” the psychiatrist lowered his head meekly, “th-the symptoms are actually closer to those of an individual suffering from extreme, untreated, PTSD.”

Exhaling slowly, Seungmin nodded at the judge. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Let’s re-examine the defendant’s behaviour under this lens, then. How would PTSD explain violent tendencies in a child?”

“They’re a form of an exaggerated startle response — a sudden reaction triggered by something that upsets the patient. It’s a common long-term aftereffect of childhood abuse or trauma. Some patients fall unconscious, some experience panic attacks or seizures. In the case of Han Jisung...it came in the form of repeated violent outbursts.”

You thought back to the man Jisung had attacked, seemingly out of nowhere at the Yellow Wood — the dead man whose girlfriend, Chan had told you, had actually come to the precinct a few days before Jisung’s trial.

“She was crying real bad. I thought she would want him—Jisung—dead, that she would tell us to convict him, no matter what,” Chan had told you, the detective’s face still twisted in confusion. “And she doesn’t want to testify — she’s still dealing with the trauma, and doesn’t want anything to do with the trial. But y/n — the girl was crying for him. For Jisung. Said that the kid stepped in right when her boyfriend was hitting her, and — told her to go home.”

An exaggerated startle response. You remembered it from your classes, a sudden reaction triggered by something that upset the patient. Like domestic abuse. Unsolicited sexual approaches. Or, you shivered, little things — like the colour red. His father, his mistress, his mother, his kidnapper — did Jisung constantly see their faces in the shadows, in strangers that were repeating the same mistakes?

“The witnesses who knew Han Jisung when he was younger,” Seungmin continued, turning to the two injured boys from the diner, “also testified that he often changed expressions ‘like a mask.’ Assuming this is true, why might the defendant exhibit this sort of behaviour?”

“Abused children — or people who have experienced severe trauma — can develop dissociative habits. Disconnecting from past memories, information, or even present experiences as a defense mechanism...which is why the defendant might appear to change moods often, or show drastically different sides of himself in different situations.”

“In other words,” Seungmin said slowly, brow furrowing in concentration, “the defendant experienced so many traumatic events during his childhood, that the untreated aftereffects impaired his emotional development into adulthood. Which would explain why his startle response slowly morphed, on a larger scale, into something extremely violent and dangerous.”

The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”

Motioning for the man to take a seat — which he did gladly — Seungmin pulled out the next envelope — the coroner’s photos from the Yellow Wood attacks. Wordlessly, he projected them onto the screen, eliciting small gasps of horror and disgust around the room.

“Earlier, Prosecutor Kang argued that the violent mutilation of the victims was proof that the perpetrator performed these gruesome acts and mutilations out of personal enjoyment and depravity.” Seungmin turned to address the judge, voice firm.

“Your Honour, under this new context, I would argue that the photos only serve as further visual evidence depicting the defendant’s mental state at the time of the crime.” He flipped through the images. “Multiple wound sites, messy blood spattering, extreme blunt force trauma. And—if the coroner was telling the truth—a stone from the scene of the crime as the murder weapon. All these signs lead us to believe that the defendant’s actions, no, his judgement, was acutely impaired. This response, these attacks, were triggered due to a pre-existing mental condition.”

The room shifted uneasily as his words sunk in, and the judge fixed her stern gaze onto Seungmin. “Does the prosecution have any evidence that directly refutes the previous claim of first degree murder? To prove that the murders were not premeditated, or intentional, beyond a reasonable doubt?”

Think, Seungmin, think. He racked his mind furiously, trying to recall every piece of evidence that you, Chan, and Woojin had gone through with him. Photographs, diagrams, testimony transcripts — Seungmin’s eyes trailed off to the pile of envelopes the clerk had brought, and landed on the packet containing Yang Jeongin’s tapes.

That’s it.

“Yes, Your Honour.” He cleared his throat, mind racing to connect the dots. “As we all know, the living witness of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin, was attacked at around three o’clock in the morning. He worked several late shifts for delivery companies around the town.” Seungmin nodded towards Jeongin. “What we did not know until recently, however, is that the witness had a hobby of recording himself during these shifts on his own Walkman.”

An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd as Seungmin shook the tapes out from the envelope, handing them to the clerk. After several tense moments, there was a faint crackling, and the recording began to play.

The first tape held a medley of acoustic songs the delivery boy had mixed himself — just as you had remembered it.

The second tape was empty — the one Minho had stolen from the scene of the crime, and you had eventually recovered from his office.

When the clerk popped in the third, the soft sound of breathing and crunching gravel filled the room, and you shivered. This was the tape you had listened to with Seo Changbin — the tape that had turned your entire life upside down.

“I.N. here! It is currently...2:04 A.M.!”

You glanced at the faces around the room — everyone was on edge, and you felt no different. You could still hear Jeongin’s cry of surprise and pain echoing in your ears, the horrible crash as he hit the forest floor. What was Seungmin thinking? How was a recording of the witness being attacked going to prove Jisung’s innocence? If anything, it was incriminating evidence.

Jeongin’s cheery, oblivious voice continued until you heard the woman’s scream in the distance, muffled under the delivery boy’s distracted humming. Then, a man crying out in guttural pain — the man, you knew now, that had been killed by Jisung in the Yellow Wood. The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping under the bicycle wheels grew louder, and you knew that this had been the moment Jeongin had entered the Wood — heading closer and closer towards what would later become the scene of the crime.

“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” There was a small gasp of horror as Jeongin caught sight of the body. “U-um. Is he—do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap—”

It happened before you could flinch to cover your ears. The horribly familiar crunch of stone meeting skull, a cry of pain cut off by a deafening whump as the Walkman had slammed against the ground. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as it listened, and only then did it finally hit you why Seungmin was playing the tapes. As the sound of another boy’s jagged, uneven breathing filled the speakers, you suddenly remembered what came at the end of the recording. The first time you had heard it, it had made your heart plummet straight down into the pit of your stomach, sending your entire world crashing down around you.

This time, the fluttering in your chest felt almost like hope.

Han Jisung’s voice, choked with raw, horrified sobs, echoed through the room, and you saw everyone freeze.

“Who—why? Why is it you? Why are you here?”

The crying was muffled by the sound of hands fumbling over Jeongin’s clothing, as if frantically checking for a pulse. Seungmin stopped the tape, turning towards the bewildered jury. “Do those sound like the words of a cold-blooded psychopath?”

The judge waved a hand towards Jeongin. “Can the witness himself attest to this?”

“I...I blacked out pretty quickly,” Jeongin answered slowly, furrowing his brow as if it still hurt to remember. “But the last thing I remembered seeing was...a boy’s crying face over me, trying to make sure if I was okay.”

“Can you identify this boy?”

Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.

“Furthermore,” Seungmin continued, tapping the cracked silver Walkman, “these tapes were found in Yang Jeongin’s clothing after he was admitted to the hospital. If the defendant had truly attacked Mr. Yang out of cold blood, he wouldn’t have left such incriminating evidence in the boy’s hands. And if Han Jisung had no idea he was being recorded, that rules out the possibility of him faking the recordings as well.”

“Even so,” the judge replied, stern eyes narrowed, “we cannot be sure that Han Jisung did not intend to leave Yang Jeongin to die. There are many murder cases where the perpetrator shows remorse almost immediately, but still attempted to cover up the crime.”

“Of course. However, Your Honour, you may also remember that Yang Jeongin was not found in the Yellow Wood where the attacks had initially taken place...but rather, the doorstep of Glow Cafe.” At this, Hyunjin looked up, eyes narrowed, and Seungmin motioned for the clerk to continue playing the clip. After several moments, you heard the rough sound of cloth scraping against the ground, growing louder and louder — as if something was being lifted and dragged.

No. You could still hear Jisung’s broken breathing underneath the sound, and the realisation hit you.

Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.

You had thought the tape had already ended the first time you’d listened with Seo Changbin in his record shop — after Jisung’s voice had made you shove the Walkman away, not daring to believe what you had just heard. For days, it had sat, neglected in your apartment, until you had brought it into Seungmin’s office for him to look at. The next day, it had already fallen into the hands of Prosecutor Kang, but by some stroke of luck, Seungmin must have already managed to listen to it in its entirety beforehand.

“Yang Jeongin was found at around 4 in the morning, when Hwang Hyunjin, the owner of Glow Cafe, was awoken by the doorbell. The ringer of this doorbell was never identified, because any possible fingerprint evidence was already contaminated and rendered useless by the time Mr. Yang was safely transported to the ICU.”

The sound of dead leaves and dirt crunching under the soles of Jisung’s shoes gave way to hard concrete as he reached the main road. There was a soft thump as Jeongin was lowered onto the ground, Jisung’s laboured breathing filling the still night air.

Then the familiar chime of Glow Cafe’s doorbell pierced through the speakers, and you watched as Hyunjin jolted up, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Yes. It’s exactly what you’re all thinking.” Seungmin turned to face the stunned spectators as the sound of Jisung’s footsteps grew fainter as he ran away, and the tape ended. “The defendant was the same person who saved him.”

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, grim eyes flickering between Seungmin and Jisung. “Does the defense have anything to say to this?”

For the first time since the trial had started, Jisung lifted his head. He was met with a roomful of mixed stares — apprehension, curiosity, fear — and he felt his tongue immediately dissolve into dust, the words sticking to his throat like congealed poison.

When Jisung stayed silent, Seungmin spoke carefully, “A fair trial wouldn’t be complete without hearing from the defendant himself. In his own words.” His eyes were almost gentle, fixing a steady look on Jisung’s dark, wary face. “Would you like to testify?”

Your heart was hammering in your throat as the silence grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally broken by the creak of the chair as Jisung pushed it back and stood up. To your utter surprise, he stepped up to the middle of the room, wordlessly turning to face Seungmin. Still, the look on his face held the same blank, guarded expression you had seen so many times when your sessions with him had taken a turn for the worse, and you gripped the edge of your seat uneasily, having no idea what to expect from this turn of events.

If Seungmin was as surprised as you were, he did a better job at hiding it. He muttered something to the clerk, who began to project familiar faces and photos onto the screen. The victims, you realised, and the crime scenes. A slim woman in her thirties, her thin lips a smudge of bright red, next to a photo of charred blood and bone. The prostitute.

“Do you recognise this woman?” Seungmin asked, pointing to her picture.

Jisung frowned, furrowing his brow at the picture. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind, but there was a dull throbbing in his temples that made it difficult to focus. “I—I’m not sure.”

Someone in the crowd made an unconvinced sound, and Jisung shrunk back. The pictures went on and on — a corpse mangled with chemical burns, a man’s body swinging from the rooftop, a bashed-in skull on the forest floor. Each image made Jisung’s head pound, the floor beginning to spin as if threatening to split open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Did he recognise them? Glimpses of their faces flashed in the back of his mind like jumbled jigsaw pieces, but the more he tried to grab onto them, the more they fell apart. His fingertips tingled with the faint, itching memory of a stranger’s blood — strangers who, in a fleeting moment, had taken the shape of a former tormentor. Father. Mistress. Hurt. Pain.

“I can’t — remember anything,” Jisung choked hoarsely. He remembered blacking out, and waking up. He remembered his nightmares, his flashbacks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the faces staring back at him from the screen.

You sound insane, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. As he met the eyes of the jury, he could almost hear what they were thinking.

You really are a psychopath.

Sensing the doubtful whispering beginning around the room, Seungmin hurriedly moved onto the next question. “Let’s — let’s go back to the psychiatrist’s statements, then. Mr. Han, could you tell me what it was like growing up in your family?”

His question was met with silence again, Jisung screwing his eyes shut as the prosecutor’s voice echoed in his head. Family. It was a word that brought ugly memories bubbling to the surface every time, memories made of broken beer bottles and pale, bruised cheeks. His head was aching, a cold sweat forming in his palms as he clenched his fists, stomach churning. No. No. He couldn’t talk about it — wouldn’t talk about it —

“Can you...tell me about your mother’s eyes?”

The abrupt, familiar question, carried by the prosecutor’s softened voice, was what made Jisung open his eyes again, the trembling in his hands stilling. The room around them was shifting with confused murmurs at the strange question, but Seungmin didn’t break eye contact with the younger boy.

The prosecutor watched Jisung’s fists slowly unclench, brow furrowing slightly as he recognised the question, and Seungmin thought back to the conversation he had had with you over the phone after you had woken up in the hospital.

“What’s this?”

“A psychiatric analysis — on Jisung,” you explained, referring to the report files you had sent the prosecutor. “I know it’s not — not much, but...”

“For all we know, it might be the only existing verbal testimony that Jisung has,” Seungmin assured you. “From what I’ve heard, he’s never opened up to anyone before. What I meant was, why are you sending it to me?”

You bit your lip. “Chan isn’t allowed to stand trial, and I — I haven’t graduated yet, so my thesis won’t be taken seriously as evidence. I can’t testify as a psychiatric expert, either. But I thought that — I could at least tell you all the questions that lead me to his diagnosis. In case you get to question him at the trial — he’ll know they’re my questions. Maybe...he’ll finally change his mind.”

Seungmin sighed wearily. “I was removed from the case this morning, Miss l/n. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to step foot into the courtroom, let alone question him.”

And so the questions had been left, buried and forgotten in the back of Seungmin’s mind — until this exact moment, when he had remembered them just in time.

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

Jisung’s vision went black as his senses were flooded with memories, nearly sending him doubling over. His mother’s eyes. The last time he had looked into those eyes, they had already been glazing over, the life in them seeping away as her blood pooled over the broken floorboards of his childhood home. His mother’s eyes. Suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old all over again, shrouded in the shadows of a cramped closet as his father strangled the life out of his mother right in front of him.

Guilt, he wanted to say. Pain. The kind that never goes away. Blinking feverishly, Jisung’s gaze darted around the room — and when he finally found your face in the audience, he felt his heart stop.

You were looking at him with the exact same eyes his mother had, that day.

From your first date to this very moment, Jisung never knew why you had always reminded him so much of her — you two looked nothing alike, after all. Wherever he went, he had always been chased by fragments of the nightmares he wanted to forget, demons of his past that had taken the forms of the man at the Yellow Wood, the red-lipped hooker, Na Jangmin, Park Beomsoo. And yet every moment he spent with you, he caught familiar glimpses of her instead — pieces of the only warmth, and happiness, and home he had ever known before it had all been cruelly ripped away.

For years, the only thing he had been able to remember was that day. How his mother’s eyes had been wide and pleading as she bled out on the floor, desperately shaking her head at him before finally falling limp. The flames and endless smoke seemed to eat away at his happier memories until there was nothing left but ashes and tar.

But you made him remember a time before everything went wrong, when things had been peaceful, when he still had somewhere — someone — to go home to.

For thirteen years, he had been running from the memory, from the feeling, afraid that confronting it would make him relive the pain all over again. But now, for the first time, Han Jisung wondered if he had missed something else among those repressed memories all along.

His mother’s eyes as she shook her head one last time had been warm, not just because they had been filled with pain and tears — but because they had been blazing with one last, unspoken message. The same one he saw reflected in your own eyes now.

When you shook your own head gently, pleading eyes brimming with tears, the message finally rang clear in his mind.

Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Han Jisung, you have to keep on living.

Stunned, he tore his gaze away, only to see Bang Chan watching him with the same expression — then Woojin, Seungmin, Felix, Yang Jeongin. Even Hwang Hyunjin had worry written all over his face — worry for him — and it all suddenly hit Jisung like a punch in the gut.

Why did all these people fight for him?

Why had his mother died for him?

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

“Love,” Jisung breathed, his soft voice filling the empty silence. “Love.” The memories were coming back to him now — not in jagged, gut-wrenching flashes, but slowly. Steadily.

For the first time in his life, Han Jisung was in control.

“Can you tell me about your parents?” Seungmin pressed gently, seeing the tension slowly leave Jisung’s body.

“My parents,” Jisung repeated. His mouth felt like it was trying the words out. He remembered once, when you had asked him the same question, his head had felt like it was on the verge of splitting. Now, the memories felt strangely detached, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “They were happy once, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “My...father...never wanted to get married. They never planned to...have me, but my mother refused an abortion. They — it was a shotgun wedding,” Jisung finished quietly. “And then things got worse from there.”

“What was it like growing up in your family?” Seungmin tried the question again, watching Jisung carefully.

“My old man’s favourite thing to tell me growing up was how I was never wanted,” Jisung gave a weak smile. “I think you can imagine.”

You watched as Seungmin continued asking Jisung your questions, as if slowly coaxing the answers out from the darkness and painting the cold courtroom with the scenes of Jisung’s past.

“My mother was a waitress. The work was tough, but it didn’t pay much. My father convinced her to work more shifts, so that she was around as little as possible. During that time, he…” Jisung swallowed hard. “He had his affairs with other women when she wasn’t home, and beat her bloody when she was. She always tried to hide it from me, too — said the less I knew the better, but I was getting older, and my father’s anger was slowly shifting over to me. And when his...mistresses stayed over, they started noticing me, too.” Jisung fell silent then, and you suddenly thought back to the white burn scars on his arms and legs, the numerous unexplained markings on his stomach bringing tears to your eyes. How many more did he have hidden on his body, painful reminders binding him to a past he tried so hard to forget?

“Your Honour,” Seungmin finally broke the hushed silence, “with all the information taken into consideration, I think we can confirm beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant has witnessed numerous traumatic events during his childhood — and that they more than likely worsened his mental condition as he grew older.” Seungmin turned to Jisung, remembering another question you had written in your report. “How...do you cope with the past?”

Jisung was silent for several moments before answering, his words echoing your last therapy session. “I...don’t….like to think about it, or remember it. Every time I do, I…” he trailed off unsteadily, and he tried again. “E-every time, I...I…”

His throat was closing up again, the words echoing in his mind as if mocking him. How was he supposed to explain the headaches that never truly went away, the dizziness that hit him like a punch in the gut? Or, worse, the gaps in his memories when he blacked out, making him feel as though he were slowly going insane?

Stay silent, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Who will understand you? Who will believe you? He looked back at the roomful of faces, their cold, wary stares piercing through him like knives. You were never meant to live. You should have died on that day, thirteen years ago—

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.”

The sudden memory of your voice cut through his thoughts and made him jolt in surprise— but it didn’t stop there, all the things you had once told him slowly growing louder and louder and jarring him awake from his own thoughts.

“You’re not the psychopath they’re making you out to be. I know you.”

He remembered the way you had relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms, even after you had found out they were stained with blood, because you trusted him completely.

“I don’t want you to show me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He remembered your face every time he had tried to tell you about his past — your soft, patient eyes and gentle voice, the worry and genuine concern on your face that he had always mistaken for repulsion and fear. You had been shaken, definitely, terrified, even — but you had always been willing to listen to him speak, even when Jisung had been too afraid to try.

“I like you, Han Jisung. I. Like. You.”

He met your eyes across the room then, and felt a small, incredulous breath leave his lips. It was you — it was always you, who had the power to make the walls he had built around himself crumble to dust with a single touch; you, pulling him out of the darkness he had always succumbed helplessly to; you, who had finally woken him from the living nightmare he had been trapped in his entire life.

You reminded him what it was like to live again. You made him want to live again, without fears, without regrets.

“Mr. Han? Could you please describe how these memories make you feel? How you usually deal with them?”

“I don’t know how to,” Jisung breathed out at last. “Every time I try to remember, my...heart starts racing like my chest is about to burst. My head pounds until I can’t see anything, and — it’s like something in there...snaps. And then I...black out completely.”

Seungmin nodded, glancing back to the nervous, red-faced man. “Do you have...anything to add or deny regarding the psychiatrist’s diagnoses?”

“You were right,” Jisung replied simply, but he wasn’t talking to the psychiatrist. He was looking straight at you, and to his own surprise, a smile tugged at his dry lips. It felt like the simple sentence had somehow set him free. “I have trouble sleeping, because I always end up having the same nightmares. There’s missing blank spots in my memories when I wake up in a place I don’t recognise, with no idea how I got there.”

Jisung watched as your eyes widened, recognising his words — he was echoing the same symptoms you had confronted him about during your last therapy session, the ones he had coldly denied out of panic and fear. “I’ve always been afraid to let people get close to me. But sometimes, there are things that — that remind me of times that I’d rather forget, and before I know it, everything begins to spiral out of control.” He gave a small smile to Seungmin, who had stayed silent, surprised at Jisung’s sudden honesty. “That’s it, then. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

You watched as Jisung’s eyes flickered around the room, face as open and tranquil as a child’s — and that was what nearly broke your heart. Knowing that somewhere, beneath the prison uniform that was too baggy for his lean, tired frame, was the shell of a child the world had failed, a child that had given up asking to be saved.

“No further questions,” Seungmin said quietly, and Jisung walked back to his seat as the young prosecutor turned to face the judge. “Your Honour,” he began slowly, as if momentarily unable to find the words. “I think we have reason to believe that the attacks were provoked — not exactly by the victims themselves, but from past traumas that were never dealt with properly, and triggered again and again until they spiralled out of control.”

Seungmin raised his voice then, for the entire courtroom to hear, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fluttering nerves in his body. “The scattered killing patterns were never planned. The correlations between the victims and causes of death don’t show a serial killer’s M.O., they show triggers.” He took a shaky breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t a serial killer case. It isn’t the case of a psychopath on some nonsensical, murderous rampage. This is the aftereffect of a domestic violence case gone cold and swept under the rug over a decade ago — and we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

The judge fixed Seungmin with a cold, steely look over her glasses. “Prosecutor Kim. Remember that you cannot — should not — let your emotions get in the way in a court of law. You are supposed to assess the case with cold reasoning and logic.”

Seungmin looked down, heart hammering in his throat. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have been ashamed, and apologised immediately. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have thought he was crazy for crossing the line.

He realised, in that moment, that he hated the old Kim Seungmin with a passion.

“Emotions don’t always get in the way,” he found himself saying, eyes flickering to you in the audience, “and they don’t always make you weak.” Seungmin thought of Prosecutor Kang then, and his voice grew stronger. “If anything, they keep you human.”

He looked back up at the judge now, whose face had frozen in surprise. “When did justice become so cold? We’re taught that the law is supposed to protect the vulnerable, not prosecute them.”

The judge looked visibly shaken, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her eyes darted wildly between Seungmin and Jisung. Finally, with an unfathomable expression on her face, she turned towards the jury, clearing her throat unsteadily.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that concludes the evidence to be presented on this case. You are now to deliberate, and determine whether or not Han Jisung is guilty of nineteen counts of first-degree murder, assault, and arson.

“If you believe that this has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty, and eligible for capital punishment.”

Capital punishment, you thought, the words sweeping a breath of cold across the room. The death penalty.

“The court stands adjourned until the verdict of the jury.”

━━━━━━━━

Over an hour had passed since the jury had stepped into the deliberation suite, and each tick of the clock on the wall made you more and more nauseous. You put your head down, hands buried in your hair as if that could calm the anxiety thrumming through your veins. A few times, you had heard shouting and angry, raised voices coming from the room the jury was in. Each passing minute seemed to make the weight of the situation more obvious, the tension in the courtroom thick and suffocating.

Felix was rubbing your back as soothingly as he could. “y/n, hey, look at me — deep breaths, okay? You’re okay—”

He was cut off when you lifted your head to look at him, cursing the tears already welling in your eyes. You hated feeling this way — you felt so weak and powerless, and just imagining how much of a mess you must have looked made it even worse. You promised yourself you would stay calm, but every thought that crossed your mind kept leading to another until you were exhausted and overwhelmed.

“They could walk out any minute, ‘lix,” you told him, voice wavering as the weight of your own words sunk in. “They could walk out any minute, and end his life.”

You couldn’t even say Jisung’s name out loud, let alone look him in the eyes. Felix watched as you wiped furiously at your own tears, the sight of you so distressed rendering him speechless, and he did the only thing he could think of. Grimly, your best friend pulled you into a hug, and his reassuring warmth in the cold courtroom made you want to break down all over again. Around you, you could hear mixed opinions being exchanged.

“That poor boy.”

“Who could have guessed the case would take a turn like this? But do you believe him?”

“A murderer is still a murderer — he’s too dangerous to be left alive, don’t you think?”

You were beginning to wish you had taken Hyunjin and Woojin’s offer to step out of the room for fresh air when the heavy doors swung open, making a hush fall over the room. The jury filed in just as Hyunjin and the police captain returned and took their seats.

“Order in the court,” the clerk called, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

The forewoman nodded grimly. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“Those in favour of sentencing the accused, Han Jisung, to capital punishment, please rise.”

The words sent an icy shock down your spine, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as they watched the jury. You didn’t dare move, as if by doing so, you could prevent the next moments from coming crashing down on you, as if somehow, you could stop the horrible verdict from coming true. It was as if everyone had frozen still, time stopping for what felt like the longest moment of your life.

The ticking of the clock pricked your ears, and you suddenly realised that time hadn’t stopped.

No one in the jury had moved to stand up.

“The jury returns a verdict of not guilty, despite believing that the accused committed the crimes he is charged with,” the forewoman standing at the front of the jury said, and the members behind her nodded. “This verdict was unanimous.”

��They all agree that Jisung killed those people,” you heard Hyunjin’s stunned voice behind you, “but they’re returning a verdict of not guilty? What does that mean?”

“Jury nullification,” both Chan and Seungmin spoke at the same time, and the room turned to look at the younger prosecutor as he spoke up.

“The jury has the right to overturn the law, if they believe the law was used incorrectly—”

A reporter behind you blurted out angrily, “Are you suggesting that the murders were delusional, Prosecutor Kim?”

“Or,” Seungmin continued, his voice growing stronger than ever before as he saw the eyes of the judge and his coworkers widen in disbelief. I must be insane, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the words coming from his mouth. “Or, the jury disagrees with the law the prosecution has chosen to charge the defendant under.” He picked up Prosecutor Kang’s case file from the desk, flipping over the papers. “First degree murder.”

The forewoman nodded. “The law Han Jisung is being tried with was immorally and wrongly applied to him in the first place. We believe he caused the killings, without a doubt, but with the circumstances presented, we cannot convict him of serial first degree murder.”

“The previous prosecutor claimed these charges without making any effort to consider Han Jisung’s past,” one man on the jury added, “All the evidence proves a history of abuse and trauma that lead to an unstable mental condition.”

Their words sounded strangely familiar, and your eyes immediately widened when you realised why. “Those — those are the words from my psych report,” you whispered breathlessly to Felix, “Quoted, word for word. They must have all read your articles — we did it, ‘lix, it really worked.”

“But murder is murder. He should be held accountable,” a spectator protested across the room. He was immediately silenced by the bailiff, but not before Seungmin turned to him with a steady stare.

“‘Murder is murder’,” Seungmin echoed, “‘The world of law is cold.’ ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law.’ Those are the phrases you always hear in court. And those are the same beliefs that cost vulnerable people their lives.”

Hyunjin looked at Jeongin, whose gaze were cast to the floor, eyes stormy.

Seungmin continued, “You lose your empathy, and mark complex cases like these under ‘mass murderer’, or ‘psychopath’ without bothering to truly investigate the gray areas, because you think doing so would be—” his mind flashed to Kang, “a waste of time.” He looked at Jisung now, a boy who had been confined by labels his entire life: problem child, delinquent, murderer, monster. “Han Jisung is worth more than that. There’s more to him than his past, than his abusers, than the mental torment he’s suffered through for years.

“He’s a boy who never got the chance at life he deserved. The system has failed him once, and we cannot — should not — hold his trial like this.” Seungmin turned to the judge one last time, eyes burning with sincerity. “Your Honour. Will you end this vicious cycle of use and abuse, once and for all? Or will you choose, once again, to sweep it back into the shadows?”

She was staring back at him with a look that should have petrified Seungmin on the spot, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand his ground. There was a long, weighted silence. Finally, the judge shook her head slowly, and Seungmin swore he saw the smallest of smiles tug at her taut mouth as she turned to face the rest of the courtroom.

You felt your heart nearly leap out of your throat when the verdict finally fell from the judge’s lips.

“I hereby pronounce Han Jisung...not guilty.”

If you hadn’t been sitting down, you were sure you would have collapsed onto the floor.

The world was spinning around you, the sheer relief washing over you in overwhelming waves and turning your limbs to jelly. In your peripheral vision, you saw Hyunjin’s mouth drop open in astonishment, Felix turning to you with an incredulous smile on his face, Chan and Woojin completely frozen.

You barely registered the judge’s voice as she continued speaking, the rest of her words passing through you as if you were made of thin air. Pardoned on the death of his father and the arson of his childhood home by reason of self-defense. Regarding the Miroh Heights killings, the defendant was unable to understand the significance of his criminal actions due to a pre-existing mental condition. He is acquitted from the death penalty, and will serve no prison time.

However, he will be transferred to a psychiatric institution and closely monitored for the time being. The suitable amount of time he is to spend there will be prescribed on a later date after the case is properly re-examined...

People were talking around you, one of your friends was calling your name, and you swore you even heard a few people clapping, but you weren’t listening anymore. There was only one other person on your mind.

When your eyes found Jisung’s face, he was looking straight at you — with the same look in his eyes that had given you butterflies the first time you met him, and the same look in his eyes you had seen before you had fallen unconscious, bleeding out in his arms.

He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

━━━━━━━━

“You had some nerve back there, Prosecutor Kim.”

The courtroom had been emptied out, and Seungmin had been collecting his files and notes when he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he thought he had misheard — people were buzzing outside in the lobby, the commotion so loud it seemed to be humming through the walls — but he turned around, and saw the judge walking up to him.

Bits and pieces of the trial came back to him, and Seungmin cringed inwardly as he met her hard gaze. Just how many lines had he crossed? Years of being careful, meticulous, completely down the drain—

“You had some nerve back there,” she repeated, and Seungmin lowered his eyes. He heard her sigh deeply. “But you’re a fine prosecutor, Kim.”

Stunned, Seungmin raised his head, and realised with a start that she was smiling at him. “I haven’t seen your kind in a while. It was refreshing, to say the least, and it puts me at ease to know that this field still has people like you.”

She tucked her glasses into her robes, turning to leave.

“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”

━━━━━━━━

“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”

Kang was blinded by flashing cameras the moment he stepped out from the holding cell. The older prosecutor’s eyes were dark as he was pushed through the mob of reporters and citizens, the guards flanking him making no effort to be gentle.

“Is it true you hid crucial evidence from your own prosecution?”

“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”

“How many other cases have you tampered with?”

“None!” Kang snarled at the reporter, desperation rising in his throat like bile. “Lies—I’ve never wrongfully convicted a single person. These are all—”

“You’re the liar.”

The crowd stopped, turning towards the voice that had shouted over them. Yang Jeongin was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just the sight of Kang was enough to make him tremble like a young child again, words stuck momentarily in his throat. This was the same man he had met in court all those years ago, the man who had mercilessly delivered his father’s life sentence with a snakelike smile on his pale lips. Taking a shaky breath, Jeongin mustered up his courage, and ran up to him.

“Please stop this already,” Jeongin pleaded, eyes searching Kang’s bewildered face for signs of guilt, remorse, anything. Kang didn’t seem to recognise him, and the young boy’s voice was breaking as he fought back tears. “Please tell the truth, just this once. I-I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—it doesn’t have to be this way—”

There was a gasp as a few reporters stumbled, and the crowd rippled forward. Kang was knocked off-balance, tumbling to the ground. He cursed, fumbling to get back on his feet — and saw a hand, outstretched towards him from a hoodie sleeve that was clearly too large for its owner. He looked up into the young boy’s face again, his fox-like eyes widened in concern, and finally realised with a jolt who he was talking to.

Nearly a decade ago, Kang thought — an old fool who had picked a fight with high-ranking company officials, no? And then the crackpot had pleaded with Kang, saying something about a son he had to take care of — a young boy—

Jeongin put his hand on Kang’s arm when the prosecutor didn’t move, and pulled him up. “Mr. Kang, my father—”

Feeling a sudden rage surge through his body, Kang drew his fist back and punched the boy across his jaw.

Jeongin crumpled to the ground, the side of his face already blooming with red. “You brat,” Kang seethed as cries of horror erupted from the crowd, guards seizing him and trying to pull him away. “What do you understand? Han Jisung, your old man — people like them don’t deserve to walk free.”

You had just stepped out of the courtroom when a commotion in the hallway had made you look over, the scene that had greeted your eyes making you freeze. Jeongin had been clutching Prosecutor Kang’s arm, looking up at the older man imploringly — and his expression had been genuinely kind, almost pitying, his mouth opening and closing frantically as though he were pleading with him. You had shaken your head in disbelief, trying to push through the throng of shocked citizens — only Yang Jeongin’s heart was big enough to look his parents’ tormentor in the eyes, and help him.

Then Kang had suddenly struck Jeongin, and now the delivery boy was curling up in pain on the ground as the prosecutor screamed at him.

“They were foolish enough — depraved enough — to violate those laws, and I charged them with what they deserved. It’s as simple as—”

The next thing you knew, you were in front of Kang, palm outstretched, and you had slapped him hard across the face.

The entire crowd fell dead silent, Jeongin looking up at you from the floor in dazed disbelief. Even Kang was speechless as he looked back at you, holding his jaw, eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

“It seems like you know everything about law, Prosecutor Kang,” you said, voice shaking with anger, “but you know nothing about being human.”

Kang opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out. The hallway was erupting in chaos again as cameras clicked and flashed eagerly. The guards began to drag Kang away before it could get more hectic, your last glimpses of the corrupt prosecutor disappearing behind the reporters’ bobbing heads. As you helped Jeongin up, checking his head worriedly, you felt a hand pull at your own arm. You turned to see Hyunjin, and judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.

“Is this just going to be a thing now?” The barista asked, side-eyeing you wearily as he held onto Jeongin protectively, “Are you just going to start slapping everyone who crosses you?”

“Maybe,” you muttered mutinously. “It’s faster, and less emotionally draining than negotiating.”

“You’re studying to be a therapist, y/n,” Hyunjin reminded you exasperatedly, and you let out a small laugh, pouting slightly. The barista smiled too, despite himself, and you both looked over at Jeongin. The boy’s eyes were staring over the crowd’s heads, through the lobby doors, and you realised he was watching the officers push Kang into the police cruiser — the man who had ruined his parents’ lives, finally handcuffed and headed where he was supposed to be.

You turned around, and caught sight of another familiar face further down the hallway, standing perfectly still despite the crowd of people rushing past around him.

Lee Minho’s face was turned away from you, his catlike eyes staring at something with the same, unfathomable expression you had come to grow so accustomed to. You remembered how you had once been afraid of the coroner and his strange, standoffish manner, but now, as you watched him from afar, you felt a small pang of sympathy. Minho always carried himself like a ghost, you realised — a shadow lingering in the corners of rooms and corridors, unsure if he was ever wanted.

You quickly excused yourself from Hyunjin and Jeongin and you began to push through the crowd towards the coroner. As you followed his gaze to the holding cell doors, they suddenly swung open, and Jisung stepped out into the hallway. Your steps slowed. The two stood facing each other for several long moments — two childhood friends, two lost children who had found their only sense of family — twisted though it had been — in each other. Minho’s face was hesitant, as if about to turn away, but Jisung had already begun walking up to him. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, Jisung’s back turned to you and Minho awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.

Then Jisung suddenly closed the gap between the two of them, and pulled Minho into a hug.

You watched as the ex-coroner’s mask finally shattered, the older boy’s face scrunching up like a child’s as he buried his head in Jisung’s shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs, as if something in him had finally been let go, a burden he had carried his entire life lifted off his chest.

Eventually, the guards stepped forward, and Minho pulled away. He looked at Jisung with a small smile on his face — the first genuine smile you had ever seen from him — and you managed to catch the words forming on his lips.

“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”

“He’ll probably need to go through a trial of his own.” Chan’s voice made you jump in surprise. He had come up beside you while you had been distracted, Felix and Woojin close behind him. He nodded at you by way of greeting before turning back to where Jisung was standing. “The coroner, I mean. But he’ll likely get around five years in prison, more or less.”

You watched as Minho was ushered away into another corridor, Jisung staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. Before you could reply, he turned around, eyes landing on yours — and all of a sudden, you forgot about the security guards flanking every doorway, the law officials and reporters brushing briskly past you. For a moment, it was as if it were only you and Jisung in the hallway, the entire world standing still around the two of you.

Since the last time you had spoken to him had ended with you slapping him in the face, you decided that it was only right for you to take the first step towards him. Slowly, feeling as if you were in a dream, you made your way towards him, Jisung walking the rest of the way to meet you in the middle.

“Hey, you.” Jisung’s voice was soft, nearly inaudible, not taking his hazel eyes off yours.

You heard Chan chuckle behind you, shaking his head as he threw his arms around Felix and Woojin’s shoulders to steer them away and leave you two in private. The hallways had nearly cleared out, and for the first time in what felt like forever — if you ignored the guards watching a little ways off from the holding cells — you and Jisung were alone together.

There were a thousand things racing through your mind right now, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Five years,” Jisung tentatively broke the silence again, and when you looked back at him in confusion, he continued, “in the psychiatric institute. They told me five years minimum, on watch. But I heard...it’s a nice place.”

His lopsided, sheepish smile was as infectious as ever, making one tug at your own lips. When Jisung saw you smile, he relaxed just the tiniest amount.

“Y-you’re going to be okay?” You finally asked, feeling your voice waver.

Jisung’s gaze softened, nodding. “You saved me.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. You knew he was talking about Seungmin’s arguments, Jeongin’s witness statements, the article you and Felix had published — but it all might have been for nothing, you thought, mind flashing back to the courtroom, if Jisung hadn’t finally stepped up from his chair and faced his lifelong traumas in the form of one last, truthful testimony. “Han Jisung, you saved yourself.”

He fell silent at that, and you saw his hand instinctively move towards yours for a split second before he quickly stopped himself. Jisung’s arms were floating by his sides, as if wanting to pull you close, but he was holding himself back. He was afraid, you finally realised — afraid that you would push him away, afraid to ever hurt you again. And for some, inexplicable reason, the idea of a rift between the two of you that could never be repaired seemed to hurt even more than a switchblade to the heart.

“For some reason, I’ve been thinking back to our first date,” Jisung cleared his throat, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He probably looked like a nervous schoolboy in front of his first love, Jisung thought, cringing at himself as he looked away from your curious gaze. Well, he added as an afterthought, that wouldn’t be too far off.

You were his first love, after all.

“I...I didn’t know how you felt that day,” Jisung continued, “or even the days after that, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was doing things right, or—”

“You took my breath away,” you cut him off, the honesty in your own words making your cheeks heat up. You thought back to the diner, to the blond boy who had rendered you speechless with a single heart-shaped smile. As an afterthought, you brought a hand to your rib cage, where a switchblade in that same boy’s hands had once punctured through your lungs, and you deadpanned, “literally.”

Eyebrows raising in disbelief, Jisung gave an incredulous laugh, but his gaze was fixed on the site of your wound. You could still see the deep guilt in his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, you reached for his hand, gingerly placing it where the knife had been. His skin was cool against your fingers, palm rough but familiar. “I’m okay, Jisung. It’s okay. But...why bring that up, all of a sudden?”

“I feel like that now,” he admitted softly, “the same feeling, but with a whole new set of butterflies. Always thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you feel about…”

“Us,” you finished for him, and Jisung nodded slowly. Us. The word hung between the two of you for a long moment, and you took a shaky breath. A part of you wanted to reassure him, to pull him into your arms as if nothing had ever changed. But another part of you pushed that feeling away, knowing deep down that it was too late, that too much had already happened between the two of you to just ignore.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, and you looked down, afraid to see the expression on his face. “I woke up that morning, and you were just...gone. I was so scared for you, I went looking for you...then one thing lead to another, and before we all knew it, the world had turned upside down. I-it might sound selfish, but after all...this, I think I’m going to need some...time.” You finally lifted your eyes up to his face, heart pounding. For a terrifying second, you thought you saw a flash of pain skip across Jisung’s pupils — but before you could be sure, his face broke into a relieved smile.

“You’ve always been like this, you know?” He sighed, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then, contrary to what you had expected, Jisung visibly relaxed. “Worrying about other people before taking care of yourself. You’re not being selfish, okay? Don’t...worry about hurting me anymore.”

You stared at him, the genuine warmth in his words suddenly making your throat close up with stunned tears. Jisung’s eyes, you remembered, had always seemed glazed over and unfocused — as if his mind was trapped somewhere else, far, far away. But as he looked back at you now, you were suddenly hit by how...clear they had become. He was here, perfectly focused on you, eyes filled with what you could only describe as pure adoration.

“I need time, too,” Jisung continued quickly, “I have...so many things I need to fix, to work on, and get better at—”

You shook your head furiously then, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you held onto his wrist. “W-want to love every part of you,” you whispered, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Don’t...don’t hide any parts of yourself, ever again. Okay?”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, brow furrowed as he gingerly wiped your tears, and finally gave a small nod. He cradled your face in his hands, eyes trying to memorise your features as though you were the most beautiful thing he would ever see. To someone else, you thought vaguely, you might have looked insane. A killer’s hands, they might have said, bloodstained hands. But as you gazed up at Jisung, all you saw was a boy who had gone through hell and came back smiling, a boy who loved you more than life itself.

You heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see several security guards making their way towards Jisung. “Mr. Han,” one called gruffly, “it’s time to go.”

The sudden interruption made your mind go blank momentarily as any reasonable words — goodbye, take care — immediately dissolved on your tongue. The guards were getting closer and closer, and Jisung turned back to you, stammering.

“If you ever want to—to do this whole...love thing again, start over properly, I—I promise I’ll try not to screw it up. I mean, if you’re sure—and only if you’re sure,” he paused then, sounding suddenly flustered, and for a second, he was your tousled-hair, golden boy from the diner again, soft cheeks flushed like windblown peach roses, eyes unsure yet hopeful as a child’s. This was the boy you had fallen in love with, over blueberry pancakes and Chinese takeout, on seemingly endless nights and through the darkest thunderstorms. Ever since you had made that promise, in a children’s playground beneath the setting sun, you knew that somehow, no matter what fate had left in store, you would always find your way back to him.

Jisung was already being ushered away, the sudden absence of his touch on your skin leaving you feeling empty — but his last words brought a smile to your tearstained face.

“...I’ll be waiting.”

ryu says:

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who made it to the end of this series; to everyone who came on this long journey with me, you made it possible and amazing every step of the way. at times, as my first ever series and long-term project, it was both daunting and terrifying, but i am beyond happy and honoured i could experience it with you.

i’ll see you in the epilogue.

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tulsa-trash · 4 years ago

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Bob Sheldon Headcanons

WARNING(S): Mentions of alcohol abuse, physical abuse, death; got angsty towards the end there god damn—

Has an older brother named Gordon who moved away to go to law school, they’re a little over 4 years apart. They were never really close, due to their father creating unnecessary competition between them since they were younger. He doesn’t like talking about him much.

Mr. Sheldon would always compare Bob to Gordon, saying that Bob “ought to be more like his big brother instead of screwing around all the time.” Overtime Bob grew to resent his old man a whole lot.

Mrs. Sheldon is a chain smoker, she tried her best to hide it from the family but eventually Bob found out. Most of the time after she gets into a fight with her husband, she locks herself in one of their bathrooms, opens the window, and silently lights a cigarette as she stews by herself. One night she forgot to lock the door and Bob walked in on her. He promised he wouldn’t tell dad.

He tended to favor his momma over his daddy, she spoiled him more and he felt she was always easier to talk to than dad.

His parents have a decent age gap, his mother being eleven years younger than his father. They’d known each other since they were kids, his dad was best friends with one of his mom’s brothers growing up.

Being spoiled rotten with tons of cash throughout life has its pros and cons. Despite always coming off as cocky and entitled, deep down bob hated being a soc. At the age of 18 he already had all the money, nice clothes, popularity, and dr*gs he could ever want, so why even try?

He had no goals for himself, didn’t want to go to college, didn’t want to work, he could really care less about all that. He had a tuff car and he was dating one of the hottest gals in school, that was all that was important to him.

He met his best friend, Randy, in kindergarten. They went to catholic school together, they’re parents even get along well. Both of their childhoods were spent visiting each other’s houses and going to family cookouts often.

His dad forced him to join a baseball league in seventh grade, even though Bob expressed he didn’t like it his dad made him stick with it for a few years. He was eventually kicked off the varsity team his sophomore year in high school for excessive drinking, along with constantly butting heads with his teammates and the coach.

The only good thing he got out of baseball was watching Cherry Valance preform with the cheerleaders at his games, that’s how their relationship started.

He’s secretly blind as a bat, but he refuses to wear glasses. Bob found out he desperately needed glasses in the third grade. once all the kids in his class seen him with those thick-brimmed, magnifying glasses it was all over. he was teased ruthlessly to the point where he just stopped wearing them and never put them on again.

“What happened to those god awful goggles, Sheldon?”

“Psh. They were fake I wore em as a joke.” 😅

^ That forced him to sit in the front of class a lot so he didn’t have to struggle as much to see the board. Even though the poor b*stard was blind the entire time, it made him used to getting called on by the teachers and chatting with his classmates. He was one of the most popular boys in town in no time.

Mr. Sheldon slowly became an alcoholic as his boys grew up. He went from one glass of scotch at night to taking a shot immediately when he wakes up in the morning and being plastered by the afternoon. Usually he’s a sluggish drunk, but god forbid he gets to drinking when he’s mad.

His old man was terrifying when he was both intoxicated and livid. He never put his hands on his wife but there have been multiple drunken episodes where he either destroyed sh*t in the house... or he’d beat Bob.

If you were to ask Bob if he would rather get hit with a belt or his dad’s hands, he would pick the belt. Even the metal part hitting him was no where near as painful as his father’s closed-fist strikes with his gold rings. If Bob had a good buzz on it numbed the pain a bit, so he tried his best to be hammered before he got home most nights.

His mother never stepped in or said anything about it, she’d clean up her husband’s mess and go to bed. The next morning the family would act as if it didn’t happen. They had to maintain their pristine reputation of course, wouldn’t want the neighborhood to know both Mr. Sheldon and his youngest son had drinking problems. Bob eventually couldn’t even stand his mom anymore. He hated them.

Mrs. Sheldon hated herself too, and her husband. She knew her baby boy was f*cked up because of them, the guilt ate away at her every day. Deep down in her heart she knew her son was drinking and causing trouble because of how he was brought up— how he was being treated at home... and she did nothing about it.

The mixture of bullies at school and his own personal bully at home molded him into being the arrogant and angry a*shole we’ve come to know. No one would be able to hurt him if he just beat them to it and hurt them first... right?

One night things got really bad, Bob’s report card came in the mail while he was out on a date with Cherry. His daddy was displeased, to say the least, 3 bold F’s sat on the paper.

“That no good son of a b*tch is lucky he ain’t home.” Mr. Sheldon spat as he slammed the report card on the dining room table, his wife visibly flinched.

When Bob got home that night he was already fired up, some greasers were trying to make a move on Cherry and Randy’s girl, Marcia, at the Nightly Double. The last thing he expected when he got home was to see his mother sweeping up broken glass while nursing a busted lip and a black eye.

They held eye contact for a long moment, neither of them said a word. His mother looked at him with so much pain, so much regret in her eyes, tears silently rolled down her cheeks. Bob turned around and left wordlessly.

He picked up a few of his friends, stopped by the liquor store, then began to look for some trouble. He immediately drove to the east side of town to look for some greasers to mess with, and after only fifteen minutes of cruising his eyes landed two younger boys from the drive-in earlier that night.

“Jackpot.” He slurred to himself as he turned his car onto the grass and pulled up to the park.

Whoever wasn’t helping Bob restrain the greaser he was drowning was beating the second boy in the grass. Every now and then Bob would pull the kid out of the water only to shove him back in almost immediately. He held him under the water, the cold liquid splashed everywhere managing to soak everyone near the fountain but he didn’t care... he couldn’t feel a thing.

The other greaser was shouting, his pals continued to egg him on as he continued swing the greaser’s head back and forth wildly under the water. He didn’t even know what anyone was saying, he wasn’t paying attention, all his focus was directly on hurting the individual in his grasp.

Red. Everything was fine until Bob noticed the water was changing colors. His ears were ringing, all he could hear was the faint sound of footsteps rapidly getting lower and lower, farther away. There was no more yelling, no more voices.

“Did I k.ill him?” He thought to himself, immediate regret and fear flooding over him.

He let go of the kids shirt and fell over with a soft thud, a sharp pain erupted from his torso. His hand lightly touched the left side of his ribs and there it was... warm, red liquid coated his fingertips after he pulled his hand away. It was then he noticed the other greaser, the tan boy frantically pulled his friend out of the water and laid him down on the cold concrete.

“P-Pony? Ponyboy?” He shook violently, his right fist held a switchblade tightly. “Oh god... what did I do... what did I do.”

Bob watched him slowly sink to the ground, his back resting against the side of the fountain as he began to sob. His eyes flickered to the unconscious kid, Ponyboy. He didn’t understand how his body went from hot to cold as fast as it did, the reality of the situation was crashing down on him like a ton of bricks, he knew he was going to die.

He looked up at the sky and took in a strangled breath before wincing in pain. To his left he noticed his flask— his dads old flask, it was his eighteenth birthday gift. The thought of his father’s proud face as he handed it to him that day made Bob sick. He reached for it, the cold metal on his palm soothed him a bit. He weakly unscrewed the cap and went to take a sip, only to realize it was empty. Johnny watched him the entire time with a horrified gaze, but Bob didn’t seem to notice.

“Damn... that’s a shame.” The Soc grumbled to himself.

He tossed it, making it land a few feet away in the grass. His attention returned to the starry sky, a light feeling crept its way in his chest. He couldn’t tell if that was just him dying or if it was something else, but after eighteen years of being in this world his finally took the time to stop and look at how beautiful the sky was for the first and last time. He was scared, he didn’t want to go so soon, yet at the same time... he was relieved.

“Wow...” Bob sighed, “Ain’t this something else.”

His vision began to blur, tears— or was that also death? He felt the salty streams creep past his eyelids and run down the corners of his eyes. He was ready.

With one final breath, he passed away. His eyes never closed, he died looking at the stars.

#the outsiders #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders hcs #the outsiders fandom #bob sheldon #cherry valance #robert sheldon #bob sheldon imagine #bob sheldon headcanons #bob sheldon hcs

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hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis · 4 years ago

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The Distance Between Us: 01. Escape from Hell

Summary: Alexandria Eaton is the youngest child of Marcus Eaton. What will happen when she defects from Abnegation and decides to follow in her older brother’s footsteps. Can she make it through Dauntless initiation with her secret or will she find herself in the factionless? And what will happen when the most cold-hearted leader takes an interest in her?

Post Date: 05.10.21

Word count: 2.2k

Pairing: Eric Coulter x OC

Masterlist

DBU Masterlist

Warning: child abuse (just this first part)

Today is the day. The day that I get to start my new life away from this hell. It’s the day I take my aptitude test and tomorrow I can leave. Although I already know what I want, I’m still scared of the consequences of my actions. What is my father, Marcus, going to think of me? The factions, are they going to think something is wrong when the second child of the leader of Abnegation defects from her home Faction? I quickly try to get rid of these thoughts and start getting ready for the testing.

I get dressed in a long grey skirt and a tank top. I then put my caramel brown hair in a neat low bun and open the mirror. I check to see if I need to fix my bun and look at myself studying the blue and purple bruises on my arms in the mirror. I leave the mirror open a little longer than I should have, the next thing I know it’s slammed shut.

“Too long,” The raspy voice of my father says.

“Sorry,” I respond quietly.

“You know better, Alexandria,” he says as he grabs my wrist tightly and pulls me from the chair and onto the ground. I stay on the ground while he goes over to grab a belt, afraid of more consequences for fighting back. The next thing I know he’s punishing me for leaving the mirror open too long. All I could feel was pain shooting throughout my body, as he hits me from all angles on my already bruised skin.

“Now finish getting ready, it would be a shame if you were late, representing me and this faction.” He says, with one tight grab of my wrist pulling me up. He expects me to upkeep our reputation since my brother had left and regardless of what happens in our house, I’m not allowed to speak about it. Especially now that Erudite is trying to discredit Abnegation.

I then slowly slip on a loose long sleeve shirt, trying to ignore the pain. I grab my bag and go to meet my best friend, Beatrice Prior, and her brother, Caleb Prior, outside their house. I met her just after my brother had left and she is the closest thing to a real family, she had become my escape and my rock. We knew that no matter what faction we’d choose, we’d be happy for each other. After a few minutes of waiting they finally come outside.

“Hey Alexandria, you ready?” Beatrice says hugging me as I try not to wince.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, you guys?” I respond looking between her and her brother.

“I’m nervous,” Beatrice says.

“ Let me help you with that,” Caleb says, running over to an elderly woman to help her. I follow quickly behind and grab a few items.

“Beatrice, do you wanna get the other bags?” Caleb questions looking over at her.

After helping the elderly women we continue to walk to where the aptitude test is administered. I tune out most of the conversation Beatrice and Caleb are having. We finally arrived at the building and get in line behind the Abnegation doors. While we are waiting in line we hear a boy from Candor talking to a group of kids from Abnegation, although it doesn’t sound like a friendly one. I see the boy shove one of the kids from Abnegation and see Beatrice step forward slightly before Caleb stops her, “Beatrice...Don’t” She looks at me to see if I disagree with him, but I shake my head letting her know it would be a bad idea.

The next thing we hear is a train approaching, signaling that Dauntless has arrived. They’re yelling and shouting while they jump off the moving train. It makes me wonder if that train ever stops. A few moments later the doors open and we were put into rooms. There were kids from all of the five factions, Candor, Dauntless, Abnegation, Amity, and Erudite. Luckily I was in the same room with Beatrice and Caleb, I definitely felt way more comfortable with them.

“One hundred years ago, after the war, our founders created a system they believed would prevent future conflict and create lasting peace. Today, aptitude testing based on your personality will assign you to one of the factions. While it is our belief that choosing the faction indicated by your test is the best way to ensure success within the faction system, it is your right tomorrow at the choosing ceremony to choose any of the five factions, regardless of your test results. However, once the choice has been made, there will be no change permitted.” The woman in front of the room said.

We were then split into smaller groups to go into the testing rooms. Beatrice and Caleb went before me. When their group was done, I only saw Caleb walk back in and Beatrice was nowhere to be found. I was then called up to be tested. Once everyone in my group had gotten to the doors of their room they opened simultaneously. I walked in and I noticed that my test was being administered by a woman from Dauntless. It was no surprise since we can’t be tested by someone from our own faction.

“My name is Tori, have a seat.” She said sounding like she didn’t want to be here. I sit down in the metal chair. Although I’m wearing long clothing I still felt the coldness on my skin. It felt soothing to my bruised skin.

“You'll be offered a series of choices to test your aptitude for each faction until you get one result. 95% get the faction of their origin,” Tori says, explaining how the test works as I sit quietly, trying not to look at myself in the mirror-like walls. She hands me a small glass of blue liquid and gestures for me to drink it. I don’t hesitate to drink it, wanting the test to be over as soon as possible.

I close my eyes and when I open them I find myself in the same room except Tori isn’t there. I got up from the seat and looked around and found two pedestals. One with a knife. The other with a large piece of meat.

“Choose” I hear my own voice say. I study both items but soon enough they both disappear and I hear a dog bark from my right side. I try to calm the dog, but I didn’t have any success. I then think that dogs can sense fear. I calmed my breathing and sat on the ground to get to the dog’s level. The next thing I know the aggressive dog becomes a puppy, I give him a little scratch behind the ear.

I then hear a little girl point out the dog, but when I turn back the puppy had turned back into the aggressive dog it once was. The dog starts to chase the little girl. I run after them and get in between the little girl and the dog. When the dog had jumped onto me, I wake up suddenly from the simulation.

“Shit, not again” I hear Tori whisper. I look at her with a confused look.

“What happened?” I ask her as she guides me to the door.

“Your test results were inconclusive. They were Dauntless, Abnegation, and Erudite. You can’t tell anyone. I manually entered Abnegation as your results” she explains to me in a hushed voice.

“Wait what does that mean?” I question.

“You’re Divergent, you don’t fit in just one faction.” She says and then opens the door and pushes me out.

For the rest of the day, I sat in silence, and not looking forward to going home. I walked with Caleb back to Abnegation since the serum had made Beatrice sick and she left early. I came home to my father sitting in the living room drinking a beer.

“How did the test go?” He asks even though I knew he didn’t genuinely care.

“Fine,” I respond quickly.

“Regardless of your results, you know what faction to choose if you know what’s best for you,” He says as he finishes his beer.

“I know,” I say as I sit across from him knowing this conversation won’t end quickly.

“You know, maybe I should take some precautions. In case you do leave,” Marcus says and he grabs my wrist and drags me to a chair in the dining room. He sits me down and tells me not to move unless I want more consequences.

He rolls up my sleeves, high enough so no one else would notice the marks he leaves. As I look at a few of the previous scars he’s left, he breaks the beer bottle he had just finished against the table making me flinch at the noise of the glass breaking. He picks up a small sharp piece and digs it into my left arm. I let out a small yelp, which causes him to put his hand over my mouth and shove another piece of glass into my leg. He drags it down my leg, it rips my skirt, letting blood bleed into the fabric. I try to keep myself from being audible as my eyes start to tear up from trying to stay silent.

“This is for your brother leaving and for you if you leave too. If you tell anyone about this, just know what will be waiting the next time I see you.” He says menacingly, leaving me sitting teary-eyed with glass stuck in me.

I slowly take out the glass he left in my leg and arm. And clean it up as soon as possible. I head to bed, not caring that I’m still in my bloody clothes. I just can’t wait to leave, regardless of the repercussions. The next morning I was sore after my punishment from the night before making it hard for me to get up and walk. I hear a knock on my door and go to open it.

“We’re leaving in 30 minutes. You better be ready by then. And get rid of those clothes,” Marcus says and walks away.

I change out of my bloody clothes and into a similar set of clothes. I hate the Abnegation dress code. I finish getting ready and wait in the living room for my father. We walk together with the Prior family to the Choosing Ceremony. Beatrice, Caleb, and I walk in silence while our parents talk a bit about their jobs and old family memories. I hate how my father acts all happy and makes us look like we’re a perfect family, it disgusts me how people buy it.

We make it to the choosing ceremony and are sat down next to the Prior Family. A woman from Erudite, Jeannie Matthews, had the honor of the opening speech this year. After her speech, my father went up to call the names of the kids participating in the choosing ceremony. A few kids stayed in their home faction while others left, you could hear the upset parents in the crowd.

Next up was Caleb, he chose Erudite. It was a complete surprise knowing that they have been trying to take control of the government and discredit Abnegation. Then it was Beatrice's turn, she was up there for some time, I could tell that she was struggling to choose what faction to pick. At the last moment, she let her blood drop over the hot coals, which signifies Dauntless. Roars erupted from their side of the room.

A few more kids went up before I heard my father call my name. I slowly got up out of my seat and made my way to the stage. I saw the look in my father's eyes telling me to stay where I am or else. But I didn’t let that scare me. I picked up the knife and cut the palm of my hand, thinking about what happened the previous night. Before I could even process anything, I quickly put my hand over the burning coals and squeezed my hand to let my blood drop as fast as possible. “Dauntless” I hear my father’s voice boom through the auditorium and a few quiet gasps from the crowd. I knew I had made a bad choice for Abnegation, almost confirming for Erudite that Abnegation is not worthy of being the governing faction now that all four children of leaders had left. But I didn’t care, there was nothing good left for me in Abnegation except Beatrice and she had chosen to leave and join Dauntless as well, all I could think about was getting away from him.

I look slightly up and see the face of my father looking like he wants to murder me. I quickly pick up a pad and cover the cut on my hand and make my way to the Dauntless side as they cheered for another one of their newest members. They had opened a seat next to Beatrice for me. I sit down trying to feel relieved that my father can no longer hurt me but I can see him glaring at me from across the room. I was anxious for the ceremony to be over so I can never see his face again.

A/N: Here is the first part of DBU! There isn’t going to be a set schedule for this series, but I will try to update as often as possible. I already have the second part written and that will probably go up later this week. Also, the age for this series is 18, for choosing ceremony (just makes sense), and it will be based on the movies solely. I'm not sure how far i'll go into this series, but i will at least complete the first movie. Please lmk what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist! Thanks for reading!

#beatrice prior #caleb prior #abnegation #eric coulter imagine #dauntless #marcus eaton #divergentDBU

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ilove-cedricdiggory · 5 years ago

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Kiss away the insecurities and pain

George x Reader

Requested? No, I just had this idea for a hot minute and needed some George fluff too

Summary - After Draco speaks down on your size, your head is full of the insecurities and your heart is full of the pain.

Trigger Warning - Plus size reader bullying, family abuse,

Your tears slipped down your face, sniffles leaving your lips softly. You were quite used to tears caused by Draco Malfoy, seeing as the pure blood considered you quite a disgrace. Your heart hurt at the thought of people seeing you like he said, especially your boyfriend, George.

You were bigger than most students at Hogwarts, your hips were what muggles called, child birthing hips, your thighs containing more stretch marks than you could count, let alone with both hands, and your tummy was quite the pillow for anyone you trusted to let rest their head on it.

For the most part, that spot was reserved for your amazing boyfriend, George, but you occasionally let your friends cuddle up with you, seeing as how they all commended you on your snuggling skills.

But, Malfoy had just cornered you, Crabbe and Goyle on each side, insulting you about as bad as your entire family did each time the school year ended and you were taken back to their grasps.

"As wide as an elephant." He laughed, looking back at Goyle. "Thighs bigger than the heads of our entire class." He perked in, satisfying the blonde. "I bet it takes three wands to lift her up in the air."

The words bounced in your head, shaking you to your core. The loudest of them all, being what Draco called out as you rushed out of the hallways, "Weasley's probably laughing at her every time she's gone. I bet Lee and Fred dared him to see how long he could last." The sharp words dug holes into your head, insecurities filling up every gap. There were many spaces filled to the brim with insecurities due to your family, but these were the first real ones you had with your relationship.

You had always been precautions with getting into any relationship, especially a romantic one. But George always reassured you that he was in this with you because of your personality, not because of your looks, but either way, he thought you were absolutely stunning. He loved your size, loved the idea of their being more of you to love. To kiss every inch of your skin, to love every ounce of your skin.

But, you hadn't ever considered this to be a dare. You knew Fred and George dared each other to do quite a bit of crazy things, but would they ever play with someone's feelings like this? They wouldn't do that to someone, would they?

No.

No they wouldn't, what were you thinking?

Well...George only really ever dated skinny people before you. People who felt confident in wearing crop tops on warmer days, girls who's thighs together were the size of one of your own. George never dated anyone bigger before you...

That doesn't mean he's playing with me, or was dared to date me, no way.

Tears fell from your cheeks, the inner turmoil digging the insecurities further into your skull.

You weren't sure what time it was when your roommates walked into your room, but each of them had questions for you.

"Where were you? Where have you been?" Their voices were right out of your closed curtains. You kept your eyes shut, hoping they would consider you asleep. After a few more moments, they walked off, although you weren't sure if it was due to them believing you were sleeping, or just annoyed from your silence.

The next morning came, and you still stayed still in bed. You heard your friends come close to your bed, but walk off, moving down stairs to bed. Once you confirmed it was just yourself, you peeled off of your bed and slipped on some of your muggle sweatpants and a bigger sweater, one you purposely bought to be bigger so it could surround you. You silently moved out of your common room, down the hallways, and into the medical wing. Maybe you could convince Madam Pomfrey you were under the weather and give you an excuse to stay in bed.

She took one look at your face, sighed softly, and moved to hug you tightly. Your cheeks still red and puffy from all the tears shed, your eyelashes still damp from the way you fell asleep. Before you said a word, she guided you to a bed and handed you a mug. "It's hot cocoa. You can't stay for longer than today, but I'll tell your professors you're suck and staying in here with me." You were incredibly grateful for the woman, taking a sip of the warm liquid before curling into a ball on the bed.

You hoped George wouldn't hear anything of your recent wearabouts, but you knew your professors would question him about your illness, all of them knowing about your relationship status with the red head.

The hours ticked along, Pomfrey bringing you food, but for the most part, it sat on your bedside table, untouched. Right as you began to drift off to sleep once more, the doors slammed open, causing a bang to vibrate through the colder area. "Mr. Weasley's! What in earth are you doing?" Pomfrey immediately began scolding the two boys, glaring at them.

While you expected George, you still expected Fred, seeing as you had been best friends with them long before you and George began to date. You got them out of punishment your second year and they decided to keep you around. Fred had comforted you after small fights with George, laughed with you while his twin was stuck in the library, trying to understand a lesson he missed, or sat with you at dinner when George had his own detention.

"Madam Pomfrey, where is she? I haven't seen her in two days!" The voice of your boyfriend spoke to the older woman, trying to glance behind her to find your bed. "Mr. Weasley's, she can't have visitors right now, I'm sorry." She began to push them out, closing the doors behind them.

"She has to! I need to see her, we both do! Is she okay? What's wrong with her?" The two were finishing each other's sentences, trying to communicate to the older woman how badly they needed to see you. She glanced back at you, watching as you shook your head no quite quickly. Raising an eyebrow, she opened the doors once more, letting the two in. "Madam Pomfrey!" You groaned, turning over to your other side quickly.

This woman.

You heard their footsteps rush to your bed quickly, finding your covered bed quite quickly, seeing as you were the only one in here. "Your eyes squeezed shut, attempting to keep the tears from slipping from them once more, hoping they would believe you were asleep, even though you were talking moments ago.

"Hey love." George sat right on your bed, Fred taking the seat behind you. "How you feeling?" He asked softly, running his fingers through your hair softly. After a minute of unresponsiveness from you, he sighed softly. "We know you're awake." Fred's voice spoke this time, moving to stand, looking down at you.

You sighed, turning to look up at the two red heads, praying to whatever God was there that your face had calmed down from your last crying fit. But, alas, you were left to curse whoever was out there, seeing both of their faces scrunch up in confusion. "Are you okay love? Are you in pain? I thought Pomfrey would have given you something for pain." George mumbled, looking up to glare at the office, knowing she was in there.

"George, there isn't anything she can give me for this." You mumbled, looking away from them both.

"What on earth are you talking about? I thought the woman had a potion for everything." Fred said, moving to turn around to speak to the healer himself. You quickly grasped onto his wrist, keeping him still.

"I'm not sick, Fred. It was just Malfoy." You whispered, biting your lip at the admission. "What did the git do? Owl Lee, tell him to start grabbing some puking pasties." George spoke to his twin, hate already filling his eyes. "Love, it's nothing I haven't heard before." Your voice grew softer somehow, your heart hurting.

Both Fred and George knew about the abuse from your family, having comforted you many times as you sobbed into their chests. They both wished they could hex every person that spoke to you like that. George's arms quickly wrapped around your frame, pulling you to him, leaving space for Fred to sit on the bed himself. "What did he say?" Fred asked softly, hate filling his entire being.

"Just, normal stuff." You whispered, but felt George gruff at that. "No, what did he say, my love." George hating having to push this stuff from you, but also knew if you didn't speak it out, it would stay in your head for yourself to hear, over and over again.

"He, uh, he said I was the size of an elephant, that my thighs were bigger than everyone's heads in our class combined, that it takes" tears filled your eyes, slipping down your cheeks as you spoke the words into the air. "That it takes three wands to lift me up and uh." You paused, not wanting to admit to the two what was being said about your relationship, with either of them.

"Hey, come on, you can tell us." George's warm thumbs wiped the tears from your cheeks, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You peered up at the boy, the boy you were madly in love with, and wanted to sob at the idea of having ever thought he would date you as a dare. He was the kindest, sweetest man you had ever met, besides his father, and you knew he loved you incredibly. You sighed, looking over at Fred, seeing him nod slightly, smiling at you.

"He, uh, he said that you were only dating me because Fred and Lee dared you to. That when I wasn't around, you guys probably laughed at the idea of me being with you." You whispered, finding yourself hating Draco about as much as you did your family. To put this kind of fear and insecurity about, not only yourself, but your relationship, had you disgusted.

Fred stood up abruptly, grabbing a spare parchment and pen from another side table, writing ferociously on it. "I'm going to bloody kill him. I'm going to kill him." George mumbled in your ear, holding onto you tighter. "George, I can't kiss you in Azkaban." You tried, hoping to see him crack a smile. "I'll take his place, they won't know the difference." Fred said, continuing to write on the paper. "Freddy, who's going to make me smile when George is in detention?" You hoped to get both of their attention once more, wanting to calm the twins down.

They began to speak to each other, planning what you assumed was the death of Draco Malfoy. "Fred Weasley, George Weasley." You interrupted, looking at the two. "While I want nothing more for a revenge to be set on the Malfoy, can we please just calm down for a second?" You whispered, looking at the boys. "I just want George cuddles and Fred jokes for a bit, please." Your heart hurt less with the honesty of your words to the boys, but your head looked down, hating having to ask for comfort.

Both the boys stilled, looking at you with regret and shamefulness. "Sorry." They both mumbled, George wrapping his arms around you tighter as Fred sat back in his seat. George pulled you into his lap, his hands running through your hair. "First off, you don't believe we'd ever do anything like that to you, do you?" His voice was shaky, afraid of you're response.

"Right after it happened, I was arguing with myself about it. My head was full of the insecurities, from Draco and my family, but my heart knew better. You two would never hurt me, especially not like that. Maybe an accidental prank, but that's the worse you two would ever do to me." You spoke, looking between the both of them. Fred smiled, nodding at you before George kissed you softly. "Secondly." Fred spoke, clearing his throat. "The last thing you should ever worry about is your size, y/n." He was soft spoken, a tone you only heard when he was serious.

"You're absolutely beautiful, incredibly smart, and so much more than your size of clothes. Draco Malfoy and your family are so incredibly insecure for trying to make you feel bad about yourself like that. So, so stupid." George kissed your head, attempting to calm himself down.

"I just, I hate the idea of people seeing me as nothing more than my size." You mumbled, looking up at the twins. "Y/n, you are so incredibly more than your size. Anyone who refuses to see that is nothing more than their stupidity." You smiled, laughing softly at them.

"Now, can we please go back to the common room to plan the sweet revenge on the twat?" Fred asked, George slowly standing the two of you up. You all walked to Pomfrey's office, thanking her for letting you stay for the day before you walked hand in hand with George.

You knew, no matter what was said about your size, Fred and George Weasley would always be there to make you smile, and George would always be there to kiss away the insecurities and pain.

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obxsummer · 5 years ago

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Hurricane // The Pogues

word count: 1.6k

pairing: platonic!core four x reader

warnings: angsty, phsyical abuse, cursing

summary: you weren’t sure how fast it all happened, but you found a family in the pogues. luckily, with a one worded message, they come to your side when you need them most.

request: hello! maybe something about being friends with all the pogues and then something happens to you and they all like take care of you or whatever, you can take this however you like!! thank you

a/n: took a darker twist with this like i usually do oops. italics are a flashback! hope you guys enjoy this!

masterlist

ask me anything (I’m all caught up with my requests so send some more!!)

You weren’t quite sure how you ended up in this position. It was practically monsooning outside as you sat on the floor of your bedroom, curled in a ball. You had heard the news through the door of your room enough to understand a major tropical storm was hitting the coast, but that didn’t matter.

About three years ago, your parents had disappeared, leaving you to the custody of your aunt who wanted nothing to do with you. At first, it was fine. There wasn’t much arguing, you just did your own thing and stayed out of her way as much as you could, spending your time with the resident Pogues who you called your own family. After the first year, things started getting iffy. Your aunt started seeing people and coming back completely drunk, taking her emotions out on you no matter what the cost, whether it helped her or not.

Your friends never knew the full intensity of what was hiding behind closed doors. You didn’t want to seem weak, or ungrateful because really, living with her had given you the best friends you could ever ask for, but you were struggling.

It was a particularly bad week. Your aunt’s supposed boyfriend had cheated on her, something she found to be your fault for some reason. You had plans with the group tonight, but once she stormed through the door in a fury, you knew it wasn’t happening. Seeing the darkness in her eyes, the anger, you quickly sent a text in the group chat before the first slap connected to your cheek.

“What if you ran away?” JJ asked as he sat across from you in the sand. “Would she notice? You could just stay here, with us, all the time.”

You shook your head, leaning back against the piece of driftwood behind you. “I need to wait until I’m 18. That way I can get what my parents left behind, maybe enough to find my own place here and get away from her.”

“What if something happens before then?” Kiara was worried. Not only did JJ have battles with his father, but learning your aunt was just as bad had her clearly upset. She hated knowing you guys had to struggle through any of that. “You guys, seriously. What if one day something happens and you need help?”

Pope snapped his fingers as he thought of an idea. “A code word. If it’s ever really bad, you could send like…” He trailed off as he tried to think of a word.

“Hurricane,” You mumbled as you played with the sand under your fingers. JJ hummed since he couldn’t hear you which made you speak up again. “Hurricane, because they’re dangerous, deadly even.”

John B nodded. “Then we have it. If anyone ever needs us to drop everything and help, send a hurricane.”

You prayed the little blue bubble had sent across your screen, the code word in place as you collided with the ground. Your aunt was in a rage as she continued to attack you left and right, the gems of her jewelry slicing your skin. Her hand latched in your hair as she dragged you up the stairs leaving barely any time to keep up with her. She slammed you against the wall just outside of your room.

You felt your head rattle with the action, pain surging through you as you winced. “God, I knew I should’ve declined that call when they asked if I could take you in. Nothing good has come out of it!” Her nails dug into your shoulder, making you whimper as she drew blood. She threw your door open and practically kicked you inside, slamming it shut as you landed in a heap on the floor.

Your lung burned as you fought to breathe through the pain in your ribs. You curled into a ball in an attempt to ease the strain on your body as you tried to catch your breath. Your arms were bleeding from your aunt’s nails, scalp sore from her ripping on your hair. You weren’t sure how bad everything was, but you also didn’t want to find out.

“Where is she?” John B’s shout echoed through the entire house. You could hear more yelling, something crashing against the floor. Footsteps pounded on the stairs before your door was opened again.

You flinched when someone’s hand touched your shoulder. “No!” You whined as you squeezed yourself in a tighter ball to prevent further harm.

“Y/N/N, come on, babe. It’s me. We gotta move.” JJ’s hands were gentle as he shifted you so he could see your face. Kiara leaned down, her fingers brushing the deep scratch on your arms before she kneeled next to you. After a moment of consolation, you released your tight grip and blinked up at them, fighting the tears in your eyes.

“Fuck,” Kiara mumbled as she wiped the water from your cheeks. “Come on. JJ, get her out to the van. I’ll get her stuff.”

You let out a small scream as JJ lifted you off the ground, earning instant apologies as he moved from the room. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.” You closed your eyes tightly, waiting for the pain to pass as JJ climbed down the stairs carefully.

“Is she okay?” Pope’s voice filled your ears as you looked over. Broken glass was scattered amongst the floor but your aunt was nowhere in sight. Thankfully both boys looked completely fine with zero evidence of injury on them.

John B caught your curious eyes and answered your inevitable question. “She left. Said she wasn’t drunk enough to deal with this. We don’t know where she went.”

“Kie’s getting her stuff together. Will one of you help her?” JJ nudged his head up the stairs, to which Pope responded and ran up to assist his friend. John B set a hand on JJ’s shoulder as he took into account your injuries. He shook his head before moving towards the door. JJ tried to shield you from the rain as the two of them ran towards the van.

You whimpered as JJ shifted awkwardly to place you on the seat, earning more apologies from the blonde boy. “You’re fine, I’m fine. It’s okay,” You mumbled. John B took over helping you while JJ ran back inside to help the other two.

“Hey,” He whispered as he sat by your side. You gave him a forced smile in return as he grabbed your hand and squeezed it. John B had always been a brother figure, someone you could share anything with and you weren’t afraid to let him see when something was wrong.

“Hi,” You mumbled back as his thumb rubbed against the back of your hand. “Thank you. For saving me.”

John B swore he would cry at the tone in your voice. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “Can you sit up for me? I gotta get your shirt off if that’s okay.” You nodded, biting your cheek as he helped you sit up. His hands were careful as he pulled your t-shirt over your head, leaving you in your shorts and sports bra. “Shit, Y/N.”

You almost didn’t glance down, his reaction being enough to let you know that it was bad. Your ribs were turning an ugly purple color, slightly swollen. You exhaled, laying back against the seat. You were overwhelmed with the events of the night and tears threatened to spill.

“Hey, no, no, no. Don’t cry.” John B placed his hand on your cheek, rubbing your tears away as you shook your head. “It’s okay. We’ve got you now, I promise.”

At that moment, your friends jumped back in the van with various bags filled with your stuff. Pope and Kiara took John B’s spot in helping treat your injuries and clean you up while JJ hopped in the driver’s seat to head back to the chateau.

Once you were inside, Kiara helped you change into comfier clothes including one of JJ’s oversized t-shirts and a pair of sweats. You had always craved someone’s presence when you were hurt or upset and this was no different. Walking back into the main room, the boys were already laying across the pullout couch, some movie playing on the screen.

Pope offered you his hand as you crawled up near your friends, settling in between them. You could feel various comforting touches as Kiara settled in next to you, your head laying in JJ’s lap as you situated yourself in between his legs. John B’s fingers played with your hair as you hugged JJ’s waist tightly, feeling his hands rub across your back. Your eyes threatened to shut as you listened to the sound of the movie and the pouring rain outside. Before long, you were asleep amongst the comfort and security of your friends.

There was still a battle ahead of you with leaving your aunt behind and finding your own place in The Cut so you could be with your friends, but in the moment, none of that mattered. All you cared about were the people around you who you considered family and loved more than anything. With them by your side, you knew whatever happened would be okay.

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mrs-harkness · 4 years ago

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Run To Me (Part 4)

Pairing: Diane Sherman x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

TW: Brief mention of vomiting. I don’t want anyone getting triggered, so I would rather be overly cautious!

A/N: If you would like to be on a tag list for this fic, please add a comment below or shoot me a message! Excited about the next chapter, things are coming. Again thank you for the love. I am having so much fun writing this and it means even more when you have people who enjoy reading it!

Even though it had been four whole days since the accident, you were not feeling better. Diane had said that the day after was supposed to be the worst, but it seemed like you felt weaker each day. Diane was keeping a close eye on you though, making sure you weren't running a fever and that the road rash and cuts weren't getting worse. She said if you got any weaker, she would bring you to the local urgent care to make sure something serious wasn't going on.

Though you weren't feeling well, you enjoyed the days spent with Diane in the quiet little house, just the two of you. You had learned a lot about each other in the past few days, developing a routine with one another that always ended the day with a cup of that nasty ass tea, but deep and sweet conversation.

You hadn't gone into too much detail about your past quite yet, about your mother or father or what it was like in the foster home. You shared mainly surface level things and funny memories that were light hearted. You knew the heavier stuff would be discussed eventually. Although you were choosing to keep the painful memories of your past to yourself for the time being, Diane had opened to you almost immediately.

You found out she didn't have parents either, her mother dying when she was a child and she was married when she was very young, to an abusive husband that left her for another woman only a year and a half into the marriage. Soon after she found out she was pregnant and she decided to not reach out to her ex-husband and to just raise the baby on her own. Unfortunately she developed high blood pressure and delivered the baby too soon, and she died in Diane's arms before she even had time to discuss options. Her name was Chloe and Diane chose to live a quiet life after that. She moved to Washington only a few years ago and put herself into teaching, science, and her garden. She always wanted a child, but she was just never able have one again.

When she told you that, your heart broke for her. Of course she was so willing to take you home with her. She was lonely! She had promised to take care of you, but you knew as soon as you were back on your feet, you were going to try and care for her too. In whatever way she would let you. You weren't Chloe, and you could never be Chloe, but you could love her with all your heart.

It had been another rough day, as you had suddenly developed a bad headache and had felt queasy for most of it. You didn't really eat much of your dinner, pushing it around your plate. You didn't want to tell Diane you had vomited up breakfast. If she knew you were barely keeping things down, she may get worried.

Diane cleared the plates from the table and brought them to the sink. She noticed you didn't eat more than a few bites. She didn't say anything but turned to you and smiled.

"How about you go ahead and sit on the couch? I'll be there in just a minute," she said quietly. Her voice had seemed to grow more gentle towards you each day.

You smiled wearily and went to the living room, lazily sitting down on the couch. It could have only been a few minutes, but you somehow managed to fall asleep. You were constantly tired and wanting to nap. Diane said it was a good sign because it meant your body was trying to heal itself.

You were woken up by the couch dipping under Diane's weight. You opened your eyes and saw her smiling at you, holding a bowl of something brown. It smelled sweet and you looked at her suspiciously.

"What's that? No tea tonight?" you asked, hopeful.

Diane chuckled and pulled out two spoons, sticking it into the bowl.

"No, no tea tonight. I don't want you to get too much of those herbs and vitamins. And this, it's brownie batter. Me and my friends as teenagers would make a bowl of it and eat it as we talked about boys and school and our dreams," she said, picking up a spoon and licking off the chocolate from it.

You couldn't help but smile as you took a spoon and licked at it cautiously. You had never had the stuff and it was intoxicating. You shoved the whole spoon in your mouth, ready to inhale the entire bowl.

Diane laughed and pulled the bowl towards her.

"Alright, alright speedy... don't eat it too fast. You'll get sick."

You forced yourself to go slower, but the moment Diane turned around you would be sure to put as much of it in your mouth that would fit. This was worth getting sick over. Diane stared at you, drinking up the image of you enjoying the treat she had brought.

"You know," Diane hummed, "I always thought I'd do this one day with my daughter. Make it a tradition and she'd tell me her secrets and we would be best friends."

You're heart ached in your chest. You knew she meant Chloe and you knew she would rather her be on the couch than you. Suddenly the batter didn't taste as sweet. You put the spoon into the bowl and left it there. You looked up at Diane and saw she was almost beaming at you though.

"I'm glad I get to do it with you," she said, picking up the spoon with her other hand and letting you eat off it.

You felt really confused, but happy at the same time. You knew you weren't her daughter, but sometimes the way she said things or looked at you, it was like she wanted you to be. As if that's how she saw you. You weren't sure if you saw her as a mother though, you didn't really know what that felt like. It was complex for you.

"So, Y/n, tell me. What did you do with your friends? Did you have any special traditions with the girls?" Diane asked, eating another spoon of the batter, it dripping onto her lips.

It broke you from your anxious thoughts and had you now thinking about your past. It wasn't that much better but at least it would keep you talking.

"Well, I really wasn't in one place long enough to make any traditions with my friends. But me and my foster sister, the one who lives in town, we would go and sneak out of our group home and head to the woods behind it. The woods had fireflies in them and we would go see the 'light shows' and talk about a bunch of different things. What our families could have been like, what we were going to do when we aged out, the issues we had at the home."

You remembered those nights fondly, some of the few good memories you had growing up. You wondered if there were any woods in the area and if they had fireflies. Maybe you could go and see a 'light show' for old times sake. You would ask your sister when you saw her. But you needed to call her first.

"Uh Diane, could I possibly use your phone?"

Diane suddenly stiffened, the spoon thudding back into the batter. Her face seemed to harden just for a moment before quickly returning to the warm look she often gave you. It took her a moment to respond, making the air between you thick for some reason.

"Sure. Are you okay?" she said, her voice sounding concerned.

She seemed like she was worried and you wondered if she thought she had upset you.

"Oh yeah! I'm fine. I just actually wanted to call my sister and let her know I made it here and that I'm safe and see when she wanted to meet up," you said in a confident tone, hoping to ease her mind.

Her face seemed to twitch and she swallowed hard, clearing her throat. She smiled at you though and you just shrugged off her strange reaction. She pointed to the kitchen where the phone hung on the wall. Diane had phones with chords still in her house, which you found charming, but also a little inconvenient that you couldn't step outside.

"You're welcome to call your foster sister," she said, saying the word 'foster' strangely, "I'm going to go upstairs and get ready for bed to give you some privacy."

She smiled at you and brushed your hair behind your ear before getting up and heading to her room. You waited until you could no longer hear her footsteps before leaning over the brownie bowl and quickly stuffing your mouth with as much batter as you could. As soon as you swallowed it all, you realized you may have made a mistake, but you could regret it later.

You walked over to the phone and pressed the buttons to the number you had memorized by heart. You felt nervous suddenly even though nothing had changed and you had just talked to her a week ago. Your heart race increased with each ringer, anxious to hear her voice.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice on the other side of the phone croaked.

"Mandy? Mandy, its Y/n."

There was some rustling on the other side of the line and you were pretty sure you had woken Mandy up, but you knew she wouldn't mind.

"Hey! I was wondering when I would hear from you. I was a little worried. You were supposed to call me like two days ago," she yawned.

"Yeah I'm sorry. I had a little set back. But I'm here in town and I'm staying with a woman I met-"

Mandy cut you off with a very obnoxious "Ooooohhhhhh!"

"Shut up. It's not like that. She's just a really good friend that I was lucky enough to meet. Now before you say anything else stupid, when and where do you want to meet?"

Mandy chuckled on the other end. She knew you hated being picked on and anytime she sensed even the possibility of making you uncomfortable, she had to crack a joke.

"Well, I have class tomorrow, but I am free after lunch. There is a nice little coffee shop book store on Howard. You can meet me there at like 2PM. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah, that's perfect. I can't wait. I've missed you so much Mandy," you said, tears prickling at your eyes.

"I've missed you too lighting bug. So tell me, who is this lady you are-"

Suddenly Mandy's voice cut off. You pulled the phone away from your ear, not even hearing a dial tone. You messed with the phone for a moment before realizing the line was dead.

"Diane?" you called out, sticking your head around the corner.

Diane was right there, breathing heavy as if she had been running. She startled you and you stared at her, mindlessly passing the phone to her.

"Your phone line went dead," you mumbled.

Diane put the phone to her ear and pressed a few buttons before hanging up.

"I'll call the phone company in the morning. Sometimes someone hits a line and the whole thing goes dead. Were you able to call your friend though?" she asked, leaning against the wall.

You noticed she said friend this time, but you brushed it off. She didn't know the bond you and Mandy shared.

"Yes! I did. I'm going to meet her tomorrow for lunch."

Diane didn't hid her discomfort this time.

"Y/n, I don't think that's a good idea. You're still very weak. You didn't even eat dinner. I don't think you should go out by yourself. Maybe I should go with-"

"No. It's okay. I'll be fine for a couple of hours. I won't be running a marathon, just having a coffee with my sister."

You wanted to spend time with Mandy by yourself and while you appreciated the thought of Diane going with you, you were still an adult no matter how young you looked. It didn't help that at the moment the brownie batter was now fighting against you and you were hunched over slightly.

"Well maybe consider letting me drive you to town? I need to run some errands anyway so I can drive you and that way if you feel like you need to lay down or rest I wouldn't be far."

You would need a ride to town, but you just weren't sure.

"Let me sleep on it. I hate to think I would be using you just for a ride. And-" before you could finish, you start having a coughing fit. Coughing was nothing new to you thanks to the asthma, but this wasn't that. This was the batter.

You tried to keep it down, but it was too late. You threw up, all over yourself, all over the floor, and even on Diane's slippers. You expelled everything you had eaten that day and more and it took a moment before you stopped gagging, laying in a ball on the floor.

Suddenly fear over took you as you saw yourself and the floor covered in vomit. You know your mom would be so mad when she saw it and you would get punished. You didn't want to be punished. You began to cry and you scooted away until your body hit the wall.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to," you cried. You forgot where you were and suddenly you were back at home. You didn't like going back.

Diane quickly ran over to you, not phased by the vomit and held you in her arms. You fought her off at first but she shooshed you and smoothed your hair, holding you close to her. She knew a flashback when she saw one. She held you and whispered in your ear. It took a moment but eventually you came back to present day. You still felt sick, you now smelled awful, your head hurt, and you were embarrassed. For the first time since you had met Diane, you felt tears prickle you eyes and instead of hiding them, you let them flow.

You cried in Diane's arms as she rocked you back in forth, and you apologized over and over again. You weren't sure if you were saying sorry because you had thrown up on her or if it was because she lost her daughter or because you were the mess of a person she felt fate brought her. She kissed your head and took your face in her hands. She wiped your tears with the pads of her thumb and looked at you with tears in her eyes too.

"Hey. It's okay. Stop apologizing. You're safe now Y/n."

She pulled you back to her chest again and wrapped her arms around you tight as if she would never let you go.

"I've got you," she whispered, over and over.

"I've got you, and I'm not letting go."

#sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson fic #sarah paulson #diane sherman #diane sherman x reader #run film

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rainydayhogwartsimagines · 5 years ago

Text

Falling in love with Draco (Draco x reader!Slytherin)

Warnings: Mental and Physical abuse, physical and magical fighting

Draco of course noticed you, first year

My God could you be anymore beautiful?

You were very very quiet though, anytime anyone would talk to you you'd just nod or ignore them.

The amount of joy that boy had when you turned out to be a Slytherin was amazing.

Still though even like a week into school you were still quiet.

You'd just sit there and read in the great hall or do your work in class

There'd be a few moments where you'd be called out for being good at your work but other than that you seemed to be attempting to just be silent the whole time.

Finally though Draco managed to get you to make some sort of noise when he told a stupid joke.

Like it was so stupid. But the kid thought it was genius.

Lucky for him you have a weird sense of humor and laughed at it.

It was like music to his ears to hear it.

So then he was determined to get you to talk.

He would say hello to you every morning

You'd just give a polite nod

He'd compliment you but you'd just look away.

Then came a day where Snape called on you randomly and you seemed extremely uncomfortable with that

So Draco raised his hand instead and took the question.

That's when you really began to notice Draco

You would sit a little closer to him or actually begin to respond to certain things.

The first morning when he said "Good morning" and you said it back he literally just froze in place

He immediately sat down in front of you and ate breakfast with you that morning.

You began to sit with him more and occasionally you'd actually make a comment and he'd just smile.

When he got detention you actually did something stupid to end up in detention with him.

He was confused by why you did it but truth be told you were worried he'd do something even worse with Potter present

You seemed a lot more courageous looking at the dark lord than Draco did let me tell you

Draco grabbed your hand and booked it though.

Eventually summer was rolling around and you and Draco agreed to write to each other.

Weirdly enough he found that your personality was very perky and outgoing on paper.

When you both ran into each other it was in Diagon Alley.

Draco was of course excited to see you.

You actually said the words "Hi Draco."

He introduced you to his father and immediately you had this odd switch go into your personality.

You curtsied and actually spoke

Draco was shocked and Lucius seemed to approve of your elegance before telling Draco he'd be elsewhere and he had a few minutes before they had to go

"What... Was that?" Draco asked.

You shifted uncomfortably.

"my father is the same way." You answered

And that was the first time he ever heard you mention home.

Draco rode with you on the train and you of course listened to his common complaint

Harry Potter

You were a bit more vocal as you listened which was pleasant to him.

"Y/n can I ask you something?" He asked.

"mmm hmm?" You nodded.

"Why are you so quiet?" He asked.

You seemed to be uncomfortable by that question before you sighed.

"My family tends to speak over me... And I guess I just stopped talking after a while because I was never listened to anyway." You answered.

So Draco made it his mission then and there to make sure you were comfortable talking around him

He assured you that he'd always listened if you needed to speak.

You gradually began to open up around him

You and him actually ended up being partners in all of his classes which made you two happy

Then came the chamber of secrets

And oh boy

That was bad. Because your mother was a muggle. And you were on that hitlist.

And then he called Hermione a "Mudblood" in front of you.

You actually got quite pissed off at him and he naturally did not know why.

"Y/n why are you so upset? It was just an insult--"

"My mother is a muggle Draco." You snapped.

And you didn't really mention a lot after that.

He actually apologized to Hermione and it got back to you that he did

You two made up, thank God.

You were there when the duel went down

But at one point it got very strange because of the fact that you actually ended up dueling someone too.

And you were REALLY good at it too

Draco experienced a backflip in his heart.

Christmas rolled around and you were still at hogwarts

But so was Draco

And Draco's father actually sent you a gift

Draco told him that you were a big reader so he sent you a book of stories.

You actually loved it too

Draco loved seeing your smile.

You actually got something for Draco which was a jacket

Which during the winter he kept it on all of the time.

The two of you were inseperable

Which is why when you got petrified Draco was freaking out.

There was not one day he didn't visit you in the hospital wing.

When he saw Hermione out and about he knew you were awake and he sprinted

For the first time you hugged him.

You told him what happened, finding a basilisk in the bathroom mirror and then basically blacking out.

The summer was a little bit more fun because you spent the first half of it with Malfoy's family.

You loved his mother, she was honestly very sweet.

But Lucius scared you at times

To be fair: he scared everyone at times

But then came a moment where your father visited and snapped at you for no reason and Lucius did not take well to that

He showed a protective nature to you and you didn't really fear him anymore.

When you went home you were a little less talkative but your mother did notice you speaking more to her.

Usually about Draco.

When you went back to school Draco had changed and so did you.

Your hair was longer, slightly curlier but overall something was attractive with you and Draco could not for the life of him figure it out.

But Draco... His hair was no longer slacked back and he was taller.

He always had you by his side too, even if you two didn't have a class together he'd walk you to and from it.

You asked him why he did that and he said "The last time I left you alone here you were attacked by a basilisk."

You ended up being the one who was attacked by Buckbeak btw

Which you wholeheartedly said openly was your fault because you got too close without bowing.

But it all happened so fast.

You knew to bow but you tripped and ended up in his personal space

Draco immediately intervened, pulling you behind him and he got bit.

You took him to the hospital wing yourself and thanked him for that.

His response was "Better me than you"

You smiled at that.

You two were so close by this point

Then came the lesson on boggarts

You actually loved professor Remus, he was so cool to you.

The class was fun... Until this lesson

Your boggart was your father.

You didn't even speak, it was like you were mute the entire time.

The boggart tried to inch forward but Remus then intervened.

You noticed what his fear was and knew what he was then and there but didn't say anything about it.

You were asked to stay after class and you did

Remus asked you if everything was okay at home and you didn't really answer, giving him all the information he needed.

Remus then began to almost look after you

Draco was really worried after that lesson though, asking you if everything was okay

You then told him about your father finding reasons to just scream at you

He hated hearing this but seeing you cry as you described it didn't exactly warm his heart either.

He just hugged you and assured you that you'd be spending your summers with him even if he had to use force

Hogsmeade was the funnest trip ever

You were now more talkative so a few more students were friendlier to you including Ron and Hermoine

Course Draco wasn't too thrilled with your friends but dealt with it because you were socializing and that was progress.

You two spent the entire trip goofing off with each other though with snowball fights and getting butterbeer.

You were slowly falling in love with each other and it was becoming so obvious.

You two were looking at the shrieking shack and you noticed footsteps leading to it.

"Draco..." You said.

He was again, rambling about Potter.

"Draco." You said louder.

"Hmm?" He finally noticed.

"Someone's in the shack." You pointed out.

He frowned. "...I don't think we should--" "I'm going to investigate--" "Y/n no." Draco halted.

"And why?" "Because it's dangerous Y/n and I don't want to see you hurt." Draco said.

You slowly began to realize just how protective Draco actually was over you.

Well you can't say the boy didn't try

You found out Buckbeak was going to be killed and you kept trying to reason with Draco's father.

He wouldn't listen and you finally just went to Harry and begged them for help.

Harry agreed to and you all got into an argument with Draco which resulted in you actually getting punched after you jumped in the way of hermione's hit.

Draco was naturally pissed and she felt guilty.

"Guys I'm fine. This isn't the first time I've been punched, it probably won't be the last." You sighed.

That's when your boggart began to make a bit more sense and then Draco's alarm bells in his head were practically screaming.

Differences aside even Harry had to admit that this was a noticable problem

You all still went on the rescue mission for Buckbeak though

The whole time turner thing weirded you out.

Draco was actually in on it this time, which was weird as hell.

So when all of you made the discovery of A) Remus hiding Sirius black and B) Remus also being a werewolf it was a bit of a shock

Well the second one you already knew.

But that first one still had you reeling.

It didn't help when Ron's rat turned out to be Pettigrew and you all learned the truth of when Harry's parents died

Even Draco felt bad by that point.

When you all went back to Hogwarts will the information you all agreed to not say ANYTHING to anyone.

The group was still suspicious of Draco but if you trusted him then he had to be at least somewhat of a good person.

Draco's promise was taken literally and you spent the whole summer with him

Draco's parents were happy to have you but something was just off about them at the moment.

That's when you heard the rumors that they supported the dark lord and it began to make sense

You didn't mention it though.

Strolls through the manor

Draco becoming even more attractive

You becoming even more attractive, especially in Draco's eyes

His parents beginning to notice the love in his eyes when he spoke to or about you.

The smiles you two have when you tease each other.

Then you find out you're going to the world quidditch game and you're excited.

You'd have moments where you'd lean over and tell Draco something in his ear and you'd both laugh

Narcissa and Lucius would be hiding smiles.

You two were so close even his parents thought it was cute.

You running into your father at the game and the whole Malfoy and Weasley family both stepping in to protect you.

Which led to this begrudging respect for the Weasley's from the Malfoys.

You ending up spending a few minutes with the Weasley's before the whole thing went to shit.

You almost being attacked until someone pulled you behind a tree and put their hand over your mouth.

You of course recognized the family ring and immediately felt safe knowing Draco was with you.

You both thought the whole events at the game was odd but didn't mention it.

You both going to school and you actually being even more talkative

The goblet of fire competition being announced and the schools coming in was so cool to you.

Draco loving to see you with a smile on your face.

However there was a new problem this year

It was the FACT THAT A DURMSTRANG BOY SEEMED TO LIKE YOU

You having fun moments with Draco where he'd steal your books and race you to class with them.

You running after him and jumping on his back to get them.

Ron and Hermione both knowing "Oh they are so going to date"

You getting worried about Harry when his name popped out of the goblet of fire

The trio getting closer to Draco which leads to him not hating Harry as much as he did before.

Harry and Hermione both noticing Draco getting jealous of the Durmstrang boy

Him getting pouty when you actually talk to the Durmstrang boy.

Harry almost dying of laughter when Draco's best insult at the time was to call him a member of the Russian mob.

Hermione coughed up her drink, Ron was dying and he was sinking into his seat when he found out you and the boy both heard him.

Draco planned on asking you to the Yule and actually asked Hermione for advice.

"Uhm.. Draco why ask me?" She asked.

"Because you're a girl and you understand. It's not like Weasley or Potter would understand." He sighed.

"She likes you Draco. Just ask her." She reassured.

"She... Does?" He asked.

" All of her free moments are spent with you. Everytime we've seen her, she's with you. Even this conversation is about her. Come on Malfoy it is obvious." She said.

So he geared up to ask you

But then this became a race of sorts because the Durmstrang boy had the same idea.

So Hermione, Ron and Harry took it upon themselves to be wingmen and bombard the poor guy with some really dumb questions.

So Draco asked you, and of course you said yes.

Draco giving the friend group the thumbs up

Them all silently cheering and then when you turn around all of them acting normal

Those God damn dance lessons.

"Love if you focus too much on your movements you're going to screw up more" Draco warned.

"I can't help-- what did you just call me-- WOAH!"

Both of you falling and laughing.

Draco falling even more in love as he looked at you.

"Wait I thought your family were nobles?"

" I hid during parties I don't dance." You laughed.

Him feeling even more special because you agreed to go to a dance with him

Both of you smiling the whole time

Even McGonagall is noticing the sparks flying between you two.

Narcissa being the one who sends you a dress

It being gorgeous on you

The guys all waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you and Hermione

Draco almost falling over because my God you're beautiful

Him smiling the whole time dancing with you

A slow song coming on and you resting your head on his chest with him resting his chin on your head.

When the last note of the song plays you looked up at him and you both just... Kissed

You both smiling at each other

Harry and Ron both being happy for you two

You and him both being so in love the entire time

Even after the ball you and him are just in love.

Then everything came to a screeching halt after Cedric

Harry comes back and Cedric is just lying there

You're cheering at first but then you notice Harry isn't getting up and you sprint down there.

Draco also runs down there and sees Cedric.

You just comforted Harry until Mad Eyed moody came over.

You spent the summer again at the Malfoy's after that.

And then Draco started acting very strange one day before dragging you to his room and telling you what was happening

Which was that Voldemort was moving in

And they needed you to join him so you'd be safe.

This wasn't just Draco voicing this, Lucius and Narcissa both told you this too

You and Draco made a pact though that you wouldn't actually be supporting the dark Lord

And you both stuck to that

But you bearing the mark wasn't enough for Voldemort.

So Lucius took you aside and asked for a favor

Of getting engaged to Draco

You were shocked but agreed to it

You were given a family ring and when you came back to school no one could believe it.

Both you and Draco still agreed though that if you survived to see the end of the war, you'd get married.

You joining the Order of the phoenix.

Both of you.

Sirius actually thinking "Damn. This kid is actually barrable." To Draco.

Tonks LOVING you

Both you and Draco being shocked to see Snape at the manor

You both not saying a word

That bitch Umbridge coming in

You and Draco being able to get away with shit because Draco is headboy

Draco always having you by his side, no exceptions.

Fred and George wreaking havoc

You and Draco both smiling the whole time

Umbridge getting PISSED

Then her getting taken by centaurs and you and the group celebrating

The wicked bitch was gonneeee

Halle damn lujah.

Pt 2 coming soon.

#draco imagine #draco x y/n #draco malfoy #draco x reader #slytherin

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venomous--fics · 5 years ago

Text

Kasady

Summary: You're Cletus Kasady's younger sister, but you've never told anyone. Now his name is everywhere in the news and everyone wants your side of the story.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, panic attacks, swearing

Mood music: Lover is a Day- Cuco

A/n: Aaaaye, sorry if this is a dumb idea. I just haven't seen anyone write this type of story? If someone has, anyone wanna link me a fic? Feedback is appreciated and requests are open! My queue is filled with the last batch I got, so expect those soon!

You almost dreaded leaving the apartment anymore. All you saw was his big, stupid, ugly face everywhere. Oh, he did that, oh, he did this, let's remind everyone that he's a monster in prison! Oh, but there's a plot twist; You hated it because you were, unfortunately, related to the guy. Nobody outside your adoptive parents knew.

You didn't like talking about, you didn't even like thinking about it. You had to put up with so much shit because of that guy. You were grateful that you were young enough that nobody knows or remembers what you look like now. You even changed your last name a few times. First, you changed it to Smith when your parents adopted you, then you changed it to Brock when you got married to Eddie.

It shouldn't bother you, you're a Brock, not a Kasady. However, you couldn't help but feel like that was just your identity. Once a Kasady, always a Kasady. You felt even worse because Eddie had taken up on the Kasady story as a huge part of his new job.

You were proud of him for finally getting back to what he loved, but sooner or later his trail would come back to you. What were you supposed to tell him? It felt like the walls were closing in on you, and that there was an anchor slowing crushing you. You had to remind yourself to just take it all in one breath at a time. This is just some fad, some story. It'll all go away.

What if it doesn't?

Your head was spinning and you closed your eyes as you sat on your bed. Everything was so quiet, and even that was alarming.

"Babe? We're home!" Eddie voice rang through the apartment.

You sucked in a breath and hopped up and out of the room, "How was work?"

You just wanted to forget about it.

"Eh, you know." he smiled as he hung his jacket up, "Same shit."

Venom appeared, looking a bit annoyed, "Easy for you to say."

"What's got you in a sour mood, big guy?" you asked, walking over and giving Venom a small kiss before turning to Eddie and giving him a kiss as well.

Venom hesitated for a moment, mostly out of embarrassment, "Well, nothing now, but some guy called us a dick."

"That wasn't very nice of them." you replied, "How about I make some dinner? I was thinking chicken nuggets or- Uh, chicken nuggets."

Eddie looked at Venom, "That's a tough choice. I guess chicken nuggets it is." You preheated the oven, "Why don't you two go get into something a little comfier?"

"Already ahead of you," Eddie said as he walked to the bedroom.

There was barely any noise for a couple minutes before Eddie said, "So, you know that story I'm working on?"

"Of course," you said, feeling the anxiety building back up.

"Well, I," he paused, you assumed he was putting a shirt on, "I've reached a dead end with it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I was talking to Cletus- Red- Whatever the hell they're gonna call him.. And he was asking me if he knew anything about his sister." Eddie stumbled out of the room as he pulled up his sweatpants, "I mean, everyone was talking about that, but I figured it was a bunch of bs."

"Oh." you repeated.

"so, I spent a majority of my day trying to find any information on this poor woman- And it's almost like he just fell off the grid."

"Well," you awkwardly chuckled as you got the bag of frozen nuggets out of the freezer, "I guess when a serial killer is your family, you'd want to disappear too, right?"

"I suppose," Eddie said.

Venom, meaning no harm, but just wanting to be part of the conversation, "Maybe he killed her, Eddie. People said that too. Maybe that's why we can't find her."

Out of habit, you put your hand over a scar you had on your arm as a lump form in your throat. It wasn't a nasty scar by any means, it was barely noticeably at this point. It was just a constant reminder.

You had lied to Eddie and told you that a biker had clipped you one day when you were coming home from work, but that was far from the truth. You wish it had been an innocent accident like that. The reality of it was that, before you and Cletus were removed from your home, he had attempted to, as he put it, saw your arm off.

Lucky for you, and being the world's biggest crybaby, again, as he would've put it, your mother had heard you screaming. Of course, she always wanted to think that Cletus would just grow out of all of this horrid stuff. You always thought if she had changed her mind, maybe she'd still be alive.

Sometimes you wished Cletus had actually killed you too, it would've been less painful than everything else you had to go through. Growing up, with Cletus always on the news for the shit he'd done, and every thing inbetween, you were slightly grateful that people would make up the rumours that you were dead. Maybe then they'd leave you alone.

You put yourself on autopilot, taking a trip down trauma lane as you put everything into the oven and set a timer.

Cletus wasn't always outwardly violent, but that doesn't mean he was kind. He would always pick on you, or tell you that nobody even wanted you. He'd always take your things and ruin them, whether it be lighting them on fire or just cutting them up.

You were so young, and you tried to believe that maybe older siblings were just like that. Maybe it was normal for them to try to leave you to die in the woods, or maybe it was normal when he'd 'jokingly' push you towards oncoming traffic. You had a lot to unlearn when you got adopted. You never wanted to be around other kids, and you barely spoke, even when you had gone to therapy. Sometimes you'd get angry at nothing and beat up pillows, and no matter what, your adoptive parents also responded with love and understanding.

You never had to deal with siblings again. Your adoptive parents are the only souls, outside the social workers, who ever knew what had gone on with your birth family. you were thankful for that.

The cycle still repeats it self, however. Some days you feel fine, you don't find yourself thinking about it, but then one little thing comes barging in and ruins it all.

You had completely lost yourself in a memory, and not a good one. You could hear your heart beating in your ear, and you must've been staring off into space.

The basement was dimly lit, and you remember your dad said he would replace the bulb, but he always forgot. You were stuck to a chair, and you couldn't stop whimpering.

"You're such a crybaby."

Cletus came into view with a roll of duct tape. He fiddled with it, trying to get it undone. You shut your eyes and tried to keep quiet. Maybe if you were quiet, he'd let you go.

He finally got a piece cut and he was going to put it over your mouth, but you kept shaking your head, calling out for you mom. You were even kicking at Cletus, which just seemed to annoy him more.

"Stop it! Stop! Go away! Go away, Cletus!"

There was something inside Cletus that just made him hate everyone around him. He had no regard for any other form of life. He didn't even feel bad about what he had planned to do to you. In fact, he had blamed you for it, he kept telling you that if you weren't so annoying, or if you were never even born, he wouldn't have to do this.

Finally getting fed up with your struggling, he grabbed your face and put the duct tape over your mouth. This made your crying worse. You could heard footsteps from the floor above you, and you were praying that whoever was up there heard you and was coming to your rescue.

Cletus proceeded to duct tape your arm down to the arm of the chair, making extra sure that it hurt. You were no more than five years old, and you were already telling yourself that this was how you were going to die.

"You know that old bat can't hear you, stupid." Cletus spat as he turned away to get something.

That's when you remembered where you were. You were at your grandma's house for the weekend. You two would get left here every so often, normally when your parents had errands to run. This time, mom and dad weren't coming back. You were stuck here.

You were thinking about all the small details of her house now, to distract yourself from what was about to happen.

Mary Poppins. Your grandmother had an odd obsession with her. She had all this little figurines that she decorated her house with. You were never sure why she liked Mary Poppins so much, but you found it endearing.

She would always hum the songs when she was baking.

A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.

You could practically hear her humming along.

Thats when Cletus turned back around and you saw the shimmer of the knife he had. You tried to just think of anything else, but nothing was working now. Everything was so quiet and the only noise was the sligh thum of the old light bulb.

"If you were never born, this wouldn't be happening," he sneered at you as he pushed the knife down onto your arm, "This is your fault."

He kept talking, and you wanted to keep crying, but you found everything so stressful that you were feeling tired. You didn't even have the strength to pay any mind to the burning pain in your arm. It was almost like you'd given up.

Then you heard her voice. It was calling out for both you and Cletus. It was getting louder, Cletus huffed and dropped the knife on the floor.

"One noise out of you and I'll make you suffer." he cackled a little bit, "Doesn't really matter, I was going to make you suffer anyways."

You watched hazily as Cletus made his way up the stairs. You tried to wiggle out of the duct tape restraints, but it caused too much pain, so you gave up. The voices were getting more and more muffled. Cletus was leading her away from the basement.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to be anywhere but here. You felt more tears welling up in your poor little eyes, and you closed them tightly. Just make it go away. It'll go away.

You remember hearing a lot of noise from upstairs. It sounded like things getting broken, and then several big thuds. You closed your eyes tighter. It grew quiet again.

You heard the basement creak open, and you heard the soft whimpers of the family pet, Fifi. You loved Fifi. She was a good dog. Cletus came down the stairs, holding the dog by the collar, and you watched as Fifi wriggled and yipped as she tried to get free.

You were tried to scream at him, but the duct tape muffled any noise that came out of your mouth. Cletus retrieved the knife and dragged the dog back a few steps. You wanted to look away. You didn't want to watch. You were frozen in terror as Cletus held the dog down and lifted the knife.

He was grinning so sadistically.

You felt something warm wrap around you and you jumped ten feet in the air, pushing them away and yelling, "Don't touch me! Just stay back!"

Eddie flinched and held his hands up as he took a step back, "Sorry! Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you."

You tried to catch your breath as you stared at him. You looked like you'd just seen a ghost. Eddie looked a little startled as he lowered his hands and slowly walked over to you, "Are you okay?"

You took another step back as you tried to calm your nerves, "Yeah, I- No- Yes, I'm.. I'm fine. Sorry for- I."

"Why don't we go sit down for a second.. You look like you're about to pass out." What do you do? What do you say?

"Did I cause this?" Eddie sounded a little hurt, thinking that he'd unintentionally caused you any harm, "Baby, I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't you. I just.." you needed to just think of some excuse, "The whole Kas- Cletus thing is just.. Stressful."

Eddie gently put a hand on your lower back and you flinched again, causing him to move it.

"I just mean," you sighed a little, "I see it everywhere. It's- I- Nevermind."

You were fighting with yourself. You were going to say it.

"It's alright. We don't have to talk about it anymore." He sounded so sincere, "And it'll all go away after-"

"That's just it," you wrapped your arms around yourself as you tried so hard to fight those stupid crybaby tears back, "It won't go away."

Despite your best efforts, the tears came running down your face, and Eddie went to wipe your face, but you flinched away and ran into your bedroom. You slammed the door a little too hard behind you, repeating, "It just won't go away." "Y/n," Eddie said, slightly confused as he walked over to the door. He couldn't open the door because you were sitting in front of it, and he could hear you crying. "Baby?"

He crouched down and sat down on the floor. He didn't understand what was going on, and Venom sure as hell didn't know either. They wanted to ask what was wrong, but maybe you'd tell them on your own.

"Sorry," you said between sniffles.

"It's okay." Eddie replied, leaning against the door, "What's going on?" You took in a few deep breaths before wiping your face, "It's a long story." Eddie, being a smartass, leaned forward a little to get a peek at the oven timer, "We have time."

You chuckled a little because you heard the door creak with his movement. Eddie chuckled too as he leaned back into his original position. Venom poked out of Eddie's arm and looked at the door for a moment before looking at Eddie, who just nodded a little. The little symbiote wrapped around Eddie's arm and got comfortable as you started talking.

"There-" you shivered a little, "Eddie, there's a good reason why nobody can find Cletus' sister."

Eddie looked at the door, intrigued. Did you know her somehow? Maybe through work? Were you helping her hide somewhere?

"And why's that?"

"Because, I-" you wiped your eyes again, trying to not burst into tears, "I'm Y/n Kasady."

Eddie tensed a little as he continued to stare at the door. "You're Y/n Kasady?"

You hesitated, "Unfortunately, but I mean, legally, I'm not really a Kasady anymore...Obviously."

Eddie looked down to the floor, taking it all in. Everything made sense now. "How come you never mentioned it?"

"You think I wanna talk about it?" you didn't mean to come off as bitter, "I just- I hated it. I hated everything to do with that name..Nothing good comes from being a Kasady."

"Nothing good comes from bein' a Brock either."

"Eddie." you whined.

"Sorry, sorry. I'll try to save the jokes for later."

"I just never wanted to talk about it." you continued, "Besides, what the hell would I even tell people? You think reporters want to hear a five year old talk about the most horrendous shit?"

"You were five?" Eddie's voice sounded so hoarse. He didn't knowing anything about the elusive Kasady sibling. The fact that it was you,and you were only five made everything worse.

You couldn't seem to stop yourself, "Cletus was a monster. He killed our grandma- He- He.. Oh god, he tortured the dog while I was duct taped to a chair. Not to mention that he tried to cut my arm off right before all of that- Yeah, that scar? It wasn't from some stupid biker."

"Jesus," Eddie sounded mortified, "I'm..Sorry."

"To make matters worse, I almost got lost in the system because he burned down the orphanage we were both at." you paused, remembering that day, "With everyone but us inside of it."

Venom wasn't going to say it, but he felt a little mortified. He had never met a human who was capable of those awful things.

"They had to separate us, because they thought it would stop him from acting out. That didn't work. Cletus just-" your rant broke off into another fit of helpless sobs, "He ruins everything he touches. I know It's been decades since all of that. I haven't seen him since I was five, but I still live in constant fear-" "He can't hurt you-"

"What if he breaks out of prison again? What then?" you sounded very panicked, "I have always been on edge. Cletus is a smart man, Eddie- It wouldn't take much to figure out where I am- Or my parents.. Or-"

"Hey, hey," Eddie said softly, "That's not gonna happen. You wanna know why?" "Why?' you croaked, slouching against the door.

"Because we won't let it."

You did feel safer since Eddie and venom came into your life. You also knew that they'd rather die then to let anyone hurt you. Cletus was nothing but madman, and it wouldn't take Venom very long to put an end to him. "We love you." Venom said.

You slowly turned to sit on your knees as you opened the door. You looked at Eddie and venom with a weak smile, and Eddie held out his arms, "Come here." You crawled into his arms, and Eddie held you close to him, "I'm sorry you went through that, but I promise you that nothing will ever hurt you again."

Venom untangled himself from Eddie's arm and wrapped around yours, "We will eat whatever tried to hurt you."

You curled up closer to him, feeling a lot better, "I know you will...Sorry for being a crybaby."

"Don't need to apologize." Eddie said sweetly, "If it makes you feel better, I can make something up for the story. Just to get it over with."

"You'd lose your job if they found out that you lied."

Eddie shrugged, "Plenty of other jobs in the world, love."

"It's okay," you said, "I think, maybe, I..If it's you, I can talk about it. I'm just afraid of how people will see me after. They'll probably think that I'm just like him."

Eddie rubbed your back softly, "Nobody will think that."

"Who cares what a bunch of losers think anyways?" Venom looked up at you with all the love he could muster, "We think you are wonderful."

"You guys are pretty wonderful too." you replied, smiling at them.

You gave Venom a kiss before you cupped Eddie's face and gave him one as well. Everything felt okay again, and this time you knew they'd remain that way. A startling beep rang through the apartment and you all jumped a little. You then began chuckling as Eddie helped you up. It was just the oven.

"You okay?" Eddie asked as he watched you get the food out of the oven. He saw you differently now. Not in a bad way, but in a good way. He know understood everything he needed to know, and he knew that you were doing everything in you power to get better. He was proud of you.

"Yeah, actually." you said, "I guess talking about it really does help.. I was just afraid that maybe," you laughed a little, "Maybe you'd want a divorce, because who wants an infamous serial killer as an in-law?"

Eddie, seeing the opportunity to lighten the mood with a joke, said, "A what as a what now? I thought you were an only child."

You looked at him with the softest expression, "Thanks."

He smiled as he came over and wrapped his arms around your waist, "Don't worry about it."

You wanted to stay like this forever. Unfortunately, the moment was ruined when Eddie went to grab a nugget right off the tray and yelped as it burned him. "They just got done." you said, trying not to laugh, "You watched me pull them out."

He went over to the sink and ran his hand under some cold water, "Yeah, but..Why are they still so hot?"

"Eddie," you laughed, "They just came out of a piping hot oven."

You got a couple of plates out of the cupboard as Eddie dried his hands. You were putting them on the kitchen island as you saw him go for another nugget out of the corner of your eye. Sometimes its good that not everything changes.

#eddie brock imagine #eddie brock x reader #venom imagine #venom x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x reader

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idk-maybe-i-did-it · 5 years ago

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Help? Remus Lupin x Ravenclaw!Reader

A/N: James, Peter and Sirius want to become anamagi to help Remus on full moon’s but they need Y/n’s help to do so

Warning: Mentions of self harm, suicide and sexual assault, light cursing

__________________________________________

The bell had just rung and it was the end of classes for. She waved goodbye to Professor McGonagall before walking out of class and making her way down to the corridor across from the Womping Willow. She sat her bag down and grabbed a sketchbook before sitting in the windowsill so her eyes could see the beauty of Hogwarts grounds before her in a clear distance view.

The girl closed her eyes and let the pencil in her hand move freely liek the wind on a summer day.

Her peaceful anti-depression session was interrupted by the pounding of oncoming footsteps from afar. She opened her eyes and came to see the three figures of James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black before her.

“ And what might your reasons be for interrupting my peacful rest boys?”

The boys came to a stop and moved to sit next her on the windowsill, leaning in as if to whisper. Sirius, the one closet her, leaned in and said,

“ Y/n I know you're an animagus, saw you transform one day during the summer. We need your help to become anamagi. For reasons."

The girl leaned back in shock. How the bloody white did he figure out? Was Sirius Black a stalker? She quickly placed the abandoned pencil behind her ear and leaned in as well.

" First of all, how the bloody hell do you know where I live?! And second thing, don’t attempt to make up some lie to me about your reasons behind doing this because I already know why. You want to help Remus, he’s my best friend why wouldn’t I know?”

Sirius moved back in surprise.

“ I live two houses down from you. But either way, will you help us or not?”

" Of course I will dip shit.”

Y/n pulled away from the group huddle and moved to the floor to scour through her bag for a journal. While doing so the sock on her ankle rolled down slightly to reveal blood-stained bandages wrapping around it.

The girl quickly opened the journal and looked up as James sat next her on the floor and took the book from her, showing it to his other two mates.

This is how she found herself standing in an open section of the Forbidden Forest around a newly found Black Shaggy dog, field rat, A proud Stag and a rain soaked Remus Lupin during a lightning storm.

It was pouring down rain, flashing lightning and her and Remus had just witnessed James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew turn into animagi and back. By then you could see right through their clothing.

Remus was attempting to tell the group something but the pounding rain had been coming down too heavy for them to hear so instead he opted to use his arms and point out what he was saying. The four of them started to run back off to the castle in their anamagi forms as Remus struggled to keep up from behind.

Remus made the four of them change back to human form after they’d reached the castle and Y/n had to wrap her arms around her chest in an attempt to cover her chest. The shirt she’d been wearing was now see-through, as were the others’s. James silently jumped into the air with a fist-pump before Sirius pointed out that they needed to move back to the dorm room before Filch caught them.

Peter suddenly spoke up, causing the rest of them to turn their attention to the boy. “ We should celebrate.”

__________________________________________

Y/n walked over to the spare bed in the Mauraders dorm-room and grabbed a handful of random articles of clothing to wear before swiftly moving over to the bathroom to change. She exited the bathroom and went back to the dorm at Remus words.

" Who wants to be tribute and tell the house elves to bring food and drink up here with the cloak?" Everyone but James called out ‘dibs-not’ at the question.

The girl was grabbing one of Remus’ books when Sirius showed up and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her body off the ground and he walked over to where Remus stood, ignoring her continus attempts to get him to stop. Then, he threw her, thankfully into Remus’ arms where he caught and held her to his chest where she stayed and tried to calm herself down from the panic attack eating away at her insides.

Luckily for Sirius, James showed up the very next second, taking away Remus’s opportunity to tell off at Sirius for what he’d just done to the girl. James moved over and threw his cloak on the bed, motioning to where a small cart of snacks and water lay in the middle of the circle of pillows they’d made. Remus slowly pulled Y/n and himself down to the ground where she sat, chest heaving slightly, next him while he kept an arm wrapped around her waist protectively.

“ Okay lads, we’ll be playing a muggle game Remus talked about before. I forgot what it was called but I have a feeling it was called three truths and a lie or something.”

Once the circle went around to Y/n she began to panic, I have no clue what to say. Remus noticed this and took her hand in his before brushing away the hair from her collarbone and peppering light kisses to her shoulder to calm her nerves. Which did work in a way.

She took a moment to compose her wondering thoughts before stating, " I've been to more than four states, my favorite color is blue and I can speak fluent French."

They stared around at each other before Remus confidently said, " Your favorite color is blue, you've been to more than four states and you don't speak fluent French?"

She nodded and exhaled in relief, panic washing away.

Peter looked around the group and grabbed a candy before saying, " We've known you for about four years but we still don't know much about you. I mean we know a lot but I have a feeling there's more to you y'know. I mean, from what you've told us I never would've guessed that you'd even been out of state to begin with."

" Well, we play the other game, twenty questions, next so you'll probably get most answered then.”

The girl leaned back into Remus as the rest of them grasped different food as such and started to much down. Once they’d all finished their foods James decided it was time to start.

“ Y/n, my first question is, do you sing? Like even just lullaby’s?”

The girl nodded slightly and nudged Remus’ side with a cheeky grin.

“ Yep. I used to lul Rem to sleep when we were kids and I stayed over at his house.”

“ shut up...”

"Do you have any friends from other houses?" She sighed in defeat, " The people in Ravenclaw aren't the best friend material so I have a few friends from other houses. You guys, Frank Longbottom and one of my Hufflepuff friends, Nathan Stricklen, that's about it. I only ever talk to other people if I'm in a project together with them.”

Peter continued from where James left off. " Do you have any siblings?"

Remus saw as her body went tense and rigid.

" Yeah, an older sister and brother." Remus noted that Sirius noticed the tension and how he had decided to ask another question.

" First question, how many questions are we at? Second question, why'd you tense up? I really don’t mean to pry I’m just concerned." Y/n sighed and pillow flopped backwards before Remus pulled her back up, gently prodding her up, his hand in the small of her back.

“ Six questions. I have two siblings and I only tensed up because my brother and I don’t see on the same terms and I never see my sister.”

Remus looked at Peter with some weird expression and Peter looked back, shrugging.

Remus sighed before turning to Y/n with a guilty expression. " Peter is too shy and wants to know why exactly you don't see eye to eye with your brother and he also wants to know why you never see your sister. Don't get upset at me if you don't wanna answer either cause it's not my question."

" Okay. My brother has certain, views, on my life of which I don't like. For example, he says I should be shipped off and sold to some random dude halfway across the world who wants me for his wife and I don't want that to happen, he things I have a perfect life with perfect friends and family and grades and crap like that when he basically knows nothing about me, he prohibits me from dating or loving people because he says dad would get better profits from just arranging me a marriage with some 35 year old pervert in Spain, he doesn't care about me at all. I don’t see my sister because she died in her second year. That's your eighth question so hurry up and ask me another one."

Sirius came up and tentatively asked, " You don't have to answer if it's too personal but, how come you hate going home and you never talk about your home life?"

Remus turned to the boy with a glare so sharp it could cut glass.

" My dad became an alcoholic, lost his job, is almost never at home when my brother is. When my brother isn't at home, which happens a lot, mind you, he becomes an abusive, rapist, alcoholic psychopathic maniac and my brother doesn't know about it at all. He's almost always over at a friends house for the whole summer at a time so he's pretty much turned blind to what our "home" has turned into.

" My sister committed suicide two years after my mother died. If she didn't she would be in seventh year by now."

The boys stared in shock while Remus looked anywhere other than my gaze.

" She was in her second year at Hogwarts, age twelve, twelve. I was nine, she was twelve and I was nine, my brother was ten. He never figured out why she did it he just thinks she was mourning mum and it became too much.

Remus looked back at Y/n and bit his lip, slipping his hand into hers and threading their fingers through. Sirius stared at the girl, eyes full of knowing, while Peter hugged his teddy bear and James gaped at her.

" How, how old were you when the abuse and rape started?" James asked. She took a moment to think and Remus laid his hand on her shoulder, whispering.

" Thee abuse started when I was eight 1/2, he was raping my older sister at that time and, I hated it, when she died, he started raping me

" and I was nine at the time. I don't see eye to eye with my brother because he has no idea that this is going on and thinks dad is wrapped around my finger."

Sirius looked at the ground, avoiding the girls gaze while Peter did the same. James kept his head down, gaze on her as Remus started to pull her into his lap, arms wrapping around her waist, hugging her to his chest and chin finding it’s way to her shoulder.

" Guys, it’s really late, we should just crash and go to bed." James and Sirius nodded while Peter hopped up and made a beeline for his bed. James said goodnight before getting up and walking to bed, Sirius turned on Remus's lamp before turning off the big light and getting in bed.

Remus still made no move for his bed.

" Do you want me to move so you can get in bed or?"

The boy shook his head, nuzzling his nose into her neck.

Remus turned the girl around in his lap to where their faces were nearly touching and he closed the space between the two in a loving kiss of which she returned. After they broke apart he pressed gentle kisses to her Cupid’s bow and forehead in an attempt to soothe her beating heart. Remus wrapped his arms around his girlfriend’s thighs and lifted her up, wrapped her legs around his waist as he moved over to his bed and pulled the curtains around it.

Y/n pulled off her shirt and bra as Remus looked away and pulled off his shirt. He handed it to her with his eyes the other way. Sure, she was his girlfriend but that didn’t mean he would look at her while she was in the nude without her permission.

Remus soon climbed into the bed and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body to his chest as well as pulling the duvet covers of the bed up, after she’d climbed in before him. He nuzzled his head into her neck, placing a soft kiss to her sensitive skin, and right as the girl was about to fall asleep she heard Remus quietly reach out to her and say, “ goodnight kitten...”

__________________________________________

Drink some water, eat some food, take a screen break and never forget you are loved.

^ - ^

#remuslupin #remuslupinxreader #the mauraders #harry potter #james potter #sirius black #sirius x lupin #remus lupin smut #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #peter pettigrew #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #Hogwarts

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years ago

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hear my stolen lullabies

chapter five of the peter losing wendy series

*inspired by Taylor Swift’s Folklore*

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Original Character (Liz Walker)

Warnings: mentions of parent death and suicide, drug use, emotional/verbal abuse, yelling, PLEASE proceed with caution, smoking

Word Count: 5.6K

Summary: Twice, Liz finds solace at the Chateau during a difficult time.

March 13, 2019

Fiddling with her earring, Liz stared down at her feet as her mother rambled on. Her mother wasn’t exactly screaming, but she was definitely yelling. About how Liz needed to help out more around the house, about how she shouldn’t abandon her mother like her sisters had, about how there was nothing nice left about life. To say it was less than uplifting was an understatement. Liz was beginning to taste blood as she gnawed on her lower lip. After a couple years dealing with her mother’s rage, or her teary outbursts, she had gotten used to tuning it out. Or, at least, trying to. Sometimes, though, it was too loud, too painful, too overwhelming.

“You’re always so fucking mean to me, Elizabeth!” Ruth Walker exclaimed, hands at her sides in exaggeration. “Why can’t you just comfort me? That’s what I need!”

“Comfort you, mom?!” Liz yelled back, finally looking up and tilting her head at her mother. “Jesus, I’ve been comforting you everyday since dad died! Every single fucking day!”

“Excuse me?” Ruth asked, raising her eyebrows. “I’m the mother, and you’re the child! You don’t swear at me!”

Scoffing slightly, Liz shook her head. With her mother staring back at her, brown eyes furious and dark, brows furrowed, Liz couldn’t stomach her anger. As much as she tried to stamp it down, she usually ended with her own tirade creeping up her throat. And the worst part was, she was always wondering if she would one day end up screaming at her own daughter. Full of hypocrisy and bitterness, her life lived entirely different than she wanted. Ruth Walker wasn’t to blame for the way things had turned out, and that Liz scared more than she cared to admit. Her gut churned with anxiety and adrenaline, and she continued despite her better judgement.

“If I’m the child, Mom, why am I the one sleeping in your bed to help you with your nightmares? Why am I the one picking up the milk and the eggs and the bread? And spending every minute of every damn day worrying about you ending up exactly like Dad?” she wagered, pulling out the big guns.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew there was no use. They fought about the same things a thousand times over, and neither of them ever changed a bit. But at least letting off some steam might help in the short-term. Liz’s voice was getting louder, and her face redder, as she stood across from her mother in the dingy kitchen. All Liz had wanted was to get a snack to celebrate finishing her essay. Instead, it was an ambush over the leftovers.

“I lost my husband! My life is...my future is ruined!” Ruth screamed, crying through her words.

She knew how insensitive it was, but Liz rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help herself. “Jesus, I know! You think I don’t know that? Your life isn’t ruined, Mom! You’re not the one who died!”

“Sometimes it feels like it,” her mother said, still angry but beginning to deflate. Her energy was waning.

Liz scoffed, feeling completely impatient. Each time they reached this point in the conversation, when her mother would begin to wallow and struggle through her words, Liz would have to sigh, and apologize, and suggest her mother finally go to therapy. The island’s pharmacist, who had once been a therapist, had offered to help the family in the wake of Liz’s father’s suicide. Out of all five Walker women, only Liz had taken him up on the offer. Though she’d only been able to handle about one session a month, Liz was still going. And she knew it helped. But her mother refused to help herself.

“Yeah, well, sometimes it seems like it, too,” Liz muttered, so utterly frustrated she found her filter (which was not particularly strong to begin with) to be totally gone.

Her mother swallowed thickly, but didn’t say a word in response. She only gaped.

Feeling her stomach flip once again, whether due to general anxiety or disgust with herself she didn’t know, Liz turned around and looked out the kitchen window. Bracing herself with her palms on the sink, she looked at the ring stand on the windowsill. On it, her mother’s diamond engagement ring. She had to avert her eyes from it. Before, the ring had been precious, always on her mother’s finger. But Ruth had taken it off after hearing of her husband’s death, and it had sat on the windowsill ever since. Ruth valued it now about as much as a piece of gravel. Liz uttered a harsh, humorless chuckle.

“What an asshole. It wouldn’t be like this if he was still here,” Liz said. “I hate him.”

Ruth’s jaw clenched as Liz turned back to her. “Don’t talk about your father like that!”

“Stop defending him! He fucking lied to us! He was supposed to be there for us...a-and take c-care of us!” Liz argued. “And then he just left! Real fathers don’t do that! At least not the ones who loved their kids!”

“Fuck you!” her mother screamed in response.

Liz recoiled, grey eyes darkening to storms. She gave a thin smile, devoid of joy, and then began to push past her mother. “Yeah, well, fuck you, too.”

She grabbed her bag and tugged on her shoes, then rushed out the front door in the direction of her bike. Ruth stood motionless in the kitchen, watching through the screen door as her daughter rode away. The evening was clouded over and gloomy, the air just beginning to warm with spring. But an involuntary tremble rolled through Ruth’s body as though it were winter. And, when her daughter was gone, she let out a sob. Then, she collapsed in on herself and began to weep.

. . .

A violent shiver made goosebumps rise on Liz’s skin as she finally made it to the Chateau, but her cheeks were flushed hot with adrenaline. The daylight was nearly gone, the sky a cold purple-pink, as she leaned her bike up against the tree out front. The air was filled with spring freshness, but it was chilly. The gray cardigan she wore was proving to be a lifesaver. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stomped up and onto the front porch. She could smell the familiar scent of burnt toast (a telltale sign JJ had tried to cook something, which never ended well) as she approached. And she stopped in her tracks when she saw JJ in the hammock, scrolling absently through his phone. He was freshly showered, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, hair damp. He looked up when her footsteps halted, eyebrows raised and expectant.

“Hey, red. What’s going on?” he asked, not quite concerned, but certainly not indifferent either.

It was Thursday night, and everyone was busy. Sarah and John B were out getting dinner somewhere on the Figure Eight. Pope was working on scholarship applications. Kie was doing a shift at The Wreck. JJ himself had only gotten off of work an hour earlier, sore from an afternoon spent mowing Kook lawns. Liz had texted in their group chat saying she had a big paper to write, which would probably take her until the sun rose the next morning.

Liz blew out a long breath, feeling the tense energy begin to leave her system. She didn’t feel like crying, though. Not exactly. Instead, she felt used up. Trying her hardest wasn’t working. Wringing her hands together, she felt how dry her skin was. She’d been washing her hands too much, using scalding water, despite the harshness of the early spring cold. The breeze was still parched and unyielding. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. The habits came and went, ones she felt like needed to be done or else the world would end. They had existed before her father’s death, and she had always been what her mother called ‘a nervous little girl,’ but things had definitely gotten worse in the past couple of years.

“I just…” she began tiredly. Pausing, she sighed and took a seat on the couch, facing him. “I got in a f-fight with my mom.”

“Oh,” he said plainly, nodding. And she could tell he understood. He’d spent probably countless hours listening to her vent about her family’s issues. Just as she had spent hours hearing about JJ’s father. They had developed a pretty symbiotic system. “What was it about?”

She ran a hand over her face, narrowly avoiding her eyes, the makeup from the school day she had yet to wash off. Then, she shrugged. “I don’t know. The same shit, I guess. I told her...it seemed like she was dead now too.”

JJ hummed, nodding as he furrowed his brows. He put his phone down on the floor next to the hammock, forgotten. He waited for her to continue.

“I mean...I guess I meant it. I know that...I know her worst fears came true. I know that. But fuck,” she said, her knee bobbing up and down. The fingers of one hand drummed against her thigh. “I’m just so sick of all this. This would all be so much easier if he had just like...gotten into a car accident or had a brain aneurysm or something.”

He noticed her fidgeting, and he didn’t know whether it was because she was still so keyed up from the fight or if she was just cold. “Probably,” he agreed quietly.

She barely cast him a glance before she continued. “I mean, what was the point in having the funeral, and saying goodbye and all that bullshit, if we were still gonna fight about him and think about him every damn day? It’s like...everything is different except for that one thing. He’s the dead one and he’s like...the only thing left.”

Shaking her head at herself, not even understanding her own words, she clenched her jaw. Looking out into the yard, she could vaguely see the chickens walking around behind the wire of the coop. The chipped red paint of her bike shone dully in the glow of the sunset. Above the bike, the tire swing Big John had put up years earlier still swung, weathered with age. Liz wondered if John B ever felt like she did. Home was still home, but it would also never be home again. Her house felt more like a mausoleum to her than anything else. The life she had lived before was never coming back.

“She kick you out again?” JJ asked.

“Not really,” Liz said. “But I probably shouldn’t go back tonight. I said ‘fuck you’ to her. Like, literally.”

JJ raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I know,” she said, reading his expression. “But only because she said it to me first. I don’t think I’m ready for round two yet. I’ll take the pullout or something.”

“You want something to take the edge off?” JJ asked, taking his weed pen from his breast pocket and holding it out to her.

She waved her hand dismissively and shook her head again. “No thanks. I just...Jesus I hate this.”

Huffing out a frustrated breath, she got up and slipped through the screen door, into the Chateau. JJ wasn’t surprised a minute later when she reemerged with a battered acoustic guitar in her hands. It had been her father’s in his teen years, and she had been playing since before JJ even met her, when the instrument’s body dwarfed her own and her child’s hands could hardly fit around the neck. She didn’t practice everyday or anything, but could still play songs around the campfire or when the restless energy invaded her body and she needed an outlet for it. Without another word, she began softly strumming out a folk song JJ could almost recognize, but couldn’t remember the name of.

“How was your day?” she asked after a moment, eyes not even on the guitar as she played. It had become a distraction, rather than a passion, since her father had died. Playing it would always be linked with him in her mind. Sometimes, it made her angry that he had ruined yet another thing from the grave. But sometimes, she could tolerate the memories enough to enjoy it again.

“You mean since you saw me like four hours ago?” JJ asked, smirking lightly. Most days, John B drove them both home in the Twinkie, along with Pope.

She nodded, smiling just a little. “Yeah. I’m sure it’s been really exciting.”

“Oh, yeah,” JJ said emphatically. “Honestly, it was a pretty life-changing afternoon.”

“Enlighten me,” Liz said, tilting her head at him.

“Okay, let’s see. I went to the Eight to mow the Westerfields’ lawn. But their kid wouldn’t quit trying to help, so I had to make the lawn mower noises while he used his toy one, and he tired out eventually. Added like two extra hours,” JJ said.

Smiling fondly, Liz nodded for him to continue. A light breeze passed by, blowing her bangs away from her face.

“He’s pretty cute, though. And his mom let me in the house to wash up this time. I got this sick utility tool from the garage when she wasn’t looking,” he said, grin growing with excitement. From the same pocket which housed his pen, he produced a shiny red utility tool, complete with a knife, a screwdriver, and a bottle opener.

She laughed. “What the fuck do you need that for, Maybank?”

“Remember on New Year’s when we couldn’t find the corkscrew so you had to open that wine with a screw and a hammer?”

“One of my proudest moments.”

“Well, next time, we’ll have an extra,” JJ said, putting the tool back. “And I gotta say, I think we should add that house to our list.”

“Really? It’s the yellowish one with the hedges in the front, right?” Liz asked, still plucking at her guitar strings.

JJ nodded.

Since they were kids, they had been considering which houses to move into when they went full Kook. The ‘list’ had never been written down, instead existing as more of a living document in both their minds. There were a few properties on the Eight that were serious contenders, known by the families that lived in them: the Westerfields, the Kitteridges, even the Camerons. Liz was always coming back to the Petries’ place, with the cobblestone path and the tiny pond in the backyard. JJ was partial to the old McKinnon place, with the pristine lawn and the well-kempt dock out back.

“The inside is kickass,” JJ continued. “Like, a TV in every room.”

“Okay, it’s officially added,” Liz said with finality and a little smile.

Before she could continue, she saw JJ yawn into his fist. She noticed the tired glaze in his blue eyes and felt a little bit guilty. She had come over after a long day and bombarded him with all her family shit. She wanted to reciprocate, ask about how things were with his dad and why he hadn’t been back home for at least a week, but she bit her tongue. After so many years knowing JJ, she had learned that he wasn’t going to talk about his family until he wanted to.

She began to play “Polly,” not really singing but humming lowly along with the tune. JJ listened, rocking the hammock slightly. They shared a love for Kurt Cobain, and he always liked it when she played Nirvana for him. Even if he was more partial to the screamo electric songs than their acoustic numbers. As Liz expected, JJ was struggling to keep his eyes open by the time she finished.

“You falling asleep, sunshine?” she asked softly, putting her guitar aside. She would have to make sure she placed it back in the corner of the Chateau’s living room when they went to turn in for the night.

“No,” he said, clearing his throat and blinking harshly a couple times. “Are you kidding? It’s only like eight.”

She shrugged. “You can rest if you want to, JJ. It’s just me.”

“You cold?” he asked, eyes lingering on her hands. They were still a bit shaky, even after she played guitar. Usually, that was enough to make the angry trembling subside.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Answer the question.”

With a stubborn sigh, she relented. “I mean, a little bit.”

He rolled his eyes. She was always trying to put on a brave face, even over something as small as being cold. Even in front of him. “Yeah, a ‘little bit.’ Okay. C’mon, tough girl, you can steal some of my body heat.”

She snorted a laugh as he opened his arms and gestured for her to come lay down with him. “Okay.”

Her cheeks warmed marginally, but he didn’t mention it if he noticed she was blushing. They were touchy with each other. All the Pogues were. But she and JJ had always been a bit more. Lately, it was getting under her skin, in a good way or a bad way she didn’t know. Each time she felt herself crushing, she reminded herself of the perfect, toned Tourons JJ always brought home after a Kegger. She reminded herself that they had known each other forever, and she shouldn’t ruin anything over a silly, fleeting feeling. Recently, though, there hadn’t been as many girls taken home. And there had been lingering looks and moments between the two of them. But Liz figured she was only imagining it. Otherwise, what was it? The whole thing was too confusing to manage.

But she was cold and he was tired. She didn’t feel up to navigating her thoughts on the subject, so she pushed them out of her mind. And one of the comfiest quilts ever to exist was draped over the back of the couch, too tempting to resist. She grabbed it and then kicked off her shoes before she went over to the hammock. She plopped down next to him, taking a moment to cover the two of them with the blanket and settle in. He winced slightly as her elbow grazed his ribcage.

“Sorry, sunshine. Are you okay?” she asked, instantly concerned, noticing as he hissed in quiet pain.

“Oh, yeah, red,” he said, nodding. “Just got a little too sloppy at the Boneyard last weekend. I fell down on the damn dock. Totally knocked the wind out of me.”

“Do you want me to move? You need to tell me if I’m hurting you,” she continued, a hand placed softly on his chest.

“You’re not,” he replied. “I promise.”

He wrapped his arms around her and brought her head to his shoulder. It seemed to be enough to reassure her, and she let the subject drop. Or maybe she was saving it away for a discussion later on. One thing JJ had learned about Liz in knowing her: her memory was pretty damn close to photographic. She breathed out in content as she finally began to warm up, and her body relaxed.

“Did you finish your paper?” JJ asked, remembering what she should have been doing.

“Yeah. It didn’t take me as long as I thought it would. There’s way too much to say about Virginia Woolf,” Liz explained, letting her legs slip between his, tangling them together. It was the closest they had been in a long time, and she could smell his Old Spice. “It actually ended up being like a page too long. I had to go back and cut it down.”

“Good job, nerd,” he teased. English was the only class she regularly got As in.

“Shut up,” she warned, looking up at him through her lashes and smirking a bit. “Just go to sleep, dick.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said playfully. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

When he pulled back, their eyes met again. Liz didn’t think much. She could only feel what she was doing as she was doing it, a bit surprised at herself. It was like her brain short circuited, flooded with butterflies, and she could only act on instinct.

“JJ?”

“Hm?”

Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “Can we kiss?”

His eyes softened. “‘Course we can, Lizzie.”

Before she knew it, they were both leaning in. They kissed gently, slow. JJ’s lips were surprisingly soft, and he kept a small smile on his face as they separated, dimples on his cheeks. Liz’s brow crinkled. Had that really just happened? When they were both totally sober and not dreaming? She uttered a small hum, nodding.

“Huh,” she said. She had never kissed anyone before, besides Kie. Never a real kiss.

JJ uttered a chuckle. “Yeah. Huh.”

“Are you alright?” Liz asked, a smile to match his own creeping onto her face.

“Mm-hm. Are you alright?” JJ’s voice lilted with nervous, giggly apprehension.

She nodded.

Then, some sort of simple understanding passed between them, smiles still ghosting over their lips. Liz put her head back down on JJ’s shoulder, and his grip tightened on her just a touch. They fell asleep.

. . .

October 27, 2019

Again, Liz was high as a kite by late afternoon. They sat smoking on the front porch of the Chateau after the midday dress burning, laughing at the mock sincerity of the ceremony. For once, Liz was happy and giggly in the presence of Sarah Cameron. JJ grinned widely at Liz opening up a bit. John B was always quick to accuse Liz of not liking Sarah, but JJ knew it was simply that she needed time to soften. Even with all her confidence, she was still shy. She didn’t like to show herself to people until she was positive she could trust them. JJ could definitely understand that. Leaning back against the couch, he threw his arm over the backrest. Liz, sitting beside him because she knew he would hog the bowl otherwise, tensed slightly. Looking around self-consciously, she didn’t think she saw anyone reacting to her flinch. Hopefully, they hadn’t noticed. The instinct to pull away from JJ was knee jerk. With a harsh swallow, she clenched her jaw and sat back slightly, trying to lean into it.

“Yo, did you guys hear that new Billie Eilish single?” JJ asked.

“Oh, I fucking loved it,” Liz said emphatically.

John B snickered. “Well, damn, I never would have guessed.”

She flipped him off, rolling her eyes. “You’re a loser.”

“Ditto, man,” John B replied, a smug smirk on his face.

Liz scoffed through a breathy chuckle. Weed made John B a bit of a condescending asshole, though sometimes in a charming way. Each time it was a toss-up. The day was slightly warmer than the one before, but she suspected it would likely be the last day the temperature was above fifty degrees. The thought of the season ahead made her grimace slightly. It was bad to begin the winter with a death. It was very bad. And, even amidst her group of friends enjoying each others’ company, she couldn’t help but feel far away from them. Distant. Alone. Maybe it was just the after-effects of her grandmother’s funeral the day before. She didn’t know.

She took the bowl back from JJ and inhaled a long breath. She coughed slightly as she let it out, listening to the others talk about something or other, maybe what Kyle McCormick had said to the calculus teacher the day before. She stared out into the front yard. When she was high, all her senses were amplified. The colors seemed brighter somehow. They seemed to move on their own, alive. The only thing close to the sensation that Liz could think of was reading Virginia Woolf. And even then, it was just the character who was experiencing it. Being mesmerized, really mesmerized, wasn’t an everyday thing. It felt like falling in love. She hadn’t felt it much since she and JJ broke up.

She passed the bowl, filled with grayish ashes, back to JJ. They reminded her of her father’s ashes. They’d spread them in the ocean, out on a rental boat. She’d held them in her hands, felt the smooth, sooty fragments of teeth. The thought made her shut her eyes for a second. JJ furrowed his brows, watching her as he took his own drag, trying to get the dregs of smoke from the bowl.

“You okay, Lizzie?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her cheeks were rosy from the autumn chill. “I just have a headache.”

JJ frowned. He felt her forehead, then put the back of one hand to her cheek. He was relieved to feel the redness was from the chilly wind, not from fever. Every time she got sick, it was because she had been running herself ragged, not sleeping. “Hm. You’re probably still tired from yesterday. You wanna go lay down?”

Clearing her throat, ridding it from the stray smoky feeling, she nodded. “Sure. I’ll take the pullout.”

“Just take JJ’s bed again,” John B said lightly, catching snippets of the conversation.

“Is that alright?” she asked, tilting her head at JJ.

“Yeah. It’s the middle of the afternoon. I won’t be needing it for like eight more hours at least,” JJ answered, trying to pass the bowl to Pope.

Pope waved a hand at the drug paraphernalia. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so tired if you hadn’t smoked, Liz.”

Liz rolled her eyes as she got up from the couch. “Whatever, Doctor Spock.”

“You’re clouding your mental capacity,” Pope continued self-righteously. It didn’t annoy her as much as it once had, since she knew it came from a place of worry. After so long, she was able to shrug it off rather well.

“Good,” Liz retorted, more sincerely than Pope expected.

He shifted nervously, then turned to ask Kie something.

. . .

Slats of sunlight shone on the bed through the gaps in the blinds, making the room feel impossibly cozy. Since Liz had slept in there the night before, she had made the bed. It wasn’t really a cleanliness issue. She could have a perfectly neat bed and then not cast a second glance at the piles of books and clothes, and papers in the case of her desk. It was more that if she didn’t make her bed everyday, it made her want to wash her hands more, with hotter water. It made her want to pick off her nail polish and gnaw on her bottom lip. But she found herself feeling totally content as she laid on the bed, atop the fuzzy throw and the smooth comforter, piles stacked properly behind her. She rested her head on her crossed arms, the sleeve of her worn cardigan soft against her cheek. Her sock feet were raised in the air, one calf crossed over the other. She thought about the morning, when she had woken up with JJ’s arm draped over her. It had been the first time she had anxiously made the bed in JJ’s room in a long time. It had been so familiar that it broke her heart a bit. It broke her heart more when JJ had excitedly begun preparing for the dress burning almost immediately after waking up.

Over breakfast, he had enthusiastically gone over everyone’s duties to put together the “funeral for Lizzie’s funeral dress.” She smiled at him gratefully, but her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t reconcile the JJ who took care of her after tragedy with the one she had encountered on the last night in August. She thought about the feel of his hand on her waist, dancing with her in the Stoner’s Grove at a party, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of her dress. They hadn't kissed, so they could explain it away if anyone asked. That had been before the invisible change had taken place. And she could feel it again where his hand had rested earlier in the day, when they had stood around a bonfire in the backyard, while the remains of her dress smoked in the air and then floated away. She had stared into the orangey flames, so strangely pure against the pristine blue of the October sky, until her eyes were hot and dry. JJ had placed an affectionate hand on her waist for only a moment, giving her hip a comforting squeeze. And she simply didn’t know what to do with it.

But she decided to clear the thoughts of him from her head, running her fingers delicately over the soft throw blanket. Touch, she thought to herself. Touch was her favorite of the senses when she was high. Her feet were up near the head of the bed, her head at the bottom. She had often laid in the same position, feet up in the air, as a little girl. She and John B had made a habit of going out to the edge of the dock and looking down at their reflections in the water, sometimes with their heads leaning completely over the green murkiness below. It was the kind of childhood foolishness you could only see the error in with hindsight. She let herself get lost in the music which played from the bluetooth speaker on the desk. She had turned it down to a medium volume, hoping she could get one of her mellower playlists to lull her to sleep. But the sunshine was too beautiful to miss. She let it warm her back as she laid there, listening to the sound of The 1975’s “Be My Mistake.” Sometimes, it was too sad for her to stomach. When high, though, she could stand it enough to listen. She barely even welled up this time.

The screen door slammed shut, and she could hear the rest of the Pogues reenter the house, likely to finish up whatever homework or enjoy the remnants of the Sunday afternoon. The sound of JJ’s boots approached, and Liz had to prepare herself for a moment before he came in. She didn’t know what instinct she would follow: the softening of her heart or the guarding of her gaze.

He opened the door with a warm creak, smirking when he saw she was still awake, from the way her feet swung side-to-side gently. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replied huskily.

He shut the door behind him and bent over to unlace his boots. He tugged them off and discarded them in the corner absently before he came to sit down next to her on the bed.

“I was just coming to get my earth science homework, but I guess you don’t need quiet like I thought.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, lost in the song.

“You still wanna go to sleep?” he asked.

She may have had a pretty high tolerance, but she had smoked more of the good shit, and it was likely heightened in effect when she was so sleep-deprived. He was surely the more sober one of the two. The gut instinct to hold her hair back, rub circles on her skin, guide her sweetly through her intoxication, overtook him as it had so many times in the past. But he wasn’t her boyfriend, as she had pointed out one morning after he had fought a Touron. And it wasn’t his job to take care of her, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

“No,” she said softly. Her words came out in a pensive whisper. “I’m just having a nice time listening to the music.”

He snorted a laugh. “You’re so adorable.”

“You can’t say shit like that to me, JJ,” she said immediately, though still in that same gentle tone. Raising her head a bit, she met his slightly glassy, reddish gaze with her own to match.

He shut his mouth and averted his eyes, nodding. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” she said. “You just can’t.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Then after a moment, she asked: “Do you still wanna hang out?”

He smiled. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“Alright,” she said, putting her head back down.

JJ got more comfortable, back resting against the wall behind the bed, getting ready to listen to her playlist. Liz’s playlists were, in fact, pretty infamous amongst their group of friends. When she couldn’t afford presents for birthdays or holidays, she made them playlists.

“So, since you’re in earth science, tell me again why they declassified Pluto as a planet?” she asked. “I mean, I know it doesn’t have emotions or anything, but imagine being a planet and having your planet status taken away from you. I feel bad for it, y’know?”

JJ laughed.

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